The Fugitive's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  “I see. Well maybe you should transfer me to his partner.”

  “Just a moment, sir. I’ll transfer the call.”

  The phone was silent for a few moments. Weber was curious why a computer specialist would still be using an answering service. But his thoughts were interrupted by the phone being answered. “This is Joseph, may I help you?”

  “Yes sir, my company is taking bids to have our computer system upgraded, and I wanted to speak to someone in your organization who could give us a bid. The answering service indicated he was out of town.”

  “Yes, he is. I can take your contact information. When he gets back, I’ll have him call you. Would that be sufficient?”

  “Well, I was hoping to have this process done by the end of the week. Will he be back in a day or so?”

  “No, he’s out till the end of the week.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  ***

  Joseph ended the call with a frown on his face. It was a fishing expedition—of that, he was certain. Someone was looking for JR. First, the area code of the call was from New York; JR refused to do business with anyone east of the Mississippi River. Second, the man wouldn’t leave his contact information. He walked to a laptop and entered the phone number in a reverse directory website service and found it unlisted. Smiling, he went to another search engine JR had designed and entered the number. The results showed the number belonged to an Adam Weber of New York City.

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. But he knew someone at the Justice Department in Washington DC who might be able to help. It was after eight on the East Coast, so he dialed her cell phone number. The call was answered immediately. “Joseph, I was thinking of you the other day. When are we going to take that trip you keep promising me?”

  Smiling, Joseph said, “I’m ready anytime. You just have to tell me when.” The two of them had been talking about a trip to New Zealand for years. In reality, they would probably never take it, but it was fun to talk about.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of this call, Joseph?”

  “I need some information. Have you ever heard of a man named Adam Weber?”

  Silence was his answer. He was beginning to think the call had been dropped, when she said in a questioning tone, “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just doing a little background check, that’s all.”

  “Are you thinking about hiring him for some reason?”

  Now it was Joseph’s turn to be quiet. Finally he said, “You sound hesitant. Do you know him?”

  “Yes, if it’s the same Adam Weber. He’s an ex-US Marshal, who left under a cloud of suspicion. There were rumors, rumors he was selling the locations of several individuals in the Witness Protection Program. Those individuals disappeared suddenly. If I remember correctly, nothing was ever proven, but his career was essentially over after the allegations were made. ”

  Joseph frowned. That was why the name sounded familiar. “Mary, I need to know more. How hard would it be for you to get me more information on this guy?”

  “Not too hard, but it will cost you.”

  He smiled. “How much?”

  “You’ll have to come to town and take me to dinner. We can talk about the rest of the payment after we eat. I have a sexy new dress I was saving to wear for just such an evening.”

  “You’re on, my dear. Our last night out was most memorable.”

  “Good. I’ll see what I can find, then get back to you. I’ll expect immediate payment.”

  They both laughed and said their goodbyes. Joseph’s next call was to Sean Kruger.

  ***

  After deciding Colorado was their vacation destination, Mia found on the internet, a moderately priced Bed & Breakfast in Boulder near the base of the Flatirons. It offered Wi-Fi, which was JR’s only request, so he thought it was perfect. They drove straight from Springfield to the B&B. Fifteen hours and eight hundred miles later, they were pulling into the parking lot. Their room was on the top floor of the building, with a window facing the west. It was already dark when they walked into the room, and as soon as their heads hit the pillows, they were asleep.

  JR and Mia spent the first day hiking and enjoying the breathtaking scenery. Dinner was at a small brew pub within walking distance of their B&B. JR forgot about what was happening on the East Coast and relaxed for the first time in almost a year. But later that night, after making love and listening to Mia’s gentle breathing, all JR could do was lay there and worry. Finally at one in the morning, he got out of bed, shut the door to the bedroom, sat at the small worktable in the living area, and signed onto the internet. He programed the denial of service protocol to start at noon Eastern Time later that day. Then without a specific plan, he started attacking the P&G Global server.

  An hour later, just before shutting down his intrusion into the P&G Global system, he stumbled onto a gaping hole in their network security. Smiling, he started rapidly typing.

  When he completed his incursion, he sat back and stared at the screen. The end result would be several catastrophic events occurring at the same time of the DOS attack. Recovery would take days. He removed the indicators of his excursion into the P&G Global system and broke the connection. Returning to bed, he dosed off around four.

  The next thing he knew it was nine in the morning. The curtains in the bedroom were open, and Mia was standing in front of the sliding glass door with a cup of coffee in her hand. She was apparently mesmerized by the view of the mountains. The thin white t-shirt and the light from outside outlined her body, leaving very little to the imagination. He said, “Beautiful aren’t they?”

  She turned. “I’ve flown over them, but I’ve never seen them up close like this.” She got back in bed and removed her t-shirt. It was afternoon before they left the room.

  Chapter 18

  New York City

  “Interesting,” said Kruger. “Did they ask for him by name?”

  “No,” Joseph replied. “The guy asked who he could talk to, no specifics. The caller said he needed a computer upgrade. I wouldn’t have thought much about it, except the New York area code.”

  “So they didn’t know who to ask for, that’s good. It means they’re searching various computer companies, just like I did.” Kruger was quiet for a few moments. “When Charlie did a search of newly formed computer businesses, the results were overwhelming. I wonder if they found a way to narrow the search.”

  Joseph said, “Wait a minute. What if they used the information Morris gave them and only checked companies founded by veterans in the last eight months. When we incorporated, I identified myself as a veteran, but not JR. It would have narrowed their search field.”

  “You may be right, Joseph, it makes more sense. It also explains why they didn’t have a name to ask for.”

  “If JR had answered, I bet the conversation would have led to a face-to-face meeting. Do you think they have a photo?”

  “Almost assuredly. They’ll have the security photos and possibly a HR photo from the company P&G Global bought.” Kruger paused for a few moments. “It doesn’t change my plan. Tomorrow morning, the article in the New York Times will be published. Once Sharon Crawford arrives with the search warrant, we’ll serve it and she can start stripping away the layers of deception. It should be fun. By the way, where is JR?”

  “Not here. They left yesterday, just like we asked them to. I’ve put a twenty-four-hour watch on their apartment. If we see anyone parked outside, you’ll get pictures and details.”

  “Good.”

  Joseph said, “When are you going in?”

  “As soon as Sharon and Alvarez arrive, probably before nine. It depends on when Plymel gets to the building. I want him to have time to read the New York Times.”

  “Be careful, Sean. I don’t want to be the person telling Brian something happened to his father.”

  “Damn, you can be such a little girl sometimes. I’ll be fine. Besides, I have the federal government behind me.
On second thought, I’ll be careful.”

  They both chuckled and the call ended.

  ***

  Meanwhile, Abel Plymel sat at his desk waiting. It was a little before 5:00 p.m., and his attorney had still not called. Final negotiations were taking place in Cincinnati for P&G Global to buy out a dominant Ohio healthcare provider. The healthcare’s board of directors had met earlier in the afternoon and rumors were spreading on the internet that the offer from P&G Global of thirty-one dollars per share had been accepted. The profit potential was tremendous. A cash buyer for one of the subsidiaries of the company was already in place. In essence, when the transaction closed, P&G Global would already have a contract in place to recoup the original cash outlay for the healthcare company. He was in a great mood, even Alton Crigler had stopped by to congratulate him.

  His phone rang at five minutes to five. It was his assistant. “Mr. Plymel, Bob Walters with the Insider is on line two. He’d like to speak to you about some breaking news.”

  Plymel smiled. So, the word was out about the deal. “Okay, I’ll take the call.” He pushed the button with the flashing light. “Plymel here.”

  “Mr. Plymel, my name is Bob Walters with the Insider. We want to get your comment about a story we’re publishing online and appearing in the New York Times tomorrow.”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “We have information accusing you of insider trading. The documents we have in hand, point to several acquisitions made by P&G Global over the past five years. These documents explain how you personally started buying stock in the target companies through a shell entity prior to the announcement. In fact, we have documentation that shows where you personally delayed announcing the acquisition so you could increase your stock holdings. These activities are in strict violation of SEC regulations. We also have information that the incident earlier this year, where a security guard was killed, was staged. Do you have any comments, sir?”

  Abel Plymel was silent, his mind racing on how anyone could have found this information. He finally regained his composure. “Mr. Walters, these so-called documents you have are inaccurate and pure fiction. If you decide to publish, I will pursue legal action against you and your company.”

  “That’s what I thought you would say. We have independently confirmed the facts, sir, and we will publish. I suggest you contact your legal counsel about your own defense. Good day.”

  Plymel sat stunned. Why now? He had calculated this day would come, but not for a few more years. By then, he would have left the country and be sitting on a beach somewhere in the southern hemisphere that didn’t extradite individuals to the US.

  He picked his cell phone up from the desk, found the number he needed, and hit send.

  ***

  The next morning found Kruger watching the building where P&G Global was located. He had been sitting in a Starbucks across the street since seven. His view was unobstructed as he watched the building’s daytime inhabitants arrive. Most arrived on foot, some arrived by cab and a few of the high rollers arrived by chauffeured car. Abel Plymel was one of those individuals. Just before eight, a black Mercedes sedan, its windows tinted dark to preserve the privacy of the occupants, pulled to the curb in front of the building and stopped. Kruger watched as a man emerged from the right rear passenger side, stood for a moment, and then leaned over to say something to the driver. Plymel then shut the car door, turned toward the building, and walked inside.

  From his seat in the café, Kruger used a digital camera to take several pictures of Plymel as he emerged. After Plymel disappeared into the building, Kruger reviewed the pictures on the small Nikon. One picture had a clear shot of the license plate of the Mercedes. Another one showed the driver after he had rolled down the window just before driving the car back into traffic. He removed the SDHC memory card from the camera, inserted it into his laptop, and proceeded to email the pictures to Charlie Craft. Hopefully Charlie would be able to determine the owner of the car and the identity of the driver.

  Kruger sipped his coffee and opened a file on his laptop. The information contained in the file included P&G Global’s official resume on Plymel. It was the non-official information Kruger wanted and Charlie had found quite a bit. Plymel was one of the founding principals of P&G Global. Prior to appearing on the high finance scene, he had led an obscure life. There was only a brief mention of his parents and where he went to high school. An editorial note from Charlie indicated the information could not be independently confirmed. Kruger frowned when he read this part. After earning a degree in finance and banking, Plymel took a position with Kohlberg Kravis Roberts, Co. in the early eighties. After his involvement in KKR’s leveraged buyout of RJR Nabisco in 1989, he left and founded P&G Global in 1990. Originally, P&G Global was a venture capitalist firm. The company grew and profited during the nineties, focusing on emerging internet-based companies. After the dot-com bubble burst, Plymel took his funds and transformed P&G into a company specializing in leveraged buyouts. Estimates of his personal net worth ranged from five hundred million to over 1.2 billion. Kruger didn’t really believe that figure, after his discussion with JR.

  He sat and stared at the building, thinking. Why would a man worth over five hundred million have over sixty-million dollars in a secret cash fund? And, why would he be embezzling those funds from the company? It didn’t make sense to Kruger, but then he wasn’t versed on high finance. However, he did understand basic greed. According to JR, Plymel had other secret cash funds that JR was not able to access. How much were in those funds? He glanced at his watch. Sharon Crawford would arrive with the search warrant in less than an hour.

  His laptop dinged with the receipt of a new email. It was from an email account he knew to be JR. The message contained the link to the NYT article and an online news service called the Insider. Kruger smiled.

  When he finished the NYT article, he clicked on the link to the Insider and found basically the same information. In essence, they both summarized the first round of files JR had supplied from Plymel’s computer. The plan was to release the stolen files over the course of several days. The first round accused Plymel of insider trading and staging the incident in front of his building seven months ago. The NYT article implied there was a connection, but did not speculate on the why. It merely stated that their ongoing investigation would determine any ties. The reporter at the NYT also noted an attempt had been made to get a statement from Plymel. But he had refused, threatening a lawsuit if the article was printed.

  Kruger smiled. The plan was coming together.

  Sharon Crawford entered the café, saw where he was sitting, and walked to the table. Kruger stood and gave her a brief hug. “Thanks for getting here early, Sharon.”

  “No problem, Sean. The paperwork is here in my briefcase.” She smiled, gazed at Kruger for a few seconds and sighed. “Has he arrived this morning?”

  “Yeah, about thirty minutes ago. He was later than usual. He probably had a sleepless night.”

  Sharon Crawford was in her mid-thirties, a ten-year veteran of the FBI’s forensic accounting department. She and Kruger had worked several cases together over the years and knew each other quite well. He found her to be intelligent and highly skilled at her job. A job he would have found tedious and boring. She was slender and tall, an inch shorter than Kruger. She wore her dark-brown hair short, which accentuated her slightly oval face and hazel eyes. During work hours she was professional, wore little make up, and had a stern demeanor with blocky unflattering glasses.

  One night, after successfully concluding a case, they had had dinner together. The glasses were gone; she wore a hint of makeup and was fun to be around. When asked about the contrast, she said, “When I first started with the agency, I wasn’t taken seriously. After all, who ever heard of a female forensic CPA? A friend suggested I change my appearance to fit the stereotype of an accountant. It worked and I’ve been doing it ever since.”

  Since then, Kruger and Sharon had seen each other s
ocially whenever he was in the Washington DC area. With his growing feelings for Stephanie, he wasn’t sure where the relationship with Sharon was headed. Today, she was in her accountant disguise: dark-gray pantsuit with an open-collar silk blouse, black low-heel shoes, and a black leather computer bag on her shoulder.

  She handed him the search warrant, which he reviewed and placed in his left inside suit coat pocket. He checked his emails one more time to see if Charlie had replied to his inquiry on Plymel’s car. He had.

  The car was registered to a leasing company owned by P&G Global. Okay, nothing there. The driver was identified as an ex-cop, currently working for a multinational security company. Kruger was familiar with the security firm; they were professional and expensive. Apparently Plymel was taking no chances after the incident seven months ago.

  He looked back out the window of the café and saw the final members of his party arriving. NYPD Detective Preston Alvarez walked into café, followed by two uniformed officers. Alvarez saw Kruger, waved, turned to the uniformed officers, and said something. Both nodded and left the coffee shop. Alvarez looked weary. His slightly wrinkled dark-blue suit indicated he had been at work for awhile. Kruger shook his hand, “Thanks for coming Preston. Want some coffee while we go over our plan?”

  Nodding, Alvarez said, “Yeah, I would. It’s already been a long day.”

  As they sat down, Kruger introduced Sharon to the detective. “Preston, would you review your findings about this case for Sharon?”

  Alvarez spoke with a slight accent Kruger couldn’t place. Perhaps a combination of the variety of New York City’s cultures—it was hard to tell. Alvarez nodded. “I thought the story we were getting from Plymel was BS from the start. So I did a little checking. The two ex-military guys he said were his guards weren’t licensed to carry. Both had Glock nine-millimeters. I found a few witnesses who said they saw a man pulled from a Suburban and pushed into the building. This was about thirty minutes prior to the shooting. But they couldn’t identify him from the security camera picture. Both witnesses were too far away. Then we had the security guard at the front desk tell us about the guy being pushed into the elevator. Two hours later, he has amnesia and can’t remember? Give me a break.”