Chapter 5: Take Down

Cho

Cho walked silently toward Jane's attic lair, folder with the DNA analyses in hand. The report showed Stiles and Haffner weren't related. Stiles was related to the third, unidentified sample, "X."

They'd fallen into an easy competition over whether Cho could arrive without Jane noticing. Jane usually won. The attic's sliding barn door was open a few inches. Jane must have been distracted when he got here. Not for the first time, Cho reflected that the awkward door instantly put him at a disadvantage when he dared invade Jane's domain.

"...old warehouse, Carson Springs. Meet in one hour. Alone," came the voice from Jane's CBI cell, on speaker-phone on the makeshift bed. Jane snapped it shut as Cho sidled in. Jane finished tugging his pant leg down, dropped his right foot to the floor from the bed and turned to face Cho. Cho stopped dead, catching sight of the 10" square wooden box on the bed.

Max Winter gave Jane his Glock encased in that box. Jane helped Winter get out of murder charges by pointing out that any prosecution case would be embarrassingly and hopelessly flawed. Winter's greater gift was the assurance that years of meticulous planning to avenge the murder of his wife had all been worth it. Jane killed Timothy Carter with the Glock. It was returned after the trial found Jane not guilty on all charges. Then, two months ago, Jane asked Cho to teach him to shoot. Cho agreed once Jane proved he had passed the required written exam and that the gun was registered. Since then, Jane achieved basic competence with the Glock.

The box was Cho's undoing.

"Jane? Meet who in an hour?"

"Sean Barlow. He wants to talk. Must have taken a flight to get here so fast. Will you back me up?"

"We need the team. I'll call."

Angry, curt. "No time. Let's go."

"No."

Jane feinted a move toward the box. Cho got there faster. Jane ducked out, slid the door shut and got the padlock on. Cho slammed into the door too late. He swore, checked for his phone, and swore some more. Jane had lifted his phone. Worse, the box was empty.

Jane took the stairs down two at a time. He paused to get a large paper clip from Van Pelt's desk and poked it through his shirt sleeve, just above the cuff. He was out of the building and speeding toward Carson Springs within a minute.

Lisbon

Lisbon returned to the CBI building 30 minutes after her team meeting ended. No one was around. She went to the break room for coffee, planning on having a cup and a word with Jane before calling it a night.

Gunshot!

Lisbon dropped the coffee and drew her weapon. God help me! The sound came from the attic. Half way up the stairs she heard Cho. A few more feet and she made out what he was saying. She ran to the door and warned Cho away. She shot the padlock off and slid the door open.

"Jane's meeting Barlow in Carson Springs in an hour. He wouldn't wait."

"What was the gunshot?"

"Jane lifted my phone. Only way I could attract attention."

"Damn it!."

Back on her floor, Lisbon opened the weapons locker and grabbed suitable guns. Each carried two guns and boxes of ammunition.

In the elevator she asked, "Where in Carson Springs?"

"He just said, 'Old warehouse.'"

She handed him her burner phone. "Call Rigsby and Van Pelt. Get them on the road to Carson Springs."

Lisbon used her CBI phone to call Pete Turner. After working with Jane for a decade, she stored his key numbers in her phone as well as her own. No answer.

The elevator finally reached ground level and they ran to the CBI SUV. A quick check verified it was equipped with Kevlar vests, flash-bangs, flashlights, and other materiel.

Cho drove. Sirens and lights cleared local traffic till they were on the interstate north. Rigsby and Van Pelt would take a second CBI SUV. Fortunately, Rigsby's baby sitter could stay with his son.

Van Pelt called Lisbon. She had a trace on Jane's burner phone. Lisbon was momentarily relieved. Jane was half-an-hour ahead. The trace could disappear any moment if Jane, Barlow, or God knows who tossed the phone.

Lisbon tried Pete again. "Pete? Teresa Lisbon. I need your help. Jane is meeting with Sean Barlow and is in danger... Pete, he'll end up dead if you don't help... Barlow told him 'old warehouse' in Carson Springs. Any idea where that is?... 4239 Mountain Drive, right... Can you describe it? Anything will help... Okay. Thank you. God bless. I'll let you know when it's over."

She briefed Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt by phone on the little Pete told her. Then she called Abbott to request back up. Abbott agreed to send four agents. They would be a little behind her team. Lisbon had done everything she could for the time being. She leaned back, eyes closed, and breathed deeply. Calm would help her think clearly and act effectively.

Traffic was light on the interstate. Cho hazarded a question, even though he was driving well above the speed limit. "Why Abbott?" They were still a good 40 minutes from Carson Springs.

"Who else? Local cops could be Blake or even Visualize. We don't have a lot of options." Cho grunted his acknowledgment.

"Boss, sorry I let Jane trick me."

"It's not the first time." She bit back the rest because it could very well be the last time if things didn't go well.

"Son of a bitch. Why does he do that? Damn reckless fool!"

Lisbon sighed. "He is a reckless fool. But he has a reason. The FBI wants in on Red John. Abbott thinks there's a connection with Blake."

"So did we till last week. Crap. They'll screw everything up."

"That's what Jane said."

"So this is make or break."

"Yeah. We finish this now. Or, we lose it all."

Jane

Jane pulled up to the warehouse and got out, closing the car door quietly. He circled the tall, metal building, new leather uncomfortably rubbing his right ankle and calf as he walked. As he remembered from his carny days, the only windows were high off the ground, maximizing security and wall space for storage, as befitted a warehouse. A few cars were haphazardly parked in the vast, dirt field. None he recognized. Daylight was fading. The only sounds were the chirping of a few early crickets, the cooing of birds as they settled down to sleep, and the restless susurrus of distant traffic. The huge roll-up doors were closed and locked.

Jane found the side door unlocked. Opening it a quarter of an inch, he could see no lights inside. He silently shoved the door open a foot and slid in off to the side. Then he froze at the feel of cold metal against his temple.

"Patrick, welcome." Jane recognized Sean Barlow's voice. He was shoved against the wall and handed a pair of handcuffs. With the door closed, the darkness was complete.

"Face the wall. Put these on behind your back." Jane did so. Barlow ratcheted the cuffs down till they were uncomfortably tight. He took Jane's cell phone from his vest and his gun from his jacket pocket as he patted down his torso. Then he gripped Jane's arm, led him fifty feet into the building and shoved him down into a chair. A naked bulb flared to life as Barlow dragged night vision goggles off his face. The light only emphasized the vast, mostly empty space. Too feeble to reach the walls, the light pooled around Jane in a 30 foot circle. Barlow used a second set of cuffs to chain Jane to the chair.

"What do you want, Sean?"

Barlow leaned back against a metal post.

"You figured out most of it, Patrick. Clever. That mediocrity of a father could never have sired you. You know that, right? Alex found out when your mother died. I told Red John. He was a little jealous, I think."

"How did Eileen figure in?"

"I want the baby. The whore dies and Roddy Turner's framed for the murder. It was a pleasant coincidence that Red John wanted to mess with you. I was at the carnival and saw you that day. Told Red John your fond memory."

"What do you want from me?"

"I've already gotten most of what I want, my boy. I got my revenge upon Alex after that business deal. I would have left you alone." Barlow began to pace from nervous energy. "Except for Jimmy."

"I didn't kill Jimmy."

Barlow turned and back-handed Jane across the face, his heavy ring splitting the skin over Jane's right cheekbone. "You jacked my car for a joy ride. And then he died when you stalled it on the tracks! He died in the train wreck."

Head ringing from the blow, Jane's breath came quick and harsh with emotion. His eyes bored into Barlow's. "Jimmy hot-wired your convertible. I told him it was a bad idea. He stalled it. He tried a long time to start it, afraid of what you'd do. Then he got out and ran. I told him to run toward the train, I told him! The train hit the car and debris killed him. There was nothing I could do."

"I knew I'd get my revenge. You'd do the psychic con, do readings for the police for the credibility and publicity. Either a murderer would kill you. Or I'd have you killed and blame it on him. But it was so much better. I know Red John. He took everything that made your life worth living. Just like you cost me my son."

"We'll catch Red John. And his accomplices."

Barlow smiled warmly, countering, "He'll kill your friends then vanish like smoke."

"Killing me won't stop the investigation."

Sarcastically, "If the great Boy Wonder can't catch him, who will after you're dead? Now I leave you to Red John's gentle friendship. Then you'll have paid in full for my son. Good-bye, Patrick." Barlow spat on Jane's face, turned on his heel and left. The door closed after him with a click.

Jane focused on controlling his breathing, clearing his head. It was a shock when Haffner stepped into the light. Knowing Haffner's location, Jane began working the paperclip out of his cuff.

"Jane," he said almost conversationally, "I warned you there'd be a comeuppance."

"Why kill my wife and daughter? It should have been me."

"A lesson in humility." Haffner's eyes glittered dangerously. "In Vegas, I would have embraced you, let you share my following like a brother. You refused my generosity. For what? The cretins you call friends? That just proves you're unworthy."

"You're raving, Haffner. You kill innocent women and children. You're a twisted, perverted sociopath–" Haffner unsheathed his knife and whipped it across Jane's chest. Jane cried out and panted at the pain. The shallow gash oozed red down his shirt and vest. Mastering the pain, he finished, "–a killer worth not one life you've taken."

Haffner leaned close and whispered, "Who are you to judge, you arrogant liar and fraud? You have no idea how much I've overcome, what I've accomplished. Where are your followers? Who's willing to die for you?" He stepped back several paces, regarding Jane with open contempt.

"Death is all you know. You call me a fraud? You give the damaged and vulnerable something they desperately want. All you demand in return is their life. You killed Miranda to make Lorelei vulnerable. What did your love get Lorelei but death?"

Haffner whirled and flung his knife. The blade buried itself to the hilt in Jane's left arm. Jane screamed in pain. Hands finally free, he pulled the knife out and dropped it.

The lone bulb died, plunging the warehouse into jet black. The side door crashed open. Footsteps pounding. Clattering of the chair falling. Metal rattling on concrete. Just as suddenly, all lights flicked on, brilliantly lighting the warehouse. Haffner yelled in agony, tearing his night vision goggles off.

"Police! Drop it, Haffner!" ordered Lisbon.

Jane rose to face Haffner, gun drawn from an ankle holster missed by Barlow. Lisbon, Cho and Van Pelt trained their guns on Haffner. Jane held his fire for a beat through near-superhuman self-control. Still blinded, Haffner lifted his gun and fired one wild round. Bullets from four guns tore through his chest. He was dead before hitting the floor. Cho stepped over and nudged the body like he would rotting road kill, confirming he was at last truly dead.

Jane lowered his arm and dropped the gun. He stood trembling from adrenaline and shock, pupils dilated, hyper-stimulated in every fiber. He staggered over to Haffner and stood looking down, chest heaving, not noticing the blood dripping from his left hand and soaking his shirt and vest. Lisbon took his right arm to gently lead him away. Jane abruptly pulled free, pivoted and gave the body a swift kick, crushing the left side of Haffner's face. She grabbed him again, righted the chair, and made him sit down. She undid the first few buttons of his vest and shirt, relieved to see the chest wound was shallow. The stab wound was deep. No artery was severed or blood would be spraying across the room rather than dripping down his arm. Jane sat, dazed and silent.

"Cho, get a medical kit. We need to staunch the bleeding. Get an ambulance here." She pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and scooped up Haffner's knife and pocketed it.

Rigsby came in with Sean Barlow and cuffed him to a support post. He went to stand behind Van Pelt and hugged her. Rigsby pulled her back from Haffner's body just in time. Her spit landed next to instead of on the face. The ME would be able to tell Jane's abuse happened after Haffner was dead. It would be better not to have to explain Van Pelt's DNA on his face as well.

Van Pelt finally said, "That's for O'Laughlin." Rigsby drew back, confused and hurt. She caught sight of his expression, sympathy instantly aroused for her husband. "Wayne, no, no. I'm not sorry for O'Laughlin. I'm furious Red John put him up to it, tricked me, and almost killed three of us." She turned and allowed him to hug her before she straightened her shoulders and attempted to regain her professional poise.

Lisbon patted her arm and murmured, "It's okay, Grace."

Abbott's team arrived too late for the action. But the fresh agents were able to secure the crime scene and collect evidence. The ME was on his way. The FBI agents would take Barlow to be locked up in a CBI holding cell for further questioning. Van Pelt and Rigsby left shortly after for Sacramento, followed by Cho in the other SUV. Jane's injuries required treatment but were not life‑threatening. After reassuring Jane she would meet him at the hospital, Lisbon followed the ambulance in the Citroen for the ten minute drive.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, Lisbon took a moment before going in. Head resting against the steering wheel, she fingered her cross and said a prayer of thanks. They had come out on the other side of Red John. No one on her team died or was seriously injured. The kill was justified. No prison, or need for Jane to flee. And Red John was dead.

Finally.