Kingdom of God Read online

  Copyright 2017 Greg Mantell. All rights reserved.

  Published by Guero Press

  Cover Design by Jonathan Mantell

  Cover Photography by Matt H. Wade and Ivan Salas

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0-9992985-8-5

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9992985-8-9

  gregmantell.com

  KINDGOM OF GOD

  I swear to God, it went up, like, fifty bucks.

  Gray Hyundai. Registration C.A.-

  That’s not legal is it?

  -7MCH145. Clear.

  I fucking hope not. They think ‘cause they’re-

  Brown Ford. Registration...

  -they’re the only ones in my area-

  No registration. Hold.

  -they can charge whatever the hell they want.

  Hold on brown Ford. Conversion van. Lane 7. Hey-

  Oh, what do we got over there? Jackpot?

  Nah, it’s produce.

  Damnit.

  We gotta get on Amtrak, man.

  Yeah, they got some good hauls.

  Black Ram. Registration N.V. 213JNA. Clear. Hey guys-

  Call a lawyer or something. That can’t be right.

  Guys, this is primary line. Please keep it work-related. Over.

  Roger that.

  This is work-related. We’re getting Comcast in the break room.

  What? Brown Kia. Registration C.A. 7PRB171. Clear. Donaldson, please repeat. Over.

  Yeah. They’re hooking up a TV in a break room.

  What?

  Yeah, with cable and everything.

  Really?

  Yeah, it’s gonna have cable. A pool table. Darts.

  Guys.

  Fuck me, Adams. You’ll believe anything.

  Just keep the line clear. Silver Ford. Registration C.A.-

  I have a door opening about ten yards out.

  What’s the lane, make and reg?

  White van, lane 3.

  What about make and reg?

  Negative.

  What doors were they?

  Now it’s passenger-side.

  Wait, was that rear door or passenger door?

  Both.

  Deputies, please intercept.

  Roger that.

  Donaldson, please respond, over.

  I’ll see what’s going on.

  Donaldson, Ramos needs help at the cab.

  I’ll see what we got in back.

  I have it on screen. If you need eyeballs-

  I got it.

  What’s going on with the van? Ramos, please respond, over.

  I got three occupants in front. What’s back there, Donny?

  It’s...

  Donaldson, please repeat, over. Please repeat, over.

  Donny?

  Donaldson? Donaldson, what is it?

  It was the Sunday before Easter. Michael was pulling the last of the dishes from the dishwasher when his phone rang. It rattled on the slate countertop underneath two pieces of green construction paper cut into the shape of palm leafs. He brushed the paper aside. The word “Private” appeared on screen. He picked up the phone, hit “Accept” and muttered hello. He recited a security code and stood with the phone to his ear for a minute. He held his breath for the entire minute.

  Michael stepped out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The lights were already on. A small desk with a computer atop it was crammed in the corner of the room. He hit the keyboard, and the computer monitor came to life. He turned and walked into the living room. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table, turned on the television and switched to the local news. An orange light flooded the room.

  “No TV after 6:00,” Mary yelled from the other room. A field reporter’s voice filled every corner of the house. Michael left the living room and walked back to the computer. He pulled the chair out from under the dining room table and sat down staring at the monitor. The television was visible through the doorway. Mary walked down the hall and repeated “No TV.” She stopped in the doorway to the living room.

  “Oh my God, what happened?” The orange glow from the television blinded her. She looked through the doorway into the dining room where Michael was seated at the desk. He did not respond. His eyes were glued to an open window on the monitor. Mary turned back to the news.

  A minute later, Evey entered the living room and asked her mother what was going on. She did not reply. Sam came in from the kitchen and started watching the news as well. Mary instructed them to finish their homework and ushered them into the hall. They left without saying a word.

  Mary walked into the bedroom twenty minutes later to the sound of the shower turning off and the curtain peeling back. She clutched a laptop in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She placed the glass on her bedside table and sat down on the bed.

  Michael emerged from the bathroom drying himself off with a towel. He put on a pair of brown-and-yellow thick-rimmed glasses and hobbled toward the dresser. He grabbed a pair of boxers and a light blue, button-down shirt out of the dresser. He buttoned the shirt over his protruding stomach and tucked it into a pair of khaki pants. He looped a belt around his waist and grabbed a broken-in pair of leather wingtips out of the closet. He began packing a duffle bag with a pair of black sneakers, three more shirts, seven pairs of socks and underwear, and a SDPD-branded windbreaker with the name “Barrish” stitched on the chest.

  “Okay,” Mary sighed. The computer was on her lap. “How long do you think it’ll be?”

  “Huh?” Michael picked his hearing aid off of the dresser and inserted it into his left ear.

  “How long do you think it’ll be?”

  “At least a couple days.”

  “Okay. I’ll take a late lunch to pick up Cole at school tomorrow. What time is tee-ball?”

  “5:00.” Michael pulled a navy blue tie out of the dresser and draped it over his shoulders. He sat down on the bed next to his wife.

  “I’ll have leave work early on Tuesday.”

  “And Thursday.”

  “And Thursday, right.”

  “Get Evey or Sam to pick him up.”

  “No, Evey’s got a final.”

  “Get Sam to do it.”

  “He’s got band that day.”

  “It’s just a couple blocks away.”

  “No, I’ll leave work early.”

  “You know they can help out.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have to complain about it.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What about Sunday?”

  “What’s Sunday?”

  “Point Loma. We’re going to Point Loma after church.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. You and the kids can still go.”

  “I don’t know if Evey and Sam would want to go again.”

  “Just take Cole then.”

  The cell phone on the night stand buzzed. Michael picked it up, hit “Accept” and recited his security code again. He jotted down a few notes on his notepad and flipped a few pages over. Every sheet was filled. He thanked the person on the other line and hung up.

  The sound of the news blared from down the hall. Michael and Mary turned their eyes to the door.

  “Sam? Evey?” Michael picked up this duffle bag and stepped out into the hall. The two teenagers emerged from their rooms and stood before their father. They both sported t-shirts, sweat pants and long blonde hair that was sticking up on end.

  “I’m going to be gone a couple of days. I want you two to help out mom with a few thing
s, all right?” The two nodded. “Cole’s got tee-ball on Tuesday and Thursday. Sam, I want you pick him up. Then you can go to practice, okay?”

  Sam nodded “yes.” Michael stepped forward and hugged Evey with his free arm. He kissed her on the cheek. He did the same with Sam. He proceeded down the hall and into the living room. An orange light emanated from the television.

  Cole was sitting cross-legged on the carpet a few feet in front of the screen. He slammed every button on the remote control.

  “Hey, you should be in bed.”

  “It’s no fair. They got to watch TV.” Michael crouched down next to his son.

  “I’m not going to be home for a few days. I’m going to miss practice this week.” Cole’s eyes remained locked on the remote. He continued to pound every button.

  “Will Coach Joe be there?

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like Coach Joe.”

  “Hey, don’t say that. What do we say? If you don’t have anything nice-”

  “But he’s mean.” Michael took the remote out of his son’s hands and turned the television off. Cole turned to face his father.

  “How long are you gonna be gone?”

  “Just a few days.”

  “Who’s gonna help me with math?”

  “Mom will, okay? You like it when Mom helps you, right?” Cole wrapped his arms around his father’s stomach.

  “I want you to do it.”

  “It’s okay. Mom’s just as good at helping you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You still want to go to Point Loma this Sunday?”

  “Is that the tide pools?”

  “That’s right. You want to see the tide pools?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. You know I love you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just making sure.” Michael patted his son’s shoulder and gave him a kiss on the head.

  “I love you too, daddy.”

  Michael placed his hand on his lower back and slowly rose to his feet. Mary stood in the doorway with her arms folded and her head down. Michael stepped passed her on his way to through the kitchen. He grabbed a granola bar off of the counter and walked out the front door.

  The last of the day’s sun splayed across the horizon. Michael’s unmarked cruiser glided down the South Bay Freeway. He flicked on his indicator and drifted into the left-most lane heading for Interstate 5. The car’s radio emitted a police frequency. Calls came in every fifteen seconds.

  As he neared the on-ramp, traffic slowed to a crawl. A stream of red taillights stretched for miles ahead. Michael’s gaze drifted from the on-ramp to the red and violet sky over the southern horizon. His throat closed. A column of black smoke rose over the U.S.-Mexico border.

  * * *

  The voice of Sergeant Steven Bishop bled through the walls of the atrium in the Southern Division Station. His voice boomed over the three phones ringing in the room. Michael peered at the wall to this left as he stepped through the metal detector. Three handcuffed men sat on a plastic bench to this right. Dozens of uniformed officers rushed through the lobby. As he approached the front desk, Officer Lincoln waved at the detective. She ran around the partition and handed him a large vinyl-covered binder bursting with pages. Michael cradled it in his arms.

  “It was too big to email,” she said.

  “This everything on the bomber?”

  “No, that’s just jumpers.”

  “What about the bomber?”

  “714’s on that. They want us on jumpers. Forty or so.”

  “So we’re not working on the bomber?”

  “I don’t know. Bring it up with Bishop.”

  Michael drew a short breath through his nose. He nodded toward the wall to his left.

  “Can you tell him to move it downstairs? They can hear him in here.”

  Still carrying the enormous binder, Michael skulked down a flight of stairs. He entered a bullpen of empty desks spread across the entire basement floor. He stepped into his office in the back corner of the large room and flicked on the light. He plopped the binder down on his desk and lowered himself into a large, swiveling chair.

  At 6:37 a.m., ringing phones and the patter of fingers hitting keyboards filled the floor. Michael hunched over his desk pouring over each page in the binder. He had identified two of the vehicles that crossed the border without clearance the night prior. One was a black SUV operated by an American couple that turned themselves in to the Chula Vista Police Department earlier that evening. They were cleared an hour later. The other was a blue sedan captured by surveillance cameras outside Mercy Hospital in Arcadia Heights. The two occupants were apprehended at a residence in Grant Hill and eventually released.

  Michael raised his head. The clacking of a woman’s high heels overwhelmed the noise coming from outside the detective’s office. He peered through the window and saw a young woman striding toward him. She clutched two leather binders against her chest and sported a charcoal pantsuit with long black hair tied into a ponytail. She stepped up to Michael’s office and knocked on the doorframe.

  “Detective Barrish?”

  “Yes.” She walked up to him extending her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Special Agent Jennifer Chau with the FBI.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m working with Joe Callahan on the-”

  “Oh yeah. Me and him go way back.”

  “He’s outside. He wants to speak with you.”

  “Oh sure.” Michael jumped out of his chair and followed the special agent back through the bullpen.

  They walked out the rear door of the station and into the parking lot. A few streaks of blue broke through the cloudy sky overhead. Joe Callahan stood just off the curb with a cigarette in his mouth. He spotted the two approaching. He took one more drag on the cigarette before throwing it on the ground and smothering it with his foot.

  “I thought Mel got you to quit,” Michael said. He and Callahan shook hands.

  “Grew my balls back. What time did you get in?”

  “About 8:30. I didn’t hear for fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s too long.

  “It is too long.”

  “Where you coming from now?”

  “Spring Valley.”

  “You didn’t stick around here?”

  “Mary wanted to move north. Evey might be headed that way too.”

  “Oh really? What for?”

  “School. She got into-” Jen took a step closer to the two men.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a lot of work to do. We-”

  “No, you’re right,” Callahan took one of the binders from Jen’s arms and handed it to Michael. “That’s FBI.”

  Michael opened it and started flipping through the first few pages.

  “Oh this is great. They just got me working on jumpers from last night.”

  “Hey, could get us a beat on suspects.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want them deploying any of our guys on the other side.”

  “Oh it’s ‘dispatch.’ Not ‘deployment.’ ‘Dispatch’ and ‘security’ for the investigation. We’re not ready to call this an act of terror yet.”

  Michael nodded toward the other binder in Jen’s arms.

  “What’s the other one?”

  “National Guard.”

  “We couldn’t get real army guys down here?”

  “They are real army guys, Mike. Trust me.”

  “Can I keep this?”

  “Yeah. You’re gonna need it. There’s a briefing at 0700. It goes over everything.”

  “Can you just give me the minutes? I want to get back to my desk and unpack this first.”

  “Yeah.” Callahan cleared his throat and turned toward Jen. “Hey, can you excuse us for a minute?” She nodded, spun around and walked toward the corner of the building facing 27th Street. Joe snatched the other binder from her arms as she walked away. He held it aloft in front of Michael.

  “You’re, uh...gon
na need this one too. You’re our lead in Mexico.”

  Callahan placed the binder atop the one Michael was reading. It slipped out of his hands. Michael snatched it and clutched it tightly against his stomach. He looked wide-eyed at Callahan.

  “Wait, wh-what do you mean?”

  “You’re leading the dispatch into Mexico.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m local.”

  “They want local down there to approve every move and confirm evidence. You’re our most senior det, so we assigned you.”

  “But I don’t know T.J. I’ve never been down there.”

  “We’ve got another guy there that can help you. He’ll be with you every step of the way. And you’ll have a whole regiment with you. You’ll have Juan helping you out. Aerial surveillance. All of it.”

  “Why not someone from the Bureau? You know T.J. You could-”

  “It’s SDPD’s scene. It was either you, me, Bishop or Woods. Hell, Woods isn’t even around anymore.”

  “Why didn’t you take it?”

  “Because I-”

  Callahan twisted around. A rumbling noise filled the air. Around the corner, five desert-camouflaged MTVRs rolled in front of the station entrance on 27th Street. As each truck came to a stop, a line of national guardsmen dressed in tan-colored fatigues poured out. They formed two long lines and filed into the station. Callahan turned back to face Michael.

  “I did my time down there. Four months on the other side. All I’m asking for is a week, tops. And I gotta stay here. I got higher-ups breathing down my neck. I got a press crying for blood.”

  “I haven’t done field work in fifteen years.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t now. Maybe it’ll get you to a national agency. It got me the Bureau.”

  “You think a week on the other side will get me the Bureau?”

  “Hey, worked for me and Woods. It got Bishop to sergeant. We’re doing fine. I wasn’t worried about putting my girls through school. You can do it. You got the brains. You just got to deplo...dispatch them...properly.”

  Michael tilted his head to get a better look at the stream of guardsmen entering the station.

  “Joe...Cole is only five. These kids, you know, they’re growing up faster and faster every day. I can’t spend that long over there. At least your girls are out of school. I don’t know if I’ll even...you know, come back. He needs me.”