“So you still haven’t told us what this new evidence is,” Galveston inquired.
“You see that bag there,” he said pointing to a black bag on the floorboard. “There’s a packing envelope in it. Pull out the recorder and press play,” he ordered.
Galveston did what he was told and pressed the play button. The sounds that came out shocked us and I saw why May had waited. It had to be heard in person. On the recording were two voices and what they talked about meshed perfectly with our complete theory. The voices were of Murray and Chase. On the recording they spelled out every portion of their plan. One conversation poured into the next, like a movie, and incriminated Chase at every turn.
“How did you get this?” I exclaimed.
“I received a call from the Chicago office that a package had been dropped off. It was under the care of a law firm that had explicit orders to deliver the package if Wallace Murray hadn’t contacted them within a day of his safe journey out of the country. If he didn’t, they were to deliver the package to the Chicago FBI office. There was even a timeline enclosed. After the proposed initial contact, Murray would contact them every six months. If at any time he didn’t contact them, the firm was to deliver the package to the FBI.”
We were shocked at this turn of events and the evidence that had been neatly placed in our laps. This was the evidence we had been hoping for.
“I’ve listened to most of it and the most chilling part is when Chase gave the order for Murray to kill Dr. Blout. That one made my blood boil,” May told us as he raced to Chase’s house.
We still couldn’t believe it. Murray was an evil, unscrupulous man but had made one last attempt at redemption. He was still a criminal and had done one good deed, but only to make sure that if he went down, everyone would. It was obvious that Chase must have had Murray eliminated, because he was the last link in the chain.
When we finally arrived to Chase’s house, May gave the order to go in, but the agents returned quickly, the house was empty. Chase had managed to escape since seeing the presentation, and was probably trying to get out of the country.
We sat in May’s car and tried to think through it rationally of where Chase could go, O’Hare or Midway? No, these were too obvious, and too easily tracked. I began to search back through our miles and miles of information and suddenly I remembered one of the messages Alex had acquired over a week ago. I pulled out my trusty notepad, now bulging from the wealth of information. It wasn’t until a minute later that I found what I was looking for. Aircraft number 27982, the jet Espinosa had transferred to in Mexico before going to Brazil and the one Placer said Chase owned under a foreign registration. We hadn’t realized that this was Chase’s plane number in the text messages Alex had hacked almost a full week ago. I relayed the information to Galveston and May, and they looked at each other as I spilled my theory.
“27982,” I exclaimed. “It’s Chase’s personal plane. He used it in Mexico to transport Espinosa.”
“I think you’re on to something,” Galveston told me proudly. “We need to contact the FAA. They will have to file a flight plan with that number to get out of the country. We just need to find out where they are starting the flight from.”
May was already dialing the FBI office to get the information from the FAA. We bantered where we thought it would be, until May finally received a call back.
“Gary International, the last of the three in the Chicago airport system. Do you think we have time?” He asked us.
“We should,” Galveston said. “He’ll have a tough time getting a crew together on such short notice. That should buy us some time.”
Gary Airport sat south of the city and we had a long way to drive. Luckily, the time of day allowed us quick access from the north part of Chicago to the south via interstate ninety. It took us about an hour to drive to the airport that sat across the border of Illinois in Indiana. The agents from the house followed us as May called the airport office and found out the plane was on the ground, but had not asked for a clearance yet.
May picked up his speed until we were on the outskirts of the airport. He used his radio to direct the other agents to get into position and they fanned out with their cars in front of the security gate to block any possible escape. We could see the plane sitting on the tarmac in the distance; illuminated by beams of white light.
Men were moving around the plane, quickly loading boxes and bags into the cargo hold. We were too far away to notice any of the features of the men or if they were armed. May parked the car behind a group of hangars and got out. We had the element of surprise and wanted to use it to the fullest. The agents rapidly put on their flak jackets with their FBI letters emblazoned on the back and readied their weapons, preparing for the assault.
May used his binoculars to pick out three armed men. He could tell they were carrying weapons from the way they held their coats as they walked. One man stood at the entrance to the plane, scanning every direction, while the other two stood on either side of the plane’s entrance. Everyone waited for May’s go ahead.
When he was satisfied with the agents’ positions and safety, he gave the order to go in which sent us scurrying back into the car.
Agent May slammed the car into drive and screeched from behind the hangar followed by the other cars. The sudden acceleration threw me back in the back seat, and I struggled to hold myself upright as we followed the curves of the airport road. The men didn’t see us until we were about 100 yards away and closing quickly. They reacted slowly, but I saw the men draw their guns from beneath their coats, raise them, and begin to fire, a visual that shocked me. I figured they would just give up, but as I heard the loud popping inside the car, I knew they meant business. I bent down low in the seat, as did Galveston, praying we wouldn’t be hit by the random gunfire.
When May was about thirty yards away, he jammed the brakes and slammed the wheel to the left, causing us to be thrown hard to the right of the car. The car’s tires squealed as he placed the vehicle pointing at the airplane. May jumped out, and the other agents in the following cars did the same. The gunmen continued to fire at the cars with no regard to the credentials of the men inside. They crouched low and tried to find some cover beneath the plane, but it offered little in the way of protection. May strategically placed himself behind the door in a crouching position, and then stood up to let off a few rounds.
Galveston and I got out of the car and went to the back bumper out of view. The man that stood at the door began to fire again and motioned for someone inside to come out. The gunman shielded the man from the gunfire as he flew down the steps of the airplane and disappeared behind it. The guard tried to follow him but was peppered with the accurate gunfire of the highly trained agents. He doubled over as a round pierced his thigh and back, and he fell to the ground in excruciating pain. May continued to survey the situation and motioned for the other agents to flank the aircraft from the back.
“This isn’t what I came to do,” I yelled at Galveston over the rapid gunfire.
“Me neither,” Galveston replied, crouching as low as he could to the ground.
The agents now had the upper hand, but the other men continued to fire. We noticed a shape, crouched low, running to the nearby hangar. He turned his head slightly toward our direction and we saw it was Chase.
“Come on,” Galveston yelled at me, already getting up and moving backwards away from the car.
“What? Are you crazy?” I tried to yell at him, but he was already out of earshot.
I watched as Galveston stayed low to the ground and shielded himself behind the other cars until he arrived at the side of the large hangar. Stupidly, I followed him. I had no training for this sort of thing and did my best not to get shot. I lurched awkwardly across the ground, hearing the bullets ricochet off the metal of the cars. I heard a yell as I closed in on Galveston at the side of the building. The agents had just wounded another one of the gunmen. The last man, realizing he was outnumbered, out-trained, and o
ut gunned, threw down his weapon and then threw up his hands. The agents swarmed on him quickly, pushing him into the ground as they cuffed him. The gunfire ceased and the air grew quiet as I got to Galveston, who was intently peering around the corner of the building.
I arrived at Galveston’s location, breathless and unharmed, but before I could ask him what he was doing, he lunged forward and disappeared. I attempted to follow again, and as I rounded the corner I watched as Galveston rammed an unsuspecting Chase with his body from behind as he stepped out from the front hangar door. Chase’s legs flew up into the air and he slammed into the ground rolling onto his back, groaning at the sudden, unexpected impact. Galveston immediately flipped him on his stomach and jammed his knee into his back, causing Chase to groan again while his hands were secured.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t and stopped midway between the pair. I doubled over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“We got him Roger,” he turned and said to me seriously while holding Chase steady, who was now semi-unconscious from the take down.
“You sure did,” I told him breathing heavily while attempting to get my heart back in my chest.
Several agents finally caught up and gathered as Galveston extricated himself from Chase. The agents took his hands and cuffed him. He never knew what hit him. Galveston got up and walked slowly toward me.
“I’m not sure I want to do that again, but it sure reminded me of old times,” he told me, out of breath and dusting himself off.
“Yeah that’s great, but I think I’ve had my fill,” I responded with quick sarcasm.
The agents dragged Chase back to the runway side of the hangar. May and the other agents were leaning over two wounded men who were lucky to be alive, with the third lying face down, his hands cuffed behind his back. The agents could have just as easily mortally wounded them, but they wanted them for questioning. I marveled at the agent’s professionalism and precision. Campbell, Chase’s personal bodyguard, lay bleeding on the ground from his leg and back. The agents would discover later that he was the one who had shot and killed Murray.
Galveston and I returned to the car and sat down on the seats with the doors open. We heard sirens in the distance of an approaching ambulance and local police support racing to the scene.
May walked toward us as the wounded men were loaded into the ambulance.
“You guys okay?” He inquired.
“Fine David, a little more excitement than we wanted, but we’re okay none the less,” Galveston responded.
“I’m sure glad I convinced you two to come. We couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, the adrenaline still pumping through his body. “Great work.”
“I’ll expect a promotion and some vacation time,” I joked.
“You got it Roger, you deserve it,” he replied.
May left us to gather our senses as he coordinated the transportation of the criminals. We watched as May escorted Chase to one of the awaiting vehicles. He held his head low and was scratched up from Galveston’s tackle. He would never know that the two men that brought him down were sitting in a car about forty feet away. He put his head in his hands, but I could still tell he had an air of pompousness about him as he raised his head to scold an agent. He probably thought he was going to buy his way out of this scot free, but having your bodyguards shoot at Federal agents was not a way to go about it. We pictured his reaction when he heard the tapes Murray had recorded without his knowledge, and soon his demeanor would change. No political or monetary force could help him now.
“You’ve come a long way Roger. If it wasn’t for you, I never would have been able to do this, not that I would do it again,” Galveston said seriously, slapping me on the knee.
“You’re not going to get all sappy on me, are you?” I jokingly replied.
“I might cry and you may have to hold me.”
“Yeah, that’s never going to happen. How about Elizabeth? I bet she would.”
“I don’t know maybe I’ll take her on a vacation. We’ll see. You and Jane though, that looks good, huh?” Galveston asked.
“Yeah, I’m really fond of her, especially after all of this,” I said, not telling him of our moment back at the hotel in San Diego.
“Do you want me to tell her you like her?” Galveston asked smartly.
“Yeah, do that. Maybe pass her a note during gym class,” I quipped and then paused pasting a goofy grin on my face. “I haven’t met anyone like her before.”
“Alright lover boy. Back to reality. Let’s get May to get us out of here and back home before Alex pawns everything out of our office to buy more toys.”
May drove us to O’Hare airport and arranged an early departure back to San Diego. We said our farewells and left May to guide the Bureau in the mess of information we had for them. It was their baby now and at this point we didn’t care what they did.
I felt no ill feelings against May for dragging us into this. I’m sure in his wildest dreams, he didn’t imagine it would go this far. He was an upstanding man who would have pulled us out at the slightest request, but he knew he had Galveston to rely on, and he trusted him fully.
The Flapjack’s future was uncertain and unwritten. The demonstration would create a buzz in the industry, but it was now up to Dr. Sloan to see where that would go.
We planned to help him at any turn. There were many proponents, but there would also be many forces against it. It was just too revolutionary for anyone to handle. People don’t react well to radical changes in technology and this was no exception. It could physically change the makeup of the world.
Dr. Sloan would have to do a lot of soul searching on the best plan for implementation of the battery, because his name would be the one to go down in the history books.
It was finally over and I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed without worries. I hadn’t done the books on our finances, and I wondered if we would have anything to show for our work. Frankly, I didn’t care. At least we would have peace of mind.
We boarded the plane to San Diego and Galveston and I talked about everything except what we had just gone through the last few weeks. Our eyes grew heavy, and we both found a comfortable position and fell hard asleep in our seats. I was looking forward to a hot shower and to seeing Jane. But, more than that, I was finally beginning to feel like a nice, normal person again, at least until the next case.
Author
Daniel Ganninger lives with his wife and two children in Central Texas and has a love of useless trivia and flying airplanes. He graduated from the University of Texas and when not writing he works at his other profession in the medical field as a Physical Therapist.
Join Galveston and Murphy in their next adventure, Peeking Duck, Case #2 from the Files of Icarus Investigation.
Thank you so much for reading. I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing the story. My goal is to provide an enjoyable escape, and I hope that was accomplished.
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Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack Page 31