They both gulped down the wine.
“That is outstanding,” Flynn said, holding the glass in front of him and admiring it.
“I’ll drink to that,” Banks said, throwing back the glass and draining the wine.
***
AFTER DINNER, Flynn stood up and offered his left arm for Banks. She wrapped her right arm around his and walked with him toward the exit. Flynn looked over his shoulder once more to catch a glimpse of the woman flipping around on the trapeze.
“Next time I suggest a Seattle restaurant, let me know if it’s also part of a circus,” Flynn said.
Banks laughed and let go of his arm to exit the restaurant. As she did, she stumbled and collapsed onto the sidewalk.
Flynn knelt down beside her. “Are you okay?” He shook her gently. “Jennifer, are you okay?”
She moaned and rolled to her right.
Before Flynn could say another word, a man in a fedora hat rushed over to help.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
“My friend—” Flynn said right before he collapsed on top of her.
CHAPTER 16
HAROLD COLEMAN KEPT HIS HEAD down as the guard buzzed the door open. He trudged ahead, unwilling to look at Edith and the inevitable disappointment written all over her face. If he had his way, he’d rather her just hit him over the head a few times with her purse and scream at him to get it over with.
He stopped at the desk at the clerk’s urging. “Sign here for your personal effects, Mr. Coleman,” she said.
He scribbled his name on her clipboard and took the envelope from her before shuffling along. Despite his shame, he had to look up at some point.
When his eyes met Edith’s, her anger appeared absent. She forced a smile and put her arm around him.
“Let’s get you home, honey,” she said.
“I need to get my car. It’s still at the Ridgeline Golf and Polo Club.”
They remained silent for most of the ride until Edith finally spoke.
“You know I still love you no matter what, right?” she said.
He nodded.
“I just don’t understand you sometimes. This case—it’s gotten under your skin and you can’t let it go.”
He grunted. “This case has been under my skin for several decades. It’s hardly a new development.”
She pulled into the impound lot and put the car in park. “But I’ve never seen you like this before. What’s going on with you?”
“You think I like flipping through the cable channels and hearing people make fun of me, mocking me, breaking down how I ignored the evidence of the most likely suspect?”
She shook her head. “Of course not.”
“You’re damn right I don’t like it. And I’m gonna do something about it.”
“But, Harold, it’s not worth your life. I don’t want to see you going on some foolish crusade to clear your name at the expense of something far more important—your own life. Just ignore those people. They don’t know anything. They weren’t there.”
“Yeah, well, maybe they are right. Maybe I missed it. Maybe D.B. Cooper was right in front of me all along and I failed. Maybe all the criticism is deserved.”
“You can’t do anything about that now. You’re not a part of the Bureau any more and it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” he screamed. “It matters to me.” He started to weep softly.
She put her arm around him. “Harold, the only thing that matters is that you did your best.”
He shrugged off her arm. “That’s exactly what losers say.”
“It’s not about winning, Harold. It’s about doing the best with what you’ve got.”
“Well, I’m not satisfied with that.”
She sighed. “You can’t change the past.” She patted his knee. “It’s been over forty years, Harold. Just accept it and move on.”
He took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. “But I can’t. I actually found something that might lead to this copycat being caught.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Look out!” he screamed as he reached for the wheel.
A deer stood directly in front of them, frozen in the high beams.
The car careened into a ditch, deploying the airbags. Edith didn’t appear hurt, but she seemed disoriented, while Coleman escaped unscathed, save a few scratches on his face and hands. He waited a few moments before he inspected her again and didn’t see any visible signs of blood loss.
“The club is only a few hundred yards up ahead,” he said as he reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with help. Just sit tight.”
Coleman pulled out his cane and hobbled down the road. The pale moon provided enough light for him to see where he was going.
After a five-minute hike, he reached the long cobblestone driveway leading up to the club. He saw his car sitting in the valet lot.
“Can I help you, sir?” one of the valets asked.
“Actually, you can. I’m picking up my car from earlier today after an unfortunate incident and misunderstanding, but my wife just ran off the road into a ditch while she was swerving to miss a deer about a quarter of a mile back. Perhaps you can call a wrecker for me.”
The valet nodded. “This crazy day will just never end.”
“Crazy? How so?”
“I take it you’re the one who got arrested for attacking one of the stable hands and—”
“Well, I didn’t attack anyone and—”
“Then someone shot at some FBI agents who were out here conducting an investigation.”
“When are those people going to learn?”
The valet furrowed his brow. “Who? The FBI?”
“They keep ignoring me.”
“Excuse me. Who are you again?”
Coleman saluted the young man. “Sorry, gotta run. Please don’t forget to call the wrecker and give them my number.” He dug a business card out of his car and limped over to the valet, handing him the card. “And if you think of anything you saw today that might help us catch the shooter, don’t hesitate to call me.”
The valet held up the card. “So, you’re with the FBI, too?”
“Call me,” Coleman said as he slammed the door and fired up the engine. He slammed his foot on the gas and sped away.
I know who’s shooting at them—if only they’ll listen to me.
CHAPTER 17
GORDON TIGHTENED THE ROPES binding Flynn and Banks to a pole near the wall. They were starting to awaken from the drug he’d put in their bottle of wine a few hours before.
This ought to do the trick.
He jammed a needle into Flynn’s neck and did likewise with Banks. Both of them moaned and looked at him in bewilderment. This time he didn’t want to knock them out—he wanted them awake for the next portion of his show.
Gordon, donning a pair of goggles and a helmet, crouched in front of them, softly slapping both of them in the face to get their attention.
“Wake up, Mr. Flynn,” he said, using his voice changer device. It sounded cold and robotic, exactly how Gordon liked it. “Did you enjoy the bottle of wine I sent over?” He threw his head back and laughed, most of it contrived. He wanted to see how much the device tweaked his laughter.
He scooted over and grabbed Banks’ chin with his right hand. “And you, Agent Banks—did you enjoy yourself this evening?” She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
“Why you—”
He wagged his finger at her. “No, no, no. We’re not going to be calling each other names tonight. I brought you here for an entirely different reason.”
He stood up and walked over toward the wall and flipped a switch. In the center of the room, a large fan with trampoline-type netting affixed over it started to blow.
Gordon returned to his two prisoners. “If you think it’s going to be easy to catch D.B. Cooper’s twin, think again.”
With that, Gordon bounde
d on top of the trampoline mesh netting and spread his body out prostrate, allowing the wind to carry him upward. He went up and down, putting on a show with several flips and various sky diving maneuvers. As he descended a final time, he remained there for a moment, digging into his pockets. He then flung two fistfuls of $100 bills into the air. The money danced around him as he spun around in the air.
“Isn’t this fun?” he asked.
Neither one of them flinched.
Gordon waved dismissively at them. “Oh, don’t be such spoil sports. Everyone likes a good hunt, right? I mean, the original D.B. Cooper wasn’t nearly this entertaining, was he? He just took his money and hid, but not me. I’m playing with it. See?”
He snatched a bill out of the air and put it in his mouth. With a remote control, he turned off the device and climbed down. He slipped the bill into Banks’ hands and did a provocative dance. She didn’t move.
Gordon stuck his bottom lip out, yielding a pouty face. “Aren’t you going to give me a tip?”
She rolled her eyes at him and threw the money on the floor.
He snatched it up and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Oh, that was your big chance,” Gordon said, laughing. “I wanted to see if you’d pocket it and hand it off to forensics. But you didn’t. Poor choice. Perhaps you’re just as incompetent as the original agent who worked on this case. What’s his name again? Something Coleman?” He walked over toward the corner of the room and poured himself a small glass of Scotch. “Ah, what difference does it make? History forgot him, just like they’ll forget you once you fail to catch me.”
“I will catch you,” Banks said through clenched teeth.
Gordon stared at her for a moment. “My, my. Someone sure is confident.”
“Confidence is often a preamble to defeat,” Flynn chimed in.
“Mr. Flynn speaks,” Gordon said. “You must forgive me for not being impressed by your hyperbole there, but I find that simply isn’t the case. If you aren’t confident, what are you? Scared?”
“In the absence of fear, there is no valor,” Flynn snarled.
“What’s next, Mr. Flynn? The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step? Do you think pithy one-liners will elevate my opinion of you and let you go?” He took a long pull on his glass of Scotch. “Well, if so, you’re right about one thing—I’m going to let you go, but only to keep things interesting. Otherwise, it’s all too boring. You see, Cooper planned the perfect crime, but he had no personality. Perhaps he was just a disgruntled airline employee who wanted to hurt the company and was no fun to be around at a party. But that sounds more like a psychopath killer than a thief who doubles as a ghost. I mean, where’s the fun in that, right?”
Gordon laughed and walked over toward the table where he opened a leather briefcase and rifled through it.
“Ah-ha! I found you,” he said, staring at the syringe.
He sauntered back toward Flynn and Banks, eyeing the medicine inside the vial.
When he glanced down at his pair of prisoners, he saw a healthy dose of fear in their eyes.
“Good, good,” Gordon said. “I see that perhaps you two do have valor because I definitely see the fear right now.” He paused. “And, no, I’m not changing my mind. I’m still letting you go—but not until you get a small shot.”
With that, Gordon jammed the needle into Flynn’s neck and released half of the liquid. Then he injected the rest of the vial’s contents into Banks’ neck.
“Good night, you two.”
***
THE DRUG WOULD KEEP Flynn and Banks under for another hour or so, just in time for the Seattle workday to get started. Gordon neared the bank and hit a button on a small device in his pocket. He was told that it could disable all video feeds within a half-mile radius.
Once his car came to a stop, he dragged the two bodies from his backseat onto the sidewalk and hoisted them up the steps. He wondered if they might have been a better place to put them, but he decided that his choice was best.
No one would ever suspect him of pulling off such a feat, even if he was right in front of them. He even played out the court scenes in his head. No jury would convict him on such a flimsy case.
Not that it would matter. He didn’t expect to be around long enough to go to trial, even if he somehow managed to get caught.
“Sleep tight,” he said, whispering in Banks’ ear and pulling a blanket over her. He had snatched a few blankets the last time he served at the homeless shelter. He hadn’t done much good over the past few days—past few years, if he was honest. But he never failed to help serve in the soup kitchen every week. It didn’t absolve him for his blatant transgressions, but it did assuage his conscience, even if only temporarily.
“See you soon,” he whispered in Flynn’s ear.
And then he was gone.
CHAPTER 18
FLYNN OPENED HIS EYES and then squeezed them shut, repeating the exercise several times as he tried to regain his bearings. The right side of his face felt cold and the cacophony of honking cars, screeching tires, and revving engines jolted him awake.
Where am I?
He shrugged off a blanket and pushed himself up from the steps. He looked around at the early Friday morning bustle of downtown Seattle. Men and women hustled along the sidewalks, juggling cell phones, briefcases, and coffee cups. The sun reflecting off the glass on the building behind him forced Flynn to shade his eyes.
“Bank of Olympia,” he said aloud.
He heard a groan and looked to his left on the steps. It was Agent Banks. Flynn gently shook her to wake her up.
“Where am I?” she asked, her eyes still closed. She rolled to her left and nearly tumbled down the steps before Flynn grabbed her.
Both eyes open and wide, she stared at Flynn.
“We’re on the steps of the Bank of Olympia,” he said.
“What the—”
“Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”
She sat up and held her head in her hands. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Me either.”
“Do you even remember what happened last night?”
Flynn shook his head. “I remember you collapsing right outside of the restaurant—and then it was like this strange dream. Some guy with a digitized voice droning on about something. I can’t even remember what he was saying.” He paused. “Maybe something about D.B. Cooper’s twin. I don’t know.”
“Okay, that either wasn’t a dream—or that’s very odd—because I had the same one.”
“Did you recognize the guy?”
“Nope. Never seen him before—and I definitely won’t be able to recognize him by his voice either.”
“Somebody is just toying with us.”
Banks remained hunched over. “Oh, my head.”
As she was moaning, a man draped a blanket over her head.
“Hey!” she said, tossing the blanket aside and looking up at the man.
“If you homeless people are going to sleep on the steps, I suggest you either remove yourselves by the time the sun comes up or take refuge in the shelter right down the street. Otherwise, I might have to call the authorities.”
“Watch your attitude there, mister,” Banks growled. “We are the authorities.”
The man laughed and stepped over her as he ascended the stairs. “That’s a good one.” He turned around. “I’m going into my office. If you’re not gone in five minutes, I’m going to have the Seattle PD remove you.”
Banks dug in her pocket and held up her badge. “I’d like to see them try. Agent Banks, FBI.”
“So grumpy in the morning. If that’s an authentic badge of an FBI agent, I might inquire as to where you got it.”
“Quantico. Any more questions, wise guy?”
“No, but I do have a bit of advice. If this was a stakeout of sorts, you might consider being more discreet. Your attire is a dead giveaway.”
She stood up. “So, which is it? We look homeless or we look like federal agents—b
ecause it’s not both.”
He nodded at her. “Good day.” He turned and walked up the steps before disappearing inside the building.
Neither of them moved from their spot. They were still in mild shock over the fact that they woke up outside and had very little recollection of the night before.
Banks picked up her phone and called Jones.
“Where are you?” Jones asked. “Thurston’s been looking for you all morning and you weren’t answering your phone.”
She pulled her phone away from her ear and noticed the ringer was silenced. “Tell him I’m sorry I’m late, but someone drugged me and Flynn last night at dinner and dumped us on the steps of the Bank of Olympia downtown.”
“Bloody hell, Banks,” Jones said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine other than a sore neck and back. Think you can come get us.”
“Sure thing. We’re going to nail this bastard.”
“I second that.”
“Hold tight. I’ll be right there.”
Banks ended the call. “Jones is on his way to pick us up.”
Flynn nodded. “Heckuva first date, eh?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Is that what this was?”
He shrugged. “Well, it certainly turned out to be more than two friends just having dinner.”
“I do have to give you an A for originality. I can honestly say I’ve never been on a first date that involved getting drugged, kidnapped, and dumped outside to sleep it off.”
“I like to think outside the box.”
She smiled and then a serious look swept across her face. “So, do you think someone is trying to tell us something?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, was someone trying to point us in the right direction—or scare us?”
Flynn sighed. “This felt more like the work of a deranged criminal as opposed to someone trying to give us a clue as to who is behind the robbery. If you have a clue, why not just tell us? Why go through this grand production?”
She nodded. “Yes, and why stalk us to the restaurant?”
“That’s an even better question—and has an answer that makes me very uneasy.”
The Cooper Affair (A James Flynn Thriller Book 3) Page 7