The Assassin's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  “Actually I do, but I just met Fernando Guevara. I also found something interesting and thought you might want to know.” He paused. “If you don’t, I can call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hang up. What is it?”

  “Did you know he has a shadow?”

  Margolin was quiet for several moments. “What do you mean, a shadow?” He paused, but before Kruger could answer, he continued. “Hey, what’s going on, are you harassing the man?”

  Laughing, Kruger said, “No, he showed up at a reception my wife’s company is holding for us. Remember, the company he is trying to take over.”

  “Okay, now what do you mean about a shadow?”

  “Someone is following him. Not a pro from what I could tell, but definitely someone trying to listen in on his conversations.”

  Margolin was silent for a moment, and then said, “We don’t have anyone following him, if that’s what you wanted to know. Could be an investor trying to get a scoop on his next target. They’d start buying shares anticipating the announcement of Whiterock making an offer. Once the news is out, the stock price of the target company goes up, and the investor makes a profit. Or it could be a reporter for one of the financial publications.”

  “So you think this is just some guy trying to make a buck?”

  “Yeah, that’s how I would view it.”

  “Okay, Ted, thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

  Kruger ended the call and stood thinking. Was the guy just some investor trying to get a lead on a stock or a reporter? If either were true, he was wasting his time getting the fingerprints analyzed. But his instincts told him different, and those instincts had solved more than a few cases over his career. Finally he decided he would get the prints checked and wait for the facial analysis. No use getting excited, and if it turned out to be a false alarm, so be it. At least he was being proactive.

  Chapter 11

  Kansas City, MO

  Monday

  A patch above the left breast pocket on his shirt read ‘Jerry’ in stitched cursive letters. His name was not Jerry. The time was 10 a.m., and busy shoppers were already competing for parking spaces around Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza. Frustration growing, it took several passes before one of three parking spaces he had chosen the previous day where available. The spot was just west of O’Dowd’s Little Dublin at the corner of Pennsylvania and 48th Street. After parking the white Ford van, he gathered his clipboard, opened the door, and walked to the back of the van for his tool case. Calmly strolling to the front door of the tavern, he knocked and waited. O’Dowd’s was still closed at that time of the morning, but a manager unlocked the door and motioned for him to enter.

  “Well, Jerry,” the manager said, glancing at the name on his shirt, “about damn time you got here. We open for business in less than thirty minutes, so you’d better hurry”

  “Sorry, couldn’t find a parking space. From what I was told last night it shouldn’t take very long.” Thomas Cooper smiled. “Just show me which restroom and I’ll get started.”

  “This way.” The manager started walking toward the other side of the pub. “The men’s room overflowed last night about closing time. What a mess. We had to pay a couple of guys overtime to clean it up.” The manger talked like he was speaking to no one in particular, just complaining. Cooper liked that. The less attention the manager paid to him, the less likely he would remember a description. After all, he was just a plumber, and no one remembered what a plumber looked like.

  After showing him the offending toilet, the manager said, “Please hurry.”

  He quickly left the room to attend to more important problems. After the door to the restroom closed, Cooper took a long wire out of his tool kit. Snaking the wire into the bowl, it only took a few seconds before he felt resistance on the probe. He quickly pulled the object out and deposited it in the trash can. He had clogged the toilet the night before right before closing time with a specially designed sponge. Making sure he was still in the bar when it backed up and overflowed, he handed the night manager a business card for a company called Just In Time Plumbers. It was an actual company; he had taken the business card the previous week from the company after applying for a job.

  He said, “I can be here first thing in the morning to fix it. I would right now, but don’t have my tools.”

  The night manager said, “Okay, I’ll leave a note for the day manager. What time will you be here?”

  With the toilet unclogged, Cooper sat down on the toilet and waited for a phone call.

  He didn’t wait long. Less than fifteen minutes later, his cell phone vibrated. He answered it by saying, “Yes.”

  “On time, twenty minutes, your position.”

  The call ended.

  Cooper stood, left his tools in the restroom and strolled to the front door. A young college student was preparing the front of the bar for the lunch time crowd. She smiled at him.

  He smiled back. She was cute, blond, petite but well-endowed, and her name badge told him her name was Crystal. “Hi, Crystal, I have to get more tools out of the truck. Be right back.”

  He waited as two gentlemen in suits entered the now-open restaurant, then he walked out and turned right toward the van. He stopped in front of it, pulled a cigarette from a box in his shirt pocket, lit it, and continued to walk away from O’Dowd’s.

  Five minutes later, he had doubled back. The shirt with Jerry above the breast pocket and the flesh-colored surgical gloves were gone. His chosen position was about a hundred yards due south of O’Dowd’s at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Ward Parkway with a perfect view of the van. He leaned against the building and waited.

  After another six minutes, he saw the limousine turn off of 47th Street onto Pennsylvania Avenue and head toward him. It slowed and turned right onto 48th Street, stopping even with the back of the van. He had calculated correctly. The limo stopped exactly where he needed it to be located. The driver got out and hurried back to the rear passenger side door. Once the door was open, a man about five-and-a-half feet tall with black slicked-back hair exited. He paused to say something to the driver.

  Cooper quickly glanced at a photo on his cell phone, smiled, and with his other hand, pressed the button on the converted garage door opener hidden in his pants pocket. He then moved behind the building to avoid the concussion.

  The van exploded with a massive force, violently shredding the metal, glass, wiring, and plastic on the right side of the limousine. The driver and passenger died instantly from the concussion and shrapnel. Their bodies were then incinerated as the limousine’s gas tank ignited. In the ensuing chaos, Cooper joined a group of panicked pedestrians rushing to get away from the noise and dust of the explosion. Amid the screams, he quickly walked to the east side of The Plaza. It took him almost seven minutes to reach the spot where he had parked a rental car earlier in the morning. As he opened the car door, the sirens of first responders could be heard off in the distance. Not wishing to get caught up in a police blockade, he calmly got in the car, started it and eased away from the shoulder. He headed north.

  The route he followed took him to I-70 East, where he merged onto the interstate highway and started the three-and-a-half hour drive to St. Louis. There was little worry about being stopped by police for a traffic violation, but he kept his speed to the posted limit, just in case. Cooper figured they had more important things to do. He was right.

  Six hours later he was sitting in the last row next to the window on a Southwest Airline flight bound for Love Field in Dallas. His hair was now its natural color and his tinted contacts were discarded. As the plane began to taxi toward the runway, he allowed himself a slight smile. Leaning his head back in the seat, he closed his eyes and relaxed for the first time that day.

  An hour and half later, as the plane taxied to the terminal at Love Field, he turned on his phone and texted a one word message to a memorized number. After sending the word Dallas, he deleted the number from the phone and shut it off.
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  After exiting the plane with his carry-on in tow, he noticed the airport was moderately busy. This suited him fine. Waiting for the taxi took several minutes, but no one paid unusual attention to him. He instructed the driver to take him to the Adam’s Mark Hotel in downtown Dallas. After paying the driver, he exited the cab, waited for it to get out of sight, then hiked three blocks to the Westin City Center. There, he entered the hotel and went to the restroom. Waiting ten minutes, he exited the hotel, found a cab waiting and proceeded to DFW airport.

  He boarded the 9 p.m. flight to Atlanta and arrived just after midnight Eastern Time. After working his way to his car in long term parking, he left the airport, found I-85 south and started driving. Pleased with his progress, he finally stopped at a Holiday Inn Express in La Grange, Georgia. Once in his room, he turned his cell phone on and found he had a text message waiting.

  The message was simple, “Acknowledged check in 2.” This meant his previous message had been received and for him to check his email in two days. Satisfied with the events of the day, he took a quick shower, laid down and slept until noon.

  Chapter 12

  Kansas City, MO

  Monday morning

  After the furious activities of the weekend and the lateness of the prior evening, Kruger opened his eyes and stared at the digital clock by his bed, 9:59 a.m. “Haven’t done that in a long time,” he mumbled to himself.

  Stephanie was curled up at his side with her back to him, her steady and rhythmic breathing a calming force to his sudden alertness. Had he heard something, or was it a dream? Probably a dream. His sleeping patterns had been so irregular of late, he was amazed he had actually slept till mid-morning.

  He gently pushed the sheets aside, got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He pulled on his boxers and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The sun was already past the balcony overhang as he opened the patio door and stood by the rail looking down on the Plaza traffic. The day was going to be warm. A good day to be with Stephanie and start figuring out their new life together as husband and wife, or wife and husband, whichever, he didn’t care, just as long as they were together.

  When the coffee was done, he went back to the bedroom to check on Stephanie. She was stirring, so he sat down on the bed to watch her. Last night, after the passion of making love, they lay together making plans. He had not realized until their conversation how relieved he was to be retiring at the end of June. The constant traveling, long periods away from her, a frustrating bureaucracy within the agency, and the realization his job was no longer challenging—all this merged into a sudden realization of his own weariness. In the past five years, he had solved several high profile cases. But recently, he had not felt challenged.

  Why? Was it because he was bored, or was it due to loneliness? He went back into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, one with a little Sweet N Low and one with half ‘n half for Stephanie. Taking the cups back to the bedroom, he set hers down on her nightstand. She stirred and opened one eye. With a slight grin on her face, she said, “I don’t suppose you know what time it is, do you?”

  “I do.”

  “You said that Saturday.” She grinned.

  “Yes I did.”

  “Well? Are you going to enlighten me about the time, or do I have to guess?”

  “Guess.”

  “Seven-thirty?”

  “Nope.”

  “Eight.”

  “Nope.”

  “Sean, don’t tease me, it can’t be past eight.”

  “It’s exactly ten-forty. You slept in.”

  Stephanie groaned, rose up to look at the digital clock, then fell back to her pillow. “I was supposed to get my hair cut at eight-thirty. Guess that didn’t happen.”

  “Nope, guess it didn’t.”

  “Can you say anything besides ‘nope’ this morning?”

  “Yes. I love...”

  He didn’t finish. The explosion rattled the windows of the condo. It intensified as the concussion and dust cloud reached the balcony and swirled into the condo through an open sliding door.

  “What the hell...” was all Kruger could say as he reached first for a pair of jeans, then tennis shoes, a polo shirt, badge, cell phone, and gun.

  He was out the door before Stephanie could say anything. When he got to the street, he stopped, clipped his badge to his belt and tried to determine the direction he needed to go. Sounds were echoing off buildings and masking their true direction; he saw a reflection of flickering light and took off running.

  He ran down 47th Street to Pennsylvania, turned right and saw the chaos two blocks to the south. Heading that way, he reached the corner at 48th and witnessed pure bedlam. As he turned, he saw the tangled metal of what was once a limousine in front of O’Dowd’s Little Dublin. Body parts were strewn on the sidewalk and street, while individuals with blood streaming from their face sat on the sidewalk dazed. A woman screamed as she cradled a young infant in her arms. An elderly man held a similarly aged woman in his arms, stroking her face and trying to keep her calm. Trees in front of O’Dowd’s were smoldering as first responders started to arrive. The scene reminded him of a terrorist bombing in Bagdad he had helped investigate a few years after the downfall of Saddam Hussein.

  Kruger’s trained eye went to the burning limousine. The right side was a twisted tangle of metal and melted plastic. The roof line was sheared and angled perpendicular to the body. He positioned himself to see if there were any survivors; what met his sight told him the answer. The interior of the limousine contained two bodies in the rear portion, both charred beyond recognition. He had seen this type of destructive power before, but it was always military in nature. He made a mental note to make sure explosive residue was tested. His guess would be C4.

  A fire truck screeched to a halt next to the shattered limousine. Several firemen leapt to the ground with fire extinguisher and started spraying the burning car. Kruger backed off and let them do their job. He walked back to O’Dowd’s and went in through the shattered glass of the front lobby. The scene was grim. A young lady, with whom he had flirted on several occasions, lay unmoving on the floor. He bent down, felt her neck and did not find what he was searching for. Her unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling, confirming her condition. The tables and chairs next to the front window had been thrown back into the interior and shattered. Apparently the only person in the front of the building had been the hostess. Lucky her.

  He headed to the rear of the restaurant to see if he could assist any of the injured. There had been few customers at this hour, but he found two he knew.

  Neil Ross and Frank Bonner were in the back of the restaurant on the floor, covered with debris from the ceiling and broken tables and chairs. Neil had a bad gash on his forehead, and Frank Bonner stared blankly, a large shard of glass protruding from his half-severed neck. Kruger bent down to check on Neil. There was a pulse, although weak.

  “Neil… Neil… Can you hear me?”

  With a raspy voice, barely above a whisper, Neil Ross said, “What happened?”

  “Don’t move, you’ve been in an accident. Help will be here shortly.”

  Neil opened his eyes and stared at Kruger. At first not recognizing him, the older man finally nodded. “Sean, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir, don’t move until the EMTs get here.”

  “Where’s Frank?”

  Kruger noticed several first responders moving toward them and said, “I’ve got a severe laceration on the upper forehead here, probably a concussion.”

  The EMTs nodded and pointed to Frank Bonner. “What about that one?”

  Kruger shook his head. The fireman understood and knelt down next to Kruger.

  Neil said, “Sean, where’s Frank?” with a note of desperation in his voice.

  Kruger had to tell him something. “Neil, Frank’s hurt, they’re working on him right now.”

  “How bad, Sean?”

  Kruger gave him a slight smile, but said nothing.


  “We were supposed to meet Fernando Guevara here at ten-thirty. He…” Neil closed his eyes and seemed to lose consciousness.

  The EMT gently shook him. “Sir, don’t go to sleep, I need you alert. Stay with me, sir.” He shook him again and Neil opened his eyes. Tears formed and slid down his dust covered face.

  Kruger thought about what he had just heard. Fernando Guevara was meeting them here. More than likely one of the bodies in the limo outside was him. He shook his head. Rich guy number three.

  Later, after he watched Neil being loaded into an ambulance, he surveyed the area. He was surprised to see Franklin Dollar, the Special Agent in Charge of the Kansas City FBI Office, talking to several men in FBI windbreakers. He wanted to go back to his apartment, but thought he needed to get Dollar the information about Guevara. As he approached the group of FBI agents, Dollar noticed him and waved him over.

  “Kruger, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Kruger glared at Dollar and said “I live about five blocks from here. Heard the explosion and thought I could help.”

  Dollar nodded, “Did you see anything?”

  “No, it was pure chaos when I arrived. The limo appears to have taken the greatest force of the explosion.” Kruger pointed to the now smoldering car and then pointed at the damaged front of Dublin's. “Two dead in the restaurant, with at least half a dozen injured, some critically.”

  Dollar turned back to his men and said, “Start looking for anyone who saw the explosion. Everyone knows the drill.” Both men nodded and took off in different directions. Dollar turned back to Kruger. “I know you and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but we need to work together on this as a team. Are you on board?”

  Kruger stared at Dollar, trying to determine his motive, but finally stuck his hand out and said, “Yeah, I'm on board. This was too close to my home not to be.”

  Both men shook, understanding they had a truce for the moment.