by Nolan Thomas
Stopping to catch his breath, he surveyed the area, looking for any sign of Dixon’s whereabouts. Jeremiah saw or heard nothing so he made a mad dash for the car, hoping against hope Dixon wasn’t on her way back just yet. He nearly ran into the car, deceleration not on the top of his mind, then scurried to the driver’s side. Thank God she hadn’t locked the door.
Jeremiah yanked the door open and looked to see if the keys were in the ignition. He didn’t think his luck could hold up that well, and he was right. He popped the trunk and ran to the back of the car. He looked in the direction of the trees, desperately trying to slow down his own breathing and his pounding heartbeat. Blood pulsing in his ears, Jeremiah listened for any indication Dixon was coming.
He had no way of knowing how much of a lead he had on her. It was now or never. Jeremiah pulled the trunk open and climbed inside. He reached up, grabbed the trunk lid, and pulled it down. It flashed through his mind that this must be what it’s like to be inside a coffin as the undertaker closed the lid. Of course, in that situation, the person was already dead.
So am I, Jeremiah thought as he watched the last ray of light disappear.
He tried to get comfortable, but the trunk wasn’t exactly luxury accommodations. He pulled his knife out of his pocket.
Thank God it has everything a man could ever need including a built-in LED light, he thought. A man never knows when he’s going to climb into the trunk of a killer’s car.
It didn’t give off a lot of light, but at least he could see. He began to methodically survey the trunk. On his left side, facing the back of the car, Jeremiah shone the light above him and then he slowly moved it in front of him and continued the lighted arc to his feet.
He rolled over onto his right side. This wasn’t an easy task. The depth of the trunk wouldn’t let him roll with his knees bent so it took some wiggling and difficult maneuvering. Peppering the air with a few well-placed expletives usually helped, but he had to control that impulse—also not an easy task. Jeremiah was terrified Dixon would see the car move. He didn’t want to dwell on those consequences. If he really thought this through there would be no way it ended well.
Finally lying on his right side, Jeremiah started the light’s journey above his head again. As he brought the light to the center of the trunk he saw there was an opening in the back seat of the car. Many cars had fold-down seats, allowing access to the trunk from the car’s interior. It was especially useful for long, oversized items that could extend from the trunk into the car itself.
Jeremiah thought, I’m a long, oversized item.
The opening appeared to be about two feet square. It would be a tight fit, but Jeremiah might be able to maneuver his way through if he needed to.
A black duffel bag and a backpack similar to the one Dixon took with her nestled in a corner of the trunk. Jeremiah thought it best to leave the backpack alone. He pulled the duffel bag to his chest, stuck the lit pocketknife between his teeth, tilted the opened bag in front of him, and raised his head. The bag contained semi-automatic ammo and three disposable cell phones ready for use.
Jeremiah grabbed one of the phones, clumsily turned it on, and immediately entered Billy’s number. He rolled on to his back, with his legs splayed and bent at the knees. The thought raced through his mind that he must look like some sort of giant frog. If he wasn’t scared shitless, he might think this was funny.
Billy picked up on the first ring.
“It’s Jeremiah,” he whispered.
“Jeremiah, thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?” Billy said, motioning to the others. They all gathered around the phone, relieved to hear Jeremiah was alive.
“Put it on speaker,” Jackson said.
“I’m in Kathryn Dixon’s trunk. She’s about two and a half miles south of my place. White Taur--”
Jeremiah stopped abruptly. He heard the car door being opened.
“Jeremiah! Jeremiah, what’s happening?” he heard through the phone.
Jeremiah cupped his hand over his mouth and the phone. Barely speaking in a whisper he said, “She’s back. Take your phone off speaker. Don’t say a word.”
Jeremiah held his breath hoping to God she hadn’t heard him talking. He was rattled because he’d never heard her coming, had heard absolutely nothing before she opened the door. He wondered if she had been standing by the trunk and knew he was in there. Then again, he literally bet his life that her trunk was the last place Dixon expected him to be.
“Jeremiah? This is Jackson. We’re off-speaker on our end. Put yours on speaker. Whatever you do, keep this line open. One of us will always be at the other end. I’m going to get your information to the Bureau so they can begin tracking your cell. We won’t say another word unless it’s an emergency.”
Jeremiah pointed his phone towards the interior of the car. He started to relax slightly. He figured if Dixon suspected he was in the trunk she would have shot him through the back seat by now. Every second that passed gave him the tiniest bit of hope.
68
SEETHING, ROLINSKA POUNDED THE STEERING wheel with the palms of her hands.
How could I have been so stupid! It was sloppy, sloppy work.
Russian expletives cascaded from her lips, followed by a few deep breaths to calm down.
“Think, Nika. Think!”
Yes, she had made a mistake. Actually, two mistakes. She had seriously underestimated Jeremiah Robinson’s intelligence, and she hadn’t frisked him. She’d never perceived him as a threat—a rookie mistake.
Rookie mistakes were usually what got you killed.
Rolinska wondered when she started getting sloppy. This was totally out of character for her. Never, never had she not been at the top of her game. At least not until she started working for the General. He called most of the shots. That’s how she got involved with those hideous characters—Regina Cox and the Judge.
The General’s protocol was sloppy, and she had allowed herself to fall into the same pattern. As part of her cover she had permitted him to take the lead. No more. The General was merely a means to an end. Nothing less than her A-game would suffice now.
JEREMIAH HEARD A dull thump and then what sounded like swearing in Russian. He guessed she wasn’t a happy camper right now. He lay there in silence, waiting for her next move. His legs started to cramp from being in the same awkward position, but he was afraid to make any movements. Motion of any kind would alert her to his presence.
The Bureau was probably already tracking him. He needed to be patient and get as much information as he could.
ROLINSKA THOUGHT ABOUT recent events through the paradigm of Jeremiah as she now knew him. He was in fact highly intelligent, agile, and armed with at least a knife. She knew he had a place up here. That part of the story made sense. So that meant Riley, Casey, Billy, Vince, and Jackson were all at Jeremiah’s place. What she didn’t know was whether or not the place Jeremiah took her to was really where everyone was. If it turned out to have been a decoy, Rolinska would have to add good actor to Jeremiah’s list of assets.
Rolinska pulled her cell from her pocket.
“Identify yourself,” the Voice said.
“Agent Nika Rolinska.”
“Verification sequence?”
“Red Tide 3359X.”
“Verification accepted. What is your request?”
“Jeremiah Robinson, Managing Editor of the Chicago Post. I have reason to believe he has a home in Virginia. I need you to verify and get me that address.”
“This may take a few minutes. Do you wish to hold or do you prefer a call back?”
“I’ll hold,” Rolinska said, relieved someone else was on duty rather than that little bitch she usually had to deal with. The last thing she needed right now was attitude.
Rolinska continued to play her conversation with Jeremiah over in her mind.
The young man came back on the line. “Mr. Robinson is the registered owner of a single-family dwelling in that area.”
As she memorized the address, she vowed to never underestimate him again.
“Do you wish any further information at this time?”
“No.”
Rolinska opened the glove compartment and pulled out a map of Virginia. It wasn’t detailed enough to show the individual streets she needed to find, and her navigation system was unreliable in a rural area like this.
“Damn it!”
She called the number again. Perturbed, she went through the identification routine again. She understood it was a security procedure, but that didn’t make it any less a pain in the ass, especially when she was on the move.
“Verification accepted. What is your request?”
“I am at the crossroads of County Trunk H and Wind Hill Drive. I need driving directions and approximate time to the address you just gave me.”
“Yes, Agent Rolinska. Right away.”
Rolinska could hear keys clicking away and in a matter of seconds the young man said, “You are approximately three miles from your destination.”
He proceeded to give Rolinska directions to the house.
“Do you need any clarification of those directions? I texted them to your phone.”
“That will be sufficient for now.”
She accessed and memorized the directions, a skill any good agent must develop. But this time there was no margin for error.
Rolinska looked at her watch. Jeremiah could hide until he was able to safely present himself to the rescue workers. Rolinska dismissed that idea. Jeremiah was sincere when he spoke of Riley’s safety. No, this was his window of opportunity to save Riley. Jeremiah the hero was surely headed to his house to warn everyone.
Rolinska started the car and headed north. At most Jeremiah had a fifteen-minute head start on her. Calculating her drive time, even though the old guy appeared to be in shape, not even a top athlete could beat her to Jeremiah’s place. That left her sufficient time to eliminate everyone and still wait for Jeremiah.
69
VINCE MANNED JEREMIAH’S CALL WHILE Jackson got the Bureau mobilized.
He called out, “She’s on her way.”
Although difficult to hear Dixon’s conversation, even with the volume maximized, Vince got most of it down. Jackson relayed to the Bureau the name and identification number Dixon used with her contacts.
Billy moved the Explorer from the garage to the front of the house. Leaving the engine running, he ran back into the house.
“She’ll be here in less than five minutes,” Jackson said. “Get out of here now! You know the route she’s taking so head in the opposite direction.”
Jackson pointed at a map. “Head directly to Vince’s MPD stationhouse. We’ll have agents waiting there for you. They’ll take all of you to an FBI safe house until we have this situation neutralized.”
“I’m not leaving you alone, Jackson. Together we can handle her,” Billy said. “Vince can get Casey and Riley out of here safely.”
“No! Go now! There’s no time. I need you in that vehicle with them, Billy. That’s an order. My people are already on their way here.”
Jackson picked up Jeremiah’s shotgun and handed it to Casey, “Here, take this.”
“Be safe,” Vince said. He gave Billy’s muted phone to the Jackson.
“Always,” Jackson said, giving them all a nod. “Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
Reluctantly, they all turned to leave. Vince went through the door with his Glock drawn, moving his arms side to side in an arc, quickly surveying the area. Billy came out right behind him, Sig drawn, holding it close to his side. Hunched low, he ran to the driver’s door of the Explorer. In one move he jumped in and shifted into drive.
Vince moved to the rear passenger door and opened it. He motioned for Casey. She ran out, Remington in one hand, holding Riley’s hand with the other, shielding Riley as best she could with her body. They climbed in. Vince slammed the door then jumped in the front passenger seat. Billy peeled away and headed down the driveway. He slowed as they reached the road but navigated the turn without stopping since there was no traffic in sight. Tires squealed as Billy straightened the Explorer onto the road and floored it.
HER PHONE RANG.
“Yes.”
“Agent Rolinska?”
“Yes.”
“Verification code please?”
“Red Tide 3359X.”
“The Major wants me to inform you that FBI agents are headed to the address you had requested directions to. Their estimated arrival time, and yours, are within an unacceptable margin. Your orders are to immediately abort this phase of your mission. When you have returned to Washington, Major Bortnikov wants a full, in-person briefing.”
“Understood,” Rolinska said.
Clearing his throat, the young man continued uncomfortably, “The Major is not happy with the current status of this operation.”
“Understood.”
Rolinska had just turned onto Jeremiah’s road when the call came in. While talking, she drove right past his place. With a quick check of the map, Rolinska saw that by continuing in this direction she could loop back to the interstate and head to Washington. She didn’t want to take the chance of turning around. If the FBI was close, even the briefest of delays could be costly. Rolinska hit the accelerator.
JEREMIAH HEARD THE phone ring, but Dixon didn’t talk much. After the conversation ended, he felt the car accelerate. He checked the time on the phone. They should be very close to his place. Speeding up didn’t make any sense to him. Classical music started playing loudly, and the car continued increasing its speed.
Jeremiah held the phone to his ear so he could talk.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Jackson responded.
“Did you get that call?”
“It appeared to be from her handlers, based on the identification code. Tracking the hits to the cell towers haven’t provided us with anything yet, so all I know is based on Dixon’s side of the conversation. As you know, that was very limited. We’re trying to triangulate your position based on this phone number. For some reason, GPS isn’t tracking you,” Jackson said.
“The car speeded up significantly and she turned that music on. Based on my calculations, we should be at my place by now. I think that phone conversation called her off.”
“If you’re right, that’s distressing. It means her handlers either have access to FBI information, or to satellite surveillance information—or both. We’re talking extremely well connected.”
“I don’t find anything surprising at this point.”
“We have a more immediate problem, Jeremiah. I sent the others back to Vince’s stationhouse. Based on these changes, she could be following them. We don’t know if Dixon’s aware she’s following them, or if it’s just a horrible coincidence. If she’s going as fast as you report, it’s possible she could overtake them.”
“Jesus!”
“Look. The backup agents are here. I’m going to grab a couple agents and head out after you. I’ll leave a few agents behind in case Dixon comes back here. Leave your phone on. I’m going to call Vince and fill him in on what we know.”
“Got it.”
Jackson quickly briefed the other agents on the status. As he walked to the car, he entered Vince’s number. Dead air. He tried again. Nothing, not even voicemail.
Jackson climbed into the car. “Damn it! No cell service. I think there’s about a ten-mile stretch of highway in the mountains that’s a dead zone. We need to step on it.”
The young agent, Mike McCoy, said, “Yes sir.”
Jackson placed Billy’s cell phone on the console between himself and Agent McCoy. The sounds of Beethoven stopped abruptly.
“Jeremiah must be in the same cellular dead zone. That means she’s way too close for comfort. Give it everything you’ve got. We’re looking for a white Taurus. We have to catch up with her.”
Without saying a word, Agent McCoy pushed the accelerator to the floor.
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70
SILENCE, FUELED BY WORRY ABOUT what was happening back at Jeremiah’s place, filled the Explorer.
“Should we call Jackson?” Casey asked. “Don’t you think she’d be there by now?”
“Probably,” Vince said. “But if there was anything to report, Jackson would have called us. I think it’s best to wait.”
Billy nodded his agreement.
Traffic was light, but Billy noticed a car passing other cars behind him.
“Do you see that car back there? They seem to be in a hurry.”
Vince looked in his side view mirror and saw a light-colored car traveling very fast behind them. He drew his Glock and held it in both hands. Both men watched intently as the car drew closer to them. When it was about ten yards away it put on its turn signal and moved into the other lane. It appeared to just be someone speeding. The car, a white Taurus, passed them quickly with no incident.
Billy loosened his grip on the steering wheel and Vince let out an audible exhalation as he holstered his gun. The two men looked at each other, both recognizing relief in the other’s face. Neither spoke.
“Oh my God. That was the Monster. She drove right past us.” Riley said. “I thought she was trying to catch us and hurt us.”
“What do you mean Riley?” Casey asked.
“The Monster, you know. The one I used to call my Aunt Dixie. She was driving the fast car that just passed us.”
“Are you sure?” Vince said, turning to look at Riley. “It went by so fast. How could you have seen who was driving?”
“I’m sure,” Riley said. “Aunt Dixie, I mean the Monster, likes to drive fast.”
“Honey, that doesn’t mean that every car that drives fast is the Monster. Maybe you’re just imagining that because you’re frightened,” Casey said.
“No,” Riley insisted. “I don’t imagine things. That was the Monster.”
“Are you positive?” Vince said, pulling out his cell phone to call Jackson.
“I’m positive . . . Well, I think I’m positive.”