THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH: A Suspenseful Action-Packed Thriller

by Nolan Thomas

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Riley said. “The Monster will never find us here.”

  48

  ROLINSKA STEPPED OVER SISTER CLARISSE’S body. Several of the sisters’ bedroom doors opened in response to the noise, but Rolinska kept moving with the determination of an unrelenting predator in pursuit of her prey. She reached the exterior door, opened it, and walked through the entranceway. She saw a man closing the back door of a Jeep. The fading dome light stayed on long enough for Rolinska to see Casey holding a sobbing Riley. An older man drove the vehicle. Rolinska quickly considered her options. She could shoot out the tires, then kill all its occupants. She couldn’t be sure these two men were unarmed. Even if they were armed, she could kill them before either man got off a shot. Casey and the girl could be taken out last. They were unarmed.

  Because Rolinska didn’t know these men, she couldn’t risk any miscalculation of political ramifications. The mission must be protected above all else. That required protecting her own identity as well. Rolinska tucked her Grach back into its holster under her blazer, and ran towards the car to look at the plates. Knowing who and what she was up against was more important than taking Riley out at this time.

  She placed a call.

  “Yes,” the Voice said.

  “Agent Nika Rolinska.”

  “Verification sequence?”

  “Red Tide 3359X.”

  “Verification accepted. What is your request?’

  “This is a field emergency.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Riley was driven away from the hospital in a late model, dark-colored Jeep with Illinois license plate number 376 2984. Give me everything you can. I’ll wait.”

  In a matter of seconds, the Voice came back on the line. “The vehicle is a granite, 2020 Jeep Wrangler registered to William Patrick Daniels of Chicago, Illinois. He is a thirty-one-year-old Caucasian male. Six feet. One hundred eighty-five pounds. Brown hair. Green eyes.”

  “I don’t know this person. Give me some background.”

  “One moment,” the Voice said, clicking away.

  “This man, known as Billy Daniels, works for the Chicago Post newspaper. He is an award-winning investigative journalist. He previously served in the United States Navy, and is a highly decorated Navy SEAL.”

  The Voice added, “This is a disturbing turn of events, Agent Rolinska.”

  “I need you to give me the information I ask for, not commentary!”

  “Do you need any further information?”

  “No,” Rolinska barked as she ended the call.

  Rolinska’s comrade was right. This was a disturbing turn of events.

  Who in the hell are these people? A top aide to Senator Hennessey? A Navy SEAL? Why is a Chicago reporter in the middle of all this?

  She pulled a small device from her pocket. The tracking device she planted on the detective was operational. He was still in the hospital. Rolinska decided to take a stroll up to the third floor. Clearly Detective Amato was her best shot at unraveling this situation. Rolinska walked through the doors to the emergency room just as the police arrived at the convent.

  AS SOON AS the call ended, the Voice went to Major Bortnikov’s office.

  “Sorry for the interruption, Major. The operation may be getting away from Agent Rolinska. You need to hear this call I just received from her.”

  The Major grunted after he heard the conversation. “You were right to bring this to my attention. Keep me informed.”

  “Yes, Major.” Pleased, the Voice turned away, smiled, and walked out of the Major’s office.

  49

  “DETECTIVE AMATO,” THE UNIFORMED MPD officer said. “There’s been a shooting at the convent next door. A nun was hit. Witnesses report a tall blond woman leaving the building right after the shot was fired. Our people just got to the scene.”

  This night kept getting worse. Vince scrutinized the hospital’s third-floor crime scene. Officer McGuire, a promising young MPD officer was dead, and Riley and Casey had vanished.

  “Tell them I’m on my way. Any word where the shooter went?”

  The police officer relayed Vince’s question. He kept the phone next to his ear, then turned it away from his mouth so he could talk to Vince without talking into the phone.

  “No. The nuns didn’t see anything. No vantage point from the convent. Someone entering or leaving the emergency room might have seen something. A couple of our uniforms are there now asking around. The door the shooter exited is fairly close to the emergency room parking lot. The shooter may have taken off in a vehicle.”

  “Tell them to check with security and see if there’s any video surveillance of that lot,” Vince said.

  He started walking towards the elevator. Vince looked up when he heard the sound of voices approaching. The Feds working Riley’s case, FBI Special Agent Jackson and Agent McNamara, approached.

  Although forty-six, Jackson looked ten years younger. He diligently worked to keep his solid, thickly-muscled body in top condition. Only a few strands of barely visible gray appeared in his dark-blond hair.

  “We heard about the shooting at the convent,” Jackson said.

  “I believe I talked with Kathryn Dixon,” Vince said.

  “Go on.”

  “Earlier, a surgeon told me Riley had been taken for a test, and Officer McGuire went with her. We now know that wasn’t true. No doctor named Roberta Jamison is affiliated with the hospital.”

  “It had to be Dixon coming for Riley to tie-up a loose end,” McNamara said.

  The three men stepped onto the elevator and headed for the ground floor.

  “What can you tell us about this phony doctor?” Jackson asked.

  Vince had come face to face with her and didn’t even know what she looked like.

  “A surgical mask covered her chin, and her hair was tucked up under a cap,” Vince said.

  He strained to remember every detail he could.

  “She was a few inches shorter than me. I’d put her around five-nine, five-ten. Athletic looking. Lean and muscular. A few strands of blond hair fell from the cap. Fair skin. I’d put her at late-twenties, maybe early-thirties at the most.”

  “Good. What else?” Jackson asked.

  “Her eyes. They were unique, almost captivating. They weren’t blue, yet they were. They were so incredibly pale they almost looked gray, or even clear, with a tinge of blue shading.”

  Vince would recognize those eyes if he ever saw them again. He was certain of it.

  50

  ROLINSKA CASUALLY ASKED ONE OF the third-floor orderlies what was going on. He told her about the dead cop and the missing patient. Rolinska stood there gossiping with him, all the while her eyes surveying everything happening. Blending in was one of her specialties.

  She wore a white lab coat and carried a tray with needles and vials to take blood. Fortunately the prescription in the glasses of the technician she had just killed was fairly mild, so it didn’t bother Rolinska to wear her glasses. The coat was a little short on her, but not enough that anyone would notice. Hospital uniforms all had a way of being poorly fitted, so this wouldn’t stand out. She had pulled her hair back away from her face, and secured it with one of those awful scrunchie things. Rolinska didn’t like it, but it was all the tech had.

  Word about the shooting at the convent spread through the police like a storm surge on water. Rolinska smiled to herself.

  Wait until they find the guard and lab technician, she thought. Between the cops and the FBI, they couldn’t find each other’s asses.

  Rolinska got bored with the keystone cops, and decided to get a little sleep. Detective Amato was in for a busy night, but she had no need to follow him. The planted tracking device would do that for her. It was just a matter of time before Casey or Riley contacted him. The detective would lead her right to them.

  She got on the elevator, went to the main floor, walked through the lobby, and showed the hospital ID pinned to her lab coat to the
police. No one was allowed to leave the hospital unless their identity was verified. They checked their list, found the lab technician’s name as a person on duty, placed an X by the name, unlocked the door, and held it open.

  Rolinska walked into the night.

  51

  “HEY, AMATO, TURN ON YOUR damn phone,” one of the cops yelled to him. “They’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

  “Watch your mouth young man,” one of the Sisters chastised. “This is our home. It’s been violated enough tonight without you using foul language.”

  “Uh yes, Sister. Sorry. Sorry, Sister.”

  Vince reached for his cell phone and discovered that it was indeed turned off.

  Christ, how did that happen?

  He switched his phone on and immediately checked his messages. He had six messages. Scanning the numbers, he saw a call from Casey, and two from Billy. He played her message first. Listening to Casey’s voice, he could tell she struggled to stay calm. He then played Billy’s messages. Vince prayed Billy got to Casey and Riley before Dixon.

  Grabbing Jackson’s arm to get his attention, Vince said, “Listen to this. I didn’t realize my phone was off. There’s a message from Casey.”

  Vince tapped the screen and replayed the message. Jackson listened, then checked the time of the message. He then listened to Billy’s messages. Vince waited for the agent to chew his ass for having his phone off, but the agent didn’t say anything. He spoke into the microphone on his wrist, and informed whoever was wired to him that at nine thirty-one p.m. Casey and Riley were alive and attempting to escape from Dixon.

  “Casey Callahan made phone contact with Billy Daniels,” Jackson said, continuing to talk to his wrist. “Riley Sinclair confirmed that the doctor Detective Amato had spoken with was definitely Kathryn Dixon. Daniels planned to meet Casey and Riley outside the emergency entrance.”

  Vince felt like someone had hit him in the gut. Casey needed him. She’d reached out for him, but he had his phone off.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” Jackson said, seeming to read Vince’s mind.

  “What?” Vince wasn’t sure what this guy was trying to tell him.

  “This kind of shit happens sometimes. You can’t beat yourself up over it. It won’t help her or the kid.”

  Jackson was a man of few words. But in an odd way, Vince found him comforting. Vince nodded his appreciation. Jackson ever so slightly nodded back.

  Vince’s remaining calls were from fellow officers. Without listening to the entire message, he quickly deleted the ones that were either old news by now or not important. The last call came in about five minutes ago. It was from a cop at the scene of the first murder in the hospital.

  “They need you over in the security office. When two of our people went to check out video surveillance of the emergency parking lot, they found the body of another one of our guys, Officer Jim Reynolds. He moonlighted here as a security guard. Broken neck. What the hell are we dealing with here?” The officer’s voice on the message trailed off, clearly shaken by the recent turn of events.

  Vince called the officer back and got the details. Not a trace of evidence so far.

  Vince tapped Jackson on the arm.

  “We’ve got another murder victim. An off-duty cop moonlighting as a security guard. They found his body when MPD went to review video surveillance of the emergency room parking lot.”

  “Let’s go,” Jackson said. “Agent McNamara, you stay here and work this scene. Vince, you come with me.”

  The crime scene was a tough one. Jim Reynolds was a longtime, well-liked cop on the force. Vince had met Jim’s wife at a couple of Christmas parties. A lovely woman, with a great sense of humor. They had kids, but Vince couldn’t remember how many, or their ages. His heart ached for this family.

  Detective Dan Wilson, the officer taking the lead on this crime scene, walked over when he saw Vince.

  “I talked with the hospital’s night manager. She’s standing over there,” Wilson said, pointing to a middle-aged, professionally dressed woman who was obviously shaken by the events in the hospital.

  “She said there’s no reason for Jim to be in the security office. He manned the lobby desk. The sign they use when they have to take a break was on the desk. Of course, no one saw anything,” Detective Wilson said. “You got any updates on the other scenes?”

  “We don’t know shit yet,” Vince said. “Nobody saw anything. No physical evidence.”

  Vince desperately wanted to call Casey’s cell phone, but he and Jackson had both agreed it wasn’t a good idea. It was possible a ringing phone could put Riley and Casey in jeopardy. Until they had a better handle on the situation, calling was out of the question. They were trying to get her phone’s location.

  “What about security video? Do we have anything for the emergency parking lot?” Vince asked.

  “According to the manager there is surveillance out there, but we can’t access it yet because the crime scene guys won’t let us move Jim. He’s blocking the command station.”

  “Move him,” Vince ordered.

  “We can’t do that. The investigators haven’t cleared the scene yet,” Detective Wilson, the cop in charge said, flexing his authoritarian muscles.

  Vince got right up in his fellow cop’s face. “We’ve got a possible kidnapping of a young girl, and bodies strewn all over this hospital. I can guarantee you that you aren’t going to find a single piece of forensic evidence here. What happened to Casey and Riley could be on that tape. Move the body, and move it now.”

  “You don’t have the authority to give me orders, asshole,” Detective Wilson shot back, not yielding an inch of territory to Vince.

  “Gentlemen,” Jackson said, stepping up close to both men. “We don’t have time for a pissing contest. But if that’s what you want . . . I win.”

  52

  HE PULLED OUT HIS BADGE and stuck it in Detective Wilson’s face. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m FBI Special Agent Jackson, and I’m in charge. Kidnapping is a federal offense, so the Feds have jurisdiction. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, but time is of utmost importance in these situations. I concur the likelihood of any evidence is slim. I take full responsibility for moving the officer’s body.”

  Detective Wilson stared at the FBI guy and then at Vince. He turned to a couple of policemen who had stopped working to watch the showdown.

  “Go ahead. Move him,” Wilson said.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Jackson said. “Your cooperation will be duly noted.”

  “Hey, Wilson,” Vince said, sticking out his hand. “Sorry for being an asshole. It’s been a tough night.”

  Detective Wilson took his hand and shook. “No hard feelings, man. This is a bad night all the way around for MPD.”

  Jackson spoke into his wrist, giving an update. Detective Wilson walked across the room and brought the night manager over.

  “Nancy Jones, this is Detective Vince Amato of the Metropolitan Police Department, and this is Special Agent Jackson of the FBI.”

  Nancy Jones nodded in the direction of both men, but did not offer to shake hands. After all, this wasn’t a social event. People were being kidnapped and murdered. She struggled to wrap her brain around tonight’s events.

  “Do you know how to work this equipment?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Good. We need to go back to nine thirty this evening and start our review forward from there,” said Jackson. “We have reason to believe the missing girl was pursued through the convent and exited through the convent entrance. We may be able to pick something up on the emergency room parking lot surveillance. Can you do that for us?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, sitting down in the chair that until a few minutes ago her dead employee occupied. She hesitated for only a moment. Jim was more than an employee. He had worked for her for five years now. He was her friend, and now she would pull it together and do whatever she could to find his killer.<
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  Nancy positioned herself in front of the keyboard and started typing. She quickly found the time and location they needed.

  The entrance to the convent was too far away for the camera to pick up. People continually entered and exited the hospital emergency room on this typically hectic Friday night.

  At nine fifty-seven, a Jeep backed out of a parking space and pulled over to the side of the lot closest to the convent. It caught Jackson’s attention. For the twenty minutes they observed footage of the lot, no one got into that Jeep.

  The Jeep door opened and a man jumped out, running in the direction of the convent.

  “That’s Billy Daniels,” Vince said.

  Billy ran out of the frame. Everyone held their breath for what seemed like an eternity, but actually twenty seconds. When Billy re-entered the frame, he was running, carrying a young girl. A woman ran close behind him.

  “Casey Callahan and Riley Sinclair?” Jackson asked.

  Vince nodded his head.

  They watched as Casey got in the back seat of the Jeep, and Billy placed Riley next to her. It was impossible to tell whether Riley was hurt, or even dead. They watched as Billy jumped into the passenger side of the already-moving vehicle. There was no sign of gun fire.

  “Based on Billy’s message to you, Vince, that must be his boss, Jeremiah Robinson driving.”

  “I agree,” Vince said.

  The footage continued to roll. About fifteen seconds later a woman with light-colored hair appeared at the edge of the screen. She ran towards the lot, looking in the direction the Jeep had gone. She held an object in her right hand. She slid her right hand across to her left side, and when it came out from under her suit jacket her hand was empty.

  “Gun,” Vince said.

  The woman turned and walked towards the emergency room entrance, keeping her head angled away from the camera.

  “Holy shit,” Detective Wilson said. “She’s coming back to the hospital.”

  One second she headed towards the hospital, the next second she was gone.