The Assassin's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Suddenly Kruger knew how. Because he had overheard Neil Ross and Guevara making specific plans on Sunday at the reception. He would need to confirm with Neil if their meeting plans for Monday were discussed during the reception. While not definite, odds were increasing that the man following Guevara was a person of interest.

  His cell phone broke his concentration. He glanced at the caller ID, a Washington, D.C., area code. He answered, “Kruger.”

  “Sean, it’s Luke.”

  Kruger glanced at his watch, noted it was 11:30 a.m. in Kansas City, afternoon Washington time. He said, “Good afternoon, Luke, what’s up?”

  “Nothing on the pictures, but the fingerprints hit pay dirt.”

  “Yeah? Who is he?”

  “Military, U.S. Army. His name is Thomas Cooper. I compared his military ID photo with the pictures you sent, and it's the same guy.”

  “Does it give a current address?”

  “No, but he's originally from southern Alabama, around Mobile. Mustered out about three years ago with an Honorable Discharge. He did a couple of tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, plus received all the usual commendations for being in a combat zone. Nothing heroic, just the standard ones.”

  Kruger was quiet for a few moments. “They found a license plate from the van. It was stolen in Montgomery. The van wasn’t, just the plate.”

  “It fits, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does. Can you send me everything via email?”

  “Yes, I'm sending it now.”

  “Thanks, Luke. Remember, you don't know anything about this, right?”

  “Got it. Thanks, Sean.” Luke was about to end the call, but quickly said, “Almost forgot to tell you one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Guess what he did in Iraq?”

  Kruger thought for a second, smiled and said, “Explosives.”

  “Yeah, he disarmed IEDs.”

  “So if he can disarm an IED, he can probably build one, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I would agree. I think you have a good lead, Sean. Good luck.”

  Kruger ended the call and noticed a large file from Luke downloading into his email account. As soon as it was finished, he opened the file and stared at the face of Thomas Cooper, ex-military explosives expert, and the man following Fernando Guevara forty-eight hours ago.

  He said, “Hello, Thomas Cooper. I need to find you, and fast.

  ***

  Barbara Whitlock had been an analyst for the FBI for as long as Kruger could remember. Having worked with her on numerous cases, he found her work exceptional. She was also discreet. He found her direct number on his cell phone, a number only a select number of agents possessed, and pressed the send icon.

  The call was answered on the third ring. “I haven’t heard from you in a very long time Agent Kruger. Why is that? Did you find another, younger, better looking analyst to call and harass?”

  Smiling, Kruger replied, “No, Barbara, you will always be my favorite. I enjoy harassing you.”

  There was laughter on the other end of the call. “Good, I wouldn’t want to have to go to HR and accuse you of harassing another analyst. Heard you got married. Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “News travels fast. Yes, we were married last Saturday. Stephanie and I finally figured out we weren’t getting any younger.”

  “Good for you two. You know, when we heard the news, it broke a few hearts around here. Some of us thought we might have a chance.”

  Kruger chuckled. “That’s very nice of you to say, but I don’t believe it.”

  “Probably for the best. So, what can I do for you, Sean?”

  “I’m working on the profile of the guy who did the Kansas City bombing.”

  “Saw the videos; it looked nasty.”

  “It was. I need a deep dive on three individuals: Charlton Wheeler, Kyle Rousch and Fernando Guevara.”

  “Were all three in the bombing?”

  “No, just Guevara. The others were separate incidents, but I believe they’re related.”

  “Got it. What are you looking for?”

  “Common threads, business associates, personal habits, social connections, political beliefs, anything you can find that might tie them together. No matter how slim.”

  “Send me the case file numbers and I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks, Barbara. One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful who you mention this to. Mint Dollar is involved.”

  “Shit.” There was silence on the phone for over five seconds. “That moron, I wouldn’t give him the time of day. Don’t worry, I’ll only discuss it with you.”

  Kruger ended the call and leaned back in his desk chair. It was time to visit his friend in Springfield. He sent a short text message to a number he had memorized a long time ago. The message was simple. “Call me K.” His cell phone vibrated fifteen minutes later with a caller ID of UNKNOWN. He smiled, answered it, and said, “Kruger.”

  “I haven't heard from you in six months.”

  “Yes, you're right, sorry. I've been busy, but you could have called too.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, but I really don't like calling FBI agents, even if they are fishing buddies.”

  “Speaking of fishing, I was planning a fishing trip. How’re they biting?”

  “Don't know, haven't been lately. Guess we can find out together. When are you coming?”

  “Early tomorrow morning, same place?”

  “See you then.”

  The call ended. The total call time recorded on his phone was exactly one minute and twenty-two seconds. The maximum JR Diminski would stay on a phone call was two minutes, and he never identified where he lived. It wasn't that he was paranoid. He was a man who didn't exist within the system and didn’t want the NSA listening to his conversations. The fishing nonsense was JR's idea; when Kruger needed his help, he would just ask to go fishing. He shook his head and smiled as he thought about the first time he'd met JR Diminski.

  Kruger had been assigned to help track down a fugitive accused of killing one man and wounding another in New York City. Politics, and the fact the fugitive fled to another state, brought the FBI into the case. Through various sources, whom Kruger refused to identify, he tracked the fugitive to southwest Missouri in the city of Springfield. During his investigation, evidence was found that contradicted the known facts of the case—namely, the dead and wounded men were actually hired thugs who were going to kill JR and dump his body in the Hudson River.

  JR had been a computer software analysis for a large privately held software company. The owner of the company decided to bring in new investors to help expand his business. The new investors, through stock manipulation, suddenly owned a majority of the outstanding shares. They proceeded to dismiss the entire analysis team and outsourced their jobs to India. Within a year, the company was broken up and sold, reaping millions for the new investors.

  After being dismissed, JR had hacked into the laptop of the new owner and found multiple files outlining illegal activities by the individual. He copied the information and tried blackmailing the man, thus the reason he found himself in the company of so-called security guards. JR managed to escape, but in the process, killed one and wounded the other.

  Their first conversation was the night Kruger sat down next to him at a local pub in Springfield. An old friend of Kruger's had been helping JR establish his new identity. When Kruger sat down, the friend said, “JR, this is someone you need to talk to. He’s fair and will listen.”

  Joseph stood up, looked at the man he had called JR, and left.

  Kruger said, “Before you wet your pants, I'm not here to take you back to New York. I know the truth and I'm here to help you.”

  The man looked at Kruger calmly and said, “Don't know what the hell you're talking about, man. I'm just sitting here drinking a beer and watching a baseball game.”

  Kruger nodded, “Okay, here's what I know.”

  He proceeded
to tell JR everything he knew while JR stared at a TV showing a St. Louis Cardinal baseball game. When Kruger was done, JR said, “And what do you plan to do with this knowledge?”

  Kruger sipped his beer, stared at the TV, and said, “Nothing. I need someone like you to help me once in a while. If you want to help me, fine. If you don't, I'll walk out of here and you'll never hear from me again.”

  JR turned to him and said, “How do you know Joseph?”

  Kruger shrugged and said, “Old family friend.”

  “If I help you, what's in it for me?”

  “I'll start the process of clearing your real name.”

  JR looked at the Kruger, smiled and said, “My name’s JR Diminski, glad to meet you.”

  They had been friends ever since.

  Chapter 16

  Mexico City

  Wednesday

  The Gulfstream G280 taxied toward the private aviation area of the Benito Juarez International Airport in Mexico City, far from the scrutinizing eyes of the airport’s two main terminals. As the plane came to a stop in front of an open hanger, two white Toyota Land Cruisers with dark tinted windows pulled up next to it and parked. The front cabin door of the aircraft slowly lowered. Aazim Abbas stepped cautiously onto the first step and surveyed the surrounding area. Large passenger jets taking off and landing contributed to the constant din in this section of the airport.

  Satisfied he was not under surveillance, Aazim hurried down the steps and immediately entered the back seat of the second Land Cruiser. As soon as he shut the door, the two vehicle caravan started moving.

  The man in the seat next to him smiled and said, “I trust your flight was uneventful?”

  “Yes.” Aazim looked at the man with an icy stare. “Why did you call me down here? It was unnecessary.”

  “Oh, quite the contrary. We needed to talk, away from the prying eyes and ears of the American NSA.”

  The man sitting next to Abbas was dressed in a dark blue suit with a faint lighter blue pinstripe. His black hair was trimmed and professionally styled. A neatly trimmed beard accentuated his oval face. Black eyes stared out through square black spectacles perched on a prominent nose. As he smiled, his brilliant white teeth betrayed his real age.

  Abbas blew out a breath with disgust. “We are careful, your highness. Very careful.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’ve told me how careful you are. Maybe too careful. The Americans think these attacks are the work of one man. A deranged man, not an attack on their way of life.”

  Abbas said nothing.

  “Aazim, we chose you because you are aggressive. But so far your actions are that of a woman.”

  Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, Abbas said, “On purpose. The next attack will prove we have brought jihad to their homeland. They will no longer be able to deny its existence.”

  The prince nodded. “My brother and I were hoping you would dispel our concerns. When will this glorious moment occur?”

  “Is my shipment still on time?”

  The prince nodded his head ever so slightly.

  “Good. Here is what we have planned.” Aazim Abbas proceeded to outline his proposal.

  When he was done, Prince Bandar Farad Saud sat back and laughed. “I like it. This will be a glorious moment. Now, you will be my guest until tomorrow. Then you can fly back.”

  “Prince, I must be back in Dallas by tomorrow afternoon.

  “You shall be, but tonight you are my guest.”

  ***

  The sparsely furnished one-bedroom apartment occupied by Billy Reid reflected his total lack of concern for frivolous possessions. His sofa and coffee table were purchased at a yard sale for twenty dollars. Gaming magazines were stacked in various locations throughout the room. His dining room consisted of a single barstool scooted under a three-foot long, waist-high breakfast bar separating the living area and kitchen. An unmade twin mattress lay on the floor of his bedroom. An old lamp atop an upside down milk crate provided the only light in the room.

  However, he had a different standard when it came to his electronics. A high-end ASUS gaming laptop was his most recent acquisition. But his pride and joy was a new 60-inch 3D HD TV and Play Station purchased with cash at a local Best Buy two weeks earlier. A TV stand bought at a local Walmart provided plenty of storage for his numerous games. The TV and Play Station were procured the day after he had received the biggest paycheck of his life. Actually, it was an electronic transfer from a bank in Europe. He didn't know which one, nor did he care. The money was there.

  Billy was 32 years old, ex-Army with two tours of Iraq and one in Afghanistan. His final tour in Iraq derailed what he thought would be a twenty-year army career. A roadside IED destroyed the Humvee he was driving and left him burned and deaf on his left side. The burns on his arm, chest and leg had healed, but the scars were a permanent reminder of the accident. After months in a VA hospital and an Honorable Discharge, he came home broke, divorced and bitter.

  The large payday was the result of a sergeant he had met in Afghanistan contacting him with a proposal. After several months of careful thought, he accepted the challenge.

  Billy had a talent, one the Army recognized with EIC Silver Badges, one for pistols and one for rifles. He was an excellent marksman and a trained sniper. Not a very marketable skill in the civilian world, especially when accompanied by deafness and scarring, but he had found a part-time job at a pistol range. The money wasn't much but it allowed him time to work at the challenges Ortega offered.

  He slipped into the role of assassin easily. After following and observing the two men for several weeks, he devised the plans and methods for their demise.

  The first one gave him an opening when the man’s wife left for the weekend and his girlfriend came over for a little swimming and sex in the mansion’s pool. The shot was easy, 200 yards from an elevated wooded area overlooking the back of the house. After only an hour in his hide, the man sent the girlfriend into the house for more drinks. Billy shot him as he walked around the pool. Center mass shot, one .223 slug from Billy's Remington 700, perfectly placed in the man's heart and the other hitting the upper torso as the dead man’s body fell into the pool.

  Billy didn't wait for the girlfriend to return poolside. He simply crawled back over the rise, calmly walked back to his pickup and drove away. The Remington 700 had been disassembled and disposed of at various spots along the Potomac. He could always buy another 700; they were accurate right out of the shipping carton, one of the reasons he liked them.

  At first he thought it would bother him, but when he saw the man, it didn't. The target had black hair with a dark complexion, reminding him of the type of men who planted the IED in Iraq. He slept fine that night and every night after.

  The second target posed more of a problem. The guy worked all the time, and other than when he left for the airport, the only places he went were his office and apartment. Billy had specific instructions: the job had to be completed in Washington, D.C. Finally he decided the best opportunity would be after the man got his morning coffee. The guy followed the same routine every morning, went to the same Starbucks, got the same coffee, and then drove to his office with the top down on his expensive convertible.

  The night before Billy did the job, he borrowed a motorcycle from a guy who lived in the same apartment building. The best part was the guy didn't know Billy had borrowed the bike. He returned it before the neighbor left for work. Both the SIG Sauer and the suppressor were tossed into the Potomac River later in the day.

  Now Ortega had given him a new challenge, one he was concerned about. The first two men were obviously rich, but nobody knew who the hell they were. At least Billy didn’t, and since there was very little mentioned in the newspapers or on TV, apparently nobody else did either.

  But this job was different. The target was a congressman, a relatively new and little known one, but still a congressman. His planning would have to be more precise and careful.

  While n
ot under a strict timeline, the job had to be completed anytime during a three-week window starting this coming Friday. Details of the congressman's itinerary for the next three weeks were provided in a package, postmarked New York City. As he read it, three opportunities were pointed out, but he would observe the congressman for a few days and see for himself. If he could find other openings, they would be preferable. Better to be unpredictable, just in case he was being set up.

  He trusted Ortega, but only so far. Ortega had been a Master Sargent and Billy a Corporal, and while not close buddies, they knew and respected each other. Ortega had witnessed some of the inter-squad marksmanship competitions the Division put together. Billy was proud of the fact he won every time he entered one. After being wounded, he lost track of Ortega and never saw him again. Then one day out of the blue, Ortega made contact. But complete trust wasn’t part of the deal.

  Glancing at his watch, he was due at the pistol range in an hour. After his shift, there would be time to drive by the congressman’s house and start his recon.

  Chapter 17

  Springfield, MO

  Wednesday

  Kruger parked his Mustang in the back of a nondescript three-story building in the center section of Springfield at half past nine in the morning. Not knowing how long it would take, he had told Stephanie not to expect him until later that evening.

  JR was waiting for him in the lobby with a cup of coffee in his hand and said, “Restroom’s next to the stairs. When you're done, come on up to the second floor. I'll be in the computer room.”

  Kruger smiled, took the coffee and said, “Hi, JR, nice to see you again. Yes, I had a nice drive. I'm doing well, and you?”

  JR stared at Kruger, then chuckled and shrugged. Without a word, he turned and headed for the stairs.