by Rick Mofina
The hunt for Zurrn, the “most wanted man in America,” remained one of the nation’s leading news stories. Across the country and in Canada, the press dug deep at the tentacles of the case that reached into their communities.
Speculation on Zurrn’s whereabouts, his life, his crimes and motive, fueled debate, theories and rumors on national network discussion panels. Zurrn’s evocation of the Lindbergh baby kidnapping case, his near-successful attempt to broadcast a murder-in-progress live online, was chilling. His ability to outsmart detectives while being, what one pundit called, “an invisible chameleon,” made Sorin Zurrn one of the most intelligent and dangerous killers of the past century, according to a strident expert on one cable news talk show.
The FBI, state police in New Jersey and New York, Newark police and the NYPD, continued taking every precaution. They’d mounted an ongoing police presence at Kate’s building, and Kate was routinely driven by law enforcement from Manhattan to her hospital visits.
Newslead, the State of New Jersey and the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance, insured that Vanessa was given the best medical care at the hospital. She received treatment from a psychiatrist expert in helping people with their recovery after being long-term hostages or prisoners.
In the first days, Vanessa’s sessions had gone well. The doctor had insisted that she not see or read news reports of her case, so that she could process the enormity of her experience at her own pace without creating additional stress. The psychiatrist saw Kate as a therapeutic source of comfort for Vanessa and encouraged her hospital visits. Kate brought photos of their early life together and they soon began talking about how they would build Vanessa’s new life.
Little by little the healing had begun.
Over those days, Kate received a message from Erich—Happy you got your sister back. But she thought it odd that she hadn’t heard from Ed Brennan.
Then on the seventh day after Vanessa’s rescue, Kate was at home helping Grace with her homework when her phone rang.
“Kate, this is Brennan.”
“Ed, I was wondering why I haven’t heard from you.”
“We’ve been working and we’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
“Nobody outside the task force knows what I’m going to tell you, but after all you and your sister have been through, I owe you.”
“Tell me.”
“You can’t breathe a word to anyone. We put in a lot of hard work on this.”
“I swear.”
“We’ve got him.”
“What, when, where?”
“The other side of the country, we’re locked on to him. It’ll be all over and you’ll be hearing about it real soon.”
CHAPTER 69
Near Miles City, Montana
The wind rolled in waves over the vast grasslands, tumbling into the coulees and raking the cottonwood grove where Brennan lay hidden from view.
Face clenched behind mounted, high-powered binoculars, he studied the ranch house and outbuildings rising from the plain over a mile away.
This is where Sorin Zurrn’s going to be today.
Through his earpiece Brennan listened to whispered spurts of encrypted transmissions over walkie-talkies.
No movement or activity.
The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team controlled the inner perimeter.
They’d set up lookout posts while sharpshooters and assault team members were concealed in spots surrounding the house. They were backed up by an FBI unit from Salt Lake City and tactical teams from across Montana. They held positions at the outer perimeter, where Brennan and other task force members waited.
Flying above them, silent and unseen, a small remotely controlled surveillance drone sent live images of the isolated region to the FBI’s command post four miles away in a building where the Montana Department of Transportation kept snowplows.
Brennan had been at his perimeter position for ten hours now, confident that the investigation was solid.
This is Zurrn’s property. He’ll be here. Everything fits.
They’d connected all the dots going back to Carl Nelson’s coworker Mark Rupp, who’d glimpsed Nelson looking at a real estate page and making notes more than a year ago. It turned out Nelson had used an absent coworker’s computer, which had been sold later as surplus with other equipment to an out-of-state office supply warehouse.
It was a challenge, but the FBI moved fast and located the unit in Beltsville, Maryland. Examining it, they recovered and extracted the information, like browser history, that led to a real estate sale in Custer County, Montana. Executing warrants, the FBI determined that Zurrn had used a network of aliases and numbered companies to purchase the property under the name Wallace Cordell. When the FBI showed Zurrn’s photos to the agent on the deal she was incredulous. “Yes, that sort of looks like him! But Wallace Cordell had red hair and thick sideburns. My Lord! You’re telling me this is the man on the news?”
The agent said the deal had closed a few months ago and all that was left was for Cordell/Zurrn to take possession very soon. In fact, she’d already left the keys for him in a lockbox. The agent gave the FBI the date Cordell was to arrive to take possession.
“He assured me he’d be there at any time on that date. I was going to drop by after he called me to congratulate him and pick up the lockbox.”
The sprawling property was in a windswept region of farms and ranches. It had been owned by a doomsday cult. Records and plans obtained by the FBI showed that the group had constructed a well-maintained underground bunker, “with a large number of sealable, dorm-like chambers,” to prepare for a predicted Armageddon in 2012. But when the prophesy failed, followers left and the ranch was put up for sale.
It was ideal for Zurrn.
In the days before Zurrn’s possession date, the FBI executed warrants to search it and confirm it was empty, that no victims or prisoners were being held there. They also checked it for hidden cameras or security measures Zurrn may have surreptitiously installed.
Then the FBI questioned Hub Arness, who owned the neighboring property. Hub, who’d always kept an eye on the place, said there’d been no recent activity. But a couple years back there was some regular trouble. “These ex-cult types still trekked out there and sometimes vandalized the property,” Hub said.
Zurrn’s return date and the task force’s swift investigation led to the execution of more warrants and their arrest strategy. The Hostage Rescue Team flew from Quantico, Virginia, and, so not to attract attention, landed about 165 miles away at the Gillette-Campbell County Airport in Gillette, Wyoming.
Then, in an undisclosed location in Montana, the team and equipment were transferred to state and county service trucks. Under cover of night, they embedded at key points on the property while other tactical units, including members of the task force, took up positions in the outer perimeter where they’d been waiting since the predawn hours.
Now, as sunset neared, the radio crackled with a dispatch from the command post.
“Head’s up. Eyes in the sky have activity.”
Brennan tensed.
“We’ve got a van approaching from the east.”
Dust clouds rose in the distance as a lone vehicle rolled along the dirt road to the property. It was headed to the ranch house.
“Hold your positions.”
Brennan dragged the back of his hand across his mouth as he watched through his binoculars.
“Hold.”
The van slowed, then braked. Nothing happened. From what Brennan could see, there was only the driver in the front. Judging from the shadow silhouette, the driver was doing something behind the wheel.
“Maintain positions.”
The driver’s door opened and a male got out and began walking to the rear of the van.
>
“Go! Go! Go! Go!”
Heavily armed tactical members rushed from their covers with weapons drawn on the driver, instantly putting him facedown on the dirt.
“What the—don’t kill me!”
As the driver was handcuffed a tactical team member fished through his pants for a wallet and ID. According to his Montana driver’s license, the man was Marshall Chang, aged thirty-two from Billings, where he worked for Big Sky Rapid Courier.
“What’re you doing here, Mr. Chang?” an agent asked.
“I’m delivering to Wallace Cordell. This is my last one of the day.”
“Did you speak with Cordell today?”
“No.”
“Do you know his whereabouts?”
“No. I don’t know the guy. This is my first time to this place.”
“What sort of delivery are you making?”
“I don’t know, it says ‘parts.’”
“Parts for what?” The agent turned to another. “Let’s take a look.”
Weapons at the ready, team members opened the van’s rear doors to a large wooden crate. They pried off the lid to find it lined with heavy plastic. The first agent pulled at the plastic, then suddenly recoiled.
“Whoa!”
The agent backed into the second agent, who moved forward to look.
“What the hell?”
Others crowded, peered inside to a mass of severed arms, legs, torsos and heads with sinewy tendons. One agent grabbed the lid and read the shipping label, which was stamped “Urgent Express.”
“Look at this.” He pointed to the shipper’s address. “Studio Quality Body Parts Discount Movie Props, Burbank, California—they’re fake! This is for us! He expected us to find this place and be waiting today!”
CHAPTER 70
New York City
Across the country, Kate was in her apartment when her phone rang. The number displayed was for the NYPD.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Officer Morello with the NYPD, calling for Kate Page.”
“I’m Kate.”
“Ms. Page, as you know, Newark PD has informed us that they’re unable to transport you to the hospital. I’ve been assigned to be your ride.”
“I never heard from Newark.”
“They said they’d called you.”
“No, I didn’t get a call.”
“Must’ve been a screwup. Sorry about that, ma’am, but can I pick you up in twenty-minutes?”
That was earlier than usual. Kate hesitated. Days ago, Newark police and the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance had indicated to Kate that, for security reasons, the job of ferrying her to and from the hospital might be shared by various police agencies.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but I got court duty in the morning and—”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Good. Just so you know I won’t be in uniform. My sarge said this is plainclothes duty.”
“I’ll be in front of my building in twenty minutes.”
Officer Morello thanked Kate and recited her address.
“That’s it.”
Kate alerted Nancy that she was leaving a bit early, then hurried getting herself ready. Fifteen minutes later she was downstairs standing in front of her building. Uniformed officers were no longer in sight. They’d only been posted to the street during the first days after Vanessa’s rescue. Kate didn’t mind because it reinforced Brennan’s call, that they’d found Zurrn somewhere far off. Was it Colorado? Kate watched the traffic until a shining black Chevy sedan stopped in front. The driver dropped the passenger window and leaned out.
“Excuse me, are you Kate Page?”
“Yes.”
“Officer Morello. I called.”
“Hi.” Kate stepped to the unmarked cruiser.
As Morello got out and opened the rear door Kate heard radio dispatches spilling out. Morello was in his forties, had a thick black mustache, thick dark hair and glasses. He wore a dark blue houndstooth sport coat, light blue shirt and dark pants.
“Watch your head,” he cautioned as she got in.
She glimpsed the butt of a gun peeking from his shoulder holster as he closed the door, then walked around to get behind the wheel.
The car was not as nice as the Newark and FBI cars that had come for her over the past week. The air was musty, the seats torn and patched with tape. A scarred Plexiglas shield divided the rear and front seats, but the sliding gap was open so they could talk.
“You could ride in the front with me if you like,” Morello said into the rearview mirror, “but our policy dictates that you ride back there for your safety.”
“Better stick to the policy.” Kate smiled. “Thanks for doing this.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
As they pulled away Kate asked the usual question.
“Have you heard of any breaks finding Zurrn?”
“Me? Naw, they don’t keep grunts like me in the loop.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
“No problem, you just take it easy back there.”
As he wheeled into Manhattan traffic, Kate’s thoughts went to Brennan’s confidential tip. He’d left her on pins and needles ever since he’d told her they’d found Zurrn. She fell into her habit of checking her phone for news, searching the competition and regional wires.
Nothing.
She called Brennan and again it went straight to his voice mail.
Kate took a breath, smiling as she considered Vanessa. It had only been a week, but the psychiatrist said she was making remarkable progress and soon Kate could bring Grace to meet her. Thinking of their new future together as a family, Kate took in her surroundings and realized they were on 125th Street and had just passed Amsterdam Avenue.
“Excuse me.” Kate moved to the divider. “I think you’re going east—this is the wrong way. We should be getting on the West Side Highway, for the Lincoln Tunnel, that’s the way everybody goes.”
Morello didn’t respond.
“Officer, you’re going the wrong way.”
Morello ignored her.
Kate sat forward and thrust her face toward his shoulder. “Officer!”
Morello said nothing.
As Kate puzzled over her situation a terrible unease hit her like a cobra’s strike. Staring hard at Morello’s neck, Kate noticed for the first time how a stubbly ridge of shaved hair crept below what should have been his hairline.
He’s wearing a wig.
She questioned if his mustache was real, then the pieces—Morello’s call, switching drivers, coming early, going the wrong way—and in an awful instant, realization exploded.
Oh, God, Morello is Sorin Zurrn!
Kate’s pulse soared.
This is how it happened to the others! He just reaches into your world and takes you into his!
Kate had regarded his victims as young, inexperienced, vulnerable, easy prey, like Vanessa. Now, he proved that none of Kate’s street smarts or her gut instincts mattered.
Think! You have to think!
She still had her phone, her lifeline. She forced herself to be calm.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. Maybe you know a better way. Guess I’m tense today.”
Her hand trembled as secretly she reached for her phone. Fearing he’d hear the emergency dispatcher, Kate started to text an emergency message to Nancy to call 911. But her blood turned to ice.
Her phone was dead.
She met Zurrn’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“You’re fluttering, Kate.”
Zurrn held up his phone.
“As a collector, I took care of everything. I hacked your phone long ago. I just fried it.”
>
The saliva in Kate’s mouth evaporated.
“You told everyone it was over for me, didn’t you?” he said. “I had astounding plans, but you destroyed them! You exhumed the name I buried and shamed me! Now I have nothing—except you!”
Kate tried her door handle.
It was gone, so was the other one. There was no escape.
She tried waving to people in other cars for help.
Zurrn activated the siren and emergency lights, to insure she looked like a disturbed person under arrest.
“We’ll start over, together!” he said. “You’re a magnificent specimen! The rarest, most glorious! No one will ever find you! And you can’t conceive of the wonders I will show you—of what I’m going to do to you!”
Kate undid her seat belt, repositioned her body and began kicking at the rear windshield.
“Beautiful,” Zurrn said as he reached for something. “Flutter away, Kate. You know—” Zurrn strained, now gripping something that looked like a large electric razor “—in time, you’ll come to love me.”
He quickly lifted himself, extended his reach and pressed the device against Kate’s neck. It crackled, instantly overwhelming her neuromuscular system, disorienting her until she collapsed.
CHAPTER 71
New York City
At that moment, in a loft in the Midtown neighborhood of Hell’s Kitchen, a distinct alarm sounded on one of Erich’s computers.
The trip wire! Kate’s in trouble. Her phone suddenly went dead.
Immediately he rushed to his desk and began entering commands, taking him to the surveillance security cameras of the store across the street that also captured the entrance to Kate’s building. Erich had breached the feed. With rapid stop-action, he reversed footage until Kate emerged, stepping into a vehicle.
Holy cow, that has to be him!
Erich made a screen grab photo of the suspect, then the vehicle, an older Chevy Impala, the kind used as unmarked cars by the NYPD.