by Scott Gamboe
"This sounds risky. You're putting a lot of trust in a wanted man."
"I know, but I have a hunch on this one. Please, make the call. If they have any questions, they can call me. Give them this number. A lot is riding on Jim not being arrested tonight."
"I'm on it. You really owe me now. By the way . . . those phone numbers you wanted will be coming to you shortly."
"Thanks, Lynn. You're a life saver."
He ended the call. He ran one hand through his hair as he mulled over his options. Licking his lips nervously, he decided give Krista another call.
#
Jim walked slowly along the sidewalk, hands jammed into his pockets and head hung low. He moved with agonizing, casual slowness. His mind screamed at him to run, but if he did he would only draw attention to himself. There were a few other pedestrians about. He hoped to gain a little anonymity from them. If he was lucky, he could avoid detection long enough to pick up a change of attire. That was his first priority. Then he would contact Krista.
He silently berated himself for his careless actions earlier in the night. When he went out for drinks, he should have known to disguise himself. Even something as simple as a hat and glasses would probably have been sufficient. But he had recklessly walked right into the convenience store without making any effort to conceal who he was. Someone must have recognized him and called the police. Now he was on the run, and his whole plan had fallen apart.
Ahead in the distance, the lights of a shopping center came into view. He remembered seeing a twenty-four hour retail store on the grounds, so he made that his destination. He had a little cash, enough to buy a new shirt and shorts, maybe a hat. He would also make a call to Krista once he got there. He almost picked up the pace. Instead, he forced himself to maintain the slow, steady walk that had served him so well up to that point.
With a sudden, shrill pierce, a brief wail from a police siren broke the silence of the night, and a spotlight fell across him. He whirled around to see two police cruisers, doors already open, officers halfway out of their cars. He raced away, cutting behind a nearby building and into the night. Behind him, he heard the officers shout into their radios.
He risked a glance to his rear. He was heartened by the distance between him and those giving chase. Although they had gained on him, they were still over fifty yards back. He angled to his right, toward a stand of trees. In the woods, he could easily lose them. He could make his way back to the road to get a ride out of the area. They would bring a dog to search for him, but hopefully he would be well away from his pursuers by then. The trees loomed ahead. He slipped between the nearest boughs.
Out of the darkness, a dim shape flew at him from one side. It crashed into him and took him to the ground. He rolled over, flailing madly with his arms and legs and trying to break free. This was a fellow police officer. He had no desire to injure him, but he had to escape. Jim grabbed a pressure point in his foe's wrist and squeezed hard. The cop grunted sharply and released Jim's arm. Jim slipped away and regained his feet.
But it was too late. The other officers arrived and tackled him once more. Several blows rained down on his body. He curled up to protect his head. With a sinister hiss, someone shot pepper spray into his face. His eyes went shut, burning in agony. His strength faded rapidly as it became more difficult to breathe. Two officers yanked his arms behind his back and secured them in handcuffs.
The announcement over the police radio said it all. "One in custody."
#
The phone rang once more. A look at the display told Krista it was Nick. This was the fifth call from him in the last ten minutes. Krista's indecision ate away at her, the uncertainty of the rapidly changing situation leaving her mind in flux. Jim had told her not to talk to Nick. They did not know who he really was. He could not be trusted. But with everything that had happened since Jim and Amit left, would the instruction still be relevant? And maybe there was a way Nick could actually help. After all, they only knew he was not who he claimed to be. He was just as likely to be working for them, as against them.
Her mind made up, she tapped a button on the phone. "Hello?"
"Krista?"
"Yeah."
"Jim isn't answering his phone. Do you have any idea where he is?"
Krista hesitated, only for a moment. "No. Right after he left, the police raided the hotel. I don't know if Jim and Amit got away from the hotel in time or not."
"The last I heard, he was still on the run. I've pulled in some favors. I have the FBI calling the Fairview Heights PD right now to tell them to back off. Krista, I know you're finding it hard to trust anyone right now, but we're at a critical junction. We have to stop Tony. Jim is vital to the effort. I need you to tell me whatever you know."
She sucked in her breath, frozen with indecision. Across the street, three police cars raced past, their emergency lights blinking in a staccato accompaniment to their sirens. She sighed. "Okay, Nick. Where can I meet you?"
Ten minutes later, she stood in the darkened doorway of a shoe store. A white sedan pulled up to the curb. The front passenger door opened. Nick leaned across the seat and beckoned for her to get inside. She hesitated for a moment. Her doubts surfaced once again, but she jumped in and shut the door.
"We have to hurry. Jim and his partner split up. The other guy ditched the truck and got away, but Jim was captured. My office contacted the Fairview Heights PD. They will release him to me. But I don’t want to take any chances. We're going to get him away from them as quickly as possible."
Krista stared straight ahead and said nothing. The landscape flitted past as they barreled along the backstreets of Belleville. Nick apparently noticed her reticence, because he kept glancing over at her.
"Krista, talk to me. What's wrong?"
"I . . . we . . . don't trust you. Jim told me not to even answer the phone if you called. I wouldn't have, either, until this whole thing with the police broke out while he and Amit were trying to find Tony and Matt."
"Look, we have to have trust. There may come a time when I need you to act. I won't have time for you to doubt me. What's wrong?"
She let out a deep sigh. "That friend of my brother, the one said he knows a CIA agent, told us you weren't who you say you are. We checked on the internet. We know that Agent Nick Halliton is dead."
He dropped his head back against the seat. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this just yet," he told her. With his left hand on the wheel, he slipped his right hand inside his suit jacket.
#
Jim squirmed about in the back seat. Although the officers had decontaminated his face, his skin still burned from the pepper spray. He shifted his weight to try and relieve the pressure on his wrists. It wasn't that the handcuffs were too tight, although they were, in fact, a bit snug. The problem came when his shoulders became fatigued and couldn't keep his hands close together. When they pulled apart, the metal in the handcuffs grated against the bones in his wrists. At least he had convinced the officer to crack open the rear windows, allowing a breeze to pass through.
"Excuse me, Officer."
The cop sitting in the driver's seat looked up, then returned his attention to his paperwork.
"Please, you've got to believe me. I didn't do what they say I did. Right now, a member a Chicago organized crime family is about to deliver a very dangerous cargo to an international terrorist. He has to be stopped."
The officer drew a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. "How long were you a cop, Hunter?"
"A little over seven years."
"And in all that time, how many people in the backseat of your squad told you some crazy story about why they needed to go free?"
"Quite a few. And you're right. I never listened to any of them."
"So if you were in my place, and someone fed you this crazy tale, what would you do?"
"I'd turn the music up loud and shift the balance into the back seat, so I wouldn't have to listen to him."
"So tell me this. Why should I listen to you?
You're a dirty cop, a drug dealer, and a murderer."
Jim leaned forward to press his forehead against the glass of the squad car's cage. The officer went back to writing, although he paused long enough to turn up the volume on his radio. Jim sat stoically in the back seat for several minutes. If they would hurry up and take him to the jail, he could make his phone calls. He would call Krista and Amit, for certain. But who else could he trust? Don Scott, but he was almost three hours away, and unlikely to come running. Nick was his only other option. But he still was uncertain whose side Nick was on.
The officer lowered the volume of the music, his head cocked to the side as he listened to the woman's voice on the police radio. "All cars that are available to clear the foot chase, we have an armed robbery to a citizen, in progress. Bunkham Road, in front of the State Police Crime Lab. All cars available, please respond."
The officer looked up in his mirror and fixed Jim with a narrow-eyed stare. Jim leaned against the door. He closed his eyes while he tried to think of a new plan. Escape was next to impossible. He could try to kick out the window of the squad car, but the officer was seated right in front of him. He would stop Jim before he could climb out the window. Even if he managed to make it outside the car, he could not run very quickly with his hands behind him. He needed more options.
The officer's cell phone rang. He slammed his pen on the seat as he reached to answer it. "Jeffries." He made several faces, shaking his head and mouthing profanities. "Yes, I understand. Okay, I'll hold him here. What's this guy's E.T.A.?" He surveyed the streets around them, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay. I'll pull into the shopping center parking lot. Have him meet me there."
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the seat with a snap of his wrist. "You must be a hotter commodity than I thought. There's some damned FBI agent on his way here to pick you up. I guess they're gonna take you federal. That means you have to do almost the entire sentence. And remember . . . they love cops at the federal pen. I'm sure you're going to be really popular."
Jim's entire body went rigid. Was this good news, or the end of the line? Nick was just as likely to take him into the countryside and shoot him as he was to rescue him and help him stop Tony. He considered it further as the officer drove to the center of the nearly deserted asphalt parking lot before resuming his writing. Jim decided to take another chance with him. It was probably fruitless. But he would rather end up in the Saint Claire County Jail, where he could still try to direct the whole operation, than take a chance and end up dead.
"Look, officer. This FBI agent. If he says his name is Nick Halliton, he's lying. Agent Nick Halliton was killed during a robbery several years back. I don't know who this guy is, but he's using Nick's name and passing himself off as an FBI agent. Please, let's just drive to your jail. If you hand me over to him, I'm afraid he might kill me."
The officer stared at him in the rear view mirror. He slowly reached out for the volume knob on the stereo. "Shut the hell up." With a sharp twist, he launched the music back to full volume. Jim slumped down in the seat. He rolled his head over to the right, gazing out the window without actually seeing anything.
He never saw the van coming, never heard a whisper of sound. The squad car was suddenly rocked by a violent impact on the driver's side, which threw the vehicle several feet to the right and slammed Jim across the back seat and against the driver's side door. His head struck the window, bouncing off and leaving his vision swimming in circles. The officer was slumped over sideways in his seat. For several seconds, the only sound Jim could hear was his own raspy breathing. Tiny explosions of sparks flew from the engine of the van sitting a few feet away.
CHAPTER 15
The driver of the van jumped from his seat carrying a pry bar. He raced around the squad car and pried open the rear passenger door to set Jim free. "Come on. I have handcuff keys in the van."
Jim scooted across the seat and rose unsteadily to his feet. His unfocused eyes looked up to his rescuer with a hint of recognition. "William?"
"Yeah. We have to hurry. The phony FBI agent is on his way here. If he gets his hands on you, you're as good as dead."
Jim hesitated for a few heartbeats. William Lakin was a friend of Rich, and Rich had gone over to Tony's side. Where did that leave William? But there was no time to consider the matter further. Jim dashed around the badly damaged car. He paused only long enough to peer in through the window at his former captor. The officer was bleeding from the head, but he was still breathing. His injuries did not appear to be life-threatening. He briefly considered grabbing the officer's gun, but he lacked the time it would take to remove his handcuffs and pry open the squad car for the weapon. He put his back to the van's passenger door. He lifted up on the handle and slipped inside.
"We're not going far. My car is parked at the other end of the lot. The engine in this thing won't last long, now."
William grabbed a handcuff key off the console. He held it up as he drove across the lot. Jim turned his back and sighed in relief as the first handcuff was released. He brought his hands around in front. He accepted the key from William and released the other cuff, rubbing his wrists gratefully. The mingled pain and tingling sensations slowly faded away. They stopped next to a black Camaro. Switching vehicles only took a few seconds. Moments later, the sports car raced out onto the street.
"Open the glove compartment," William told him. "There's a pistol and a couple of magazines in there for you. Where we're going, I think you're going to need them."
"You know where Tony is meeting his buyer?"
"I think so."
"I have friends helping me. If we call them, we'll have better numbers on our side."
"We can't do that. No one else must know. The chances are too great that someone will leak the information to Tony. He'll either change the location or reschedule. It'll have to be just you and me."
Jim opened the glove box. As William had told him, there was a pistol and ammunition inside. He pressed the slide open, ensuring a round was already chambered. Next, he dropped the magazine out of the grip. The magazine, along with the other two in the glove box, was fully loaded. He tucked the pistol into his waistband and slipped the magazines into his pocket.
One thing was certain. Regardless of William's intentions, Jim was well-armed. Tony would be stopped. But first, Jim needed to know whose side William was on. Now that his head had cleared, he was able to think rationally. He would try to learn what William was about.
"So, William," Jim said with a casual glance out the window. "How long has your friend been on this case?"
"This one, only about a month or so. But these guys are part of a much larger puzzle. I've been helping my friend on this for about three years. He's trying to penetrate a ring of Islamic terrorists here in America, especially in the Saint Louis area. They operate in sleeper cells and mingle with the population. Some of them marry American women to fit in with our society. They don't act or dress Islamic, and they don't go to mosques. He hadn't made much headway until recently. I intercepted some communications between Tony and one of the cells. Hopefully, you and I can shut him down before he passes them anything dangerous."
Jim sat in silence. His eyes studied the scenery all around the car in an effort to give off the impression that he was completely at ease with William's rescue. Far to the contrary, William's reassertion that he was helping a CIA agent hunt domestic terrorists convinced Jim he had made a terrible error in trusting William. Perhaps he could blame it on the shock of being in the accident, but he still berated himself for not being more alert. But why the deception? Why had William not killed Jim immediately? Jim slipped his hand into his pocket. He eased his phone out onto the seat beside his leg. With excruciating slowness, he entered Krista's number. He waited until the display said it was ringing before he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
#
Krista tensed. She fully expected Nick's hand to emerge with a gun. Instead, he brought out a black wallet.
He flipped it open, revealing another U.S. government identification badge. "My real name is Ryan Finley. I am an NSA Special Agent."
Krista took the identification from Ryan. She looked it over, then handed it back. "Why should I believe you now? You showed us an FBI ID card a week ago. It had a different name on it."
A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. "A necessary deception, I'm afraid. I was working on a case involving an American citizen with connections to foreign terrorists, which led me to Bloomington. I realized there was a bad cop involved, along with your brother. I followed Tony to the lake that night, just in time to see Jim get shot. But the more I looked into the whole scenario, I realized there was more going on than just drugs.
"I took the information to my supervisor. We decided there was too high of a potential for risk if I conducted an official investigation, especially in light of the rumor that someone in the federal prosecutor's office was working for the other side. That was when we came up with the idea of the phony FBI credentials. If someone on Tony's team got word of an FBI agent investigating his organization, it wouldn't take them long to figure out that the man posing as Nick Halliton was not who he said he was. While they would still be on their guard, they would not be as worried as they would if Agent Ryan Finley of the NSA was after them.
"Nick Halliton was a friend of mine. His widow and I have remained in contact over the years. She gave me an extra ID card Nick had left at the house. I replaced his photo with mine and pretended to be Nick. My boss is helping me out. She was the one who called the police and arranged to have Jim released to me. In fact, she is the only one who knows what I'm doing, or even where I am."
Krista sat immobile. She listened to the story which, while totally improbable, was somehow believable. She was startled out of her reticent concentration by the ringing of her phone. She yanked it from her purse. The number for Jim's satellite phone appeared on the Caller ID screen.
She tapped a button. "Jim! Where are you?"