avenge the attack on his brother by planning and
executing a series of attacks and assaults on suspected
gang members and drug dealers in and
around Sacramento. He was apparently using sophisticated
weapons and devices developed by Dr.
Masters, weapons manufactured for use by the military
, to hunt down, capture, interrogate, and then
kill those who he thought might be involved in the
attack on his brother and other police officers."
Police Chief Barona took his turn at the microphones
. "I cannot comment any more about this
case because of the investigation, but I would like
to make one very important point: This city, this
county, will not tolerate vigilantes. The city and
county of Sacramento have some of the finest lawenforcement
organizations in the country. We don't
need anyone, no matter who or what they are, taking
the law into their own hands and disruptmig our
streets with hatred and violence.
"We are a society of law. We will not tolerate
anyone, no matter what his background or personal
motivation, tragedy, or reasoning might be, to take
the law into his own hands. McLanahan and Masters
, if found guilty of the crimes of which they are
charged, will be punished to the fullest extent of the
law. I urge the citizens of this county not to be
swayed by what the two suspects might claim are
their reasons for doing what they did. If they broke
the law, they should be punished for it. Thank
you.//
SACRAMENTO COUNTY JAIL,
651 1 STREET, SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
TUESDAY, 31 MARCH 1998, 0815 PT
A sheriff's deputy led Patrick McLanahan into the
visiting room and escorted him to the seat farthest
down the row of phone cubicles that connected
the prisoners with their visitors on the other
side of the Plexiglas barrier. Patrick was wearing a
white T-shirt that looked two sizes too small, with
the words PRISONER, SACRAMENTO COUNTY JAM stenciled
front and back, baggy blue jeans that looked
three sizes too big, white socks, and floppy black
canvas slip-on shoes. The deputy walked between
him and the row of prisoners seated in the phone
cubicles, but this didn't stop several white prisoners
from turning to look at him, muttering threats and
flashing obscene and gang gestures at him.
Jon Masters was waiting for him, dressed in a suit
and tie. When Patrick sat down at the cubicle, Masters
looked at him in shock. He picked up the phone
on his side. A recorded warning announced that
conversations might be recorded. "Jesus, Patrick!"
Jon exclaimed after the recording stopped and the
connection opened. "What happened to your face?"
Patrick gingerly touched the cuts on his swollen,
bruised cheeks and mouth. "Some bikers got hold of
me," he said.
"Are you all right?" Patrick nodded. "If they
can't protect you in there, I'll get the attorney to
.have you transferred somewhere else
"I'm in an isolation cell now," Patrick said.
"Thank God."
"Isolation means that only one out of every three
gobs of spit hits me now," Patrick said with a wry
smile. "Now they just tell me they're going to rip
my balls off, instead of actually trying to do it."
"Patrick, how can you make jokes at a time like
this?"
"I'll be all right, Jon," Patrick said reassuringly.
"Half of them think I killed their buddies, but the
other half think that if they mess with me, my
friends will go after their families. It's a part of being
in the gang-harassing me shows the other
members that they're solid. I can handle it." Jon's
face was ashen, as if he could scarcely believe what
he was hearing. Patrick pointed a warning finger at
the phone, then at the sign behind Jon stating that
their conversations could be monitored. "Have you
spoken with Wendy?"
"Yes," Jon replied, signaling that he understood.
"She's all right. She's real worried about you."
"How's Bradley?"
"A lot of folks in your . . . your family have contacted
me." Heemphasized the word family, and
Patrick picked it up. "They're all very concerned
and will do anything necessary to get you out of
here and clear your name."
"That's nice," said Patrick. "Ask the family to
talk with Wendy and reassure her that everything
will be all right. I'll be out of here soon enough. I
can't wait to tell my side of the story to a jury. Are
you meeting with anyone from the legal department
?"
"I'm meeting Henry Fowler, the senior partner in
the law firm that does our legal, in about an hour,"
Jon said. "They've got all the police reports, and
they say we have a good chance of getting all the
charges dismissed. He's going to introduce me to
the criminal-defense team they've retained. They'll
have someone over later this morning to talk with
you." He looked a little embarrassed, then added, "I
brought over the money you asked for last night,
but they took it from me. They said they have to log
it in. Have you gotten it yet?" Patrick shook his
head. "God, Patrick, this is a nightmare."
"Everything will be all right, bro," Patrick said.
"Just tell Wendy and the family that I'm all right."
"You got it, bro," Jon said, watching helplessly as
Patrick was led away. A big, mean-looking prisoner
tried to get up out of his seat as Patrick was passing,
bumped him, and screamed an obscenity before the
deputies pushed him back down.
There were reporters waiting out in front of the
jail, so Jon was led out a rear exit that bordered on
the H Street parking garage, and the heavy steel
door locked behind him. He made his way warily
around toward the front and looked for the company
car that was to meet him, but there was no
sign of it. The rain started to come down, a dull,
chilly mist at first, then heavier.
Man, he thought, life pretty much sucked right
now. Patrick was in jail, charged with murder; the
Ultimate Soldier project was compromised, perhaps
destroyed; and his company was without a leader,
drifting aimlessly. He didn't even have Helen Kaddiri
to torment him anymore . . .
Helen. It was the first time he had thought about
her in many days, and he realized that the thought
of her warmed him inside. For the first time in his
life, Jon felt truly alone. For all those years before,
he had -kept himself surrounded, first with academia
, then with the government, then with the company
. Now all were gone. He needed Helen. He
wanted her. Once the idea was laughable, then unthinkable-and
now, all he could think about was
her.
He pulled
out a cellular-phone earset, a tiny de-
vice that looped onto the ear and picked up vocal
vibrations in the skull for transmitting. He used
voice commands to dial her home number in San
Diego and got her answering machine. "Helen, this
is Jon," he said after taking a deep breath. "I don't
know if you've heard all the news lately, but I'm
here in Sacramento. I just got out of the Sacramento
County jail on bail. Patrick is being held without
bond. We
He was going to make a full "report" to her and
fill in the circumstances, but he found he couldn't
continue-his heart wouldn't let him use the company
"we" again, wouldn't allow him to be so
impersonal. "Helen, I need you," he said. "The
company does, sure, but I need you more. I need
your support, your guidance, and your friendship. I
don't know where you are-probably out making a
deal to launch your new company-but please,
come up here to Sacramento. I'll probably be at the
R D facility at Sacramento-Mather Jetport, the
old alert facility. I won't blame you if you don't
show up, but please don't leave me now. I . I
love you, Helen. I probably sound like the biggest
geek in the world, but I don't care. I love you. Bye."
Jon ended the call and put the earset away. A few
minutes later he heard a car horn beep across the
street. He oo over an saw a and waving to
him. His ride at last. The driver was unfamiliar and
the windows were tinted so he couldn't see in, but
he crossed the street and went around to the passenger
side. He was surprised to see Tom Chandler in
the front passenger seat.
"Hello, Dr. Masters," Chandler said. "Care for a
ride?" He noticed Masters's quizzical expression as
he looked at the unfamiliar driver. "This is Officer
Williams of my division. I rate a driver today, and
he's it. Need a ride?"
"I've got one coming, thanks."
"Dr. Masters, listen, I know what you and Patrick
are going through," Chandler said. He lowered
his voice so the driver wouldn't overhear. "Don't
castrate me because I'm doing my job. It would look
worse if I showed any favoritism at all. If I let my
opinion that Patrick is a hero leak out, I'd be off the
case and you and Patrick would have to swim with
the sharks alone."
"You think Patrick is a hero? The other night you
thought he was a criminal."
I "I think both you and Patrick are heroes," Chandler
said, "taking on the dirtbags; in,this city like
this. It shows courage, real courage. But Patrick's in
jail, and the city that you and he tried to protect
wants to make an example of him. That's not right.
We need to get together and strategize. Come over
to my office so we can talk. You can call your people
from there and tell them where to pick you up."
"I don't know
"Hey, cmon, Doc, I'm doing everything I can on
my end to make sure that you and Patrick get every
break possible," Chandler said. "The DA doesn't
have much of a case. They've been hammering me
and my guys for hours, trying to find even the
smallest piece of incriminating evidence. They
don't have it. But now I need your help."
"Shouldn't I have my attorney present?"
"This is not an interrogation," Chandler said.
"I'm not going to ask you anything that will incriminate
either you or Patrick. You can refuse to answer
anything you feel uncomfortable with." He
saw Masters still hesitate. "All right, if it would
make you feel better, you can call your attorney and
have him present. But I'm not going to Mirandize
you, because this is not part of the investigation. In
fact, it's the opposite-I want to talk about ways I
can help you and Patrick get out of this mess. Believe
me, there are a lot of cops in this town who are
very thankful for what you two did."
"There are?"
"Absolutely," Chandler said. "Even if it gets to
trial. But they want to hear from you. Will you do
this for Patrick?"
"Of course I will!" Jon exclaimed. "Man, I'm so
glad you came by! I thought you were more concerned
about making an arrest than helping us." Jon
hopped into the rear seat as soon as Chandler got
the door unlocked.
They headed down I Street toward Interstate 5.
just before they reached the freeway, there was a
beeping sound. Chandler turned around and saw
Masters retrieve what looked like a Cross pen from
his pocket. "Is that your pen beeping, Doctor?"
"My pager," Masters said with pride. "My own
design." He checked the tiny LCD display on the
barrel. "It's my driver. Probably wondering where I
am. I'll give him a call and let him know where I'll
be." He retrieved his cellular-phone earset. "What I
do is punch up the phone number on my wristwatch
. There's a wireless connection between the
earset and the watch. The number I retrieve on my
watch is the one that gets dialed. Or I can use voice
commands.
"What other gadgets do you have back there,
Doc?" Chandler asked.
"Oh, I got a million of 'em," Jon replied. "I
can
A car pulled out of the on-ramp from I Street and
cut in front of their car, and with a screech of the
wheels the driver swerved to miss him, blurting
out, "Schweinehund!-
"Cool," Masters said. "Your driver swears in German
. About all the German I know is 'ein Bier,
bitte. The driver shot a panicky look at Chandler.
"German always sounds so mean. A naked woman
can be whispering sweet nothings in your ear in
bed, and if she's talking in German it sounds like
she wants to rip your heart out with a fork. I once
heard . . ." Jon stopped abruptly, noticing where
they were. "Hey, aren't we supposed to be heading
north on 1-5?"
"No," Chandler said. "Dr. Masters, give me that
cellphone and your watch right now."
"You want to see how it works?"
"No, I want to take them from you," Chandler
said patiently.
Irwhyr
Chandler half-turned in his seat, aiming a SIG
Sauer P226 pistol at Masters in the back. Jon
blanched. "Dr. Masters, you are either a very good
actor or just about the most naive and scatterbrained
Ph.D. I've ever met." Jon handed over the
earset cellphone, his wireless transceiver wristwatch
, and the pager pen with shaking hands. "We
are going to meet up with some friends of mine.
They would very much like to talk with you."
Jon looked at the driver's eyes in the rearview
mirror. "I suppose they're German-speaking friends,
right? Maybe with a guy who speaks with a British
accent?"
"I think you're finally getting the picture," Chandler
said. "Swing around in the seat and put your
hands behind your back. I don't think my friends
would want you to know where we're going." Masters
did as he was told, and the SID captain reached
back and snapped handcuffs on him.
"Why are you doing this, Chandler?" Masters
asked. "Why are you working for the bad guys?"
"Simple, Doc: money," Chandler replied. "It was
an offer I couldn't refuse."
"Oh yeah-those gambling debts," Masters said.
"What were they-thirty, forty grand?"
"So you did have my office bugged. The department
doesn't even have enough money in the budget
for us to sweep our offices of listening devices.
Yes, the last time I ever bothered to total 'em up,
forty thousand in gambling debts was about right.
Add in a few thousand in back alimony and child
support, some maxed-out credit cards, an apartment
, car, an allowance for my girlfriend in Las
Vegas . . .
"Don't forget Kay in Granite Bay," Masters said.
"Oh, she's low maintenance compared to Edie in
Las Vegas," Chandler said casually. "Anyway, even
a year of my salary wouldn't bail me out of this
mess, assuming I cared to get bailed out at all-not
to mention the fact that I'd join a lot of real hardtimers
in prison if any of this ever came out. That's
why I'm doing this, Masters. And it all goes away
today. just deliver you and the suit to Townsend."
"You've got the suit too?"
"Of course I've got the suit-it was locked in my
property room," Chandler said. "My new employers
want you to show them how to use it, perhaps modify
it to fit Townsend himself. Let's face it, McLanaban
is not exactly of average dimensions. I'm sure
he has the strength and the endurance to wear it,
but let's be honest, Doc, an army of Tin Men like
McLanahan would not be much of an army. It certainl
would not strike fear into my heart."
"You are so full of shit, Chandler," Masters said.
"How can you turn your back on your city and your
career? Don't all the years you spent as a cop mean
anything to you?"
"Not a thing," Chandler said. "In fact, I've
worked harder over the last five years than I did in
my previous thirty years, and I've seen this city-
and this entire state, for that matter-slide down
into the crapper faster than I ever thought possible.
What have I been slaving away for?"