by J. C. Fields
As he sipped on a single malt scotch, he stared out the window, contemplating his predicament. The ankle bracelet was irritating and distracting, but bearable for the moment. His thoughts centered on various ways to defeat the small device. He had a few options.
The bigger problem was how to get out of the country. Access to funds was not the issue. Obtaining the proper paperwork was. Communicating with the individuals he needed to contact was the most pressing issue at the moment. The FBI had possession of his cell phone, and calling on the landline in the condo would be foolish. He needed a cell phone no one knew about.
As his eyes tracked a passenger plane approaching from the north and preparing to land at Reagan National Airport, he smiled to himself as an idea formulated. Once he obtained a cell phone in the morning and a few electronic odds and ends, he would start working on getting out of his current situation.
Chapter 39
Springfield, MO
For the first time in several weeks, Kruger was not at the airport on a Monday morning preparing to fly somewhere. Dropping Kristin off at her new kindergarten class enhanced his feeling of normalcy.
With two small children, the Kruger household was always boisterous. Now, with Kristin in school and Stephanie and Mikey at the university to introduce him to his new daycare facility, the house was unusually quiet. He sat at his home office desk and listened. With a slight smile, he plugged a cord into a slot on his laptop and turned on speakers he kept on his credenza. Opening the Pandora icon on his desktop, the sounds of a well-used station started immediately. The first stanzas of Richard Elliot’s Ricochet emanated from the speakers, one of his favorites. The energetic jazz musician’s saxophone composition always put him in a good mood.
Half way through the piece, his cell phone vibrated. Looking at the ID, he turned the volume down and accepted the call.
“Kruger.”
“Busy?”
“Not yet. What’s up, JR.”
“Think you need to get over here.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, just linked Junior with the abductions in Kirksville.”
“I’ll be right there.”
***
Kruger leaned forward in the chair as he sat next to his friend. JR pointed to a screen on the left hand side of the cubicle desk. “Department of Licensing, Olympia, Washington, has a record of a dark gray Mercedes SL500 being registered to a Robert Burns Jr. in 1997. License was renewed regularly until January 2003 when it was reported stolen.”
“Huh.”
“Odometer readings on the registration indicate the car was driven more than 25,000 miles per year.”
“Not unusual.”
“No, but here’s the clincher.” He pointed to the middle monitor in the series of three. “Traffic ticket for speeding, November 2002, Kirksville, MO.”
“I’ll be damned. Junior received a speeding ticket in the afternoon on the day the women disappeared.”
“Yup.”
“How’d you find all of this, JR?”
“Don’t ask.”
Kruger smiled slightly. “So if I made the request I could get a copy of the ticket?”
JR nodded and smiled. “You now have verification he was in Kirksville, at the time of the kidnapping, outside of company records. Which, by the way, have been expunged from the company server.”
“Do you have any verification he was in the other locations the previous years?”
His response was a smile. JR’s fingers danced over the keyboard as images started appearing on the screen. “What do you think?”
As he read the documents contained in the PDF files, his heart rate quickened. On the screen were forms in various formats, but all were records for temporary parking permits issued for a gray 1997 Mercedes SL500 with a Washington State license plate. The locations were University of Florida in 1999, Concord University in 2000, and the University of Akron, 2001, all signed by Robert Burns Jr.
“Did you find a permit at Kirksville?”
“No, just the speeding ticket.”
“That’s enough.” Kruger sat back in his chair and stared out over the cubicle farm. There were numerous employees milling about and ignoring the two individuals seated at the cubicle next to the conference room. Kruger did not see them as his mind raced. “I need to use your conference room. Want to listen?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
After both men made cups of coffee, they sat in the soundproof conference room at a long table. Kruger placed the parking permit and the speeding ticket printouts in front of him for easy reference. He heard Carol Welch’s cell phone ring. The call was answered on the fourth ring.
“Can I call you back, Sean? I’m in a meeting.”
“We have proof Burns was at each of the colleges when the six women were abducted.”
Silence was his answer. “I’ll call you back in two minutes.”
The call ended, and Kruger smiled. “That got her attention.”
Exactly one minute and fifty-seven seconds later Kruger’s phone received her call.
“Okay, what proof?”
“We have registration records of a gray 1997 Mercedes SL500 being registered to a Robert Burns Jr., from 1997 till 2003. The car was reported stolen in 2003. We also have records of temporary parking permits being issued for the same 1997 Mercedes at each of the schools during the same timeframe when the basketball players were abducted. The only school we don’t have a record for is Kirksville.”
“That’s not good.”
“There’s more. We have a copy of a speeding ticket issued to a Robert Burns Jr. on the same day the three women disappeared in Kirksville. Better than a temporary parking permit.”
Silence was once again heard on the phone call. Kruger waited.
“Okay, Sean, will the Grant woman testify against Junior?”
“Can’t answer that at the moment. I’d have to talk to her attorney.”
“Do it. Then we can raise the possibility that the murder of the Ramos woman wasn’t his first. We can ask for bail to be revoked.”
“Kind of what I was hoping. I’ll call Heather Grant’s attorney.”
***
“Agent, it was one thing for my client to nod or shake her head in response to your questions, but I will not allow her to go through the trauma of testifying in front of a judge, jury and the accused.”
Lucile Wilkins’ voice was non-threatening, but firm. Kruger took a deep breath.
“I understand, Ms. Wilkins. I do not wish to put her in a position to be traumatized. We now have solid, compelling evidence Burns was at each college when the six co-eds disappeared. With Ms. Grant’s testimony, we can establish a pattern of prior behavior. It will be enough to revoke bail and, hopefully, keep him out of society for the rest of his life.”
“I will have to discuss it with her. But I’m inclined to advise her against it.”
“When you are talking to her, keep in mind she will be helping to save potential future victims.”
Wilkins was quiet for a while, then asked, “How compelling is your evidence about the colleges?”
“Without going into details, we have documents placing him in each locale at the same time as the abductions.”
“Very well. I will discuss it with her. We will let you know her decision as soon as I speak to her.”
“Thank you, Ms. Wilkins.”
The call ended, and Kruger sighed.
“Well, what’d she say?” JR took a sip of coffee after asking the question.
“She’ll have to discuss it with Heather.”
“And?”
“I’d say there is a fifty percent chance she will.”
“Which means a fifty percent chance she won’t.”
Kruger smiled. “I’ll take the positive road, thank you.”
“Okay, now what?”
“I think it is time the FBI sent agents to the colleges with subpoenas for the information you found.”
“Make sure you word i
t so it’s a generic search.”
He stood and looked at the computer hacker.
“This isn’t the first time we’ve done this, JR. I know how to word it.”
“I know, I was just… well, you know.”
Kruger chuckled, stood, walked around the table and as he was getting ready to leave, placed his hand on JR’s shoulder. “Yes, JR, I know. You did a good job on this, we’ll get him.”
When Kruger was back in his home office, the house was still quiet. This time he did not turn on music; he just concentrated on next steps. Taking a legal pad out of a drawer, he started making a list of what needed to be accomplished.
After the list was complete, he called Ryan Clark. The call was answered on the third ring.
“Clark.”
“Ryan, it’s Kruger.”
“What’s up?”
“How’s the surveillance going?”
“Boring. He’s only left the condo twice. Both times to have dinner and stop at a liquor store, and then a CVS.”
“Does he know he’s being watched?”
“Probably, we haven’t been real subtle about it.”
“Good. I have good news.”
“Oh? I could use some. Tell me.”
“We finally have evidence he was at the colleges at the time of the abductions.” Kruger gave him a summary of their findings and outlined what Clark needed to do.
“When do you want the warrant?”
“As soon as we have the evidence secured by a legal search.”
Clark chuckled, “Who found it? JR?”
“Yeah, JR.”
“Glad he’s on our side.”
“Me too.”
Chapter 40
Washington, DC
Two days later
The warrant for the arrest of Robert Burns Jr. was signed by a judge at nine a.m., and the caravan of three FBI vehicles, two sedans and a Suburban, screeched to a halt in front of the building containing Robert Burns Jr.’s condo at 9:32 a.m.
Ryan Clark stepped out of the lead vehicle, looked around while he buttoned his suit coat, and waited for the agents in the Suburban to exit. He had four agents from the local SWAT team in full gear ready for the arrest. Two other agents, both of whom Clark had worked with in the past, joined him as they reviewed their plan.
“We will execute like we discussed,” he began, then pointed toward the SWAT team. “You four will make first contact. The rest of us will follow with the warrant. Let’s get this done. Ready?”
Everyone nodded, and they headed toward the front of the building.
The initial knock on the door went without a response. The second attempt received the same. No answer. Clark took out his cell phone and walked down the hallway. His call was answered immediately.
“When was the last time anyone physically saw Burns?”’
One of the agents on the day team watching Burns’ condo answered. “Last night, he took a walk, we had a team following him.”
“Where’s the ankle monitor.”
“In the condo. I’m looking at the signal right now.”
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s not answering the door.”
“Probable cause?”
“Yeah, medical emergency.”
Clark heard a chuckle. “Go for it, we concur.”
With a smile, he returned to the group of agents waiting outside Burns’ door. “There could be a medical emergency. Force entry if he doesn’t answer this time.”
The lead SWAT agent, known to Clark simply as Mark, knocked again.
“FBI, Mr. Burns, we need you to come to the door. Repeat, we need you to come to the door.”
Again, no response. Clark nodded at the agent. “I believe we have a medical emergency, please open the door, Mark.”
The SWAT leader pointed to a team member with a one-man battering ram slung on his shoulder.
“Your turn.”
This agent, whom Clark had only met earlier in the morning and could not remember his name, nodded and unslung the ram. Two agents drew their weapons and stood to the side of the door, one positioned on each side.
The agent with the ram positioned himself in front of the door and looked at Mark. When the agents by the door nodded, Mark raised his hand and used it to silently count down from three.
The force of the forty-pound steel tube filled with synthetic concrete shattered the door jam. The door slammed against a wall inside. The two agents on the side of the door were in first, weapons in front sweeping the room for hostile opponents. There were none.
Clark followed the SWAT members into the room, and while they swept the rest of the residence, he holstered his gun and stared at a dining room chair sitting in the middle of the living area. On the chair was Burns’ ankle monitor attached to a small Samsung tablet. Burns was nowhere in the apartment.
Retrieving his cell phone, he dialed Kruger’s cell phone. It was answered on the first ring.
“Is he in custody?”
“He’s gone. Ankle monitor is here, but he isn’t.”
“Damn.”
“What now, Sean?”
“Put a BOLO out on him. How long do you think he’s been gone?”
“Surveillance team reported he went for a walk last night. It was the last time they saw him.”
“He could be anywhere by now. I’ll call Seltzer.”
“We’ll secure the place and wait to hear from you.”
***
Carol Welch was furious. District Judge Todd Lewis refused to take her call, she was forced to leave a message for him. After slamming the phone handset back into its cradle, she looked up at FBI Agent Ryan Clark and took a deep breath. “So what is the Bureau doing to find him?”
“We have the U.S. Marshall Service involved, and all local law enforcement agencies on the East Coast have been notified of his escape.”
“You realize he is probably miles away.”
“Yes, Sean thinks he had help from his Russian contacts.”
She frowned and stared at Clark. “Why?”
Clark shook his head, “He didn’t say, but he seemed pretty sure of himself.”
“Find out.”
The FBI agent nodded as he left her office.
***
“When did the Russian chat room go silent?”
“Early this morning. There was a flurry of messages and now nothing.”
“Do they mention Burns?”
JR shook his head. “No, but there is mention of a package to be picked up in Georgetown.”
“When was that message?”
“About eleven p.m.”
“When did the messages stop?”
JR looked at his monitor and then back up at Kruger. “Last one was at ten minutes after one a.m., then nothing.”
“What did it say?”
“Ich habs.”
“It’s German, means ‘got it.’”
“Why German?”
“Remember, Burns had an Austrian passport.”
“Oh yeah, forgot. Think they picked him up?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. I just can’t prove it.”
***
Robert Burns Jr. opened his eyes, groggy from whatever was in the shot he’d received after climbing into the black Chrysler 300 behind his condo. His hands were immobile behind him and both legs were taped to the legs of the chair where he sat. His neck was stiff from supporting his head while unconscious.
Blinking several times, he saw a large man reading a newspaper in a chair next to a door. The room he occupied was sparsely furnished and smelled of gasoline and tires. Newspapers covered windows that started half way up the wall and extended to the ceiling. Only two walls had windows; the two remaining were solid cinderblock.
The man reading the paper looked up at him, stood, and stepped out of the room. He returned a few minutes later followed by another man, this one not as large.
“Well, Mr. Burns, I see you are awake.”
The voice had a distinct European accent. He was of average height, big boned, with a bulbous nose, dark wavy hair, bushy eyebrows, and cheeks scarred by untreated ache.
Burns stared at the man. “Where am I?”
“A long way from where you were. You are violating terms of your bail.”
“Again, where am I?”
“New York City. An old warehouse close to Hudson River.”
Burns glared at the man, but did not respond.
“You don’t seem surprised. Which is good, since you contacted us to help you leave Washington.”
“Why am I tied up?”
“Because we wanted to make sure you understand why you were brought here and why you are no longer important to us.”
Burns’ head snapped back, and his eyes grew wide. “What do you mean, no longer important?”
“You are idiot, Bobby,” the man emphasized the second syllable of his name.
“I don’t understand. My dad has an agreement with you.”
“The correct tense of the word is ‘had.’ Had an agreement with us. You were supposed to be a senator, but you could not keep dick in pants.”
Sweat popped out on Burns’ forehead. The conversation was starting to concern him.
“You’re sweating, Bobby. Why? Nervous? Good. You should be.”
“What do you want? Money? I’ve got lots of money. How much?”
The man shook his head and smiled. “Money, I have. Influence in Congress, I don’t. You were supposed to give me influence.”
“Who said so?”
“Your father. He told me you would do anything he told you to do. Just like when he was a senator. He did what we told him.”
Robert Burns Jr. stared at the man in front of him as his stomach knotted and bile reached the back of his mouth.
“No, we are done wasting money on the Burns family. We will deliver a message to your father. In fact you will help with the message.”
The man pulled a .22 caliber pistol with a long tube on the barrel from underneath his sport coat. He pointed the weapon at the center of Burns’ forehead. “Goodbye, Bobby.”