by C. M. Sutter
“Not a problem, Agent Spelling. I’ll take care of that right now.”
“Sir?”
Spelling looked over his shoulder at Bill. “Agent Lewis?”
“We need to contact the store in Milwaukee and tell them to expect us.”
I knew Bill couldn’t say much in front of a civilian, but we understood what he meant. Rosemond Diamonds needed to be told immediately what was in the works and what we planned to do about it. We needed a sit-down with the people in charge, and it had to be done that night.
“Make the call as soon as we get to the airport, Bill. Speak with the owner, identify yourself, and tell them”—Spelling glanced at his watch—“to expect our team at their downtown location at six o’clock. I want all of the people in charge present, including the transport company manager and the drivers who are scheduled to run that errand tomorrow.” Spelling gave Bill a nod of understanding. They had to speak in vague terms in front of Dave.
Twenty minutes later, we were seat belted in the chopper and on our way back to Milwaukee. Bill had already made the arrangements over the phone with Rosemond Diamonds. They said they would organize everything necessary on their end, and the people involved in the transport would be present for the meeting too.
The helicopter landed in front of the FBI’s Milwaukee hangar at 5:22 p.m. Our vehicles sat on the west side of the building, right where we left them almost five hours earlier.
We climbed into the cruisers and headed for the downtown jewelry store with time to spare. I was thankful for the few extra minutes since we were smack in the middle of rush hour traffic. I sat in the passenger seat and checked messages while Spelling drove.
“Hmm… Joe sent me a document attached to an email.”
Spelling’s forehead furrowed. “See what it says.”
I tapped on the attachment and saw a copy of some adoption papers. I had totally forgotten about where I was going with that potential lead as soon as we left for Portage. “Wow, it looks like somebody from the tech department was able to finagle the adoption records for Sam Dunbar.”
“Maybe the documents weren’t sealed anymore because he was an adult and now deceased. What was his birth parents’ last name?”
“Would you believe Vetcher, as in the large V centered over the entwined links on the back of his hand? He was named Orly James Vetcher according to the original birth certificate, and there isn’t a father listed. The address for the mother was a street in Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee. What kind of name is that? It can’t be too far from Chattanooga since that’s the hospital on record. According to the birth certificate, he would have been thirty-five years old when he died.”
Spelling clicked his blinker to merge onto the freeway. “That information doesn’t match what his death certificate showed. According to that, he was thirty-nine when he died. Chances are, his adoption may have been under the table, or a little shady at best.”
“Have you ever heard of that last name, sir?”
“Vetcher, as in a criminal I’m familiar with?”
I nodded.
“Nobody comes to mind.” Spelling scratched his chin and pulled into the center lane. “A single mother in a small Tennessee town that probably couldn’t afford to raise that child could have had several babies that she gave up, or I hate to say it, possibly sold. There could be other criminals out there who once had the last name of Vetcher.”
“Agreed, but all I know is somebody was linked to Sam Dunbar, and he goes by C.V. Loomis. I’d bet my career that the V stands for Vetcher.” I glanced through my side mirror and saw our second cruiser right behind us. We’d be at Rosemond Diamonds in less than ten minutes. I knew the night would be a long one of planning how we’d foil the robbery attempt of the armored truck tomorrow.
Spelling slipped into a parallel parking space a block from the store. Cam pulled in directly behind him. I opened my purse and dug out my FBI credit card. Val did the same for their numbered parking space, and we both paid parking fees that would cover us until midnight.
Bill pulled out his phone and called the jewelry store as we walked. “Mr. Rosemond, this is Agent Bill Lewis from the FBI. We’ve parked and are heading to your building. Our team will be there in a few minutes.” He clicked off the call. “We’re good to go. It sounds like everyone who needs to be part of this is there.”
The jewelry store had been a Wisconsin Avenue landmark for thirty years. Although the interior of the building was beautiful, the rent had increased tenfold over time, and that intersection of Plankinton and Wisconsin had fallen into disrepair. Most of the retailers couldn’t keep up with the exorbitant rent or the maintenance on the buildings.
After being buzzed through the revolving security door, we entered the store single file. Most of the glass display cases had already been emptied of their treasures and were being loaded into a semi in the alley behind the building. Mr. Rosemond ushered us in and led us to a well-appointed office at the back of the store. Once inside, we were introduced to his business partners as well as the district manager and drivers of the armored transport company that had been hired to make the move tomorrow. We took seats around a large walnut-and-chrome conference table.
Mr. Rosemond began with the most obvious question—why did we assume a robbery of the truck was planned at all? Spelling went on to explain our lengthy but guarded bit of intelligence that led us to that conclusion.
“We knew of a previous armored truck heist that netted the criminals a large sum of money, nearly a million dollars to be precise. The main player in that robbery was shot and killed several months later by the very FBI agent who was just kidnapped. There once was a very close connection between the robber in the first heist and the person who kidnapped our agent, but we haven’t figured out what that connection is yet. The location of this jewelry store on Wisconsin Avenue and the new store in Brookfield was found in a stolen car among the kidnapper’s notes.”
Bill Lewis picked up where Spelling left off. “Two of our top agents were part of the FBI’s Violent Crimes Division in 2014 when that armored truck robbery took place. One of them was my current partner until this kidnapper murdered him several nights ago.”
The room fell silent, and people brushed away invisible bits of dust from the table. Their expressions told me their hearts were heavy for our loss.
“This kidnapper has been silent for nearly three years until now, so it begs the question—what is the common thread? We believe he’s surfaced because he’s learned of another armored truck transport worth millions of dollars that is scheduled to take place tomorrow. The fact that the agent he just kidnapped was the one who shot and killed the robber in 2014 is more than a coincidence.” Bill poured himself a glass of water and placed the pitcher back on the table. He took a sip before continuing. “Because this unidentified man had a close relationship of some kind to the robber who was killed by our agent, we feel this is a crime of greed, opportunity, and revenge. The kidnapper not only killed one of our agents and kidnapped another, but he also kidnapped our agent’s sister. We can only assume she was taken to be used as leverage so our agent will assist them in this heist.”
The manager of Trident Armored Transport, John Bentley, spoke up. “If they pull this robbery off, we’ll lose our franchise. We won’t be able to afford the insurance coverage anymore.”
“We feel the same way, agents,” Mr. Rosemond said. “We’ve put a ton of money into this new store. We need our inventory. Why can’t we just do the move tonight when the crooks aren’t expecting it?”
Murmurs began among the people around the table. They were all in agreement that it would make the most sense to transport the diamonds that night. It would be the smartest time to make the move.
“We understand your logic,” Spelling said, “but doing that guarantees the deaths of our agent and his sister. We’ll never see them again and will likely never find their remains, either. These men are vicious, cunning, and deadly. Earlier today they massacred three deputies a
nd the Portage County sheriff.”
Gasps sounded among the group.
John spoke up. “I’m sorry, but I won’t expose my drivers to that kind of risk, Agent Spelling. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to these good men.”
“We understand, and we have an alternative plan. What we need right now is all of the information you can give us about the time, route, and security measures you have in place for the diamond transport.” Spelling’s phone rang. “Take five minutes, everyone. I have to get this call.”
Chapter 50
They sat in the vehicles in the most secluded campsites of Stone River Campground. The van and Julie’s car were backed against a grove of trees. The campground map showed those spots as some of the best for privacy and beauty, usually chosen as the perfect location to set up a campsite, although farthest from the campground amenities. The men didn’t care about that. They weren’t planning to stick around once the sun dipped beneath the horizon. They chose those spots because they were the farthest away from other people. Behind that grove of trees was a rushing river, great for muffling the sounds of the agent in the trunk. They’d wait it out until dark then head back to Milwaukee on quiet country roads.
Carden, Anthony, and Antonio huddled in the van and reviewed the armored truck’s route map for the umpteenth time.
“What time are you picking up the U-Haul?” Carden asked, testing Anthony.
“At ten o’clock, boss. It’s already reserved and paid for, you’re dropping me off, and I go inside and get the keys. I drive to that turnout and wait for your instructions.”
“Good, very good. Hold on. That isn’t going to work. Shit!”
Antonio ripped apart a piece of beef jerky and popped half of it into his mouth. “What’s wrong, Mr. Vetcher?”
“We have to change the plans a bit.” He turned toward Anthony. “I’ll drop you off at the U-Haul place, and then we’ll wait for you at the turnout. When you get there, we’ll transfer Julie to the trunk of her car, and J.T. will be tied up to the cube van. I’ll drive the car back a few miles and watch for the armored truck. J.T. has to be ready to go when I tell you the vehicle is a mile out. His mouth will already be taped closed. We’ll have on our Kevlar vests and masks. He only gets a mask. We’ll toss him out first with an empty AK-47. Whoever isn’t knocked senseless when you smash the cube van into the armored truck will naturally shoot at J.T. That’s when we’ll kill everyone, grab the diamonds, and disappear in the car. We’ll ditch it when we’re safely out of the area and catch a ride on the Freeway Flyer to Chicago.” Carden watched as two RVs pulled in and turned right at the first fork in the road. He rubbed his forehead and let out an audible breath before continuing. “We’ll lay low for a while, then you boys can figure out something with your family. I’ll head for parts unknown with a lot of diamonds to fence.”
Antonio swallowed the jerky with a hard gulp. “What about the sister?”
“Collateral damage. She gets a bullet to the head, and we’ll toss her in the brush. The agent gets what’s coming to him for killing Sam.” Carden grinned widely. “Poetic justice, you know. The Fed shot my brother, the guards are going to shoot him, and I’ll have the pleasure of killing his sister.”
Anthony smiled at Antonio then at Carden. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “I can’t wait until tomorrow, boss. Everything is going to go exactly how we’ve planned, and we’ll all be rich.”
Carden’s enthusiasm was evident. “I’m counting on that along with some much overdue revenge.”
Chapter 51
We waited for SSA Hopkins to arrive after his phone call to Spelling. He had just gotten back to Milwaukee after delivering the bad news of Curt’s death to his mother in Waukegan. Hopkins told Spelling he was on his way and would join our meeting at Rosemond Diamonds in ten minutes.
Fifteen minutes later, John Bentley leaned over the large map that was rolled out across the conference table. Coffee cups held the corners down. Hopkins had just taken his seat, and we were about to begin the meeting.
“Everyone ready?” John asked.
Our nods confirmed that we were.
He pointed at the route he had planned for his driver to take from Milwaukee to Brookfield. “I may have to reconsider the back way I had originally planned and have the guys take the freeway instead. I wanted them to stay under the radar by driving the country roads, but in hindsight, that could be setting ourselves up for disaster. The freeway is the only route I’ll have my guys take if we go through with this move. I doubt if anyone would try to take down a Trident Armored Transport truck on a busy freeway while driving seventy miles an hour.”
When John finished voicing his idea, I spoke up. “How did these criminals know when your company was doing the move and the route you planned to take?”
Mr. Rosemond raised a brow and looked from face to face as he tapped a pen on the table. “Good question. I’d like to know that myself.”
First, the color drained out of John’s face, then it went bright red. “Are you people insinuating that this is an inside job? My company has been in business without a single mark against us for nearly thirty years.”
“Sir,” I said, “nobody is accusing you personally. How many employees does your company have on staff?”
“Trident is a nationwide company located in seven major cities. I don’t know how many people are employed overall. Transfers happen, and people get hired and fired. The number of employees changes all the time.”
“How many people are staffed in Milwaukee?” Spelling asked.
John pounded the table with his closed fist. “I resent this type of questioning. Maybe there’s somebody employed at the jewelry store who needs a raise and this is how they plan to get it. Why aren’t you grilling them?”
Mr. Rosemond stood. “We’re a family-owned company, John, located in one town, at the same storefront all along. We too have been in business for thirty years.”
“And every employee is a family member?” John asked, appearing to grow angrier by the second.
SSA Hopkins spoke up. “Okay, guys, this bickering is getting us nowhere. Somebody, somehow, has a connection with these criminals. I realize there was a press release on the opening of the new store, but the transport date, time, and route was never shared publicly. We can figure out the connection later, but right now we all need to work together.”
Spelling walked around the table to the whiteboard perched on an easel in the corner of the office. He picked up the red dry-erase marker and held it against the board. He started by drawing a number one. “We’re going to need the time this is supposed to go down tomorrow and exactly what the driver and guards normally do during a pickup and delivery.” He paused as if he had something else on his mind. “But before I get ahead of myself, let’s take a minute and review that map again.” With the red marker in hand, Spelling drew a line along the designated route then set the marker down. He studied the map.
“What are you thinking, boss?” I asked.
“We need a street view of the most secluded part of this route. I want a group consensus on the most likely area for an ambush to take place, and why. Let’s go.”
Mr. Rosemond said he was going to get his laptop computer and stepped away.
John huffed his anxiety and stood. “Like I said, Agent Spelling, I’m not subjecting my driver and guards to a planned attack on their lives. This is a waste of time, and the transport isn’t worth the danger. Rosemond Diamonds can find somebody else to do the move. My men aren’t going in like sheep to the slaughterhouse. I’m calling it off.”
“No you aren’t, now sit down. We’re going to review the most vulnerable spots along the route first, then you’re going to explain to us everything that’s involved in a transport, the normal precautions taken, and what your men do in a worst-case-scenario situation. I’m sure all of your drivers and guards had that type of training before they were hired, didn’t they?”
“Well, yes, but I’m standin
g firm on this.”
“Don’t worry, John. Your men will be fine because they aren’t transporting anything in that truck. My team and I are taking over. Our agent and his sister’s lives are at risk, and I intend to bring them home safely. We’ll be making the transport in an empty truck.” Spelling turned to address Mr. Rosemond, who sat down with his laptop in hand. “Tomorrow is about apprehending those criminals and rescuing J.T. and his sister. Your diamonds, Mr. Rosemond, can be delivered a different way, and I have the perfect idea.”
“But—”
Spelling shot him a stern look. “But what? Do you want all of your inventory stolen, possible deaths on your hands, and a lot of exposure, or would you rather have your diamonds moved quietly without any press?”
Mr. Rosemond hung his head. “You’re right, Agent Spelling. Go ahead and take over. I’ll do whatever you suggest. The Google street view is ready whenever you are.”
Chapter 52
“It’s almost dark, Mr. Vetcher. Should we head out?” Anthony stared at the evening sky. A crescent moon and a few twinkling stars had taken over for the setting sun.
Carden opened the driver’s side door. “I have to make a phone call first. Be ready to leave in ten minutes no matter what. We’ll get to Milwaukee by nine o’clock, eat something, and firm up the plans. Tomorrow we have to be on top of our game.” He climbed out of the van and walked down the path. Carden scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he needed. He pressed the call button and waited while the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“It’s me, and we’re in a jam. We need a place to sleep tonight.”
“You can’t go to your apartment?”
“Not with two extra guests who are bound, blindfolded, and gagged. They would be hard to explain to the neighbors.” Noticing a camper and his dog heading their way, Carden turned down a different trail.