The 19th Christmas - James Patterson Page 0,62

were inside. We were told that the papers were none of our business.

“Once we had the bags, we were supposed to leave the cargo area and go outside to the parking lot. Russell was going to pick us up in his van and take us to a drop-off, I don’t know where.

“It was supposed to be easy-breezy,” Wallace said, sniffling and crying now. “Look like airport cops, act like airport cops. Take the train. Grab the bags. Get the hell out. A half day’s work for fifteen K. I’m happy to make fifteen thousand a year.”

I believed that Ben Wallace hadn’t questioned his thirdhand instructions. He hadn’t doubted what he’d been told, that the job was a no-brainer.

But I couldn’t contain myself. I had to jump in.

“What about the guns?” I said. “What did you think about having a loaded gun in your possession?”

“It was just for show,” he said.

“But you fired it,” I said.

He nodded miserably.

Guns for show. Tell that to the former US Marine with a gut shot that might kill him.

I’d been keeping my temper in check, but I was tired and I was convinced that Wallace knew where Loman was and how to find him.

I said, “Ben, that’s a nice story, and I feel bad for you. You were used. But none of what you’ve told us gets us to Loman or even to his second in command. I’ll bet one of your dumb-ass crewmates might have some information for us. Maybe even be smart enough to throw you to the Feds and take any kind of deal in exchange for revealing Loman’s whereabouts.”

After pausing to let that sink into his muscle-bound head, I said to Wallace, “Speak now, or I’m going to call, ‘Next,’ and interview one of the others on your crew. Ralph Burgess looks ripe to spill. And I’m going to launch an APB to grab up your stupid brother. There’s a warrant out for Sam. I think we can wring the truth out of him.”

Conklin said, “I like that idea, Sergeant. Ben? Anything else you’d like to say?”

Ben Wallace shook his head no.

Conklin and I got up from our chairs. Conklin started to drag Wallace to his feet, but he twisted, bucked, started yelling, “Okay, okay. Please. I have a pacemaker. I could die right here.”

I believed that. Steroid abuse could do major damage to vital organs.

Conklin and I sat him back down. Gently.

Wallace exhaled, said, “I need a deal.”

“No promises,” I said, “until we have Loman.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” said Wallace.

Chapter 79

Wallace said, “But first I gotta go.”

While Conklin escorted him to the men’s room, I sat there in the airless airport interrogation room thinking about our interview a few days ago with Julian Lambert.

Lambert had told us a credible story and we’d believed him. He’d said that he’d heard Loman’s name on the street, that he was just a bit player, and that he didn’t know Loman at all.

Now he was dead.

Like Lambert, Ben Wallace claimed to be a pickup player. Also like Lambert, Wallace seemed entirely disposable. There was every chance that if he’d gotten out to the parking area, he and his crewmates would have been executed at the drop-off.

In the last hour the airport had been closed. Flights had been canceled. Travelers had been evacuated. News outlets carried the story of a foiled terrorist attack.

Our job was to find Loman, and right now the only living lead to him was Benjamin Wallace. Briggs and Rafferty had been charged with possession of unregistered firearms and drugs—the coke they’d had stashed in their cookie jar. They had a lawyer now and hadn’t said a word about Loman.

Wallace was shaky. Was he ready to give it all up?

The door opened, and Conklin settled Wallace back into the plastic chair across from us. Then Conklin started asking questions about Loman’s recruiter, Russell. Had Wallace ever met him? Wallace said he had, once. Conklin asked him what Russell looked like, what he sounded like, when he’d said he would pay Wallace his fifteen thousand dollars.

Wallace answered that Russell was above-average height and had dark hair, a pointed nose, and unaccented speech. That he seemed nice. And smart. And that Russell was going to pay everyone off when they got to the van.

I studied everything about Wallace.

I listened to his vocal inflections and observed his body language, eye movements, looking for tells, for lies. I was checking him against all the hundreds of interrogations I’d done, trying to discern if he