by J. C. Fields
“No. If he has one, he had it with him.”
“I think we have to assume he does.”
Kruger nodded.
“My guess is he bought a car with cash somewhere. If he did, the car lot probably provided him temporary registration. If you can find the lot, they’ll be able to give you details about the vehicle.” He paused and sipped his now-cold coffee. “The problem is, he’s had a couple of day’s head start and could be anywhere by now.”
“I know.”
“It’s a big country, Sean.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve flown over it way too many times.”
“Once you get past the Mississippi River, there are plenty of isolated locations between there and the west coast. He could disappear with ease.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if this guy digs in and hides for a while?” He paused for a heartbeat. “I’m running out of time.”
***
Jimmie Gibbs showed the picture to Bobby Ray Clayton, the owner of Your EZ Ride car lot in Southern Cincinnati.
The man stared at the picture through smudged glasses. “Yeah, that’s him. Sold him a white 2008 Chevy Equinox with 98,000 miles on it. Sweet SUV, the best one I had on the lot.”
Gibbs smiled. “I’m sure it was. How did he pay for it?”
“Cash.”
“How much?”
“I’m embarrassed about this, but he got me down to five thousand.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
“I should have gotten at least six for it.”
“Why?”
“Low miles, clean and it even had newer tires on it. But he was waving the money in my face. That happens on slow days. I sell vehicles too cheap.”
“I see. Can I see the paperwork on it?”
“What’s he done? Am I in trouble, Agent?”
“He’s just someone we need to talk to and, no, you’re not in trouble.” Gibbs paused and grinned. “Unless the car was stolen or you rolled the mileage back?”
Clayton raised his hands, palms toward Jimmie and shook his head. “No, no, no, no, I’m a legit dealer.”
“Can I see the paperwork?”
Nodding rapidly, the man turned and shuffled to a filing cabinet in his office. As he flipped through the filing cabinet he said, “My wife and I run this lot, Agent Gibbs. I buy my cars from an auction house and we offer a loan assistance program to people who have challenged credit histories.” He stopped and turned toward Gibbs. “The guy paid cash—he didn’t look like a criminal.”
“I understand, Mr. Clayton. We just want to ask him a few questions. Don’t worry—this won’t come back on you.”
“I hope not. We try to run a clean lot here.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Ah, here it is.” He pulled a file out of the cabinet and handed it to Gibbs. “My wife still likes to do the paperwork the old fashion way.”
“How’s that?”
“By hand.”
Jimmie nodded as he flipped through the file. The third page produced one of the items he needed. A photocopy of a driver’s license. The next item he needed appeared right after the page with the photo—the registration paperwork. He extracted the pages. “Can you make a copy of these for me?”
***
Back in his rental car, Jimmie did a Google search on his phone. What came back brought a knowing smile to his face. He scrolled to a number on his contact list and hit send. The call was answered immediately.
“Kruger.”
“It’s Jimmie.”
“What’d you find?”
“He has an Ohio DL under the name Timothy Chronos. I looked at the address on Google Maps.”
“And?”
“Empty lot.”
“Okay, wrap up what you are doing and give a copy of everything to the Cincinnati Field Office. I need you back here.”
“Got it. See you tomorrow.”
Part Two
The Search
San Francisco, CA
One Month Later
By October 1, 1949, when Mao Zedong declared the creation of the People’s Republic of China, two refugees were already on a ship bound for their new country, the United States. Because China had been an important ally during World War II, Chinese immigrants were afforded benefits denied to other Pacific Rim inhabitants. Due to this and after more than sixty years of discrimination, President Franklin Roosevelt signed legislation repealing the Chinese Exclusion Act on December 17, 1943. This allowed the once predominantly bachelor society of Chinatown to become more assimilated and attract families with children.
Into this newfound freedom, Deng Wu and his wife Li emerged as prominent members of the Chinatown political elite. Their son, Chiang—named after the famous Chinese general Chiang Kia Shek—grew up and attended the California Institute of Technology. There he graduated with a doctorate in the up-and-coming field of computer electronics. He married a girl from his old Chinatown neighborhood and on the 4th of July, 1965, gave birth to a son, David.
Fifty-five years later, David Wu was rich in his own right after establishing several high-tech companies in the Silicon Valley region. He was also the college roommate and lifelong friend of the current President of the United States, Roy Griffin.
To say they were close would be an understatement. Their relationship was more like two brothers. Both led busy lives, which prevented getting together very often. But when they did, it was like the passing of time did not exist.
David’s relationship with the president was not only personal—he was also his most fervent supporter and campaign contribution organizer. That is why when David Wu asked to see the president, he was granted immediate access.
The meeting took place in Griffin’s San Mateo, California home during a week of R&R for the president.
Slender and tall, Wu wore his black hair in a ponytail which displayed evenly dispersed streaks of gray. He spoke English with a non-descript American accent, Cantonese like a native and was becoming fluent in Mandarin. The two friends embraced briefly, causing Griffin’s Secret Service guards to hold their breath even though they knew Wu was not a security risk.
“How’ve you been, David?” Griffin smiled as he looked at his friend.
“Like yourself, busy.” Wu lowered his voice. “I need to talk to you in private, Roy.”
Griffin frowned. “This must be serious.”
“It’s a personal matter. One I don’t want your bodyguards to know about.”
With a chuckle, Roy nodded and pointed to his library. He then turned to the lead agent of his protection detail. “Bob, David and I need a little privacy. We’re going to the library. Please position someone outside the window so you can feel like you’re doing your job.”
Bob Wray gave the president a grin and nodded. He pointed to Judy Poindexter. “Please make sure the president doesn’t escape out of the library window.”
She smiled and headed for the front door.
Once the door to the library was closed, Wu sat in one of the room’s leather wingback chairs. Griffin sat across from him and made a steeple with his hands. “What’s this about, David?”
With a sigh, Wu studied the carpet for a few moments before returning his attention to the president. “It’s about my sister.”
Griffin said. “Have they still not found a suspect?”
“No.” He paused. “I don’t think they’re trying anymore, nor do they seem to care.”
President Roy Griffin took a deep breath and debated telling his friend what he knew. Friendship won out. “David, I can assure you, the FBI still cares.”
Wu flashed the temper Griffin remembered from their college days. Through narrowed eyes, Wu said, “Do not give me a politically correct speech. We’ve known each other too long and been through too much for you to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
Crossing his arms, Wu looked defiant. “Want to try again?”
“Your sister was not the only one.”
>
Blinking rapidly, Wu uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “What do you mean, not the only one?”
“Just what I told you. I am sure you heard about the death of FBI Deputy Director, Alan Seltzer over a month ago.”
“Yes.”
“His death led to the discovery of a series of seemingly unrelated unsolved murders across the United States.”
Wu remained quiet.
“One of the FBI’s top profilers started looking into them. His efforts were successful in identifying a person-of-interest in your sister’s murder. However, the agent uses a different term for this person.”
“What is it?”
“He calls him a serial killer.”
His eyes widened. “Holea was murdered by a serial killer?”
“Yes. Along with twenty other individuals of varying ethnic backgrounds across the country.”
A tear rolled down Wu’s cheek.
“I’m sorry, David. It wasn’t random like you were told. All of the murders appear to have been committed by one person. The FBI believes this individual chose his victims carefully and stalked them before—well, you know.”
Silence filled the room as the two men stared at each other. Finally, Wu said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Griffin started to shake his head but stopped. He blinked several times and then a smile came to his face. “The agent I just mentioned is a trusted friend of Cheryl’s and mine. Remember the two agents who saved our lives from the sniper after my mother-in-law’s funeral?”
A nod was his answer.
“One of them is the man who made the connection. He has spent the last twenty-five years successfully identifying and chasing down serial killers all across this country. Unfortunately, he is also very close to the mandatory retirement age for an FBI agent. There’s not much I can do about the regulation, but there may be a way around it.”
“What’s that?”
“How serious are you about helping?”
“I would spend every cent I have to find this person.”
“I don’t think we need that much, but I just thought of something you can do.”
“I’m listening.”
“I have the authority to form any organization or commission I want by executive order. What I can’t do without Congressional approval is fund that organization. In today’s political climate I could probably get it done in a year or so, but that’s not going to help us right now.”
Wu smiled. “What if this organization was privately funded?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Tell me more.”
***
Paul Stumpf listened to President Roy Griffin outline his proposal. As he listened, a grin appeared. “I think it has merit, Mr. President.”
“Would Sean do it?”
“I can’t answer that without asking him first. But I do know he’s getting nervous. Dorian Monk has disappeared off the face of the earth and Sean is two weeks away from his birthday and retirement. He’s not someone you want to be around right now.”
“My plan would only be temporary. The commission would only last until Monk is found and arrested.”
Stumpf nodded. “Is your friend aware of the costs involved?”
Griffin smiled. “David is a very wealthy man. He could fund this project for a year with pocket change.”
“If he accepts, Sean will want to keep his team together.”
“I explained that to David Wu. He wants this to work; he told me to give Sean carte-blanche authority to hire anyone he feels is needed. The bottom line is he wants the murderer of his sister and the others brought to justice. He doesn’t care about the costs.”
“Then I’d better talk to Sean.”
***
Despite the fact the Agency sent a Gulfstream G280 for his flight to Washington, DC for a brief meeting with Paul Stumpf, Sean Kruger fumed. A state he found himself in more and more as his birthday loomed.
He turned to the young agent who drove the vehicle that picked him up at the airport and said, “Do you have any idea what this is about, Tom?”
Thomas Shark was taller than Kruger’s six feet by three inches. He was still high school skinny, with an angular face and closely cropped brown hair. They had worked several cases together over the course of Kruger’s career and he held a lot of respect for the younger agent.
“No, sir. All I was told was that Director Stumpf personally asked for me to meet you at the airport.” He glanced at the senior agent and smiled. “I was more than happy to do it.”
The tension in Kruger’s voice eased. “I’m glad you could. Where are you assigned right now?”
“Here in DC, I’m—uh—in training.”
Kruger raised an eyebrow. “Care to be more specific?”
With a slight grin Shark said, “I’ll be taking over the Denver Field Office as Special Agent in Charge as soon as the current SAC retires. They want me here until he leaves.”
“Congratulations, Tom. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. You deserve it.”
“I learned through the grapevine it was due to a recommendation you gave to Alan Seltzer six months ago.”
Silence fell over the two occupants as Kruger looked out the passenger window. Finally, he nodded. “I remember the conversation. It was one of the last times I spoke to Alan.”
“I’m sorry, Sean.”
“Me, too.” He paused. “Alan was a good man. He didn’t deserve what happened.”
Shark didn’t respond.
Kruger continued, “I doubt what I told him resulted in your promotion. Your performance and abilities are the reason.”
“I learned a lot during the times we worked together. I always appreciated your input.”
“Glad to do it.” He returned his gaze to the window and watched Washington, DC pass by. His excitement about the younger agent’s promotion moderated by the realization his own career would soon be over.
***
When Kruger entered the conference room next to Paul Stumpf’s office, he found the president’s National Security Advisor, Joseph Kincaid, already sitting and waiting. He stood as Kruger entered and smiled when they shook hands.
Kruger asked, “What are you doing here, Joseph?”
“I bring a message from the president.”
Rolling his eyes, Kruger frowned. “This isn’t some command appearance about my upcoming retirement is it?”
His response was a slow shake of the head.
The door to Stumpf’s office opened and the Director of the FBI entered, smiled and offered his hand to Kruger. “Glad you could make it, Sean.”
Tired of the theatrics and wasted time, Kruger did not return the greeting. “What the hell is this about, Paul? I’m on a short timeline and coming to DC is not helpful.”
Stumpf’s smile broadened as he motioned Kruger to sit. “When we explain the reason for your trip, I’m sure you’ll find it worth your time.”
“Whatever.” Kruger sat and clasped his hands in front of him, alternating his attention from Joseph to Stumpf, his glare intensifying with each second.
Joseph started. “Were you aware that one of President Griffin’s best friends is a man named David Wu?”
Kruger shook his head.
“Do you know who David Wu is?”
“Only that he’s one of the richest men in the United States. Other than that, no, I don’t.”
“Griffin and Wu were college roommates and still close friends.”
“Good for them.”
Stumpf brought his hand up to cover his smile.
With a sigh, Kruger said, “Get to the point, Joseph.”
“Think back on the names of the five victims you believe Dorian Monk killed around San Francisco.”
Blinking several times, Kruger’s eyes widened. “Holea Wu. The third victim.”
Both Stumpf and Joseph nodded.
“I take it she was related to this David Wu.”
“His
sister.”
“Ah—geez.”
Stumpf asked, “Is the picture getting clearer?”
Kruger nodded.
“Sean, your retirement date is set in stone. No one can change that.” Stumpf paused and glanced at Joseph, who nodded. “We have an alternative for you.”
Leaning forward, Kruger stared at the director. “I’m listening.”
Joseph took over. “The president signed an executive order this morning creating a special task force to investigate the unsolved murders discovered by Deputy Director Alan Seltzer.” He paused, and when Kruger didn’t respond, continued, “The commission is slated to start the 23rd of this month. You will be the Special Agent in Charge and will have complete control of its activities and who you want on your team.”
“Who’s paying for it?”
“David Wu.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Is this legal?”
Both Stumpf and Joseph nodded.
“I can pick my own team?”
They both nodded again.
“If I choose someone that’s currently with the FBI, will it negatively affect their career?”
Stumpf answered, “It will only enhance it.”
Kruger took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. One hand remained on the tabletop and he drummed his fingers on the surface. “What happens after we find Monk?”
“It will dissolve after his conviction, sentencing and incarceration.”
“What if we find him and he’s not willing to surrender?”
“Same thing—the commission will be dissolved.”
“Who do I report to?”
Stumpf pointed to Joseph. “To the president through him as his liaison.”
“I accept.”
Chapter 16
Washington, DC / Springfield
After the meeting with the director and Joseph, Kruger spent a few hours with the Human Resources Department signing paperwork for his pending retirement. By four in the afternoon, he again sat in the passenger compartment of the Gulfstream, typing out a group text message to JR, Jimmie and Alexia Gibbs, Sandy Knoll and Ryan Clark. All were to be in JR’s conference room by 7:30 a.m. the next morning, except Clark. He would join them via a conference call. All responded with an affirmative text message.