Mark One

by John Hindmarsh

  “No? Then I close this meeting. Thank you for attending, everyone. Schmidt and Special Agent Freewell, I expect to see you in my office in fifteen minutes.” She sailed out of the meeting room like a royal barge under full power, accompanied by her legal team.

  MayAnn handed a DVD with the allocated passwords to each of General Jamieson and Assistant Director O’Hare. Their responses were cursory, almost insulting. On their way out of the meeting room, each stopped beside Schmidt and made a comment. When everyone had left, MayAnn was intrigued to see Schmidt was grinning from ear to ear.

  “What did they say?” she asked.

  “The general was very specific—he informed me that if ever I’m foolish enough to enter any Army base, I should watch my back.”

  MayAnn frowned. “And Assistant Director O’Hare?”

  “Basically a similar comment.” He laughed. “They must think I’m an amateur—of course, I recorded their comments—and on video.” He shook his head.

  MayAnn touched his sleeve. “Be careful, Archimedes. They’re both tough and experienced politicians.”

  Schmidt put his hand over MayAnn’s. “I’ve been in this arena for far longer than either of those two. I collect threats like these, it makes life interesting.”

  ~~~

  Director Donnelly waited until Schmidt and MayAnn were seated. “MayAnn, thank you for your presentation. Schmidt, I think the General got your point. Did you record their threats?”

  “Yes, Director. I’ve a very long list, now. They’ll have to wait their turn.”

  “Humph. Take care. Special Agent, thank you for your efforts this morning. This is a challenging case and you’re doing an excellent job. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  “Thank you, Director. It was a surprise.”

  “Oliver was supposed to inform you. However his surgery interfered with our schedule. Now, I understand Midway’s agreed to assist with enticing Boothby from hiding?”

  “Yes, Director—he’s proving to be very helpful to us,” said MayAnn.

  “Very good. I’ll leave the arrangements to you both. If you make any progress identifying his origin or his real parents, I’d like to know immediately. I think that’s all. Is there anything either of you need?”

  “No, Director,” said MayAnn.

  “No? Good.”

  ~~~

  Robin answered the knock on the front door. It was late afternoon and she had enjoyed a restful day, occupied with small tasks in the back garden with Nan and Susie. She had remained in Jekyll Yards to help care for Susie, and she expected to return to her own home at the weekend. She opened the door cautiously and peered out.

  “Yes, can I help you?” she asked the man, a stranger, who was standing on the front porch.

  “Good afternoon, miss,” he smiled. His voice tone and body language were what her grandmother would describe as borderline smarmy, although Robin was unsure which side of the border he represented.

  “Yes?”

  “At the diner they said I could rent an apartment here.”

  “Did they? Well, I’m sorry, we’ve nothing to rent,” Robin started to close the door.

  “Not so fast, heh,” the man pushed his foot into the closing doorway. “I checked. The garage was converted to a small apartment, and the owner rents it out.”

  “If you don’t get your foot out of the way, I’ll call the sheriff. I said, we don’t have anything to rent.”

  The stranger leered at her. It was an unctuous expression, and Robin felt unclean just from having seen it.

  “The sheriff will take thirty minutes to get here, and our business will be finished by then.” He dropped his voice to a more confidential tone. “Be nice, dearie, all I want is an apartment—this time.”

  “Get your foot out of my door and leave this property. I won’t ask again.”

  There was a surprisingly loud click from behind the man. “I heard the young lady tell you to leave her property.” It was Tom. He had cocked his old Remington shotgun and was aiming it at the stranger. Robin stifled a grin. If Tom pulled the trigger the stranger would end up with more than a limp.

  “Yeah—OK,” the man turned and walked out to the road. He climbed into an old, rusted Honda and drove off with a loud engine roar.

  “I saw him at the diner and thought he was up to no good. He was asking about Mark, as well. I got his name from the credit card slip at the diner, and took down his vehicle details. Here, you should pass them onto Cody or Mark, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, Tom, thank goodness. He was starting to worry me. Now put that gun down and come and talk to Nan and Susie.”

  ***

  Chapter 25

  Mark was immersed in investigatory reports produced by the FBI team and in material provided by other law enforcement sources. He was intrigued by the Russian involvement and wondered if it was more than just émigrés for hire.

  Russians had tried to assassinate Pickover, and as a result one had been shot and killed by Schmidt and the other shot and wounded by MayAnn. That survivor was in custody, recovering from surgery. Shooting Oliver amounted to attempted murder of a federal official and thus was a federal crime, giving the FBI jurisdiction. Another two Russians had been captured when the FBI freed Alexis Boothby from her kidnappers; that offense also gave the FBI jurisdiction. A fifth Russian, suspected of the murder of Casey, the Alpha team leader, had been identified using hospital security cameras and now was being sought by numerous law enforcement organizations. That offense, linked as it was to other violent crimes, also gave FBI jurisdiction.

  The outstanding task for the FBI was to discover the connection points, to find a lead to whoever was their boss, and thence to Boothby. His reverie was interrupted when Schmidt answered the office phone. He listened for a moment and passed the phone to Mark.

  “Here, your girlfriend wants to talk to you. I don’t know why, when she can talk to me.”

  Mystified, Mark took the phone. He had surrendered his cell phone to MayAnn, as a security precaution. “Hello?”

  “Mark, it’s Robin.”

  Mark looked at Schmidt. “Go away, Schmidt, and close the door behind you.” He watched Schmidt leave and then turned his attention back to the phone. “Robin, I just got rid of Schmidt.”

  “So I heard. Why, are we going to talk dirty?” There was a thread of laughter in her voice.

  “Well, if you want to…”

  Robin gurgled. “That would be far too exciting for Nan, if she overheard. No, this is serious.”

  “So was I.”

  “Listen. We had a strange person visit here today. He was trying to come on strong, wanted to know about the apartment, whether it was for rent. Very smarmy type. Yuck. I almost had to have a shower after talking with him, he was so oily. Anyway, Tom came along with his shotgun and persuaded the guy to leave. Just as well he left, because Tom didn’t have any shells in his gun.”

  “You’re OK? No one was hurt?”

  “No, we’re all in one piece. Anyway, Tom got this guy’s name from his credit charge slip at the diner, and took down the vehicle license details. I would’ve given them to Schmidt, but wanted to talk to you. Do you have anything to write with?”

  “Yes, go ahead.” He wrote down the details. “Thank you. Tell Cody he needs to protect you. Next time you answer the door, take Betsy with you. Give Tom a big thank you from me, and tell him to be careful in future. Give Susie and Miss Victoria each a hug from me.”

  “And what about me?”

  “Oh, an even bigger hug, of course. I mean that. I miss you and Jekyll Yards and Miss Victoria and Susie—.”

  “I get the picture. They’ve no leads yet, then?”

  “No, not yet. They’re working very hard to develop some. Email me when you go back to your cottage, so I know where you are. Now, I suppose I’d better let Schmidt back into the office. He’s probably eavesdropping outside the door.” They exchanged their farewells.

  ~~~

  Schmidt imme
diately arranged for one of the agents in the investigation team to check the details which Robin had provided. It did not take long for preliminary results to arrive.

  Schmidt read aloud extracts from the note hand delivered by the FBI agent. “According to the vehicle license details, he’s not Russian, this time, but close. Roman Kuchna is from the Ukraine. Arrived in the US when he was seventeen, fifteen years ago. Still on a visa. He has a record. Minor player, a would-be fence—caught mainly for dealing in stolen goods. No jail time, which probably is why DHS hasn’t deported him. However—the name on the vehicle license doesn’t match the name on the credit slip. Either two different people, or young Roman was using a stolen or cloned card, always assuming the vehicle details are correct. We should talk with MayAnn.”

  They found MayAnn in a nearby office working with two of her team; she listened to Mark and Schmidt.

  “I agree, the Russians have traced you. Perhaps we should arrange an FBI detail to visit—where was it?—Jekyll Yards, to provide some protection to your friends. I’ll have someone liaise with the local sheriff. I’m sure that deputy—Cody Franklin—will want to work with us. First, my team will verify the details. That won’t take long, and assuming the information is correct, should we let this Kuchna run, or should we reel him in? We can exercise jurisdiction. What do you think, Schmidt?”

  “Possibly, if the credit card is stolen or cloned, we can use interstate fraud. The local LEOs may have something we can use. Hopefully, we can arrange a phone tap and monitor his calls—and they’ll be in Russian or Ukrainian, although I suspect he’s Russian Ukrainian.”

  “Let’s get him. Interstate fraud, allied with suspected involvement in kidnapping and terrorism offenses, are enough for an arrest warrant. Let’s find out what he is.” She turned to the two investigators who had been avid listeners to the conversation. “You heard. Verify the details. Don’t alert this Kuchna. Find out if the credit card is stolen. Or cloned. Explore everything you possibly can. See if he’s on probation anywhere; we could get him for violation if he’s using a stolen card. Check with the local LEOs, find out his known associates, especially Russians. If you need help, let me know. I want a warrant issued as soon as possible. One way or another, we should target his arrest by tomorrow morning, or preferably sooner. Keep me and Schmidt informed, hourly.”

  ~~~

  The two agents completed their research by 9 p.m. that evening. The credit card had over ten thousand dollars of fraudulent transactions. The card owner had been unaware his card had been cloned and, because the balance was still under the approved limit, there had been no red flag raised by the card issuer.

  MayAnn and Schmidt agreed the agents should go ahead and detain Kuchna as quickly as possible. He was arrested before midnight and brought to Quantico for questioning. MayAnn and Mark were using video links to observe the interview where Schmidt would take the lead role.

  “Schmidt’s very good,” said MayAnn. “He really frightens them, sometimes. Interesting to watch.”

  “He frightens me, and I am not even a prisoner.”

  “No, really? I think he’s a very nice man.”

  Schmidt walked unannounced into the interview room and sat in front of the handcuffed prisoner. There also was an FBI agent in the room, standing behind the prisoner. Schmidt switched on the recording equipment and stated the formal details of date, names and location. He then looked at the prisoner.

  “Well, Mr. Kuchna. Kidnapping. Conspiracy to murder an FBI agent. Terrorism. Interstate fraud. I would think twenty years, at the very least.”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about, man? I ain’t kidnap no one. Or conspire—whatever.” Kuchna shrugged.

  “Enough with the street talk. Who sent you to Jekyll Yards?”

  “Where? Never heard of the place.”

  “Indeed? Your fingerprints are on a credit slip which you signed this morning while visiting Jekyll Yards. Also, the credit card you used, the one we found in your wallet, is cloned. You’ve been living high—you’ve spent $10,000 dollars so far. That’s interstate fraud, which makes it an FBI matter. Also, traveling interstate is a violation of your probation. So—what, ten years, total, I’m guessing, just on those two items.”

  “Shit man, you’re dreaming.”

  “Dreaming? No, my aim’s to give you dreams—nightmares. When the DHS discovers you’re doing jail time, they’ll cancel your visa and you’ll get a free flight back to the Ukraine.”

  “Don’t do that, man. My girl friend’ll kill me.”

  “Who sent you to Jekyll Yards?”

  “I said—.”

  “And I said ten years, plus deportation. One name or ten years, and then the Ukraine, simple.”

  “You really want to get me killed?”

  “So you were sent to Jekyll Yards?”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “Works for me.” Schmidt stood. “You can tell him the charges are those I mentioned already. Also kidnapping. Conspiracy to murder an FBI agent. All federal offenses except the probation violation. We’ll probably oppose bail, you’re a flight risk.”

  He turned to the FBI agent. “Andy, process him. Get him an attorney or let him contact one. Make sure the charge sheet reflects the charges I mentioned.” He turned back to the prisoner. “If your attorney wants to talk to me, I’m available tomorrow, between twelve and one. After that, it’ll be up to the federal prosecutors and the DHS. I hope you can get a really good attorney.” Schmidt completed the recording tape formalities, switched off the tape, and walked out of the interview room.

  He explained to Mark while MayAnn listened. “Kuchna’s only a bit player. I’ve no doubt he works for the Russians who’re helping Boothby and they sent him to Jekyll Yards. He now thinks he’ll be held without bail, which might frighten up some details. We can arrange for him to be released on bail, and then track him.” He spoke to MayAnn. “Did your technical people get anything from his cell phone?”

  “Yes, they’ve extracted the numbers he’s been calling, and those calling him. We’re running traces to see who they belong to. Results should be available in the morning,”

  “Good. Let’s review them at 10 a.m.?”

  ~~~

  MayAnn arranged for Mark to be transported under guard to the safe house and back to the Quantico office the following morning, to join the morning discussions with her and Schmidt. Both journeys were uneventful.

  At the morning meeting, MayAnn provided Kuchna’s cell phone call summary. “We’ve traced calls before and after his visit to Jekyll Yards. There’s a regular pattern of calling one number, and although we haven’t identified the owner of that cell phone, we started tracking it. By a strange coincidence, it disappeared from the telecom network approximately five minutes after Kuchna called his attorney this morning.”

  “A strange coincidence, indeed,” said Schmidt. “So I recommend we arrange for him to be released on bail. The bail amount should be modest, with conditions to include confiscation of his passport. Then we track his cell phone.”

  “While Kuchna may not be the sharpest blade,” said MayAnn, “his boss is. I suspect when Kuchna’s released, he’ll be handed a new cell phone, with a new SIM card, probably by his attorney.”

  “We can discover his new number. We—I’ve an electronic reader which can identify a person’s cell phone from across a large room and pick up the number. I’ll lend it to one of your agents to use.”

  “From the President’s Office—I don’t believe it. You’ve more gadgets than the FBI.”

  “A political fiction—although if you check, the President will say yes, and confirm that he knows me.”

  Mark was bewildered by the exchange. MayAnn laughed. “This is a long-running mystery—identifying who Schmidt works for. The Director said in a meeting he was representing the President’s Office, but I’ve very strong doubts about that.”

  “I thought Schmidt worked for Schmidt?”

  Schmidt laughed and MayAnn looked thoug
htful. “Now that’s probably the closest we’ll get to the truth.” She turned to Schmidt. “Do you think Kuchna and his attorney will meet with you?”

  “If they do, he doesn’t work for the Russian gang. If they don’t, he does work for them. Ninety percent probability.”

  The attorney did not seek Schmidt for a meeting. However, an agent used Schmidt’s device and identified Kuchna’s new cell phone number.

  ***

  Chapter 26

  Schmidt rushed into the small office where MayAnn was working with two of her team. It was early morning, just after seven. “Come with me, quickly,” he urged.

  MayAnn frowned—Schmidt never showed signs of haste or alarm, and now he was displaying both. She followed his lead and stepped outside the small office.

  “What is your problem?” she asked.

  “Mark’s disappeared.”

  “What?” MayAnn realized her expression was of total disbelief. “How?”

  “I don’t know. We need to go to the safe house, now. The relief marshals arrived there five minutes ago to change shift—the two marshals on duty were unconscious and Mark was gone.” Schmidt was urging her along the corridor.

  “Who?—the same people who killed the Agency employees at Cherry Hill?” It was a guess but the only one that made sense.

  “Yes—95 percent probability.”

  “I need my coat. You’ve arranged a vehicle?”

  Schmidt nodded. “The driver should be waiting for us.”

  ~~~

  MayAnn explored the safe house, room by room, while Schmidt spoke with the four marshals. The furniture was in place, nothing was in disarray, there was no sign of violence. She checked Mark’s room. It was empty, bare. His backpack was missing, as were his clothes. The room had been emptied of personal possessions and looked as though it had been thoroughly cleaned.