The Assassin's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  After several hours of writing, he had enough messages prepared to access the internet and start the tedious communications process. Finally, Billy was back online. The first message from Billy reported the target was not scheduled to return to Washington, D.C., until June. Two more weeks. A delay of that duration was too long for their timetable. It had to be sooner. After an internet search, Ortega discovered the target’s mother-in-law had passed away. His return to Washington was being delayed by family matters in his home district.

  Glancing up from the computer, his heart almost stopped. The cop from Starbucks was sitting at the front of the coffee shop. He was following the same procedure from the morning, glancing at his phone and surveying the room. This was not a coincidence. Somehow, he was being tracked. He watched as the cop stood and walked to the coffee bar. As he returned to his table, Ortega noticed his head turned slightly and barely nodded at another man sitting in the middle of the room.

  Ortega thought the new guy looked familiar, but he couldn't place him. Finally, remembering, he opened a video file on the computer and checked several news clips made during the media coverage at Cooper’s farm. The video he was searching for was a long-range camera shot of two men standing next to the barn where Cooper had stored the C4.

  Ortega remembered the clip, having viewed it dozens of times. It was the moment he realized all the C4 had been found. The news announcer had identified one of the men as the local county sheriff and the other as an FBI agent. Pausing the video, Ortega stared at the profile of the FBI agent and then at the guy sitting in the middle of the coffee shop. It was hard to make an exact match, considering the distance of the camera shot, but there was a strong resemblance. This was no coincidence. They'd found him.

  It was time to leave. Ortega started considering his options for the best way to exit the shop. After ten more minutes, the FBI man got up and left, leaving the other cop sitting next to the front door. There were no other exits visible except the front door. He got up and walked to the restroom in the back. The rear exit door was for emergencies only and an alarm would sound if opened. Leaving this way would draw too much attention. The front door was his only option.

  Returning to his table, he closed the laptop, placed it in his backpack, threw a $5 bill on the table, and casually walked through the shop toward the front door. Turning his head as he approached the door, his face was away from the cop as he reached for a pack of cigarettes in the backpack. Outside the shop, he paused to light a cigarette and quickly scanned the area. Not seeing the FBI agent anywhere, he started walking toward the parking lot. Once among the cars in the tightly packed parking spaces, he bent over below the roof lines and hurried toward his car. Once there, he carefully opened the door, slid behind the wheel, hunched down in the seat, and waited.

  ***

  Kruger sat back down in the car while Clark hurriedly walked to the Mustang and got in. He said, “Damn, he must have made me. Sorry, Sean, I think I blew it.”

  Shaking his head, Kruger said, “No, I should have realized, a lot of video was being shot by the news media at Cooper’s farm. I'm positive the cameras were trained on the barn when the Hummers showed up. I was outside with the sheriff during that time. I guarantee you I’m in those shots, and Ortega probably scrutinized them very carefully. More than likely he recognized me, not you.”

  “Now what?”

  “Charlie’s trying to locate Ortega’s hotel. I’ll call and see if he’s made any progress.”

  Charlie answered JR's phone and said, “Just found him at the Hampton Inn Westport, registered under Norman Ortega. Been there almost a week.”

  “Nice work, Charlie.” Kruger ended the call and started the Mustang. “He's at the Hampton Inn Westport. I saw it this morning when we drove in from the airport. Let's find out if he’s still there.”

  Kruger parked under the canopy directly outside the front entrance. Each clipped their badges to their belts and got out of the car. Kruger went straight to the front desk and asked for the manager while Clark stayed by the car to watch the parking lot.

  An overweight middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a bushy mustache emerged from an office behind the front desk. He smiled. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Kruger showed his identification and said, “Agent Sean Kruger, FBI. Is there some place private we can talk?”

  The manager's eyes widened and stared at the ID. He looked up, paused briefly, and then motioned Kruger back to his office. After closing the door, he said, “May I ask what this is about, agent?”

  “Sorry to startle you back there. A man by the name of Norman Ortega is registered here. Can you tell me if he’s checked out?”

  The manager sat down at his desk and consulted his computer. “No, he hasn’t.” He glanced at his watch, “It’s past check out time. What’s this about?”

  Kruger smiled and ignored the question. “Sir, I need you to show me his room, open it, and make sure he hasn’t left yet.”

  The manager looked at Kruger with a disapproving expression. “Before I can do that, I need to know what this is about.”

  Kruger nodded and said, “Mr. Ortega is a suspect in a murder. That's all I can tell you right now.”

  The manager’s eyes grew wide and he started quickly searching through the papers and objects on his desk. He found his pass card and held it so Kruger could see. “His room is in the back on the first floor. You won't tell the other guests, will you? It might be bad for business.”

  Kruger grinned. “No, sir. We won’t tell the other guests.”

  As they entered the lobby, Kruger motioned for Clark to follow. Ortega’s room was situated next to the rear exit door with easy access to the back parking area. He turned to the manager and said, “Give me the pass card. Please stand back away from the door, sir.”

  Clark held his SIG Sauer P226 with both hands, pointed it down, and stood on the left side of the door. Kruger held his Glock in his right hand, looked at Clark who nodded, and then opened the door. Both rushed in as Kruger yelled “FBI.”

  It took less than ten seconds to secure the room. It was empty, except for Ortega’s luggage and personal items. Kruger said, “His stuff’s still here.” He went back out to the hall and asked the manager, “Are any of these adjacent rooms occupied?”

  The manager reached for a radio attached to his belt, pressed the transmit button and said, “Stella, I’m at 148, are any of the rooms around it empty?”

  After a few seconds, a voice said, “Only 147 and 144. The rest are occupied.”

  Kruger looked across the hall at a door with the numbers 147. “We’ll take that room.” He pointed at the door. “Please let the front desk know.”

  The manager hesitated, looked at Kruger and then at Clark, started to say something, and decided against it. He opened the door to 147 and left. Kruger turned to Clark, “You needed a room for the night anyway.”

  Clark chuckled. “Perfect, a room across from a murderer. Thanks, Sean, I like you too.”

  ***

  Ortega waited fifteen minutes before starting his car and backing out of the parking slot. He had to go back to the hotel. There were too many essential items in the room he needed to retrieve before leaving town. It would take time, but time well spent. Pulling into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn, he saw a Mustang parked under the canopy. Leaning against the car, talking on a cell phone, was the cop from Starbucks. The FBI agent was probably inside.

  Driving slowly around the hotel, he parked near the entrance door next to his room. Ortega sat in the car, thinking. Was it worth the risk to go in, or just drive off and leave everything? Finally, after ten minutes of careful debating, he decided to take the chance and get in the room.

  The entrance door was glass, allowing a visual of the hallway outside his room. The hall was empty. Slowly and quietly, he used his card key to unlock the door. Standing in the exit with the door half open, Ortega could see his room ten feet down the hall on the right. The door was open, and he c
ould hear someone in the room, apparently on a phone describing the contents. No need to go farther. He quickly closed the outside door and walked back to the car. He sat there a few seconds, trying to determine how incriminating the remaining contents would be. Finally realizing there was nothing to be done at this point, he started the car and drove toward the exit. Replacing the luggage and clothes would be simple. He had his backpack, which contained his computer, notes and money. But as Ortega pulled out of the hotel parking lot, he hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and yelled, “Shit.”

  ***

  “Alan, I need a search warrant for this room and I need it yesterday. This is the guy. I'm standing in his room and I see something pretty incriminating. I just can't use it until I have that search warrant.”

  “Tell me what you see,” Seltzer said.

  “I see a notebook, it’s open, with handwritten pages. Do the words Cooper and C4 mean anything to you?”

  “Calm down, Sean, we'll get it. But I have to have some probable cause, that's all.”

  He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. “I'm not sure about hotel law, but if one of us is staying in the room across the hall and smells smoke, can we have management open the door to check for fire?”

  “That’s an interesting question. I’m not sure. Let me call Legal and find out.”

  “Hurry, Alan, the guy might come back and try to get the notebook. If he does, it might get ugly.”

  The call ended and Kruger pulled on surgical gloves Clark had bought at the Walgreen’s next door. He leafed through the handwritten pages of the five-by-seven spiral notebook. The information inside described how to steal and get C4 off military bases. There was a list of Army bases where C4 was stored, who to contact at each location and how much it would cost to bribe those individuals. Quickly scanning the remaining pages of the notebook, Kruger found references on how to communicate through the internet, friendly gun shops and summaries of the Wheeler and Rousch murders. Finally here was the proof they needed to convince the director of a conspiracy.

  His cell phone vibrated, and Kruger answered, “Talk to me Alan.”

  “Yes, it is considered probable cause for an agent to enter a hotel room to search for a fire. The rooms are not really private property since they’re owned by the hotel. Danger to the other guests is taken into consideration. Evidence found during the search for a fire is admissible.”

  Kruger smiled and said, “Then you'd better get Paul on the phone, because we now have evidence Norman Ortega was involved with Cooper.”

  “Describe it.”

  “I'm holding a notebook in my hand outlining how the group operates. The relationships, how they communicate, where to get C4, and where to get weapons. Do I need to go on?”

  “I'll get Paul.”

  ***

  After exiting the hotel parking lot, Ortega found I-270 and drove north toward I-70 west. A new ID was now essential. Denver was 850 miles to the west, and Ortega knew someone there who could provide one. As St. Louis and the surrounding communities receded in the car’s rearview mirror, he relaxed and thought through his current situation.

  They would not know what type of vehicle he was driving. The information on the hotel registry was false. But as soon as possible, he would switch license plates with a similar car. Next he reviewed the contents of his backpack. He still had his laptop, which contained files and details of the operation. A CZ 75 9mm pistol, 200 rounds of hollow point ammunition, three clips, his K-Bar serrated knife, several credit cards both real and fake, and almost $50,000 in cash.

  Nothing he had left behind was critical, except the notebook. When they found it, the supply team would be compromised. Tommy and their banker would be harder to determine from its contents. Their names were never used in his notes. His clothes were gone, but easily replaced.

  Finishing the final stage of the operation before Memorial Day would be up to him. He was the only one even remotely close to California. With luck, he could be in Denver tomorrow, meet his contact, buy a new driver’s license and passport, and then switch cars. California was another twenty-hour drive from Denver. After a stop in Utah for a day or two, San Francisco was only a hard day’s drive away. Once in California, he would be in place to complete the mission.

  Satisfied with the plan, the rest of the team needed to know they were compromised. Hopefully he would be in time to give them plenty of notice. It was getting close to midnight when he stopped at a Day's Inn just outside of Topeka, KS. Once in the hotel room, he accessed the internet, and sent text messages to all the remaining team members to check for a message in their email accounts.

  Chapter 30

  St. Louis, MO

  Thursday evening

  “I need all the evidence brought to Washington immediately,” said Paul Stumpf over the phone. “It's critical we shut down the supply lines tonight. I'm sure Ortega will warn them at his first opportunity.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kruger glanced at his watch. It was after 5 p.m., and he needed to get back to Kansas City for the meeting with the adoption agency in the morning. “We’re certain he’s fled. He was last seen around two this afternoon and so far has not returned to the hotel. I'll have Clark summarize what we have in St. Louis, and Charlie Craft will provide details on the computer evidence. They’ll have preliminary reports to you tonight and fly into Washington early tomorrow.”

  “No, I need you to handle this, Sean. You're the agent in charge of this investigation.”

  “With all due respect, Deputy Director, I am unofficially investigating this case. Remember? Besides, I have a commitment in Kansas City first thing in the morning, one I refuse to miss.”

  There was silence on the phone for fifteen seconds, until finally Stumpf said, “Sean, I need you to take charge of this thing right now. As soon as you can get the information to me, we can start making arrests. I'm taking it to the Attorney General early tomorrow morning, who will take it to the President. Once that’s done, we can make some changes around here.”

  Kruger closed his eyes, thinking how he could do both. Finally he said, “I'll be in Washington late tomorrow. Meanwhile, Ryan and Charlie will get everything to you. Will that work?”

  “What's going on, Sean?”

  Hesitating, Kruger finally said, “It's personal, Paul. I'll tell you tomorrow when I see you.”

  “Very well, let Alan know your itinerary. I'll arrange a meeting with the director. And Sean… your team did a great job on this.”

  Kruger should have felt a sense of satisfaction when the call ended, but the feeling eluded him. His team had accomplished a lot in less than a week. He was proud of them. But he personally had made several mistakes, ultimately leading to the escape of Ortega. Was he losing his edge? Or did he just not care anymore? Probably the latter. Leaning against the wall across from Ortega's room, he watched the forensics team from the St. Louis FBI office carefully searching the room for more evidence. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

  Clark came out of the room holding the notebook from Ortega's suitcase. “Have you read any of this?”

  Kruger opened his eyes, stood up off the wall and shook his head. “No, just skimmed it.”

  “This is the Rosetta Stone. There’s enough evidence in here for a multitude of arrests.”

  Kruger nodded silently.

  Clark looked at him, frowned, and said, “What’s wrong? You should be pumped. We’ve broken this thing wide open.”

  “I just got off the phone with the deputy director. I need you to gather all the important evidence after they catalogue it and fly back to Washington early tomorrow. I'm sending Charlie there with the computer evidence. Both of you will present it to Alan when you get there.”

  “What about you, aren't you going?”

  “Yes, but I have an important meeting in Kansas City first thing in the morning.”

  It was 6:10 p.m., four hours to Kruger’s condo. If he left immediately, it would be at least 10:30
before he could arrive. With the meeting scheduled for 8 a.m., he would have plenty of time to catch a flight and arrive in Washington by early evening. Kruger looked up at Clark and said, “I'll be there tomorrow evening. Meanwhile, gather the evidence you need for the meeting and have the rest sent Fed Ex tomorrow. I'll call the Bureau’s travel agency after I leave and arrange a flight for you. They’ll call you with the details.”

  “Okay, I'll take care of it. See you tomorrow. Oh, and Sean,” he paused briefly, “I hope everything is okay at home.”

  Kruger smiled. “It is, Ryan, it is. I just have a lot on my mind right now.” He left the hotel and started the drive to Kansas City.

  ***

  Kruger was twenty miles east of Columbia when his phone rang. After glancing at the caller ID, he quickly accepted the call.

  “Hi, I was just about to call you.”

  Stephanie said, “How long before you get home?”

  “I should be there by ten thirty, why?”

  “Just nervous about tomorrow and wanted to hear your voice.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I miss you.”

  Kruger smiled. “I miss you too. Why are you nervous about tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know what to expect and don’t want to be disappointed.”

  “Then let’s go to the meeting not expecting much. That way, we won’t be disappointed.”

  She didn’t answer right away. Finally she said, “You always know the right words to say, Sean. After our meeting this morning at Walmart, I realize all I want is to get our family started.”