The Cold Trail
Page 30
“When do you need it?”
“Let’s get the Rothenburg and Sandifer deal closed, then we can concentrate on the FBI agent.”
“Excellent, I will follow up with them in the morning.”
“Good.”
Chapter 49
Springfield, MO
JR brought the bottle of a locally brewed lager to his lips and took a gulp as his friend, Sean Kruger, closed the lid of the now clean gas grill. He could hear the sound of a distant lawn mower, a barking dog, and a cool fall breeze rustling leaves in the background as he stood on Kruger back deck.
“Are you declaring the case closed?”
Kruger nodded. “Yes.”
“You don’t seem pleased.”
Glancing up at JR, Kruger gave him a grim smile. “I am. The bodies of the college students will be returned to their families and they will finally have closure. It’s just…”
There was a long silence as Kruger stared at the stainless-steel lid of the grill.
“Just what?”
“There are so many unanswered questions about this case.”
JR took another sip of beer. “Some questions don’t have answers.”
“Not in my world, JR.” Kruger chuckled. “I don’t have that luxury.”
“Maybe I can answer one of them.”
Kruger shot JR a frown. “Since when?”
“Late today. The right time to tell you hadn’t presented itself.”
“Go on.”
“When Orlov told you Burns wasn’t always rich, you didn’t seem to question the statement.”
“I had no reason to, I figured his wealth came when he inherited his father’s properties.”
JR shook his head.
“Care to share this newsflash with me?” Kruger’s voice betrayed his impatience.
The corner of JR’s lip displayed a small smile. “I’ve been doing a little digging into Burns’ finances. At one time, all of those wineries had multiple liens against them. The father was technically bankrupt when he passed away. Senior didn’t inherit wealth, he inherited debt.”
“Huh.”
“The liens disappeared within a year.”
Blinking several times, Kruger asked. “You think the money came from the Russians?”
“I couldn’t confirm it, but with what Orlov told you, that would be my guess.”
Kruger was quiet as he stared out over the growing twilight in his backyard. “So Burns needed cash to get the wineries out of debt and start buying the tech companies he wanted. And the only place he could get it was from the Russians.”
“Yup.”
“There’s the connection, JR. It started with Senior.”
“Seems that way.”
Silence fell over the two friends. A variety of birds could be heard chirping in the growing darkness of evening.
“You’re more familiar with the serial killer mental state than I. Why did Moody stop his killing while he was keeping tabs on Junior?” JR asked.
“Junior wasn’t really a serial killer in the classical definition. He was more of a violent sexual predator. Moody, on the other hand was. There could be numerous reasons why he stopped. My suspicions are his needs were met by dealing with Junior’s victims. But, without being able to interview him, the truth will never be known.”
JR nodded as he stood beside Kruger and watched darkness settle over the numerous mature trees behind the residence.
“I appreciated your help on this case, JR. As always you made my job easier.”
“Glad to help. What’s next for you?”
“I’m staying with the agency. Stef has made it perfectly clear it’s my only option. I tend to agree with her.”
“And?”
“My interview with Orlov in Paris raised more questions than it answered. Paul wants me to start looking into his activities both abroad and here in the states. He wants it done behind the scenes, so I won’t be using agency assets.”
“Makes sense.”
“Want to help?”
A smile came to JR Diminski’s lips.
Epilogue
Al Dhafra Air Force Base, United Arab Emirates
Retired Special Forces Major Benedict Sandy Knoll stood behind two MQ-9 Reaper operators as they concentrated on the monitors in front of them. The man in the left seat piloted the unmanned plane, and the other officer manned the drone’s sensors. Knoll crossed his arms over his massive chest and stared at the images beamed back by the aircraft’s forward camera. His attire was Desert BDUs, minus insignias, and his favorite desert tan tactical boots. A man of similar size and dress stood next to him.
Phillip Farnsworth was an old friend and colleague of Knoll's. Both served together during several tours of Afghanistan and Iraq. Both were highly trained retired Special Forces operatives. Farnworth had a dark complexion with black hair and a thick bushy mustache. He blended into the local populace with ease. Like Knoll, he was retired from Special Forces, but currently worked under a CIA umbrella.
He pointed to the pilot’s monitor on the left.
“The Reaper will be on station for another four hours before we replace it.”
Knoll nodded, but remained silent.
The Reaper he referred to was a remote piloted aircraft flying a lazy figure-eight pattern ten miles southwest of the town of Salah, Oman. The unmanned craft flying at 25,000 feet was, for all practical purposes, invisible to any observer on the ground. Attached to the weapon pods underneath the small airplane were two AGM 114 Hellfire laser guided missiles. Far below the center of the lazy-eight flight pattern of the small airplane was a walled compound near the foothills of the coastal high country.
Turning to look at Farnsworth, Knoll said, “Jimmie’s with the Seal team that inserted at a beach three miles from the compound.”
The black haired man nodded.
“Let’s hope something happens.”
Farnsworth took his attention away from the pilot’s monitor and looked at Knoll. “My orders were to give you operational control, but it didn’t say I couldn’t be curious. Who is this guy you’re after?”
“Let’s call him The Banker.”
“Okay. And?”
“He provides al-Qaeda in Yemen financial support.”
Farnsworth smiled. “Bullshit.”
Knoll chuckled and looked at his old friend. “He does, really. But that’s not why we’re after him.”
“Good, I hate it when you lie to me, Knoll. Tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, the retired Special Forces Major pursed his lips. “He helped an Omani prince obtain western sex slaves. Of which we’ve positively identified nine Americans.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
Shaking his head, Knoll kept his attention on the pilot’s monitor. “It gets worse. They were found in a mass grave along with forty-seven other women from various countries.”
“Ah, geez. Who was the prince?”
“Faheem al-Salem. The Sultan found out about it, and one night the guy disappeared from the face of the earth. Of course, no one bothered to tell anybody about the mass grave, they just let the dessert hide their dirty little secret.”
“I take it someone else found out?”
“Yeah, my boss at the FBI.”
Farnsworth nodded and decided he had asked enough questions.
Silence fell between the two men as they watched monitors.
Five minutes later Knoll heard a squelch in his earbud. “Something is happening.”
***
Jimmie Gibbs was back in his element, a mission with his beloved brethren Navy Seals. After landing their F470 Combat Rubber Raiding Craft on a deserted beach south of Raysut, Oman, their mission was to observe and inform. The walled compound they observed was isolated from other populated areas in this remote part of Oman.
Three men comprised the team, Gibbs as the representative of the FBI and two Navy Seals, Josh Arrington and Ben Chavez. All three were dressed identically, blending into
the desert background. Gibbs and Chavez studied the compound with their Steiner 7x50rc M50rc Commander military binoculars, while Arrington kept watch. Their position was on a small rise west of the compound, which allowed a good view over the eight-foot surrounding wall.
It was approaching noon, and the semi-arid landscape was starting to heat up. Jimmie didn’t notice; he was concentrating on two Toyota Land Cruisers parked in front of the main residence of the compound. Several large men with automatic rifles stood watch over the vehicles. Five men emerged through the front door and stood by the front SUV. Focusing his binoculars on a tall figure in the middle, he spotted the target of their mission. Yasser Hussein.
“There he is in the middle, Ben. Do you concur?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Once we know which truck he’s in, we’ll paint it when it leaves the compound.”
“Got it.”
The two fell back into silent concentration. As soon as Hussein got into the back seat of the lead Toyota, Gibbs tapped the transmit button on his handheld radio as Chavez prepared the laser target designator. He heard in his wireless ear piece a response from the pilot of the unmanned drone Gibbs knew was five miles above them.
As the two SUVs exited the compound, Chavez aimed the laser on the lead vehicle. Gibbs heard the disembodied voice of the drone’s sensor operator in his ear.
“Target acquired. Stand by.”
***
The sensor operator turned to Farnsworth.
“Target is painted, sir. On your word.”
Farnsworth nodded and looked at Knoll. “Your call.”
“Do it.”
“At your discretion, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” The sensor operator turned back to his monitor and prepared to launch both Hellfire missiles.
***
Gibbs watched as the two-vehicle caravan turned onto the main highway and sped west. From their vantage point, they would have the trucks in sight for several more miles, so he expected the show to begin immediately.
As the three men watched the trucks speed away, they heard the distinct sound of incoming Hellfire missiles. Several seconds later, the two SUVs disappeared in a cloud of fire, dust, and metal debris. The sound from the explosions reached their location six seconds later. Gibb trained his binoculars back on the compound and saw the guards’ reaction to the explosion. No one seemed in a hurry to investigate. They were more interested in looting the compound and getting the heck out of there.
Chavez was already packing his laser in his backpack. He looked up at Gibbs and asked, “Do we need DNA?”
Shaking his head, Gibbs studied the smoldering remains of the two SUVs off in the distance with his binoculars.
“Wouldn’t have any samples to compare it to. We both confirmed the target visually; they’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
He smiled and removed his eyes from the binoculars.
“Besides, there’s nothing larger than a soccer ball in that mess.”
About the Author
J.C. Fields is an award-winning writer living in Battlefield, MO. He enjoys creating short stories and novels in the mystery/thriller genre, with an occasional foray into science fiction. He is a member of the Springfield Writers’ Guild, and Missouri Writer’s Guild. He has written and published numerous short stories and four full length novels. This third novel, The Imposter’s Trail, won Best Mystery/Thriller Book at the Ozark Indie Book Fest in 2017.
All four of his books are available on Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, booksamillion.com and other online retailers. Audio versions are also available on Audible.com.
Visit his website www.jcfieldsbooks.com.
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