by J. C. Fields
“We know how you communicate, Billy. The unsent emails.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, you’re in it deep, Billy.”
Billy nodded.
“If you help us find him, it will go easier on you. Ortega’s got something planned, and I need to know what it is, where it will occur and when.”
“Ortega takes his orders from someone else. We’re paid to do what that guy says. Ortega thinks he’s avenging our fallen brothers over in the sandbox. He’s so full of shit. I was in it for the money. Look at me, who’s going to hire a scarred-up guy like me. The only thing I was ever good at was firing a rifle.”
Kruger placed his arms on the table and leaned over. “Billy, you have the means to find him. I have a friend who, with your help, can locate Ortega.”
“Are we talking deal here, agent?”
Kruger shrugged. “I can’t offer you a deal. That’s up to the prosecutor. But, I’m not above having a friendly chat with him.”
Billy stared at Kruger for a very long time. “Griffin was the last one. Why, I don’t know. But after we did him, we’d get the rest of our money.”
Kruger was quiet as he continued to look at Billy. After a few moments, a bead of sweat ran down Billy’s forehead. Finally Kruger shook his head.
“If you’re going to lie to me, this isn’t going to work.”
Billy’s voice rose an octave. “I’m not lying. Griffin was the last one. I was supposed to do it here in Washington, but he left for California.”
Kruger said nothing.
Billy blinked several times, looked at the mirror, then back at Kruger. “I’m not lying. That was the plan: do Griffin, shut down and disappear. I swear, honest.”
Kruger put his elbow on the table, rested his chin on the palm of his hand and sighed. “Not buying it, Billy. Something big is in the works. I need to know what it is.”
Reid rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “What do I have to say to make you understand I was a mushroom in this organization?”
“A mushroom?”
“Yeah. Kept in the dark and fed shit.”
Kruger chuckled.
“I was nobody, agent. A hired gun, that’s all. I wasn’t privy to the master plan. If there even was one.”
Kruger’s cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID.
“I have to take this,” he said, then smiled slightly. “Don’t go away.”
After leaving the room, he accepted the call. “Kruger.”
“Sean, it’s Charlie Brewer.”
“Hey, Charlie, you got something for me?”
“Yeah, the Imam has disappeared, and so have three of the young men he visited.”
“Disappeared?”
“Uh-huh. The three men arrived at the mosque around six last night. We had two teams on the place. One in the front, one in the back. There was no way they could have left and we not see them.”
“But now they’re gone.”
“One of our agents is Muslim. He wasn’t on the surveillance teams, but was ready to go into the mosque if needed. Mornings are busy around the place, but not this morning. By noon, the watchers got nervous and sent him in. The place was deserted. Nobody, nothing.”
Kruger didn’t immediately reply. “Did they search the place?”
“Yeah.”
Taking a deep breath, Kruger closed his eyes. “What did they find?”
“A tunnel. A tunnel that leads to another building across the street. We didn’t know it, but that building is owned by the mosque.”
“They knew they were being watched.”
“Yeah, I’d say they did. We don’t know when they left, but we think it was after sunset. This neighborhood is pretty dark, not a lot of street lights. Between the time it got completely dark and when we entered the building, sixteen hours elapsed. They could be anywhere.”
“Did your surveillance team take pictures of the three men?”
“Yes.”
“Send them to Charlie Craft’s email.”
Chapter 42
Washington, D.C.
Saturday evening
Approaching forty-eight hours with little sleep, Kruger struggled to stay awake during a hastily assembled conference call. Even after four cups of coffee, he kept nodding off. Plus, he now had a bad case of indigestion. Seltzer was using the meeting to update the director and, via secure video conferencing, the President.
Seltzer started the meeting. “We are now in possession of Billy Reid’s computers. Charlie Craft will return to Washington later today as lead on the forensic investigation of this device.
“Agent Kruger’s team has traced the three Muslim men that we had under surveillance to three separate airports. One flew out of San Francisco International, one out of Oakland International and the third out of San Jose International. Destination unknown.”
The President looked grim. “Can’t we check the airlines to see where they went? Surely you have their names.”
Seltzer looked at Kruger, who shook his head.
“Yes sir, we do have their names,” Seltzer said. “However, they’re flying under false identities. We have no idea of the airline or the flight they took. We just know they entered the airport and went through security. No TSA images were found past security.”
The President slowly shook his head. “Gentlemen, I can’t emphasize enough how critical it is to stop whatever it is they are planning.”
“We understand, Mr. President.” It was the first words Stumpf had uttered since the meeting began. “We will stop it, you have my word.”
“I sure hope so, Paul. I sure hope so.”
The meeting ended and the video screen went dark. Stumpf looked at Seltzer and then at Kruger. “Gentlemen, I do hope I wasn’t too optimistic telling that to the president?”
Everyone in the room turned their attention to Kruger, who frowned and shook his head.
“I’m not making any progress sitting here on my ass,” he said. “I need to get back to Kansas City as soon as possible.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Sean. Was I too optimistic?”
“I’m not prepared to answer that question right now, Paul.”
***
The trip home on a Bureau jet gave Kruger a chance to relax for the first time in days. His thoughts turned to his next steps. Everything they knew about the three men from San Francisco was now in the hands of the Tulsa FBI office. Kruger felt a moment of guilt about not going straight to Tulsa, but quickly dismissed it. The field office knew what to do. They could get along nicely without him. He was also positive Charlie would make progress with Reid’s computer having spent two intense weeks with JR. If Charlie couldn't stand on his own now, he never would.
He opened his eyes just as the plane touched down in Kansas City. The short nap only intensified his weariness. An hour and a half later, he was asleep in his own bed. It was 2:05 a.m. Sunday morning.
The digital clock on his nightstand changed from 11:09 to 11:10 as he stared at it. Where was he? A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Stephanie was sitting on the side of his bed, sipping coffee, and said, “Want some?”
“Depends on what 'some' you're taking about.”
She grinned. “Coffee. You have a dirty mind.”
“I've been away from my wife for a while. Dirty thoughts are a natural product of separation.”
“Brush your teeth; you have morning breath. While you're doing that, I'll get you some coffee.”
***
“So what’s the interesting news you refused to discuss with me yesterday?” Kruger said after dumping a little Sweet N Low in his coffee and stirring.
Stephanie smiled. “It wasn't something I wanted to discuss on the phone. I heard from the agency Friday. We've been accepted by the mother. As soon as she gives birth, we're parents.”
Kruger was silent for several minutes, thinking through the possibilities. “Wow. Didn't realize it would be so soon. How do you feel about it?”
“As soo
n as we have the baby, I'm taking maternity leave and after that, I'm giving notice. I'm done with the job, Sean. I want to be a full-time mother.”
He hugged her. “Good decision. Should we go ahead and put both condos up for sale? This isn't really a good place to raise a kid, no place to play outside.”
She placed her head against his chest and said, “I agree. I spoke to a real estate agent while you were gone. She put my condo on the market and we can see how she does before we have her look for us a house.”
“What about my place?”
“Not yet, let's see how this goes first.”
She pushed away from him and looked straight into his eyes. “I think you should take the promotion.”
He let her go, turned away and walked to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. “Not sure I want to.”
She crossed her arms against her chest. “Why?”
“Not sure I have it in me anymore, Stef. I found myself hesitate several times this past week. That's dangerous. I might hesitate at the wrong moment and then...” The implication of the unfinished sentence was left unspoken.
She walked over to him, put her arms around him and said, “You need to do what’s best for you.”
He shook his head. “No, I need to do what's best for us.”
She nodded. “Guess I was being selfish with my last statement. We both need to do what’s best for us.” They hugged for a few moments, then she pulled away. “I have to be out of town this coming Thursday and Friday.”
“Okay, what’s going on?”
“Walmart shareholders meeting is this Friday. One of the issues we discussed at the last top-to-top was the lack of our senior management taking a serious interest in their business. I spoke to Neil, he’s still recovering from his injuries and can’t go. He’s sending me.”
“Have fun.”
***
The rest of Sunday was spent talking, making love and having dinner at Houston's. But later that night, Kruger was having trouble sleeping. His mind kept returning to all the possibilities of Tulsa as the destination of the Dallas contact, Ortega and the three Muslim men. After finally drifting off to sleep just after midnight, he woke from a dream and sat up in bed.
“Oh, shit.” He stared at the draped window, street lights illuminating them dimly. “Could it be possible?”
Chapter 43
Tulsa, OK
Tuesday
The containers arrived early Tuesday morning. Three dark-skinned young men walked into the warehouse an hour later. They were barely out of their teens. The first one, whom Acosta called Barry, was five-feet-five and stocky, with a round face, curly black hair and a beard. He was also very quiet. He would not look at Ortega or engage in conversation.
The second man was a little older than Barry; Acosta introduced him as Chuck. He was taller than Acosta by several inches and spoke with a slight accent. Ortega recognized the distinct speech patterns of an Iraqi, something Ortega would never forget. The kid did not have a beard, only wispy facial hair. His face was thin and his eyes were a dark brown.
The third man was introduced as Darren. His demeanor was odd, and he seemed distracted when he spoke. His hair was lighter than the others and he was clean-shaven. The eyes were an intense green and he never smiled. Ortega guessed he was the oldest, 22, if that.
As soon as the new recruits arrived, Acosta had them unloading the containers. As they worked, Acosta walked over to Ortega and said, “I have a job for you.”
Ortega accepted the folded sheet of paper, looked at Acosta and said, “Don’t patronize me, Acosta. This is my operation.”
Acosta stared at him, his eyes narrow and lips pressed together. Finally his face relaxed and he smiled. “I found three vans for sale. Each is in a different car lot. I need you to go to each one, pay for the vans and sign all the paperwork. After you’re finished, return here and deliver each of our new friends to the car lots. They will drive the vans back here. Simple, right?”
Ortega nodded. “How am I paying for them?”
Acosta smiled and handed him an envelope. “I have negotiated the price of each van over the phone. There are three cashier’s checks in the envelope. Each made out to the dealer for the negotiated price. All you have to do is deliver the checks and sign whatever paperwork they require.”
“They’ll want an ID.”
“The vans are being bought under your false name, Duane Horton. You still have the driver’s license, don’t you?”
Ortega nodded.
“Good. I need the vans here before nightfall.”
“Okay, when do we get our final payment?”
“Once the vans are bought and delivered back here, we will settle our account. I will no longer require your services.”
“What about Griffin?”
“You tried.” Acosta shrugged. “The attempt on his life will suit our purposes.”
“Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
It took most of the afternoon to find the dealerships, pay for the vans and deliver the quiet dark skinned men to each car lot. After dropping off the last man, he started driving back to the warehouse. About a half mile from the building he pulled off into a parking lot and sat for a while. Nothing was adding up. Why had Griffin all of a sudden become unimportant? The original plan was to build up to Griffin and then shut down. He pulled his cell phone out and texted Billy’s phone. Instead of a series of numbers he wrote, Plan abandoned, no Griffin, break off, will get money to you soon. O. He hit the send icon and sat for a few more minutes before starting the car. He had a stop to make, then he would return to the warehouse.
***
Charlie Craft was frustrated. The time spent with JR had been surreal. He’d learned more in two weeks than he had over the past few years. JR was so much more accomplished at what needed to be done, Charlie felt lost. As he sat in front of Billy Reid’s computer, he stared at the screen. He wasn’t finding anything they didn’t already know. He was about to call JR when Billy’s cell phone chirped. Picking it up, he saw there was a text message waiting to be viewed. He opened the message and read it. He immediately called JR.
***
“Slow down, Charlie. Take a deep breath and tell me the number that sent the text message?” JR held the cell phone against his ear with his shoulder and waited to write the number down.
Charlie told him. He paused for less than two seconds. “Can we trace that number to a cell tower?”
“That’s what I’m doing. But it’s going to take time. Call Kruger and let him know what’s going on. As soon as I have something, I’ll call him.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, just tell him I’ll call.” JR ended the call and started methodically doing what he did best, hacking into secure servers and getting the information he needed—all without leaving a trace an intrusion had occurred.
Three hours later, he punched in a number on his computer and sent a call. It was answered on the third ring.
“Kruger.”
“Sean, it’s JR.”
“Charlie briefed me. What’d you find?
“The location of the cell phone.”
Kruger was quiet for a few moments. “Tulsa.”
“Yeah, Tulsa. Just like we thought.”
“Do you have a location?”
“General area only. The tower was close to the airport.”
“Good work, JR. Call Charlie back and tell him. I’m calling Seltzer.”
***
Ortega waited in the Honda as the doors to the warehouse opened. As soon as it was wide enough, he drove into the building, parked and got out. The man he knew as Acosta was walking rapidly toward him. The three vans were parked next to the unloaded containers.
Acosta got up within a foot of Ortega and yelled, “Where the hell have you been? The vans were back hours ago.”
“I stopped and got something to eat.”
“For three hours? Are you kidding me?”
Ortega was tired of being ordered around. He started to walk away, but Acosta grabbed his arm.
“Let go of my arm, Acosta.”
“Where were you?”
Ortega glared at him. They were eye to eye, less than a foot apart. “I told you, I got something to eat. Now let go of me.”
The man released his arm and stood back a few paces. “As you wish. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Give me my money and I’ll get out of here. I’m tired of your shit.”
Abbas reached behind him, pulled out a Glock 19 and pointed it at Ortega. Without a second thought, he pulled the trigger twice.
As he felt his body hit the warehouse floor, Ortega’s last emotion before everything went black was relief.
Chapter 44
Tulsa, OK
Wednesday
The Bureau plane landed at Tulsa International Airport a little after 9:30 a.m. Wednesday. One of the local FBI agents met Kruger in the VIP lounge; Kruger knew him from another case several years back. Kruger offered his hand and said, “How are you, Tom ? What’s it been, five years?”
Thomas Shark was taller than Kruger’s six feet by three inches. He was high school skinny, with an angular face and closely cropped brown hair. He shook Kruger’s hand and smiled, “At least. I’ve been out of the academy six years and that was one of my first assignments.”
Kruger and Shark had worked together on an investigation of a serial killer who used school buses as his shooting platform. “Where was the body found?”
“In an abandoned warehouse about a mile south of the airport. It’s still there. The ME believes it happened less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“I’ve seen the guy. Let’s go make a positive ID.”
Shark nodded and led Kruger out of the airport to a black Chevy Suburban parked at the curb, it’s engine idling. Ten minutes later, Kruger was kneeling next to the body of Norman Ortega.