The Cold Trail

by J. C. Fields

“GUN!”

  All three FBI agents opened fire on the man, who suddenly stood up above the roof line of the Ford Fusion, his hands holding a Springfield Armory XD pointed at Kruger. Shots rang out as his fingers pulled the trigger as fast as possible.

  ***

  “You were lucky, Sean.”

  Kruger sat in a cubicle on the second floor of the Hoover Building, working on his report. Alan Seltzer stood in the entrance, leaning against the edge of the cubicle wall.

  Not turning his attention away from his laptop, Kruger stopped typing.

  “Is he alive?”

  “Barely.”

  Kruger nodded.

  “We found three bullets in the door you were standing behind.”

  “Don’t tell Stephanie. She thinks I’m just doing paperwork and sitting in a court room.”

  “No problem. It was a righteous shooting. No need to worry.”

  “I’m not worried, it was righteous. What concerns me is the guy had no escape and still tried. Why?”

  Seltzer crossed his arms over his chest. “He had something in his car,” he answered slowly.

  Kruger leaned back in the desk chair. He tilted his head slightly, “What?”

  “A small Samsung tablet. The only information on it was a file with your picture and bio.”

  Silence was the response from the seated FBI agent.

  Seltzer continued, “The ID on him was false, but fingerprints identified him as Yaakov Romanovich, born June 1, 1988, in Kiev, Ukraine. Parents, Stefan and Mariya, immigrated to the U.S. six months after the December 1991 fall of the Soviet Union. The family was granted citizenship in 2001. Yaakov joined the Army after high school and earned a dishonorable discharge after spending a couple of years in the brig for assault. The family never left New York City. The mother died in 2007 and the father in 2010. Our shooter has been picked up numerous times for assault and racketeering charges, but never convicted.”

  With no comment from Kruger, Seltzer stood straight and entered the cubicle, lowering his voice. “He fell off law enforcement radar for several years, then in 2012, an extortion charge landed him in a New York City jail. Charges were dropped when several witnesses recanted their stories.”

  Kruger gave Seltzer a half grin. “Gee, imagine that.”

  “NYPD believes he belongs to a Brooklyn-based Russian gang known for racketeering, murder-for-hire, smuggling, and human trafficking. They haven’t had any contact with him since 2012 when he dropped out of sight.”

  “How’d you find all this out so fast?”

  “Ryan Clark.”

  Kruger grinned. “I told you he’d be good.”

  Seltzer nodded. “Clark spent some time in New York with our organized crime group before transferring to Rapid Response. When he heard the name, he called a buddy with the NYPD, and they filled him in. Before we knew all of this, an inquiry was sent to Interpol to see if they had anything on him. Apparently he’s well known to them as well.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, do you remember a Ukrainian cop named Brutka?”

  “Sergey Brutka, yeah, met him in Paris. What about him?”

  “He’s with Interpol now. He wants a few moments with Romanovich, so he’s catching a flight to Dulles. Should be here late tonight.”

  “Interesting. Why?”

  “He’s following up on an investigation.”

  “What kind?”

  “Human trafficking.”

  “Huh.” Kruger was quiet for several moments. “So how did Romanovich know I’d be at the Starbucks?”

  “More to the point, who hired him?”

  “Maybe Sergey can help find out.”

  “Is Moody under surveillance?”

  “Sandy Knoll has that under control. He’s being watched 24/7.”

  Seltzer nodded.

  Kruger stared out of the cubicle past Seltzer. “Who’s pulling the strings, Alan?”

  “Good question.”

  “My bet’s on Junior.”

  “Do you think he’s the one paying to have the bodies disappear?”

  Kruger nodded and stood. “Yeah, I do. I need to know what Junior’s been up to since 2003, and I know just who to ask.”

  ***

  The meeting took place in Carol Welch’s office, with Sean Kruger, Alan Seltzer, FBI lawyer Lorene Norton and Ryan Clark present. Carol finished reading the summary in front of her, took her glasses off, and looked at the others sitting at her conference table. “This is all very compelling, but I need admissible evidence or a judge is going to grant bail. All we have, for sure, is his DNA on the victim. He admits they had consensual sex, but claims she was alive when he left.”

  “Which is true, she was,” Lorene said as she reviewed her notes. “But lab analysis found trace samples of the skin from his right hand in her facial wounds. He beat her.”

  “Coroner’s report states she died of internal bleeding and head trauma,” Kruger said.

  “I understand, but Sandifer will concede all of this. His function right now is to get the suspect out on bail. Without being able to connect Burns with the Senate intern and the women on the college campuses, the judge will be compelled to grant bail.”

  Clark spoke next. “What about the attack on Sean?”

  “Immaterial. At this point we don’t have a direct connection between Burns and the Russian.”

  “What if we can get it?”

  “Will it be admissible in court?”

  Shaking his head, Clark frowned. “Not at this time, but we’re working on it.”

  “Look, this is as frustrating to me as it is to you four. I can stall another day on the bail hearing. Get me the evidence, and I’ll keep this clown in jail.”

  “We’ll get it, Carol,” Kruger’s voice did not convey confidence.

  Chapter 27

  Washington, D.C.

  “I appreciate you jumping on this so fast, Barbara.”

  “No problem, Sean.” She handed him a half-inch thick eight-by-eleven envelope. “What you requested is there. I looked at all the data again and where we can place Burns. There are only a few cases that match the criteria you gave me.”

  “Really?”

  She pointed at the envelope. “Between the years 2004 and 2014, I found seven cases with the same circumstances as the college students. Women last seen with a tall man with black hair and never heard from again.”

  “Huh.” Kruger pursed his lips and studied the metal clasp holding the envelope flap closed.

  “Those cases didn’t receive the same media attention as the missing basketball players.”

  Kruger looked up. “I’m not going to like the reason, am I?”

  “Probably not, I didn’t. The women were on the fringe of society, drugs, prostitution, homelessness, plus numerous other reasons.”

  Opening the envelope, he glanced at the summary sheet Barbara had prepared and asked, “Why these particular cases?”

  “Once you read them, I think you’ll understand why.”

  He turned his attention to her. “Give me the highlights.”

  “October 25, 2004, Rena Renfro, 23, Baltimore, disappeared from a bar in the downtown area. Last seen by her roommate talking to a tall slender man with black hair. They left together, and she’s never been seen again.”

  Kruger stared at the summary page following Whitlock’s narrative.

  “November 1, 2005, Ruby Torres, 19, Richmond, a street walker, last seen getting into a Honda Accord driven by a man with black hair. Witnesses could not see his face. Her body has never been found.”

  Another nod from Kruger as he flipped pages.

  “November 22, 2006, Carol Valenti, 17, run-away from Pittsburg staying at a halfway house in Baltimore. Several days before her disappearance, she told a friend she met a man who wanted to help her get her life together. A journal she kept mentioned a tall attractive man named Bobby who befriended her at the café where she worked part-time. Her parents have never heard from her and a body has never b
een found.

  “October 1, 2009, Fredericka Casteel, 25, Newark, NJ, another street walker. Same scenario as the Torres woman, last seen getting into a car with a dark haired man. She’s never been found.”

  Looking up again from the pages he was studying, “What about 2007 and 2008?”

  Her head shook, “Nothing I can collaborate like the others.”

  He nodded and went back to following her narrative.

  “December 13, 2010, Bellingham, WA. Keena Tamayo, 21, a waitress at an all-night diner was seen flirting with a tall slender man with black hair. He would arrive an hour before her shift ended. On the third night, they left together. She and the black-haired man never returned to the diner. She is still listed as missing.”

  Silence was Kruger’s response.

  “October 31, 2011, Carin Trudeau, 20, originally from Ontario, disappeared after her shift at a fast food restaurant in Spokane. Employees remember her talking to a tall man with black hair.”

  Kruger nodded, not looking up. “Where was Junior during those years?”

  She smiled slightly. “Seattle. His father was spending more and more time at home during the last three years of his term. Senate records show he did not cast a single vote during the second halves of 2010 and 2011.”

  “Huh.”

  “Nothing in 2012, but that was the year the intern was assaulted, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, last one. November 15, 2013, Portland. Joselyn Medeiros, 18, street walker, same story as the two other ones about getting into the car of a man with black hair. Nothing since then I can collaborate.”

  Kruger returned the pages to the envelope. “I’ll give these to Carol Welch and see what she can do with it. Anything else?”

  Barbara nodded.

  Tilting his head slightly, Kruger kept his attention on the analyst, “What?”

  “I included documentation in the file about Robert Burns Jr.’s location during those timelines.”

  “And?”

  “When his father was in Washington, so was he. When his father was in Seattle during the second half of 2010 and 2011 and after his term ended, so was the son.”

  “We knew that, but you’re saying you have documentation?”

  She nodded. “Dates, times and eyewitness accounts.”

  “What kind of eyewitnesses?”

  “Newspaper and magazine articles with pictures. Remember, his father was extremely rich and a senator through 2012. Seattle media coverage was plentiful and at times harsh when he wasn’t in Washington. Then, starting in 2013, your suspect was considered one of the movers and shakers of Seattle society. Highly visible and voted most eligible bachelor in 2014 and 2015. It’s all in the file.”

  Kruger smiled.

  “Thanks, Barbara.”

  ***

  Carol Welch also smiled after reading Barbara Whitlock’s research. “This is good, Sean. It sets up a pattern that, while not conclusive, allows us to at least offer probable cause to deny bail.”

  “Yeah, but once we get to court, it won’t hold water.”

  “No, but we can delay, delay, delay, until you can get the evidence we need.”

  “How do we prove flight risk?”

  She sighed. “We can’t prove it, but we can suggest the possibility in several ways. Let’s say you find a passport in another name, or if he has a residence in another country. We know he has the funds to travel, so a combination of these points and any others we can find would be a starting point for our argument.”

  Kruger nodded, almost absentmindedly, his thoughts miles away.

  Welch was beginning to appreciate and like this FBI agent’s thoughtfulness and measured manner. “What are you thinking?”

  Blinking several times, he looked at her. “I have one other resource researching our Mr. Burns. I need to follow up with them.”

  Placing her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together, she rested her chin on them. “He was denied bail at his initial appearance because he didn’t have a full time lawyer in place. Sandifer is pushing to move the arraignment up, and the earliest opportunity on the court docket is next Friday. Can you put together what we need before then?”

  Standing, Kruger slung his backpack over his shoulder. He half grinned at the attorney, “I’ve got a good team. We’ll have something for you.”

  As he walked out of the building, he pressed the call icon on his phone and waited. The call was answered on the third ring.

  “I was just about to call you.”

  “What’ve you found?”

  “Are you in a place where you can be on a computer?”

  “No, just walking out of meeting with the Carol Welch. Why?”

  “I need to show you something.”

  “I’ll call you from the hotel.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  ***

  “Notice the gentleman on the far right?” JR asked.

  Kruger was staring at a picture on his laptop screen. “Yeah.”

  “Look familiar?”

  “Looks like Burns.”

  “It is. Facial recognition software confirmed it’s him.”

  “Where did you find the picture?”

  “I used the Russian search engine Yandex. It’s more popular in Russia than Google.”

  “Okay, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m getting there.”

  Kruger didn’t say anything.

  “The picture was taken at a 2015 meeting of Russian high-tech companies announcing a joint venture in research to develop the next generation of artificial intelligence.”

  Again, Kruger did not comment.

  “The text under the picture is in Russian. It identifies the individuals in the picture, all of whom represent Russian companies involved with the venture.”

  “Let me guess, it doesn’t identify him as Robert Burns.”

  “Nope, it doesn’t.”

  “What’s he calling himself?”

  “He’s identified in the pictures as Mark Hoehmann.”

  “Huh.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Okay.”

  “The article indicates he’s a network engineer with a Haylex Holdings company called Genise Solutions, which just happens to be Haylex Solutions’ European equivalent.”

  “So he does have a fake passport.”

  “Actually, the passport is real. The name on the passport is fake.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “It’s easy.”

  Kruger chuckled. “You love to torture me, don’t you?”

  “One of my personality flaws. I can’t help it.”

  “What country?”

  “Austria. It has loose citizenship requirements, as long as you have a lot of money and open a business there.”

  “But the passport is under a different name.”

  “Correct.”

  Pausing, Kruger blinked several times. “That’s the key. He is a flight risk. With an Austrian passport under another name, he could disappear.”

  “One problem, Sean.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where’s the passport?”

  Kruger didn’t say anything for several moments. “When the Seattle field office searched his home, there was no mention of finding one, nor did our agents here in D.C. find one in his hotel room.”

  “It’s either in a safe deposit box somewhere, or it’s hidden in his house in Seattle,” JR guessed.

  “I would agree. Guess someone needs to search his house.”

  “Got anyone in mind?”

  “Yes, I do. He loves that kind of stuff.”

  ***

  “What am I looking for, Sean?”

  “He has an Austrian passport under the name Mark Hoehmann. We need the passport to show opportunity to flee.”

  Jimmie Gibbs’ room was several doors down from Kruger’s. He was packing his carry-on bag as they discussed his pending trip to Seattle.

  �
�The Seattle field office didn’t find other passports during their initial search of the house. But, in all fairness, they weren’t searching for them.”

  Gibbs nodded. “You think he’s hidden it somewhere?”

  “Yes, I do. With the kind of money the family has, no telling what’s hidden in his house.”

  Nodding, Gibbs stopped packing and looked at Kruger. “Who knows I’m going to Seattle?”

  “Sandy and myself.”

  “Good, the fewer people who know the better. Gives me freedom and tactical options.”

  “Kind of what I was thinking.”

  Gibbs gave Kruger a grin. “Any restrictions on rules of engagement?”

  “None, use your imagination.” Kruger placed his hand on Gibbs’ shoulder. “Jimmie, we know of at least seven women, six of whom have never been found. One of them is dead and we can assume the other six are as well. There is a possibility of seven others. We know of one who survived, but her life has been scarred forever. That’s a total of fifteen. We have no idea of how many others. Find the passport, Jimmie. Find it and anything else you can to help us put this guy away. We have to stop him. Now might be our only chance.”

  ***

  Sergey Brutka shook Kruger’s hand as he displayed a toothy grin.

  “Agent Sean Kruger,” he pronounced it KRUGAR with a hard G and R. “It has been, what, ten years?”

  “At least, Sergey. It’s nice to see you again. I understand you’re with Interpol now.”

  “Yes, yes. They finally recognized my talents.”

  Kruger chuckled.

  Brutka was tall for a Ukrainian, and the two men stood at eye level with each other. A massive callused hand engulfed Kruger’s as they shook. The Interpol detective wore Levi Jeans, a beige cable knit turtleneck sweater and an oversized corduroy sport coat. With disheveled dark brown hair and an untrimmed drooping mustache, he was a throwback to fashion of the early 1980s. As he spoke, his bushy eyebrows danced with delight. “This is my first time in America.”

  “Really, but then I’ve never been to Ukraine.”

  “You would love it, Agent Kruger. It is beautiful country.”