Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller)

by William Neubauer

  Operation Iron Noose, planned personally by Fox, called for complete coverage of a target area with a radius of 1,000 feet around the Black Cat. Spotters were located on every street leading into the target area. Once Swan entered the target area, roadblocks would immediately be set up to seal off all streets leading to the area. As an added precaution, spike strips would be deployed in case Swan somehow got around one of the roadblocks.

  If things went as planned, Swan would not even know he was being watched or that the noose had been tightened until the point where he was taken down. Gunplay was not expected, but Fox and team were absolutely prepared for it, down to four snipers in multiple positions surrounding the Black Cat.

  Since Swan had a history of monitoring law enforcement channels, all communications would be scrambled over a reserved frequency. The code name for Swan was simply Target. Morgan’s was Belle.

  Fox checked his watch—21:59. Swan’s chances of being early were rapidly fading. Hell, his chances of being on time weren’t even looking too good. And no sign of Belle either.

  But just four miles away, in the parking lot of an abandoned shopping plaza, a yellow Corvette was being ramped out of a 18-wheeler on behalf of Chad Swan.

  Five minutes later, Fox checked his watch again. Swan was officially late now. And Fox was officially concerned. Very concerned. Had some idiot inadvertently spooked Swan? Or maybe his daughter? Had they changed their plans and gotten around surveillance? He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Then he heard something in his earpiece.

  “Target vehicle spotted at position 7.”

  Fox felt a surge of excitement that almost knocked him over. “Position 7, please confirm vehicle and plate match.”

  “This is 7. Vehicle confirmed. Chrome yellow Corvette. Plate match confirmed. One occupant visible in vehicle.”

  “This is 5. Vehicle and plate match confirmed here as well. Vehicle occupant matches physical description of Target.”

  “This is Fox. Close noose. Repeat, close noose.”

  Within one minute of Fox’s command, all the streets leading to the Black Cat had been sealed off.

  The yellow Corvette took one of the two spots the task force had ensured were available right in front of the Black Cat. Fox had never actually been this close to Chad Swan and he was going to make sure that nothing went awry.

  “This is Fox. All except 2, 3, and 4, stand down but stand ready; 2, please confirm.”

  The response came from Special Agent Thomas Jarboe as he made eye contact with the other two agents. “This is 2, confirmed ready 2, 3, and 4.”

  After parking, the car sat idling for about a minute. The bearded man inside was finishing up a cell phone call. He finished the call and turned off the engine. For a long minute there was no movement.

  A whisper came through Fox’s earpiece. “This is 2. Should we engage?”

  Fox shot back immediately. “Negative. Wait for him get out of the car.” Fox was hoping that was the right decision. If the car suddenly started again, it wasn’t. But the streets were sealed, so Swan wouldn’t be going anywhere anyway.

  After another long minute, Fox saw the bearded figure finally emerge from the car and press the lock button on his key fob as he began to walk around the front of the vehicle to approach the Black Cat. As the lights flashed and horn sounded to note securing of the vehicle, a voice came into Fox’s earpiece.

  “This is 2 to 3 and 4. Ready to move on my mark.” There was a two-second pause. “Now!”

  The three highly trained FBI agents moved as a single fluid machine, swooping in and neutralizing their target before he made it to the sidewalk. He was up against his rented vehicle and in cuffs in less than ten seconds.

  Once they had confirmed he was, in fact, unarmed, it was Jarboe who did the talking. “Chad Swan, you are under arrest.” Jarboe continued with the required arrest litany then asked the mandatory terminating question. “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

  The reply came slowly and in an accent that sounded Hispanic. “Yes, I understand . . . but I am not Chad Swan.”

  Fox, who was already on his way down from the parking garage, had heard all of this through his earpiece. “Thomas, check his right hand for the tattoo,” Fox said as he quickened his pace.

  Jarboe’s response came after a very long ten seconds. “Affirmative on the tattoo—a blue scorpion.”

  “That’s him then,” Fox stated flatly, certain that he had his man.

  Fifteen seconds later, Fox was there. He stopped the agents as they were walking their prisoner to the FBI vehicle that would take him to the field office in Boston. Fox studied the bearded face closely. Given the poor quality of available photos of Chad Swan, most others would not have have been able to tell. But Fox was sure.

  “Goddammit!” Fox tried to force some lucid thoughts through the debilitating frustration he was now feeling. “Who the hell are you?”

  The man looked respectfully at Fox, then quietly said, “My name is Angel Cruz.”

  Chapter 42

  Special Agent-in-Charge Milton Fox sat at a built-in table in the FBI vehicle that by now should have been transporting Chad Swan to a jail cell. Along with Fox in the highly customized black Ford cargo van were Special Agent Thomas Jarboe, Detective Tom Drake, and the current focus of their nearly undivided attention, Angel Cruz.

  Fox was painfully aware that the clock was ticking and that with every passing minute, Chad Swan was getting another minute away. Employing all the warmth and charm of a medieval inquisitor, he got as much out of Angel Cruz as could possibly be extracted—which wasn’t much.

  Not for a New York minute did Fox believe Angel Cruz’s contention that he did not know Chad Swan. Cruz claimed he had simply borrowed the rented Corvette from a man he knew as Edmund Jonas. Regardless of Cruz’s story, it was clear to Fox what was going on here. The chances of Cruz just randomly showing up at the Black Cat were infinitesimal. He had to be involved with Swan.

  But Cruz was a cool customer. He remained polite throughout the questioning, but he was impossible to intimidate. They might be able to get more out of him, but doing so would take more than good cop, bad cop type tactics. More importantly, it would take time. Time that Fox could not afford at the moment.

  When he was close to done with Angel Cruz—for the time being, at least—Fox used the communication channel to summon Inspector Mark Davies of the Cambridge PD, who was on-scene as part of the operation. Davies had been with the Cambridge PD for sixteen years. For operation Iron Noose, he was at position 17, which, as things turned out, was far from the action. Davies arrived right on cue, as Fox was finishing up his questioning of Angel Cruz.

  Davies tapped the deeply tinted glass on the passenger side of the black-as-night van. A moment later the motorized door began to slide open revealing the customized interior, including the booth-like molded seats and table around which Fox, Drake, Jarboe, and Cruz were seated.

  “Inspector. Thanks for getting over here so quickly,” Fox said. “I’d like you to take this man into custody.”

  Davies glanced at Angel Cruz then back to Fox. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Special Agent-in-Charge Fox?”

  Fox, slid out from his seat at the table and through the van’s street-side door. He and Davies stepped about fifteen feet away to get out of earshot.

  “Is there a question, Inspector?”

  “I just need clarification. What are we supposed to charge this guy with?”

  The question frustrated Fox. “I don’t know. Work it out. Aiding and abetting.”

  “You really think we can make that stick?”

  “I don’t particularly care if it sticks. We just need to jam this guy up until I have time to question him further. Right now, I have to get the guys inside this van to figure out where Chad Swan really is. I just need you to hold Cruz for me.”

  “Okay,” Davies said, shaking his head with a roll of the eyes after Fox turned away to head back to the
van.

  Chapter 43

  Back inside the high-tech FBI vehicle, Fox, Drake, and Jarboe began to go over what they knew—and they were painfully aware it wasn’t much. It seemed the only thing that was clear was that, despite what Cruz had told them, he had to have gone to the Black Cat on Swan’s instructions. There was no way Cruz could have shown up there by chance.

  “But why go through this whole charade involving Cruz? Swan already had us off track. He and his daughter were not here.”

  Jarboe looked at Drake with a fatalistic grin, and offered an answer he was pretty much sure of. “Because now, he knows how closely we’re tracking him. Before, he only suspected.”

  “Yep,” Fox said. “Now Swan knows how deep we’re in this game. It was a little risky for Cruz, but ultimately, there won’t be much to charge him with. And the distraction buys Swan more time. None of which is our primary concern at the moment anyway. We need to focus on acquiring Swan ASAP—starting with where he is now!”

  Jarboe broke the ensuing silence. “While you and Davies were outside talking, I queued up the actual recording of Swan’s conversation with his daughter. Maybe there’s something—”

  “Good, let’s hear it,” Fox interjected, wanting to quicken the pace.

  Jarboe picked up a small remote and pressed play. The quality of the sound that came from the on-board audio system was excellent, owing in no small measure to the highly accurate frequency response afforded by its Bose speakers.

  The information regarding the time and place of Chad and Morgan Swan’s meeting had come to Fox via the surveillance team’s report. This was the first time he would be hearing the actual conversation in its entirety. No sooner had he heard the reference to Star Trek than his hand went up, signaling Jarboe to pause the playback.

  “What’s he talking about there?” Fox half asked, half demanded.

  “It’s a reference to Star Trek characters and an actress.”

  “I know who they are. What does it mean?”

  “The surveillance team took it as just blabber. If you listen to the rest, he tells her not to worry about it and then gives her the meeting time and place.”

  Fox tilted his head to the side and down, straining to think. Jarboe pressed play to resume the playback.

  They listened to the rest and all three clearly heard Chad Swan specifying the Black Cat at 10:00 Thursday night.

  “So, Swan arranges this ruse with Cruz—,” Jarboe began, but was stopped by the cross-eyed looks the other two gave him upon hearing the rhyming intro to his question. He shook his head with a brief eye roll then continued with his train of thought. “But why didn’t Morgan Swan at least show up?”

  “Maybe Swan intercepted her en-route.” Drake suggested.

  Fox had the answer. “Or that Star Trek blabber wasn’t just blabber.” He looked directly at Jarboe. “Who do we have that knows Star Trek stuff?”

  Jarboe’s face shrugged as he lightly shook his head from side to side.

  “There’s a guy in our records department in Syracuse,” Drake said. From what I understand, he has a pair of those pointy ears and the whole nine yards. He’s kinda geeky but—”

  “Can you get him on the phone?”

  “Yeah, I have his mobile.”

  “Thomas, can we put Detective Drake’s call on speaker?”

  “Sure. We can emulate a Bluetooth headset.”

  Jarboe gave Drake the device and password info for pairing his mobile phone with the onboard Bluetooth implementation. Drake initiated the call and the three listened in silence to the rings over the onboard sound system.

  Records officer Robert Jenkins answered in the middle of the third ring. The caller id on his cell phone told him it was Drake calling. He answered in a manner indicating he suspected this was not a social call and there was no need for introductory small talk.

  “Hello Tom. What can I do for you?” Jenkins came over the speaker system loud and clear.

  “Sorry about the hour Robert. I need your Star Trek expertise of all things.”

  “What are you on the losing end of a barroom bet somewhere?”

  “No, no. Work related. I’m here with Milton Fox and Thomas Jarboe of the FBI. I don’t really have time to explain, but we need you to listen to something for us, okay?”

  “No problem. Let ‘er rip.”

  Jarboe hit the play button and all four heard the following conversation:

  Chad Swan: “If you and I were to go by the book like Kirk and Spock and Kirstie Alley, day could seem like night and Spanish could seem like fractured English. By the book.”

  Morgan Swan: “What? What are you talking about?”

  Chad Swan: “Don’t worry about it. Just meet me Thursday night at 10 at the Black Cat.”

  Jarboe hit the pause button as Drake posed the obvious question.

  “Any idea what he’s talking about, Robert?”

  “Well, I know exactly what he’s doing. Not exactly all of what he means though.”

  Fox jumped in, dispensing with pleasantries. “This is Special Agent-in-Charge Fox speaking. Please clarify.”

  “It’s a reference to the second Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan. Your subject is speaking in code because he believes someone could be listening in. In this case, the meeting is going to be at ten in the morning, not ten at night. I don’t—”

  “That would mean it had already taken place before we even got here,” Jarboe blurted out.

  Fox and Drake nodded, knowingly.

  “Please continue, Officer Jenkins,” Fox said.

  “I was going to say that I don’t know exactly what he’s getting at with the rest of it, but I think you would be looking for the name of a place in Spanish.”

  Fox took that to the next logical step. “What’s Black Cat in Spanish? Gato Negro, I believe. Thomas?”

  Jarboe was already searching the Internet. “On it. Search results coming up now. Nearest Gato Negro appears to be in New Orleans.”

  “Shit!” Fox said what they were all thinking.

  All except Jenkins, who just gave out a little surprised, “Hmm.”

  Something about the way Jenkins’s utterance had come across caught Fox’s attention. “Something unusual, Officer Jenkins?”

  “Oh, no, no. It’s just that I thought he said the ‘Black Hat.’”

  “He did say the ‘Black Cat,’” replied a confused Jarboe, while the other two in the van sat with puzzled looks.

  This time Jenkins said it much more slowly. “No, the ‘Black Hat,’ in which case you would be looking for—”

  “Sombrero Negro,” interrupted Jarboe as his fingers assaulted his laptop’s keyboard, initiating another search.

  A moment later, Jarboe had the location of Morgan Swan’s favorite restaurant. “It’s in Springfield. On Worthington, between Main and Dwight.” He pounded more text into the keyboard, hit the enter key, and waited a few seconds. “It’s an hour and a half from here. Just a half-hour from where Swan’s daughter lives in Amherst.”

  “Yeah, she grew up in Springfield,” Fox said, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Swan still owns a place there, although there are renters living in it now.”

  All the intrigue involving a famous—to fans, at least—Star Trek maneuver had put Jenkins in the mood for a little banter. “This is about that Chad Swan guy you’ve been trying to track down, right? That guy must be as elusive as the God particle. You sure he exists?”

  “What? God particle? What are you talking about?” Drake asked impatiently.

  “The Higgs boson,” Jenkins sang back in a tone suggesting any idiot should get the reference.

  “What?” Drake was now obviously annoyed.

  “Officer Jenkins, please explain yourself,” said Fox.

  “Sorry, nothing. Geez, it was just a particle physics joke. Forget I said anything.”

  After spending a moment in awkward silence, Drake and Fox thanked Jenkins, and Drake terminated the call. The three occupants of t
he van sat in their black leather captain’s chairs looking like kids who just realized someone had let all the air out of their football.

  It took Fox only a minute to shake off the near-crushing setback. “Get someone over to this Sombrero Negro place in Springfield and see if they have cameras and if anyone remembers seeing or speaking with Swan.”

  Jarboe nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Let’s have another, perhaps more aggressive, chat with Mr. Cruz. And . . .” Fox paused, trying to decide if the game had changed enough to completely alter his tack. He decided it had.

  “What?” Jarboe prompted.

  “Let’s pick up the daughter.”

  Chapter 44

  13 Hours earlier

  Springfield, Massachusetts

  Chad arrived at Sombreo Negro at 10:00 AM sharp and was hoping his daughter would be her typically on-time self and would thus already be there. As he glanced around the main dining room, where there were only a handful of patrons having brunch, he didn’t see her. That was not a surprise, as Morgan would have realized a more remote table in the smaller back dining room would be better for their purposes today.

  A hostess arrived. Chad started talking before she had a chance to ask if he needed assistance. “I think my party’s probably waiting for me in the back dining room.”

  “Well, sir, there’s only one person back there right now. An attractive, athletic-looking young lady with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.”

  “Sounds like my daughter. Little tattoo of a swan behind her left ear?” Chad said, as he motioned in the direction of his own ear, indicating the position of Morgan’s tattoo.