The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  “What are you talking about?” Lacey asked. “Make what right?”

  Otto returned the knife to its sheath. “Never mind.”

  In his cruiser, Trooper Malone lay slumped forward in his seat.

  Otto eased the Range Rover past the police car and drove slowly across the parking lot. No one had followed them out of the rear exit of the service station or witnessed the attack.

  With Speedy’s Gar Bar behind them, Otto reached the ramp to the Interstate. “They’ll be looking for us,” he said. “We’ll need to hurry.”

  “Give yourself up, Otto,” Lacey urged. “This won’t end well for you.”

  “You mean us.”

  “What?”

  “It won’t end well for us. Because whatever happens now happens to both of us. If I die, you die. Together forever, Lacey. Just like I promised. Together forever.”

  Back in the parking lot at Speedy’s, the police dispatcher asked Trooper Malone for his status. No response. The speaker in the officers patrol car announced, “Attention all units. Possible 10-13, officer requires assistance. Last known location Interstate 495 exit at Old Westbury. All available units respond, code three.”

  Rocketing along the highway towards Montauk, the gravity of the situation struck Lacey. Right now, there was only one thing she could do to save herself from the madman seated beside her: cooperate.

  Otto was determined not to let the murder of the police officer at the gas station dampen his mood. He turned on the radio, tuned in a classic rock station. Def Leppard sang, ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me.’

  He strummed the steering wheel with his fingers. The music made him feel better.

  He turned to Lacey. “You know I only want to make you happy,” he said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Staring out the passenger window, Lacey turned and forced a smile. “I know, Otto,” she said. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Killing the cop.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  It was all she could do not to scream. Instead, she found the words. “Of course I forgive you,” she said. “How could I not?”

  171

  SHOOP… SHOOP… SHOOP…

  The agents watched and waited as the FBI Bell Ranger helicopter Penner had requested touched down. They ran to the bird, climbed aboard, buckled in, and put on their communications headsets.

  Penner instructed the pilot. “Follow Interstate 495 east to Montauk.”

  “Copy that,” the pilot said. “You looking for a specific target?”

  “Silver Range Rover.”

  The pilot paused. “The BOLO? License plate ‘MRGRIMM?’”

  “Yeah,” Penner replied. “Why?”

  “State Police are responding to a call against that plate. A LifeFlight air ambulance has been called to the scene. Gas bar and restaurant in Old Westbury. State trooper was stabbed as he was calling it in.”

  “What’s his condition?” Jordan asked.

  “Chatter says he’s bad, possibly critical.”

  “Schreiber,” Chris said.

  “Take us there,” Jordan asked. “I want to see the scene.”

  “You got it,” the pilot said. “Hang on.”

  The chopper lifted off the ground, circled the field, then swung right, headed east, picked up speed.

  Within minutes they would be in Old Westbury.

  172

  ANTON AND DEGARIO entered Marnie’s Fast Fuel restaurant together with Sam Chapman and his fellow Hells Angels members.

  Mabel the waitress greeted them. “Help you boys?” she asked.

  “Table for eight, please,” Anton said.

  “You betcha. Follow me.”

  Mabel seated the men by the window facing the highway. “What can I get you?” she asked.

  “Eight beers to start,” Anton replied.

  “I’ve got Sam Adams on tap if you like. Seems to be a favorite here.”

  “That will be great.”

  Mabel smiled as she handed out the menus. “Coming right up.”

  Sam Chapman spoke to Anton. “What’s the deal with this Chastain chick, anyway? Why did this guy target her?”

  “No idea,” Anton replied. “My guess is he visited the Odyssey, watched her perform, liked what he saw and decided he would abduct her. The rest I can’t explain. All I know is that the guy’s a psychopath. Lacey’s in a lot of danger. We need to find her before he hurts her, or worse.”

  “We’ll put him in the ground for this,” Chapman said. “Nobody messes with Russ’s girls and gets away clean.”

  “He’s wounded,” Anton said. “I’m pretty sure I clipped him.”

  “You shot him?” Chapman asked.

  Anton nodded. “We had a run in at Lacey’s apartment. I chased him, but he got away.”

  “What was he doing in her apartment?”

  “No idea. He took me by surprise, tried to take me out, almost succeeded. When I find him he’ll wish he had.”

  Mabel returned with a tray of beers. “Here you go, boys,” she said. “This should take the edge off.”

  Sam Chapman opened his phone. He studied Lacey’s picture, committed her face to memory.

  Mabel looked at the image on the phone. Sam caught her staring at the picture. The waitress’s affable disposition suddenly changed. She looked concerned.

  “Something wrong, ma’am?” Sam asked.

  “N-no,” Mabel said.

  Sam could tell she was lying. “Have you seen this girl?” he asked.

  Mabel shook her head. “Please, I don’t want any trouble,” she said. “I don’t want to get involved.”

  Anton took the phone from Sam and showed it to the waitress. “Please ma’am,” he said. “If you’ve seen her you need to tell us. It’s very important.”

  “What did she do?” Mabel asked.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Degario interjected. “We’re trying to find her, to help her. We believe her life may be in danger.”

  Mabel looked nervous. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Please,” Anton said. “She’s very important to me. We believe she’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Mabel exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “Which is why we need to know if you’ve seen her,” Degario said. “Can you help us?”

  Mabel looked across at the empty table. “She was here,” she said. “She was with a man. I brought their lunch to the table, but they’d left the restaurant.”

  “This man,” Anton said. “Can you describe him?”

  “White,” Mabel said. “Early thirties, good looking. He was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt. It had a stain on the shoulder. Looked like dried blood, like maybe he’d hurt himself.”

  “Did you see them leave?” Degario asked.

  Mabel shook her head. “I was in the kitchen picking up their order. As you can see, we’re very busy.”

  “How long ago was this?” Anton asked.

  “Five minutes… ten at the most.”

  Degario stood to leave. “That doesn’t put them very far ahead of us,” he said. “If they’ve come here, we know they’re traveling east. If we leave now, there’s a chance we can catch up to them.”

  Anton threw enough money on the table to cover the drinks. He handed Mabel a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The men stood to leave.

  “One more thing,” Mabel said. “The way he acted. It was odd.”

  “What do you mean?” Anton asked.

  “He ordered for her. Wouldn’t let the poor dear speak. I thought perhaps they had had an argument or something. You know how couples can be sometimes. Waiting on tables you see it all. People don’t think we pick up on these things, but we do.”

  “You’ve been very helpful, Mabel,” Degario said. “Thank you.”

  “I hope she’ll be all right,” Mabel said as the men started to leave.


  “So do we,” Anton replied.

  Outside the restaurant, a small crowd had gathered around a police car parked at the far end of the lot. The officer had been removed from his vehicle. He lay on the ground. A man was leaning over him, performing CPR.

  In the distance, emergency sirens wailed, grew louder. Police cars raced to a stop, blocked the entrance to Speedy’s Gas Bar.

  Above them, approaching fast, the steady thrum of an inbound helicopter grew louder.

  The men watched as the Interstate traffic braked to a halt behind an armada of police cars.

  A LifeFlight air ambulance helicopter cleared the top of the restaurant, started its decent and set down on the highway entrance ramp to Speedy’s. The paramedics disembarked from the chopper, off-loaded a gurney, and ran to the location of the fallen officer.

  “They’re shutting down the Interstate,” Anton said. “We need to leave, now.”

  173

  LACEY WAS QUIET as they left Old Westbury and traveled east on Interstate 495, her thoughts returning to the panicked look on the face of the state trooper when he turned his head, too late, to acknowledge his attacker. Otto had acted swiftly, plunged the knife deep and fast into the officer’s neck before he had the chance to notify his dispatcher of the danger he was in. He had tried to speak, couldn’t, dropped his radio microphone, and raised his hands to his neck in a futile effort to stop the bleeding. All she could do was watch in fear. She wanted to run to the officer, throw open the door, apply direct pressure to the wound, grab his radio, call for help. But the scream that had escaped her was involuntary, born of terror from having witnessed such a heinous and despicable act.

  “You’ll like living on the yacht.”

  Lacey’s mind was a million miles away from the conversation. “Huh?” she answered.

  “The sea,” Otto said. “There’s a peace and serenity about it you can’t quite put into words. You’ll like living on the water. No one around for miles. The occasional visit from a seagull. It’s the perfect place to discover yourself, to learn who you truly are.”

  Lacey forced a smile. “It sounds wonderful,” she lied.

  “Have you been before?”

  “Where?”

  “To sea.”

  “No,” Lacey said.

  “Then I’ll make it special for you,” Otto said. There was excitement in his voice. “Do you still want to go to the Bahamas?”

  “Where?”

  “An hour ago. Back at the restaurant. You asked me if we could go there. That you wanted to go there. You weren’t lying about that, were you?”

  Lacey took his hand. She replied as convincingly as she could. “Of course not. The Bahamas, Bermuda, Turks & Caicos… wherever the weather’s warm. I’m tired of the cold New York winters. It’s time for a change. The more I think about it the more I realize how right the timing was for you to come into my life. I don’t just want this. I need this. All the better that I get to spend it with you.”

  Otto smiled. Her response sounded genuine. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  Lacey patted his hand and smiled. “Me too,” she said. She looked out the window. “How long before we get to Montauk?”

  “An hour and a bit,” Otto said. They had exited the Interstate at Brentwood and were now heading south to Brightwaters. “Traffic’s light. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  Lacey struggled to find something to talk about, to keep her mind off her kidnapping and the tumultuous events of the day. “Tell me about your boat,” she said.

  “It’s not a boat,” Otto said. “It’s a yacht.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Huge.”

  Who the fuck cares, Lacey thought. Instead, she asked, “Like what?”

  “Amenities, accommodations, communications, nautical range,” Otto said. “Her name is Ava’s Dream. She belonged to my late mother. One-hundred-and-forty-seven feet of perfection. Twin diesel engines, almost fifteen-thousand-gallon fuel capacity. She’ll take us anywhere we want to go.”

  Anywhere except home, Lacey thought. “Do you miss her?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Otto paused. “Every day.”

  “Do you think she would have liked me?”

  “She would have loved you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re good for me. You make me want to be a better man.”

  “You’re already a good man, Otto,” Lacey lied. “Deep down. Your intentions are good.”

  “I’ve killed people.”

  “I know.”

  “Many people.”

  Lacey was growing weary of keeping up the facade. Otto was not a good man, not by a long shot. She was only telling him what she felt he needed to hear to prolong her own life even if just for the moment. Back at Speedy’s, he had likely killed the police officer. In the dungeon in Kessell’s he had nearly taken the life of Bonnie Cole and was prepared to do the same to Melinda and Victoria. Now Bonnie lay in hospital, either recovering from her injuries or fighting for her life, and thankfully Melinda and Victoria were safe. She would have to get away from him before they reached Montauk. Once at sea there would be no escape. She would be trapped. His to do with as he pleased. A prisoner on the water.

  “Can we open the windows, Otto? I need fresh air,” she said.

  “I’ll turn up the air conditioning.”

  Lacey sensed his suspicion. “I’d really prefer to feel the breeze on my face. Please?”

  “I suppose,” he said. “But only for a little while.”

  Lacey pressed the button on her armrest console and lowered the window. She lay back in her seat, closed her eyes, breathed in the cool afternoon air, and placed her arm on the windowsill.

  “What a perfect day,” she said. She needed to engage Otto in conversation, allay any feelings of mistrust he might still have of her.

  “How long does it take to prepare the yacht to leave?” she asked. “I’m tired.” She extended her hand out the window then rested it on the sill.

  Otto glanced at her. “Ten minutes,” he said. “I always keep her gassed up and ready to go.”

  Lacey rested her feet on the knife-slashed dashboard, cupped her palm, and allowed the force of the airstream racing past the car to lift and drop it playfully.

  “What are you doing?” Otto asked.

  Lacey smiled. “Having fun,” she said. She lowered her hand, placed it against the dust-covered door. With her fingertip she drew a number: 9.

  “Put your arm back in the car,” Otto said.

  “Why? What’s the matter? I’m just enjoying myself.” Another number: 1.

  “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  A third: 1.

  “All right, all right,” she said. “No need to get so uptight about it. I don’t see the harm in—”

  Otto struck her across the face with the back of his hand. The impact stunned her. “The next time I tell you to do something, do it.”

  The blow cut her lip. Lacey tasted blood. If she could have, she would have killed him then and there.

  With a whirring sound the window retracted.

  Lacey pulled her arm back inside the car.

  From his console, Otto pushed the master all window lock button.

  Click.

  174

  JORDAN, CHRIS, AND AGENT PENNER looked down from the FBI chopper at the organized chaos unfolding below them at Speedy’s Gas Bar in Old Westbury. State and local police had shut down the highway and the entrance and exit to the facility. Curious motorists stood outside their vehicles, trying to catch a glimpse of the action as it unfolded beyond the yellow and black crime scene tape that encircled the restaurant and parking lot. Jordan watched the blades of the LifeFlight air ambulance begin to rotate, heard the whine of its engine as it prepared for takeoff. As paramedics and fellow officers rushed a horrifically injured Trooper Malone to the bird, its rotor speed increased as the chopper waited impatiently t
o receive its patient. Seconds later, with all parties now safely aboard, the aircraft lifted off and began its ascent. Clear of the scene, the machine picked up speed. Its destination: Stony Brook Southampton Hospital Trauma Centre.

  The FBI pilot spoke: “Hold on. I’m taking her down.”

  The helicopter landed on the northeast corner of the parking lot outside the barricade of police cars and emergency vehicles which surrounded the gas station. Jordan slid open the side door and stepped out of the chopper, followed by Chris and Agent Penner. “Keep her warm,” Penner yelled above the roar of the engine. The pilot nodded, gave a thumbs up.

  As the agents reached the site of the attack, crime scene investigators were analyzing Trooper Malone’s cruiser, photographing the scene, laying down evidence markers on the bloody ground where the two truckers, upon returning to their rigs, spotted the injured officer, pulled him out of his squad car, and administered CPR in an effort to save his life.

  Jordan presented her credentials to the trooper standing beside the vehicle. “How’s your man doing?” she asked.

  State Trooper Sergeant Leslie Mallory introduced herself, shook her hand. “Not good,” she replied. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Paramedics said the wound appeared to be major, likely from a knife attack, but they couldn’t be sure. Depth and path of the penetration is unknown. He was spitting up blood when they were working on him and air bubbles were forming around the wound. They suspect his airway had been compromised, that his trachea shifted because of the attack.” Mallory looked away. “It should have been me, you know,” she said. “Grant and I switched breaks. He said he wanted to catch Mabel when she went off shift.”

  “Mabel?”

  “She’s a waitress here. Grant likes her, wanted to ask her out.”

  “Does she know what’s happened?”

  “Just that an officer was hurt. We’re trying to keep the details quiet for now. I plan to tell her in a few minutes. Grant would want her to know.”

  “Anyone see the attacker?”