The Inside Man Page 4

  The class immediately quieted.

  The door was opened by a short middle-aged woman with round Harry Potter–like glasses. “Oh, that was quick. Mister Yoder?”

  He nodded, leaned down and whispered, “This will just take a second, okay?”

  “Of course. Please, come in.”

  The teacher led him in front of a group of three and four-year olds, all sitting cross-legged in a half-circle. She snapped her fingers three times, and in a surprisingly commanding voice for someone her size, she said, “Okay, students, we have a visitor who needs to ask a very important question. I want you to show him how responsible you are and give him all of your attention. This is Mister Yoder. Class, what do we say to visitors?”

  The kids all yelled, “Good morning, Mister Yoder.”

  “Hello, class.” Levi smiled and pulled a pencil from his suit pocket. There was a trick he’d learned when training dogs on his parents’ farm, and he figured it might work with these kids. “Can everybody see this pencil?”

  “Yes,” they all responded enthusiastically.

  “Okay, I want you to keep your eyes on this pencil and when it stops moving, I’m going to ask an important question. Here goes…”

  He slowly moved the pencil back and forth until every kids’ eyes were following it. When it floated in front of Levi’s nose, he stopped and asked, “Has anyone seen June Wilson since you left school on Friday?”

  Levi focused on each kid’s expression, looking for any unusual reaction: their eyes darting away, the child’s body tensing suddenly. Anything to suggest they were keeping a secret. But the only reaction he got was confusion. Heads shook and a few kids said “no.”

  One of the kids asked, “Is she sick?”

  Levi smiled at the blonde girl who’d asked the question. “No, she just had to go somewhere for a little bit. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” He addressed the class, “Thank you for letting me visit.”

  The teacher snapped her fingers twice. “What do we say to Mister Yoder?”

  The kids all responded in unison, “Thank you for visiting, Mister Yoder.”

  Levi waved at the kids, gave the teacher a nod, and walked out of the classroom.

  “I hope Denny gets somewhere with those video records,” he grumbled to himself.

  As he left the building and walked across the parking lot to his car, three unmarked sedans with flashing lights on their dashboards came flying up over the curb and nearly ran him over.

  Their doors flew open and multiple voices yelled, “Hands up!”

  Before he knew it, he had a half-dozen men with guns trained on him.

  Levi lifted his arms above his head.

  Three men with FBI windbreakers approached and slammed him to the ground. The side of Levi’s face connected with the pavement, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to fight back. One man trained his nine-millimeter Glock at his head, and another had his knee in the small of his back. Within seconds, they’d clamped cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

  “Shut up,” was the only reply he got.

  One of the men frisked Levi, then they lifted him up and dumped him into the back seat one of the dark-gray Crown Victoria sedans. Two men sat on either side of him, sandwiching him in, and the car pulled away from the school.

  Levi’s cheek burned from the scrape he’d received on the pavement. He rubbed it against his shoulder and growled, “Can someone tell me why the hell you’ve picked me up? I haven’t done anything.”

  The agent sitting in the front passenger seat turned and gave him a venomous glare. “You have no idea?”

  “None. If you’re arresting me, I expect there’s some kind of charge. Why’d you guys pick me up?”

  Over the last year, Levi had dealt a lot with federal law enforcement. They’d used him to help nab some crooked feds who were dabbling in underage sex trafficking. They were usually pretty level-headed, but this crew was pissed.

  He shrugged his right shoulder to work out a cramp and the agent on his right gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

  “Oh, sorry about that,” the agent grumbled insincerely.

  “Well? Am I going to hear any reason why you guys have picked me up?”

  The agent in the front scowled. “Sure, why not. We got a call about a man half the Bureau’s been looking for, and lo and behold, you were exactly where they said you’d be.”

  Levi frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would anyone be looking for me? This has to be some kind of mistake. What have I supposedly done?”

  The agent on Levi’s left looked like he was going to spit in Levi’s face. “Special Agent Bruce Wei. Special Agent Tony Mendoza. Special Agent Tran Nguyen.”

  Levi shrugged. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

  The agent’s jaw muscles clenched, and he glared daggers at Levi. “They were all murdered while off-duty, one of them in front of their kids.” A cold smile creased his stone-like expression. “We have reports of someone matching your description at the scenes. Buddy, you’re up against three first-degree murder raps.”

  Chapter Three

  Levi’s arms were cuffed behind his back, and his shoulders throbbed. He was seated on a metal chair, bolted to the floor, in front of a table with a brown Formica top. His holding cell, a six-by-ten-foot room with drab gray walls, was otherwise empty. And it was cold—very cold. Not quite cold enough to see his own breath, but it was probably in the fifties.

  This certainly wasn’t the J. Edgar Hoover Building in DC. This place was some dump out on the outskirts of nowhere, and from the various turns and the time it had taken to get here, he figured they were somewhere near Quantico, Virginia.

  He wondered when they’d come for him. It had been twenty minutes since he’d been shackled to the chair, and he figured they were trying to soften him up. Wear him down for an interrogation. It’s what he would do. But he’d dealt with much worse conditions before. So he just closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. The dull ache of his scraped cheek and sore muscles faded.

  Seconds turned into minutes, and his senses absorbed the tiny details of his surroundings. Through the metal chair, he felt the dull vibrations of the world outside.

  Somewhere in the distance, he sensed a car’s engine idling, and then the opening and closing of a car door.

  He heard the murmurs of voices, then footsteps echoing through an unseen hallway. Both grew louder.

  Levi opened his eyes just as the door to his room opened. A tall man he’d not seen before entered, and the door swung shut behind him with a metallic clank.

  The man was an agent straight out of central casting. Late forties, generic dark-gray suit, dark glasses, humorless expression. He took a seat on the other side of the bare table and stared at Levi for a few long seconds, making a sucking sound through his teeth.

  “Mister Yoder, I’m Special Agent O’Connor with the FBI, and I’m afraid you’re in serious trouble.”

  Levi tilted his head to the side and cracked his neck. “Whatever the charges are, it’s a load of crap. I didn’t do anything.”

  “The agents who picked you up already told you what you’re charged with, Mister Yoder.” O’Connor frowned. “And I got your records. I know everything there is to know about you and your association with the Bianchi crime family out of New York. You’re also a paid informant, which I’m sure your mob cronies wouldn’t take too kindly to—”

  “That’s bullshit. I don’t know anything about any crime families, and even if I did, I’d never talk to the feds about them. Why did you guys really pick me up?”

  O’Connor stared at Levi for a full ten seconds before responding. “We have evidence placing you at the scene of the murder of three federal agents. Couple that with your known involvement in the sex-trafficking—”

  “You’re not pinning that shit on me!” Levi snorted, and shook hi
s head. “Your records are bullshit. I helped you assholes find some crooked feds who were taking bribes. They were the ones importing and playing with underage prostitutes. Is that it? You’re trying to set me up as some kind of revenge tactic for your pedophile buddies? I want my phone call. Get me my lawyer.”

  The tight control Levi maintained on his temper was starting to fray. He’d spent two months on contract to the FBI’s child sex trafficking division, looking for and finally finding two of their agents who’d been taking kickbacks from one of the other East Coast mob families. It was an ugly business, and the more Levi had looked into it, the more disgusted he’d gotten with some of what the other families had gotten themselves into. But he never dropped the dime on anyone but the dirty feds.

  It was the FBI agents who were violating their oaths, not him, and not even the Mafia associates he’d dealt with.

  But now it looked like the FBI wanted payback. Levi had prepared himself for just such an event. He had both videotapes and audiotapes of almost everything. These federal bastards weren’t going to take him down.

  O’Connor glared at Levi and shook his head. “You’re not getting anything until I say so. Those three agents you killed were my friends, and I intend to—”

  “You intend to what?” Levi strained against his shackles and puffed out his chest. “You have rules you need to follow, Agent O’Connor. I know my rights. I know I didn’t do what you’re claiming I’ve done. Get me my lawyer.”

  The agent sat back and blew out a loud breath. “Listen to me, Yoder. I can make your life miserable if you fight me. Sure, you’ll eventually get your phone call. But I’ll make sure you don’t get bail. I’ll make sure you’re in the hole for months, maybe even years before your case comes to trial. I’ll bury you.”

  Levi glared at the agent. He wasn’t wrong. No matter how confident he was in being able to convince others of his innocence, this asshole could make things difficult for him.

  “I know I didn’t murder anyone,” Levi said. “You’ve looked me up. I’m clean and you know it. I’ve done nothing but help you assholes clean up your—”

  “You never gave up your mob contacts—”

  “That wasn’t the deal I made. It was your guys that were dirty. I gave you the evidence you needed to take two dirty feds off the streets. You should be kissing my ass, but instead you’re hassling me over something you know I didn’t do.”

  O’Connor leaned forward and growled. “I don’t know any such thing. What I do know is that we have mob-connected murders of three federal agents, and you’ve been implicated in those murders. I should just put you into the system. I heard about what happened the last time you were put in. It got a bit bloody, didn’t it?”

  Levi glared. The last time he had been put in lockup, on trumped-up charges, he’d been attacked by Russian mobsters.

  O’Connor chuckled. “Oh, you didn’t think I knew about that? I’ve got your number—”

  “You don’t have crap. Need I remind you that all the charges against me were dropped?”

  “You murdered two people in that jail.”

  Levi laughed. “What, are you some long-lost cousin of the dead Russian mobsters who tried to kill me? Give me a fucking break. Self-defense, and you know it. Reliving history is making me all teary-eyed and nostalgic, but what is it that you really want from me?”

  “I want answers. Did you have anything to do with murdering agents Wei, Mendoza, or Nguyen?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “I have no idea. All bullshit aside, you’re barking up the wrong tree on this.”

  “You willing to take a polygraph on that?”

  Levi smiled. Whatever so-called evidence this agent had, the guy probably knew it was crap. He was on a fishing expedition.

  “I have no problem with a polygraph, Agent O’Connor.” Levi frowned. The longer he sat around wasting his time with these people, the harder it would be to find Tanaka’s granddaughter. “So what’s it going to take for you to get out of my hair? Believe it or not, I actually have things to do.”

  O’Connor shifted in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. “You might be under the impression that you’re calling the shots here, but you’re not. Your ass is mine until I say otherwise. However, I might be able to work a deal.” He rapped his knuckles on the tabletop and nodded. “Assuming you can pass a polygraph exam, we might be able to work something out. Your access to some of your mob buddies could prove useful in this investigation. I might be able to convince the higher-ups to treat you as a cooperating witness.”

  What O’Connor didn’t realize was that Levi would never give up a family member to the feds. Things in the family were handled by the family. Always. He pictured a five-year-old girl in the hands of a kidnapper and swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “And that will get me out of these cuffs and my freedom?”

  “Out of the cuffs, yes. Freedom ... well, that all depends on the details of whatever deal is made. No matter what, you’re still a suspect until we resolve the case to the Bureau’s satisfaction.”

  “Fine.” Levi shrugged, not seeing that he had much choice in the matter. Not without major legal hassle and lots of time that he couldn’t afford. There was an innocent girl on the line. And who knew, maybe they weren’t lying just to get his help—maybe they really did have some informant falsely pointing the finger at him. But who?

  “You’re smarter than you look.” O’Connor stood and put a phone to his ear. “It’s me. He’s ready to submit himself to a polygraph. Bring in the equipment.”

  That settled it. Whoever was on the other end of that phone call had been expecting this outcome. They wanted Levi to voluntarily submit to a lie detector test.

  But why?

  ###

  After filling out a long questionnaire and being hooked up to the polygraph equipment, Levi sat back against the metal chair and focused on his breathing.

  He’d practiced with a polygraph machine a dozen times, but this one was a bit different. There were more leads attached to his fingers, which Levi knew was intended to measure his skin’s galvanic response—the electrical changes triggered by various emotional states. Two pneumography tubes were wrapped around his chest and stomach to measure his breathing. And finally, a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his right upper arm.

  The polygraph examiner, a heavyset man in an ill-fitting suit, tapped a few keys on a laptop attached to the polygraph equipment. “Mister Yoder, we’ll be going over the answers to your questions you filled out earlier. I need to let you know that...”

  Levi’s mind drifted away from the words of the corpulent examiner and he began meditating. Preparing himself for the questions he knew were coming.

  Years ago, he’d learned from an Indian guru the art of transcendental meditation, and it had proven useful for clearing his mind. It was especially useful back then, because the death of his wife had been eating at his soul. And since then, he’d learned several variations of the same skill, mindful techniques that allowed him to relax while at the same time enhancing his senses.

  He heard the examiner’s labored breathing, felt his own heart beating at a slow rhythmic pace, and even sensed the hum of electricity powering the fluorescent lights in the hallway outside the room. He imagined his mind as floating separate from his body. He heard and saw everything, but in an emotionally detached sort of way.

  He wasn’t looking directly at the examiner, but he knew when the man picked up the previously-filled-out questionnaire. Levi felt absolutely nothing when the man spoke.

  “Mister Yoder, I’m going to ask you a series of control questions that are intended to create your baseline physiological responses. These will help me calibrate the equipment. After I ask each question, please say ‘no’ as your response. Do you understand?”

  Levi nodded.

  The examiner shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Mister Yoder, you are forty
-one years old, is that correct?”

  “No.” In fact, Levi was forty-one.

  “Are you the current President of the United States?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever told a lie?”

  “No.” The pace of Levi’s breathing remained steady as the questions continued.

  The examiner soon finished with the control questions, and he went on to ask Levi about his mob ties. Levi lied about nearly everything on that topic. When the questions touched on his whereabouts on certain days in the last two weeks, and his knowledge of certain agents, Levi told the truth. He had nothing to hide on those counts.

  After about thirty minutes, the questioning stopped and the examiner tapped repeatedly on the laptop’s keyboard. The man’s face was red, and despite the coolness of the room, his forehead was damp with sweat. Finally, he closed the lid of the laptop, detached it from the wires that were still connected to Levi, and walked with it out of the room.

  Levi was left alone in the room for a full ten minutes. His arms, which were still bound to the chair, ached from lack of movement.

  The door suddenly flew open and O’Connor walked in, his stone-like expression giving way to displeasure. “Yoder, what the hell kind of Mickey Mouse bullshit did you pull? What’s the trick?”

  Levi looked up as the agent roughly removed the leads from his fingers, the blood pressure cuff, and the tubes around his chest. “Agent O’Connor, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The agent harrumphed and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I got a call from my SAC. I’m bringing you in.”

  ###

  Levi shrugged his still-sore shoulders as he followed Agent O’Connor through the halls of the FBI’s field office in Washington, DC. They’d travelled nearly thirty minutes in the agent’s sedan, and aside from the agent’s instructions to “buckle up,” the trip was made in complete silence.

  Several passing FBI staffers glanced curiously at Levi’s visitor’s badge. That, plus the time it had taken for the security folks to get a ledger from another room for him to sign, gave him the distinct impression that visitors weren’t often seen in this field office.