“Like someone is watching us?”
“Not just someone, but the very person we’re hunting.”
She scanned the street below. “Well, the sky diving shop owner did say the man had a connection to the Bank of Olympia.”
“Surely, he wouldn’t bring us here.”
“It’s pretty brazen, but how else would you explain us winding up here this morning?”
“Unless the suspect wants to get caught. Perhaps he wants all the glory that D.B. Cooper never got to experience.” He shook his head. “All these years later, and we still don’t know Cooper’s real name.”
“If what you’re saying is true, this guy is a real megalomaniac.”
A loud shout caught Flynn’s attention. “Speaking of megalomaniacs—”
“I thought I told you two to vacate the premises,” the man from the bank said. “Or perhaps I wasn’t clear enough the first time around.”
Banks whipped out her badge. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough either. Someone dumped us here last night and we’re trying to piece together what we can from the scene. So, take your street sweeper act somewhere else because we’re not moving until we’re done here. Comprende?”
The man seethed as his eyes narrowed. He descended the steps until he was one step above Banks. “I’ll have you know, Agent Banks, that I know your director.”
“Congratulations. So does my mother. Now leave us alone before I start digging into your personal life and unearthing all your skeletons, Mr.—”
“Gordon. Carlton Gordon. And don’t you forget it. It’s a powerful name in the city.”
“Names don’t scare me, Mr. Gordon. But I suggest if you want to keep your name held in high regard, you let the people trying to keep this country safe do their job.”
Gordon spun around and walked away without another word. He was almost at the top step when a man on the street shouting his name made his freeze.
Flynn glanced down at the street and smiled as he shook his head.
“Carlton Gordon, I need to have a word with you,” a man on the street yelled.
Flynn knew that voice, the voice of none other than Harold Coleman.
Gordon turned his back and headed for the door.
“I’m onto you, Mr. Gordon. I know who you are.”
CHAPTER 19
COLEMAN SHIELDED HIS EYES as he looked up the steps toward the glass building reflecting the sunlight. He glared at Gordon.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Coleman shouted.
Gordon spun and galloped down the steps toward him. He stopped halfway down the steps, right in front of Flynn and Banks.
“If all three of you don’t leave in one minute, I am going to call the police and have you forcibly removed. This is a respectable place of business.” He then scurried up the steps and disappeared inside the building.
Coleman hustled up to Flynn and Banks as quickly as his cane would take him. “The man you’re looking for just went inside that bank. What are you still doing standing here?”
Banks eyed him closely. “Let me get this straight. That’s the guy who jumped out of the airplane and stole all the money?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I just can’t go arrest a guy without reasonable cause—surely you haven’t been gone from the Bureau that long that you’ve forgotten how things are done.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten, but I’m telling you right now, that’s him.”
Banks nodded. “Okay, I’ll look into it. It seems quite odd given my experience over the past twelve hours, but I promise I’ll do my due diligence.”
“Good,” Coleman said. “You won’t be sorry.” He traipsed up the steps.
“Hey, Agent Coleman. Where are you going?” Banks said.
He stopped and turned toward them. “You might be done, but I’m not. I’ve got a few more questions for him.”
On the street a car beeped its horn and the driver gestured toward Banks and Flynn to get in.
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Banks called over her shoulder at Coleman.
Coleman smiled and opened the door.
I can promise you I won’t regret a single minute of this.
With surprising agility, Coleman tapped his way across the bank’s marble floors and toward Gordon, who was engaged in a conversation with a young woman.
“Excuse us, Miss,” Coleman said. “I need to have a word with Mr. Gordon here, right now.” He didn’t wait for her to comply, nudging his way between them.
“I’m not going to ask you to leave again, whoever you are,” Gordon said.
“Don’t act like you don’t know who I am,” Coleman said, stamping his foot on his good leg. “Anyone who has gone through the painstaking detail to plot out a crime to, in my opinion, poorly replicate D.B. Cooper’s skyjacking knows exactly who I am.”
“I assure you that you’re wrong, nor do I have any clue what you’re insinuating.”
Coleman edged closer. “I’m not insinuating a damn thing—I’m telling you straight up: You were behind the recent heist.”
“Mr.—” Gordon began.
“Coleman. Agent Harold Coleman.”
“Mr. Coleman, I read about that. And while I hardly feel the need to dignify your accusation with a response, I will tell you that while the crime occurred, I was playing polo at the Ridgeline Golf and Polo Club. Anyone there that afternoon can vouch for my presence. Now, I’m not sure where you concocted such a hair-brained idea, but I suggest you keep it to yourself and exit the building before I make an even bigger scene and have security cart off a crazy old man.”
Coleman bristled at his response. “I’m not buying your lies for one minute.”
A smile spread across Gordon’s face. “Well, Agent Coleman, why don’t you do what you should’ve done the first time you had such a case land on your desk—and this time help the current authorities find the real criminal behind everything.”
Coleman wagged his finger in Gordon’s face. “We’re not finished, you and me.”
“I think we are,” Gordon said, nodding in the direction of two security guards who’d been watching the entire scene unfold.
Coleman shrugged off one of the guards who grabbed his arm and limped toward the door. “I’m going. I’m going.”
But I’m not through with you.
CHAPTER 20
GORDON WEDGED HIMSELF into the aft cargo hold once again and waited for the plane to begin moving. As the jet engines fired up, a wry smile spread across his face. He was going to one-up D.B. Cooper.
He took a deep breath and relished the thought. His first attempt was about experiencing almost everything as Cooper did when it came to the jump—the weight of the money, the carefully planned escape route, the ability to remain anonymous. But this time, it was about nothing more than showing he could do it again. Even with ramped up security, he succeeded, even though it was considerably more difficult.
As he closed his eyes and braced for takeoff, he wondered what criticisms he would encounter this time. He loathed the fact that some people took issue with his facsimile of Cooper’s original crime. The “#WannabeCooper” hashtag trended on Twitter and made him wince. In this day and age, such a skyjacking attempt would be impossible. No one could walk onto a plane with a bomb, or even pack it in their suitcase for that matter. It’d be too dangerous of a venture to have someone on the inside plant the bomb inside the cargo hold. About the only way to get a bomb past security and onto the plane would be to carefully bring the parts with you to work and build it on site—and even then there were a hundred things that could go wrong. So this was the next closest thing, a crime meticulously planned by Gordon, naysayers be damned.
With a little more scrutiny on him, Gordon exercised more caution this time in executing his plan. He wore a disguise that made him appear balding, just like that of Felicia’s serious boyfriend, Steve Milton, who was slightly overweight as well, wore glasses, and appeared sloppy. Gordon served
as a flight attendant on a corporate jet flight for a private airline one of his friends flew. With plenty of empty seats and an especially ornery group of passengers, the pilot received no pushback from management for creatively getting Gordon from Seattle to San Francisco on one of their planes.
Once in San Francisco, Gordon went to Felicia’s apartment and surprised his “girlfriend.” When she asked why he was home so early, he told her to get on something sexy in the bathroom, while he got ready. It was nothing more than a ploy to sneak into her purse and steal her access card—again. However, the plan nearly fell apart when Milton barged into her condo using the basement access. Thinking quickly, Gordon overwhelmed Milton from behind, putting him in a sleeper hold. He dragged his body downstairs without Milton ever knowing what hit him. In a matter of minutes, he was down the street and around the corner, feeding Doc a new set of Raleigh cigarettes.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Doc said, laughing at the irony of his statement.
Gordon said nothing.
“Well, go on. It’s okay to laugh at my joke. I’m the one blind. If I’m laughing, you should be laughing too.”
Gordon chuckled and collected the last cigarette.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Why weren’t you chatty this time?”
Gordon was already a few yards down the sidewalk before he responded. “Sorry, Doc. Maybe next time. I’m in a hurry.”
That was ninety minutes ago—just enough time for him to get through security and sneak into the aft cargo hold before it was sealed for the flight.
The plane rumbled down the runway before the nose tilted upward and the plane lurched into the air.
A couple of hours later, Gordon opened the cargo door and fell from the sky under the cover of darkness. He deployed his parachute and barely made a mark when he hit the ground.
A few more landings like that and I ought to become an instructor.
He contemplated duplicating everything again but decided against it. Without any variety, the feds would know they were dealing with the same person. He at least wanted to seed the idea that they were dealing with the copycat of a copycat. It’s why he wore a pair of shoes two sizes larger than he did last time. And instead of burying his chute, he took it with him, discarding it in a commercial dumpster behind a gas station a few miles down the road. He also maintained his disguise, one that would allow him to go virtually undetected if they were smart enough to suspect him. But he doubted they would.
Only that pesky former FBI agent continued to believe it was him.
No wonder you never caught the original D.B. Cooper.
He ditched his disguise in a public restroom near Pike Place Market on his way home. He donned a less discreet disguise for his reentry into his apartment.
Right before going to bed, he turned on his computer and looked at the front page of several national news websites.
Cooper Copycat Strikes Again?
He smiled and turned his computer off before getting into bed. Now he experienced something Cooper never had: pulling off the same crime twice without getting caught—yet.
CHAPTER 21
STARTLED AWAKE BY HIS ringing phone, Flynn rolled and grunted as he picked it up. Theresa Thompson’s name flashed on the screen. For a moment, he contemplated throwing his phone across the room before answering it.
“Can’t a man get a morning off to sleep?” Flynn grumbled.
“Not when the Cooper Copycat is stealing more money from the sky,” she shot back.
“What?”
“You heard me. He struck again last night, this time stealing two hundred thousand on the exact same route from San Francisco to Seattle.”
Flynn said nothing as he tried to process the news.
“Flynn? You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m trying to figure out what kind of criminal acts so brazenly.” A pause. “And how did the San Francisco airport let this happen again? This is beyond believable.”
“Well, believe it. And quit wasting time talking to me. You need to connect up with your FBI friends there and find out some more details. The wire reports were sketchy—and as you know, our readers will be looking for more from us, especially from you.”
“I’m on it. I’ll keep you posted.”
Flynn rolled out of bed and stretched. He looked at his watch. He preferred not to get up before at least nine o’clock on Saturday mornings, but duty beckoned. And as disappointed as he was about losing sleep on the weekend, he tried to stay positive.
At least I didn’t spend last night outside on the steps of a bank building.
Yes, there was that.
He showered quickly before calling Banks.
“What’s this about another Cooper Copycat heist?” he said once she answered her phone.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to drag you into this after what we went through the night before.”
“Seriously?” Flynn shook his head. “I live for this stuff, you know that.”
“I know, but in my defense, I was alerted to this at four-thirty in the morning. I doubted you’d want to get that call.”
“You’re probably right. Can you bring me up to speed?”
“Get on out to Nisqually and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“He landed there again?”
“Yeah. He’s taking this copycat thing to a whole different level.”
“He’s copying himself now?”
“Maybe.”
Flynn pulled on his pants, while trying to hold his phone against his ear with his shoulder. “What do you mean, maybe?”
“We’re not sure yet, but it could be someone copying the copycat.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me?”
“I wish I was, but I’m not—and this case just got that much more interesting.”
“Okay. I’ll be down there shortly, bearing gifts.”
***
FLYNN SAUNTERED UP TO THE SITE at Nisqually where a forensics team was going through the same protocols that helped them unearth other clues about the case just days before. He handed a cup of coffee to Banks and Jones. They both thanked him but didn’t get a chance to say anything more than that when one of the forensics team members piped up.
“Perhaps we should petition to have the Bureau build us a field office on site,” he said.
“Or you could just paint a big bull’s-eye out here for him to land in, maybe keep all the evidence in one centralized location?” Flynn quipped.
Banks tried to stifle a laugh while swallowing her coffee.
“Can’t you at least let me drink this in peace?” Banks said.
Flynn chuckled. “I brought my gifts—and a little humor for your Saturday morning.” He paused and looked around. “Apparently, you’re the only one who thought that was funny.”
She leaned in to him and spoke softly near his ear. “I don’t think that guy was kidding. He actually is suggesting we put this in the budget as a line item for next year. He’s mentioned it three times now.”
Flynn nodded. “I see.”
“So, I’m sure you want the scoop, right?”
“Give it to me straight.”
She took another sip of her coffee. “Okay, here’s what we know. He jumped out of a plane in the exact same location as Saturday. However, he only stole $200,000.”
“A tip of the hat to D.B. Cooper, no doubt.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he didn’t want all that extra weight.” She paused. “I’m just spitballing here, but maybe it is another person.”
“What would make you think that?”
Banks had a mouthful of coffee, so Jones jumped in. “Shoe size. This time the tracks we found that correlate with what we believe to be a jumper landing were two shoe sizes bigger.”
“Maybe that was to throw us off the trail?”
Banks nodded. “Possibly. However, he also left eight Raleigh cigarette butts behind like last time. And if that’s a copycat of the copycat, that’s pretty impressive. I
mean, who has cartons of Raleighs just sitting around? That brand has been defunct for years now.”
Flynn shrugged. “There are a lot of people obsessed with Cooper.”
“True, but that’s a coincidence that’s difficult to overlook. How could anyone plan a repeat crime so quickly?”
“You sound torn.”
Banks nodded. “I am. I can’t make heads or tails of this mess. At best, I feel like he’s playing with us by dropping clues to throw us off track. At worst, we’ve got two separate criminals we’re chasing.”
“What about you, Jones? What do you think?” Flynn asked.
Jones shrugged. “It’s hard to say at this point. I’m leaning toward it being a second copycat, but we still need to process more information.”
Their conversation was interrupted by one of the forensic team members. “Agent Banks, I think we have something.”
The trio walked over to him, but Banks did all the talking.
“What is it?” Banks asked.
“It’s a hair. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
“Run it through the database and see if it reveals anything.”
He nodded. “At least this might help you rule out someone.”
“Or rule them in.”
Flynn smiled. “You’re going to figure this out. Just hang in there.”
She nodded. “We need a big break like this.”
“You’re not kidding,” Jones added.
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion about a hundred yards away. They all turned and looked toward the park entrance where several FBI agents were doing their best to restrain a man from breaking through the perimeter they’d set.
“Is that who I think it is?” she asked.
Flynn nodded. “He’s unbelievable.”
She looked at Jones. “Stay here with these guys. I’ll handle this.” She turned and started walking with Flynn toward the former agent who was fast becoming a nuisance. “Harold Coleman, when are you going to leave me alone,” she muttered under her breath.
CHAPTER 22
COLEMAN PLEADED WITH BANKS using his eyes. His words had done little to engender camaraderie thus far, so he decided to switch tactics and use good old-fashioned humanity.
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