Chapter 32: Ashes, Ashes, They All Fall Down
San Francisco General Hospital
Cho woke with a jerk in the dark, disoriented and exhausted. His back was killing him, shoulders and neck stiff. Dawn was breaking so he must have slept a few hours. The germicidal scent indicated hospital. Memory flooded his groggy awareness at sight of the slight figure sleeping in the bed.
Late night call with bad news. No commercial flights. Hitched a lift on a military jet. Rental car to San Francisco County General ... where Ma was admitted for a stroke.
Critical treatment decisions had long been made and executed by the time he arrived. His mother had received tPA. The clot-busting medicine was life saving for ischemic strokes, but deadly if administered to a hemorrhagic stroke victim. This time the diagnosis was correct and prognosis good. Staff bent the rules and let him stay after he promised not to wake her. He mulled the information he'd extracted from the doctor and nurses. "Good" was a heavily qualified term. The tPA prevented devastating permanent disability by saving brain cells. But regaining most function would take weeks of therapy, first in the hospital and later as an outpatient.
While he was in Texas.
Responsible for a case extraordinarily important to the society he'd sworn to protect.
He suppressed a groan as he stiffly rose, and satisfied himself that his mother still slept peacefully. He kissed her cheek and quietly left to make a call.
Grand Junction, Iowa
Rigsby flung an arm out and felt for his burner cell on the nightstand. The display told him it was 7:30 a.m. And that it was Cho.
Softly, "Hey, man. Let me get to the kitchen to talk." Rigsby put his cell on speaker then started coffee and put an english muffin in the toaster. "Go 'head."
"In a bind, need your help."
"What's up?"
"My mom had a stroke. San Fran General–"
"-Geez, how is she?"
"Should recover. Mostly. It'll take weeks." Gritting his teeth, "I cannot be here."
Disbelieving, "No family crisis leave?"
Swallowing audibly, "I planned the operation. Happening soon."
"Oh." After a moment, "I've been covering vacations for the sheriff's department, but nothing I can't get out of. –Do you need Grace too?"
There was a pause. "Yes. Wouldn't ask if–"
"It's fine. Tell me the details so I can fill her in."
An hour later Rigsby had resigned from his temporary post with the sheriff, kids were dressed and fed, and Grace was packing for the trip back. Her parents hovered nervously. The senior Van Pelt's feared it was too risky to return to San Francisco, but their daughter and son-in-law were firm. They would be back in San Francisco that night. Their business was in shambles and Blake was a threat. But they wouldn't refuse Cho's rare request for help.
They got Lisbon's burner cell call on the way to the airport.
"Hi, Boss." Van Pelt put it on speaker.
"Our mutual friend is gone and we're worried. Do you–"
"Yeah, he's in Frisco because of his mom. Said he left you a note."
"Thank God. Not the conspiracy then."
Jane interjected, "His mother?"
Van Pelt took breath, realizing they didn't know any of this. "The hospital called late yesterday. His mother had a stroke. Cadged a seat on a military jet to Frisco."
"Prognosis?"
"He says she was treated in time to make a good recovery. It'll take weeks. We're going back to help out."
Silence for a minute. "He's returning here then?"
Abruptly, "Says he has to, being key on the coming operation."
"Wish he wasn't, but he is. Okay. Keep us in the loop, huh?"
Rigsby spoke up from the driver's seat, "Hey, Boss. Can you tell us anything? We'll deal with everything else, but we're bringing the kids. I'm worried."
Lisbon answered carefully, "I can't provide details but it won't be long. You know he wouldn't have asked your help otherwise."
Rigsby sighed. "Okay. Be careful getting the bastards."
"Always. I'm gonna enjoy this. Talk to you soon."
"Bye."
San Francisco General Hospital
Cho's cell vibrated. He suppressed a flash of anger when he glanced at the display. Damn. He has the plan, knows about my mom. He can't give me one day?! He ignored it and continued talking quietly in Korean to his mother. It was mostly a one-sided conversation as her left side was paralyzed. He kept reminding himself: Temporarily.
He summoned the courage to explain how the Rigsby's would be helping her in the next days to weeks. She knew even better than he did: There was no one else. His aunts and uncles were beset with serious problems of their own. One cousin was serving in the military overseas. Another lived cross country with four pre-school children. The others were in high school or even younger. A relative from Korea was living in the bay area while attending Berkeley, but she was only 17 and in no position to help.
As always, his mother "understood." She always understood, always placed him and his career first. It helped that she had long known of his former partner and best friend – a brother in every way but blood. But he couldn't get the scared, vulnerable expression in her eyes out of his head. His ill, elderly mother who spoke only broken English would have to rely on people she had only met a few times, people from another generation and another culture.
He took the last flight back to Austin. For the first time he regretted sticking with the SCU for so long. Yes, they finally got Red John and exposed nationwide corruption in law enforcement. But now he was paying a price for repeatedly forgoing team leadership, waiting so long to apply to the FBI. New to the FBI, he was in no position to arrange a post in San Francisco where career wouldn't so cruelly conflict with family obligations. He would fulfill his duty on this operation. Then he'd relocate to northern California as soon as possible, career be damned. He didn't look forward to telling Lisbon and Jane.
FBI, Austin, Tuesday
Tuesday began like an ordinary day till everyone working Blake was summoned to a meeting in a secure room.
Abbott addressed the 16 working on Blake. "Today we will arrest the suspected Blake leaders. The sealed envelopes being passed out by Cho provide details on your assigned targets including arrest warrants. Most of you are going after Blake leaders based in California. After your flight, you will connect with local LEO's providing assistance. A team of three or more plus you will apprehend each suspect. The Blake leaders generally are not active in field work – supervisory officers, judges, attorneys, and so on. Regardless, assume your target is armed and dangerous and take standard precautions. A few require full SWAT protocol, which will be identified in your packet." He spoke slowly for emphasis. "Once the target is identified, you and the local officers will remain in each other's company until the arrest. No telephone calls. No exceptions."
An agent raised his hand. "Sir, how confident are you the LEO's providing assistance are not part of Blake?"
"I made every effort to hand pick LEO's who are above suspicion. At least three LEO's are assigned to assist each of you. Should one be corrupt, the likelihood is great the others will not be. Finally, we are using officers from jurisdictions different from the Blake target. The locals will not know the target until you arrive." He paused and looked around the room. "These are the best precautions we could devise. Risk remains. Be alert to anything that doesn't feel right. Use your judgment in balancing the assignment with safety. Clear?" A murmur went around the room.
Abbot continued. "Our team obviously cannot participate in every arrest of all 200 targets. The US Deputy Director has requisitioned agents from field offices and their branches who have not been working Blake. They will learn the identity of their targets just before the takedown time."
Another raised hand. "Where do we hold the suspect after arrest?"
"The nearest FBI field office. Details are in the packet."
"After the operation?"
"The arrest will initiate the suspect's journey through the Federal justice system. There will be significant work after the arrests. Many of you will be away from Austin for an extended period. You may inform spouses or others only after today's operation."
"Get your away gear and weapon and meet by the rear lobby. We leave in 15 minutes."
The meeting broke up. Abbott spoke with Agent Pike who would oversee the Austin office till Abbott returned.
The group assembled near the rear exit and waited for Abbott. Special purpose FBI vehicles parked in a secured lot enclosed by cyclone fencing topped with razor wire. Cho had the key fobs for two vans for the trip to the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. Lisbon's hand paused him before he exited.
"Cho," she murmured, "use the remote from here." He pressed the remotes and the doors unlocked on first one van then the other. "-And the ignition," she added. The first van rumbled to life. He pressed the remote start for the other and–
**BOOM**
All dived to the ground, covering their heads. Flames shot into the air from a new 20' crater. One van was obliterated, the other engulfed in flame. Deafened, skin tingling from ferocious heat, they slowly rose, dazed. Cho and others brushed off a shower of sparkling glass. The concrete wall had absorbed the shock wave and shrapnel. The safety glass door fragmented into rounded crumbles instead of lethal shards.
Cho shouted, "Call the fire department! Anyone hurt?" They couldn't hear, but the question was obvious. Cho looked at each in turn. No one was injured. Abbott appeared, swore and turned back to issue orders to other personnel.
Agent Pike took charge of the chaos, coordinating with the fire department, local PD, and press. Amazingly, the explosion and fire did no damage beyond the FBI lot thanks to the area's seclusion. Pike stressed to the press that there were no injuries but refused further comment until the explosion could be investigated. Before he left, Abbott authorized Pike to call spouses of the Blake team to provide reassurance despite the operation's secrecy.
Twenty-three minutes later the team was on its way to the airport in a rented van.
2:30 p.m., Pacific Time, Western US
- The bailiff opened the door and Judge Manchester watched in amazement as colleague Judge Parker was hustled past in handcuffs.
- An assistant DA in Las Vegas was apprehended during an afternoon liaison with a working girl.
- Madeline Hightower's coffee cup dropped and shattered as three LEO's interrupted her budget meeting to arrest Colin Cowell, the CIB team leader for organized crime. She blinked. Organized crime. Damn Blake roaches! A bad day got worse. The man she was about to hire to head Internal Affairs was also arrested.
- The head of the task force was arrested while working on a plan to prevent corruption in the Seattle PD.
- Bret Stiles genially welcomed the FBI team headed by Agent Lisbon at the Sacramento Visualize headquarters. He and Jason Cooper led them to a meeting room in which six of the 203 people Stiles had listed were held by Visualize security, including Caleb Grainger.
- The state senator representing LA was pulled over and arrested on his way to the airport.
- Gabe Mancini grimly watched as two of his senior Sacramento FBI agents were arrested by Agent Cho's team.
- The commander for the Arizona DEA was having lunch with a Mexican drug cartel representative. Both were arrested.
- The San Diego medical examiner was interrupted during an autopsy. Agent Dilulio wounded him when he lunged with a scalpel.
By the end of the day, 194 of the 203 suspects were in custody. BOLO's were issued for the remaining nine. Abbott's team remained to interrogate the Blake suspects. The sheer number meant they would be in the field for several days. Each suspect would be interrogated by two agents at least once.
Hotel, Sacramento
Work day over, Lisbon closed the hotel room door and collapsed on the couch followed shortly by Jane. The morning's explosion, long flight, and dangerous op had caught up with them.
She nudged his shoulder. "We did it! Broke the back of Blake."
"Yes we did."
She didn't even mind the smug thread of satisfaction in his voice. "Everyone's safe. We can get on with our lives."
"Mmm." He raised a golden eyebrow and looked at her slyly out of the corner of his eye. "And what's 'getting on with your life' mean to you, my dear?"
She shrugged a little, dissembling. "Just – living without worrying so much."
"Preferably in California." It wasn't a question.
She tipped her head, "Feels more like home. But – it's only a few more years in Texas for you." She hastily corrected, "Us."
He draped his arm over her shoulders and shifted to partly face her. "So we head back here when we can?"
Her heart gave a glad thump at the 'we.' "Yeah." She startled at the sound of his cell phone.
"Jane ... Be down in a minute." He kissed her cheek and rose. "Gotta go."
"Wait – what? Where?"
"I rented a car. Need to make a quick trip and then we'll go to dinner. See if Tin Thai is as good as we remember." He was already at the door.
"Jane, where are you going?"
"To see Bret Stiles."
She sat up, frowning. "I should come then."
"I have a better chance learning what I need alone. –It's perfectly safe, Lisbon."
She peered at him a moment, then relented. "Go then. I'm sending in search parties if you're not back by six."
"Six it is."
San Francisco General, San Francisco
Cho slid his tray onto the table in the hospital cafeteria and joined the Rigsby's. Taylor slept in her carrier between Rigsby and Van Pelt. Sarah and her new husband had picked Ben up that morning.
Van Pelt said encouragingly, "Your mom's making progress. Movement on her left side, clearer speech. The doctor and therapist are optimistic."
Rigsby nodded his agreement as he scrutinized his friend. Cho, who never let anything show, was visibly exhausted and frayed around the edges. Rigsby clapped him on the shoulder. "It's okay, Cho. Getting better."
Cho allowed himself to slump slightly then shook himself and straightened. "I'm obligated till this case is over. How long can you help?"
Van Pelt, soothingly. "We live here. As long as you need."
Desperate for concrete information, Rigsby asked, "Today was the take-down. How'd it go?"
Cho looked around to be sure they weren't overheard. "Arrested all but nine of the 203. Two weeks of follow-up interrogations. Then it's prosecution's headache."
"That's it – Blake's over?"
Cho nodded. "Whoever we missed will be busy saving his own skin."
Van Pelt, "Then what? –For you, I mean."
Deep breath. "I'll relocate back here."
Surprised, "Reassigned that fast?"
"I'm quitting."
Stunned, Rigsby was the first to speak. "Don't do it, man. You wanted this for years."
"Need to be able to live with myself even more. FBI doesn't trump my family."
Van Pelt tried. "Cho, work the system – get Jane to help. You planned this operation and it went off perfectly. They'll want to keep you."
Cho rubbed his neck uneasily. "There's other stuff. Don't trust Abbott. Even more bureaucratic than the CBI."
They exchanged glances. Rigsby pressed, "Promise me you'll think about it for a few weeks." After a moment Cho gave a stiff nod.
Cho took a few bites and changed the subject. "What about you? –Your business?"
"Back to square one. To be expected after we disappeared for three months."
Cho frowned. "So?"
Van Pelt answered, "Hightower offered us jobs. Head of arson and head of computer crimes."
"Gonna take it?"
Rigsby nodded, "Think so. Our best option at this point."
Cho pinned him with his gaze. "You can work with Hightower?"
"Yeah. It's not charity." Cho scowled at his partner's eternal insecurity, till Rigsby surprised him. "I know we'll do a good job. More important, Hightower does too. The fact she'd hired one Blake member and was about to hire another scared her."
A grin struggled to escape as Cho leaned back. He tried and failed to imagine Hightower running scared, then enjoyed quiet satisfaction that his old partner had finally gained the self-confidence he deserved. Fatherhood and founding a successful business gave him that.
"Think she has room for one more?"
Van Pelt smiled coyly. "Sure of it. After today she asked LaRoche to head IA!"
Cho cracked a smile. "Never thought that would happen. Why?"
"Rumor is she said she couldn't stand him after he targeted her for Todd Johnson's murder. But she's sure he isn't Blake and this time she's on top."
Cho wiped the unfortunate image from his mind. "Old home week. Will he take it?"
Rigsby nodded. "Yeah. IA for SFPD was a big step down after the CBI was dismantled."
It was 9 p.m. before they left the hospital. Cho's friends urged him to stay with them, but he had interrogations starting early the next day and he drove back to Sacramento.
Visualize, Sacramento
"Patrick. I was expecting you," Bret Stiles said as he stirred his tea, resplendent in an iconic cream colored suit. He motioned Jane to serve himself from the sideboard and take a chair.
Jane took his time preparing tea. "Then you know why I'm here."
"I prefer you voice your desires. More civilized, don't you agree?"
They sipped tea in silence. Jane finally ventured, "How many are left?"
"My sources tell me you got 194 of the 203 I listed. Bravo." With a slight smile, "I believe that leaves nine."
"And how many more that you didn't list?"
"Oh, Patrick, you really are overly suspicious. Must be the law enforcement company you keep." Carefully, "As I said, there are only nine surviving Blake leaders I know of."
"And the ones who didn't survive?"
"Why you know better than I about McAllister and Bertram."
Jane rolled his eyes but let it drop. "So I needn't worry that more Blake vermin will inconveniently appear?"
"I truly do not think so. Life will be much calmer now that the FBI dismantled Blake." He sipped then added, "Thank you."
"About the other part of our agreement..." Stiles remained silent, forcing Jane to speak. "You'll help Abbott advance?"
Stiles waved his teacup gently, "I will do what I can." He paused dramatically.
"But?"
"But your Agent Abbott seems to have some skeletons to address." Jane blinked, expression unchanged. Stiles continued with a sharper edge. "Some inconvenient history will likely surface during the vetting process for his lovely wife Leah's promotion. ... I cannot remedy that."
Delicately, "What sorts of skeletons?"
"Old ones." He gave a nonchalant wave. "Something about an incident on the Mexican border. –I'm sure you can get to the bottom of that."
"And after I deal with those 'skeletons'?"
"Why I think Dennis Abbott is an examplary public servant. His highly visible success dismantling Blake would naturally lead to rapid career progress."
"To DC?"
"Do you care?"
"Not really. Just out of Texas."
"That can be arranged." Stiles moved to end the meeting, then leaned back as he gathered Jane wasn't done.
"Dennis Abbott still dreams of your arrest, you know."
Stiles shrugged. "Not surprising. Irrelevant since he will never get an excuse to act."
Jane looked at him for a long moment then rose. "Illuminating, Bret. I'll find my way out."
"Good day, Patrick."
Sacramento
Jane walked into their hotel room at 5:45.
Lisbon looked up from the newspaper. "How'd it go?"
"Fine." At her inquiring gaze, "There likely aren't more Blake leaders – other than the nine we know about."
"Stiles told you that?"
"You know Stiles."
"So not in so many words. –What else?"
"Dennis Abbott may have some inconvenient history."
She blinked. "Like what?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. But I'll poke around and find out."
She stood, faced scrunched in dismay, "Not blackmail! Promise you're not planning that."
He kissed her. Mildly, "Of course not."
She closed her eyes and set it aside. "We're invited to dinner by Hightower."
"Oh?"
"She offered Wayne and Grace jobs heading their own teams. Apparently Blake was trying to reestablish itself in the new CIB
Calmly, "Naturally. Create a new organization and Blake will want to colonize it. Did you accept her invitation?"
"You make it sound scientific. Um, yes I did accpet. We can get out of it if you–"
"Not at all. I'd enjoy seeing Madeline."
"You have half an hour before we have to leave."
An hour later Lisbon pulled up to the large, graceful house surrounded by wrought iron fencing. She glanced at Jane in the passenger seat and thought about how different it was from last time. The gates silently opened after she identified herself on the intercom.
Hightower rose and lightly hugged Lisbon. Jane pecked her on the cheek and handed her the bottle of wine. Hightower's eyes widened in appreciation when she glanced at the label, then she turned her attention to her guests. "Teresa, Patrick, welcome. You're both looking good." And they were: Healthier, happier, less stressed. Finally!
The maid provided their preferred refreshments and they seated themselves in her exquisitely decorated yet comfortable sitting room.
"I'm glad you could join me. You're obviously here for the Blake operation?"
"Yes. Finished except a week or two of interrogations," answered Lisbon.
She leaned forward, "How confident are you you got them all?"
Jane responded, "Very. Bret Stiles provided the list of Blake leaders."
She tilted her head. With a small smile, "That must have been an interesting conversation." Jane just smiled. Briskly, "Perhaps you've heard. Wayne Rigsby and Grace Van Pelt will be heading teams in the CIB.
"Yes, they mentioned it to Cho–"
"-Who mentioned it to you. They left San Francisco shortly after the first Blake attacks but are back in the area now."
Lisbon gave rein to her curiosity, "Thought ex-CBI agents were politically toxic."
Hightower waved that away. "Two, almost three years is an eternity in politics. Frankly, the chance to recruit good agents who I know are honest is irresistible." She sipped her wine. "Ever think about coming back to California? Rejoining the CIB?"
Jane leaned back, deferring to Lisbon. "Sure, it's crossed my mind." Lisbon shrugged and shook her head a little. "It's moot since I'll be in Texas with Jane several more years."
Hightower turned to Jane. "No way to work around that?"
Lisbon replied before Jane could. "I need to work with Jane as long as he's there."
Jane added, "Afterward is a different story."
"So you both want to return to California?"
Jane let Lisbon answer. "Probably." Simply, "It's home. But there's a lot of time between now and when that will be possible."
"I see."
Conversation turned to all the changes in California law enforcement during the time Lisbon and Jane had been away. Hightower extolled the advantages of a fresh start. Of course the new CIB needed a clean break from the CBI corruption. But also it was Hightower's opportunity to modernize, to focus resources where most valuable rather than being hampered by past decisions and politics. She was grateful not to have any connection to Bertram's sordid past, much of which only came to light as an army of FBI agents sifted through the cases, and records, and bureau finances.
Dinner was perfect. They expected no less from Madeline Hightower. They had just finished dessert when Hightower received a call.
Glancing at the number, "I have to take this, excuse me." She moved away from the table and spoke quietly. At one point she stilled and took a deep breath. Shortly after the call ended.
Expression grave, "I have to go to a murder scene-"
Both rose, "–Of course. We can–"
With a level gaze, "–You might want to accompany me."
Both frowned, puzzled. "Madeline? Why do you say that?"
She licked her lips and blinked. "This may have more to do with you than me or the CIB." She wouldn't say more. After exchanging glances, they decided to go with on the strength of Hightower's suggestion.
Forty minutes later Lisbon and Jane pulled up behind Hightower's CIB SUV. A, rambling, modern mansion sat atop bluffs high above the river, surrounded by the better part of a square mile of forested land. A Bentley gleamed in the driveway, as different from police cruisers as a thoroughbred from draft horses. Jane gave it another good look as they passed by on the way to the mansion. A glance through windows in the four-car garage revealed a Ferrari and Lamborghini as well. Jane smiled, thinking that the cars alone made it worth the trip.
Hightower was approached by the LEO managing the scene. After a brief conversation she turned to Lisbon and Jane. "Death occurred at least two days ago. But it isn't gory."
Jane appreciated the heads up, especially after having eaten. Hightower's words turned out to be little preparation after all. The medical examiner gave a matter-of-fact commentary, explaining that the bluish-purple lividity and degree of bloating meant the man had died one to two days earlier. There was no obvious cause of death. What had brought the matter to Hightower's attention was the fingerprint match done using a smart phone – standard equipment in the new CIB.
Ray Haffner hadn't died in the Malibu explosion after all.