After dropping Moore at the Nashville airport, Moss filled up with gas, bought a bag full of greasy fast food, and headed eastbound on Interstate 40. In Knoxville, he picked up Interstate 81, which would take him most of the way to DC. His stomach growled and he belched.
Just outside of Roanoke, Virginia, his cell phone vibrated. The caller ID displayed a phone number with a Tennessee area code and an exchange he didn't recognize. Perhaps it was Nashville PD.
"Senior Inspector Pete Moss."
"Senior Inspector?" a man's voice said. "As in U. S. Marshals Service?"
"That is correct. Who am I speaking with?"
"Are you the replacement for Inspector Mike Cox in Little Rock?"
"Who is this?" Moss raised his voice. "Identify yourself."
"Are you or are you not Mike Cox's replacement?"
"For now. I am taking over one of Inspector Cox's cases."
"The breach in Little Rock?"
"Mister, identify yourself or this call is over."
"You know who I am," the voice said. "And I'm traveling with someone you want."
Moss's heart raced. He didn't speak for several seconds. A thousand questions bombarded his thoughts. "Is this Gregg Kaplan?"
"You found my motorcycle, I see."
"Yes, I did. And all the other clues you left along the way. Is my witness safe?"
Kaplan said nothing.
"Mr. Kaplan? I asked you a question."
"The plate was a mistake."
"Huh?" Moss responded.
"In my haste, I forgot to remove the plate from my motorcycle. That's the only reason you know who I am. The rest of the clues were intentional."
"Gregg Kaplan. Tysons Corner, Virginia. That's all I got. Information from the State of Virginia Motor Vehicles database. Everything else about you requires a higher authorization. Neither the Marshals Service nor the FBI could find out anything more about you. Your identity seems to be protected. Who are you, NSA? CIA?"
Silence.
After several seconds Moss said, "Mr. Kaplan, the U.S. Marshals Service had three deputies trying to locate my witness…and you. I was reassigned from Chicago, Deputy Jon Hepler from Little Rock was read in, and Inspector April Moore was brought in briefly from the Atlanta office. None of us could learn anything more about you than your name and a post office box number in Virginia. Who are you? Really?"
"Did you say April Moore?"
"Yeah. Showed up unannounced with no paperwork and totally out of protocol. But I let her stay because she knew all the details of the case. Details only WitSec would know."
"Ever met her before Little Rock?"
"No. Like I said, she just showed up out of the blue. Why do you ask?"
"Tall red-headed woman? Fair skin, looks like she could’ve been a model?"
"That’s right. So you've dealt with Inspector Moore before?"
"In a manner of speaking," Kaplan said. "Let me guess, her creds check out but no one has ever seen her."
"That's right, but how—"
"Shit."
Moss heard something strange in Kaplan's voice.
"What is it?" Moss asked.
"This complicates matters."
"Inspector Moore was teamed with me for most of this investigation but she was called off. I'll admit I had bad vibes about her but mostly I felt like I couldn't trust her. How does that complicate things?"
"She's not U. S. Marshals Service and certainly not WitSec," Kaplan said. "Nor is she with any other government agency for that matter. April Moore is an alias she uses from time to time, usually when inside the United States."
"What? Who does she work for then?"
"Nobody. She's an assassin."
31
"How could you possibly know that?" The voice said on the phone. "I haven't told you anything about her."
Valkyrie's involvement was an unwelcome surprise. Or perhaps not. He had been on the lookout for the killer the better part of a year, as had several other CIA operatives around the globe. He had run into nothing but one dead end after another. Now, it seemed, she had been contracted to kill the old man. And that put her close enough to nab.
What a twist of fate.
Kaplan ignored the deputy's question. "Where is the woman now?"
"I don't know," the deputy said. "I dropped her off at the airport in Nashville a few hours ago. She said she was going back to Atlanta." The deputy paused and then said, "What's this all about?"
"Someone with a lot of clout wants your witness dead," Kaplan said.
"A lot of people with a lot of clout want my witness dead and now you're telling me an assassin has been hired to take him out too?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Senior Inspector. If you had found us, she would have killed you too."
"Lucky for me I never caught up to you then. Are you taking Tony to the SSOC?"
Kaplan wasn't surprised the deputy had figured out his strategy. And since he had, it was a safe bet Valkyrie had as well. "We need to talk. Face-to-face. Where are you?"
"Interstate 81, just outside of Roanoke."
"That's good, meet me in one hour." Kaplan gave the deputy instructions. "And Moss?"
"Yes."
"Don't even think about calling this in. No one knows about this but you, understand? I'll dry clean the area and if you double cross me, I promise you won't like the results."
* * *
Moss did as Kaplan instructed. He wasn't sure if he could trust him, but right now, his choices were limited. Kaplan held all the cards…and his witness. He had kept the witness alive this long, when so many were trying to kill him. Moss had to believe he was genuine. Whatever Kaplan was, whomever he worked for, the man knew the system. Moss would at least give him the benefit of the doubt.
For now.
He parked on the side of the road along U. S. 60 beneath the U. S. 11 overpass. He had moved his car clear of the road with the passenger tires resting against the sloping concrete wall. He checked his watch; according to the time, Kaplan should make contact in two minutes. He thought about what Kaplan had said in his instructions and knew what dry clean meant, he'd just never actually heard the term used. It meant Kaplan would make a thorough sweep of the rendezvous area to make sure he wasn't under surveillance. It was a Catch 22 for Moss; procedure required him to call it in to Hepler but doing so and not trusting Kaplan ran the risk of losing his witness again.
At exactly the one-hour mark, his cell phone rang. "Get out and stand next to your car," Kaplan said and then hung up.
Ten seconds later a black Toyota 4-Runner pulled beside the Crown Vic. The passenger window was down and he recognized the man in the passenger seat by his driver's license photo—Gregg Kaplan.
"Get in," Kaplan said. He motioned to the back door with his thumb.
Moss did as requested. Before he could get the door closed, the driver, a balding white man, punched the accelerator and drove away into the darkness. "All right Kaplan, I did what you asked," said Moss. "I still don't know who the hell you are."
"Pass me your creds and keep your mouth shut until we get where we're going."
Kaplan's tone infuriated Moss; he wasn't used to taking attitude from anyone, much less someone he knew nothing about. "Where are we going?"
"Doesn't listen well, does he?" The driver said.
Kaplan turned around in his seat and gave him a hard look. Even in the dark car, or maybe especially in the dark car, Kaplan's eyes told Moss he meant business. It wasn't evil he saw in the man's eyes, but danger.
Kaplan held out his hand. "Creds."
Moss acquiesced. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his credentials, and handed them to Kaplan. That was when he noticed Kaplan pointing a gun at his head.
Kaplan took the creds and said, "Weapon too."
Moss made slow deliberate moves to avoid alarming Kaplan, the last thing he wanted to do was get shot. He withdrew his weapon and handed it over grip first.
"Look, I'm cooperating. Now, h
ow about you cut me a little slack." Moss said.
Neither man spoke.
Moss leaned back in his seat. Kaplan really needed to work on his people skills. The driver made what seemed like two or three dozen turns before he pulled the 4-Runner into a home with a retractable metal gate, brick walls, razor wire, and armed guards. It seemed more like an armored compound than a home. The driveway split and the driver bore right. The driveway descended into an underground parking garage.
The 4-Runner parked beside a silver Mercedes SL55 AMG.
Moss smiled. He had been taken to a spook house.
* * *
Kaplan got out and opened the car door for Moss since the child locks were engaged. He shoved Moss's creds and firearm into his chest. "You check out," Kaplan said.
"Well that's a relief."
"Let's talk first," Kaplan said. "Then I'll take you to see Tony." Kaplan signaled for Moss to follow. “Come on.”
When Senior Inspector Pete Moss got out of the car, Kaplan realized for the first time just how big the man really was. He had a good seventy, seventy-five pounds on Kaplan, and solid weight too. His size, coupled with his bald head, gave him a menacing appearance. He didn't look afraid to get physical either. His strong developed neck and shoulders told Kaplan that this guy didn't lose many fights…if any. And even though the man's size was threatening, his face was amicable.
Moss interrupted Kaplan's thoughts as they walked toward the elevator.
"I gotta know. Who do you work for? Why are your file and identity classified at such a high level?"
"CIA," he replied. "Clandestine Service."
Moss smiled. "I figured it was either that or NSA."
For the next hour, Kaplan and Moss discussed the events of the past twenty-four hours. They had both been awake over forty hours; one running from the other, one chasing the other, both with the common goal of keeping Tony alive. After comparing notes, it became clear there were more parties involved than Kaplan originally thought.
Initially, he was hesitant to team up with Senior Inspector Moss. It was too soon to know if he could trust him. He sensed Moss felt the same about him. Perhaps a mutual distrust was the best way to proceed. It might just keep them both honest.
As difficult and dangerous as it was getting Tony to Lexington, the trip from Lexington to the SSOC could potentially be worse. What he needed was more time to figure out the situation and his options.
In light of the recent developments with Tony's pursuers, time was not on his side and the decision to team up with Moss outweighed the risks.
32
It didn't take Moss long to understand why Kaplan had behaved the way he did toward him in the 4-Runner. After Kaplan recounted the past twenty-four hours, including the close calls with Scalini's men, he probably would have been more arrogant if he were in Kaplan's shoes.
He listened as Kaplan outlined his plan to get Tony to the SSOC.
"That's not how the Marshals Service conducts a transport," Moss said. "I should call and have an armored vehicle come pick up Tony and me and take us to a safe site."
"Not going to happen, Senior Inspector."
"Why the hell not?" Moss could feel the anger welling up inside him. This was his business. The U. S. Marshals Service was well equipped to handle situations like this one. "We're going to need more protection. You said Scalini's men were on to you and you had to evade them just to get here. They have had plenty of time to call in reinforcements. There will be more men waiting for us to leave. Then they will feel compelled to make their move."
"First of all, I made a promise I intend to keep. Deputy Mike Cox's last breath was a request that I personally deliver Tony to a Marshals Service safe site. That's a promise I don't intend to break."
"Mike Cox was a friend of mine," Moss said. "I trained him as my replacement. His death pisses me off and I plan on catching the low life bastards responsible for this. Besides, you passed other Marshals Service safe sites to get this far. I think Deputy Cox would think this is good enough."
Kaplan seemed to ignore him.
"Second of all," Kaplan continued. "I'm counting on Scalini's men picking up our trail again."
* * *
Kaplan stared at the deputy. The big man's expression was somewhere between incredulous and frustration. He found it amusing.
"I thought we were trying to keep Tony safe from Scalini's men," Moss finally said.
"We are." The final words of Inspector Mike Cox invaded his thoughts again.
You have to get him to a safe site.
Promise me you'll deliver him to WitSec.
Keeping Tony out of sight hadn't worked so far. His efforts to sequester the old man were being sabotaged. There were entities involved outside a mob boss trying to exact revenge on a stool pigeon. Other players Tony had alluded to wanted to silence the old man and would stop at nothing to keep him from testifying.
There was a leak that needed to be plugged. Perhaps more than one, which could also explain the presence of the assassin known as Valkyrie.
Kaplan looked up at Moss. "We are going to keep Tony safe, but first…we need to smoke out a few rats."
* * *
Angelo DeLuca made the call he regretted having to make, he called Martin Scalini and requested firepower be sent to Lexington, Virginia.
That firepower came from two locations, Richmond, Virginia and Baltimore, Maryland, both were cities where Scalini owned trucking businesses. Two men were coming from Richmond where the drive was only two and a half hours. Four men in two cars were dispatched to make the drive from Baltimore. Six more men. A total of eight counting Bruno and himself. One more than he had started with two days ago in Little Rock.
Scalini had left him with a foreboding warning. If he failed to capture Tony Q this time, his fate would be death.
A slow and painful one.
By the time the reinforcements from Baltimore arrived, it was already 2:30 a.m. The sky was dark and only the glow of the streetlights illuminated the empty streets of Lexington, Virginia. The past two hours were spent patrolling the area where the silver Mercedes disappeared. With two cars and four men, manpower had doubled and more ground could be covered.
By 4:00 a.m., the results of the reconnaissance gathered was that all but three homes in the neighborhood were completely dark inside and had been for hours. Two of the three homes had open yards, which allowed for closer inspection on foot.
The third home was inaccessible and DeLuca was convinced that was where Tony Q was holed up. Behind a ten-foot high thick hedge of Japanese Ligustrum was an eight-foot brick wall. A metal gate blocked the driveway and DeLuca found the only way to see onto the property was physically climb on top of his vehicle's roof. A quick walk around the perimeter revealed the driveway gate was the only access to the home. Odd place for a fortress unless it also served as some sort of safe house. He'd heard about places like this, but they didn't belong to the U. S. Marshals Service. They serviced much more secretive agencies…or corporations that contracted with these secretive agencies.
The Richmond team was the first to spot the home. They reported movement inside and outside the home for the past hour and a half.
As all the men arrived in Lexington, DeLuca took charge. He couldn't fail again. He ordered the men to make vehicle and foot patrols through the neighborhood.
DeLuca ordered each team to specific locations to sit and wait. He knew whoever had Tony Q wouldn't keep him very long. Eventually they would want to get him back into the hands of the U. S. Marshals Service. Perhaps they were even waiting for the Marshals Service to arrive. Either way, he would end this.
When the gates opened, he and his men would be ready.
33
Kaplan and Moss sat at a table outside the quiet room drinking coffee. Earlier, Kaplan let Moss talk to Tony alone, a conversation lasting less than ten minutes. When Moss left the sealed room, he took the palm of his right hand and hit his forehead.
"What a pain in the
ass," Moss said in exasperation. "I don't know how you kept from shooting him."
Kaplan stared into his coffee and smiled. "I almost did…more than once. Instead, I busted his nose after the old codger thought he could pull a gun on me."
"How'd he get a gun?"
"I gave it to him."
"Why the hell would you do a fool thing like that?"
"I couldn't drive a motorcycle and shoot at the helicopter at the same time."
Moss responded, "That explains a few things."
Kaplan swirled the dark liquid around in his cup. "There is something Cox said that has been bothering me. And before we go any further, I want some answers."
"Like what?"
"Like, what did Cox mean when he said the Little Rock PD would only get Tony killed?"
"Little Rock PD means well," Moss explained. "But the Marshals Service has had a couple of jurisdiction issues with them. They aren't the most cooperative department when they think our witness is a criminal. It's that Southern, good-ole-boy mentality, I think. I worked at our Little Rock field office for several years. Matter of fact, I've been gone less than three weeks, so it's like I never left. A year ago or so there was an incident caused by a lack of communication between the departments. A young undercover detective with LRPD recognized one of our witnesses as a wanted criminal, but didn't realize he had entered the WitSec program. It was messy. The detective yelled out the witness's real name and drew a weapon. Thinking his witness's cover had been breached and not realizing he was looking at a plain-clothes cop, the escorting WitSec inspector drew his weapon and fired. The deputy put two rounds in the detective. Fingers were pointed. Blame and accusations flew back and forth. LRPD refused to accept blame for any wrong doing on the part of their officer. Ever since then the relationship between the Marshals Service and Little Rock PD has been…strained, for lack of a better word."
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