Before I even relate the story, I tell him that the outcome was not positive. I don’t want him to get his hopes up, even for a few minutes. He’s the one with his freedom on the line, not me, and he needs to know the straight scoop.
“Becky thinks the jury is going to say I’m not guilty,” he says. “At least that’s what she tells me.”
“Needless to say, I hope she’s right.”
“But you don’t think she is.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But I do think it’s a good sign that they haven’t come back yet. Maybe we’ve got some holdouts on our side.”
“Maybe.”
“Noah, if you get convicted, it’s not over. I really mean that; we’ve got a lot going for us. This thing hasn’t played out yet.”
I don’t think he believes me, and I can’t say I blame him. I tell him that I’ll let him know if anything happens, and I leave to go home.
I’ll take Tara and Bailey for a walk, and then I’ll look through the case files again, just in case I’ve missed something the other four hundred times I’ve read them.
But basically I’ll do nothing.
Deep under the ground, the eight men were finished with their work.
The canisters had been taken up the elaborate system of pulleys, and loaded onto a waiting truck. It was the culmination of years of work, done in secret.
The men had been chosen well. They were extraordinary workers, loners without family or close friends. They could be trusted to keep the confidentiality of the mission, and would basically do anything for money. Investigators had been tracking them, without their knowledge, and all were judged to have kept silent.
They were, of course, very well paid, but what really motivated them was the promise of a huge bonus when the work was completed.
They had just gotten an apparently sincere thank-you speech from a man they had never met before, but who seemed as if he was in charge of the entire operation. More importantly, they had just received their bonus checks, and were delighted to see that each was twenty-five percent higher than promised.
The man also thanked them for their having kept the secret for so long, and impressed upon them the importance of continuing to do so. He also made a surprise promise that if, in five years, the operation was still a secret, each man in the group would receive another check.
Were any of them to move, the man gave them a number to contact, to inform him of their new address and contact information. That was to enable him to forward that supplementary bonus, but also to make it possible for them to be reached should another job like this one come up.
And with the kind of money that they’d earned, another job like this one would be very welcome.
The man went around and shook each of their hands, offering personal thanks. He then went up the pulley to the truck, asking them to wait at least a half hour to leave, and then to leave one at a time, so as not to call attention to themselves, should anyone be around.
Then the man went up to the truck, where the driver was waiting for him. He signaled for the driver to come down out of the truck and help him load something, and when the driver did as instructed, the man shot him through the head.
The man dragged the driver’s body a few feet to the open mine, and pushed it over the edge. He listened, until he could hear the body strike bottom, though the drop was so long that the sound was barely audible.
The man then climbed into the truck, drove half a mile, and then took out his cell phone, and dialed a number. It was a number that was prearranged six months ago, and it set off the explosives that had been planted at the same time.
The explosion was enormous, and the man could see and hear it from his distant vantage point. He knew that it had forced the mine to cave in on itself. Of the nine dead bodies that were in there, the driver was the only one not to have been buried alive.
And then the man drove away.
There is one report in the file that I haven’t read multiple times.
It’s not even a report, but rather the travel documents and records that Gail Lockman had provided to us. I had read it, and noted that it confirmed Laurie’s report of where Gail’s husband Steven had traveled in the period before the fire, just before he went missing.
I will never understand how people, me in particular, can see something one time and not another, when looking at the same thing each time. But it happens to me all the time, and I assume I’m not the only one.
Laurie and I had asked for the information for the purpose of learning where Steven Lockman had gone on his business trips before the fire. That made sense, and it led us to believe that Texas was the place to focus on. That may or may not prove to be a good decision.
But what we didn’t notice were Steven Lockman’s return flights. On the two non-Texas trips he flew back to Newark Airport, which was logical, since he lived not far from there. On the two Texas trips, however, he didn’t fly to Newark.
He flew to Philadelphia.
I call Gail Lockman, and catch a break when she is there and answers the phone. I tell her I have just one more question about Steven, and I can hear the apprehension in her voice. It’s a wound that I keep opening.
“In the weeks before Steven’s death, he flew back to Philadelphia rather than New Jersey. Do you have any idea why?”
“That can’t be right,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he would have told me. And we had a thing, call it a superstition, that I always picked him up at the airport. The company would have paid for a cab, but I picked him up every time.”
“And never in Philadelphia?” I ask.
“Never.”
“Did he know anyone there?”
“Not that I know of.”
There seems to be a real possibility that Steven landed in Philadelphia, did whatever business he had there, and then drove to Newark and pretended to his wife that he had flown there. The chance of an affair comes to mind, but it was only twice, and apparently for very short stays.
I think I know the real reason.
“Did Steven have any business dealings with people or companies in Philadelphia?”
She’s becoming annoyed with my questions. “Mr. Carpenter, Steven was an assayer. His job was to tell his company what was under the ground that they owned. There are sewers under Philadelphia.”
I thank her and apologize for bothering her. I start to dial Mulcahy’s number when I see that Laurie is calling me on the other line. I stop dialing and take her call.
“Andy, the world down here just exploded.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There was a huge explosion, maybe five miles from here. We could see the cloud go up, and our car shook.”
“What was it?”
“I can’t be sure, but it happened out here in the middle of nowhere, and it was on Milgram land. I don’t believe in coincidences; it might have been the place we’re looking for.”
“Okay, let me think for a minute,” I say, but then only use up ten seconds of my requested time. “We have to assume that they took whatever they needed to out of the ground, and the explosion was to destroy the mine and cover their tracks.”
“So it’s got to be on a truck,” she says. “There are no train tracks out here, and I haven’t seen any planes take off.”
“Right, and it’s got to be going south.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a foreign connection here; that’s what Mulcahy said. Assuming it’s too large to get on a plane, then it’s going to leave by boat, and the nearest water is south. You should at least start heading in that direction.”
“Marcus and San are three hours south of us right now. They were driving around the Milgram land down there.”
“Then call them and tell them to head south, and wait for further instructions, in case we figure something out.”
Laurie promises to do so, and I call Mulcahy. He’s not there, so I tell t
hem to have him call me, that’s it’s a matter of life and death.
There’s nothing I can do except wait for him to call, so I turn on the television and see that the first reports about the explosion are coming in. They are saying that a mine blew up, possibly from leaking natural gas, but that no people were believed to have been in the mine.
I have my doubts about the lack of casualties; starting with Loney, people with knowledge of the operation are being wiped out. But I have more than doubts about the “leaking natural gas.” That is pure bullshit.
It takes forty of the longest minutes I’ve ever experienced until Mulcahy calls me, and I don’t waste any time. “The mine explosion is what we were watching for. They’ve taken out what they need, and are covering up the evidence. Unless I’m wrong, they’ve covered up a bunch of people in the process.”
“Shit,” he says. “Do you have any idea where they’re going with it?”
“No, but they’ve got to get it out of the country, and…” It hits me as I’m talking, and I’m immediately angry with myself for not seeing it earlier. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got an idea.”
I put the phone down and grab the case files. I search for Sam’s report on Loney’s phone records, scanning down the list of files until I find what I’m looking for.
I grab the phone again and say, “Galveston. He’s heading for Galveston.”
“How do you know that?”
“One of the people on Loney’s phone records is a guy named Jason Young. He’s a customs official in Galveston. It all fits; they must be blackmailing Young to get him to do something for them. And that something is to pave the way for this shipment to get on a boat and out of the country.”
“I’m on it.”
“You want to know who you’re looking for?” I ask.
“Who’s that?”
“Unless I’m wrong, it’s Alex Bauer.”
“He’s dead,” Mulcahy points out.
“He might not be as dead as we think.”
I check the files again, and then call Sam to update him.
“We’re only about a half hour from Galveston,” he says. “But we’re going to die before we get there. Marcus is driving about four hundred miles an hour.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re ahead of Bauer,” I say. “And you both might be ahead of the FBI. Head for the port; I was there a bunch of years ago; I think there’s one main road in.”
“What are we looking for?”
“A large truck with Bauer in it.”
“And if we see it?”
“Stop it.”
“How the hell are we going to do that?” he asks.
“Marcus will figure it out.”
I call Laurie and brief her on what’s going on. She’s heading in that direction as well, but is pretty far behind. Whatever is going to happen will take place well before she gets there.
“It’ll be okay. They’ll have agents all over that place.”
“I know, but Bauer has been outsmarting everybody all along. Once he gets the material off the truck, there’s no telling where it could go.”
“Andy, what makes you think Bauer’s alive?”
“Steven Lockman made two secret trips to Philadelphia on the way back from Texas. According to his wife, he had been worried about money, with a baby on the way, and felt he was underpaid. My guess is he felt that if he reported to Milgram what he found, all he would have gotten would have been a pat on the back.”
“But if he sold the information to a competitor like Bauer, he would get a lot more,” she says.
“He thought it would make him rich, but it made him dead.”
“But how does that mean Bauer is alive?” she asks. “Maybe his partners in this killed him.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Bauer has been lying to us all along, and in the process trying to find out what we know. Faking his death would make sense; after whatever this is goes down, no one would be looking for him.”
It’s incredibly frustrating sitting in New Jersey and wondering what is happening all those miles from here. For me the only thing worse than being far away when friends are in danger would be to be in danger myself.
As soon as I put the phone down it rings. I pick it up, assuming that it’s Mulcahy, or Sam, or someone that’s a part of the exploding events in Texas.
It isn’t. It’s Rita Gordon, the court clerk. “Andy, you need to be in court at ten A.M. tomorrow morning.”
“Why?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“There’s a verdict.”
Mulcahy’s first call was to the Houston bureau, the office closest to Galveston.
It was quickly put through to the bureau director, Ryan Van Pelt, who fortunately was in his office. The call was taken by Gary Summers, who served as Van Pelt’s executive assistant.
Mulcahy explained the urgent nature of the call to Summers, who quickly grasped the situation and put the call straight through to his boss.
It look less than sixty additional seconds for Mulcahy to make the situation clear to Van Pelt, who promised to get every agent under his command into the field, and in this case the field meant the Galveston port.
There are emergency procedures in place at every bureau office, and the moment Van Pelt got off the phone he set them into action. Everything worked smoothly and according to plan, and within ten minutes every agent within range was on the way to Galveston.
Van Pelt then notified his contact at the Department of Defense that assistance might be needed, and that he would keep them apprised of developments. After that, he left the office to go down and personally supervise the operation in Galveston.
He issued instructions with Summers to patch all calls regarding this crisis to him in the field, which Summers promised to do.
Once Van Pelt was out the door, Summers took out his cell phone and dialed a number. When the connection was made, he simply said, “They know.”
“I understand,” said Alex Bauer.
The road narrowed into two lanes in each direction, causing traffic to slow down.
Marcus continued driving for another half mile, during which he got a look at what was up ahead. There were a series of exits, and different ways Bauer could go, all of which led to various areas of the port. They would have to be incredibly lucky to find him.
Instead, he made a U-turn and drove back to the place where the road narrowed.
“Where the hell are you going?” asked Sam.
Marcus didn’t answer, which did not come as much of a surprise to Sam, since he had said maybe ten words in two days. When he reached the area where the road narrowed, he made another U-turn and pulled over, waiting along the side of the road in the direction heading to the port.
“You know Bauer?” Marcus asked.
“I don’t know him; I mean, I’ve never met the guy. But I’ve seen his picture; I’d recognize him.”
Marcus nodded and pulled back on to the road, in the right-hand lane. He then slowed to a stop and shut the car off. Before Sam could waste his time by asking what was happening, Marcus got out of the car, went to the front, and lifted the hood. He then propped the hood so that it would stay open, and got back in the car. To anyone coming along, it would look like the car broke down with mechanical trouble.
Marcus touched the rearview mirror, and said, “Watch.”
This time Sam caught on. Their “stalled” car in the right-hand lane would cause the traffic to significantly slow down. Sam could adjust his mirror to see the drivers of oncoming trucks, rather than turning around and possibly tipping Bauer off.
They waited for almost fifteen minutes, and a few times Sam thought he saw Bauer, only to change his mind. “I can’t be positive which one is him, you know? I’m afraid we could be letting him go by.”
“Watch,” Marcus said.
Finally Sam saw a man that he was positive was Bauer driving a large truck. “That’s him,” Sam said. “I’m sure of it.”
Marcus nodded, waite
d for the truck to clear them and drive forward, then got out and closed the hood. He then proceeded to drive quickly, making up the ground between themselves and Bauer’s truck.
They followed from a safe distance, watching as Bauer turned left, a surprise since it seemed away from the port area. And then, up ahead, they saw why.
“Andy, he’s going to an airfield!” Sam yelled. “He’s not going to the port!”
“Where are you?” I ask. I’m already sick from the realization that I’ve sent the FBI to the wrong place.
“We’re about ten miles north of Galveston. There’s what looks like a private airfield up ahead, and we’re following Bauer toward it. I’m sure that’s where he’s going.”
“Do you know the name of the airfield?”
“No, we haven’t seen one yet.”
“Can you tell me more about the location?”
“We got off the road at Deerfield. We just passed a Denny’s … I’m sorry, I just don’t know where we are.” The panic in his voice is evident.
My guess is that somehow Bauer found out the FBI was waiting for him. Otherwise he would not have driven all the way to Galveston; he would have had a plane waiting much closer to the mine. His initial plan was to leave by boat, but the FBI’s actions caused him to switch.
“Okay, here’s what we need to do,” I say. “I’m going to call the FBI and tell them what you’ve told me. You keep watching Bauer. Be careful, Sam, but I have to tell you, whatever Bauer is hauling cannot be allowed to get on a plane.”
“Got it.”
“Sam, let Marcus take the lead on this.”
I get off and call Mulcahy. “He’s not going to the Galveston port,” I say.
“Don’t shit me, Carpenter. “I’ve got twenty agents there now, with two choppers on the way.”
“The choppers you can use,” I say, and tell him what Sam told me.
He’s not satisfied. “An airfield near a Denny’s? I’ve been looking at maps; you know how many airfields there are in south Texas? You’ve got interns working for those big oil companies that make enough to fly their own planes. There are almost as many airfields as there are Denny’s.”
One Dog Night Page 27