“Our UC agent is about to join the inner circle and find out what they’re plotting.” So far, the inner circle had only flooded certain politicians with emails, taken down websites, and sent out phony emails to constituents. But he and Dallas both thought the group had serious sabotage planned.
Special Agent Garrick crossed his arms. “Don’t be passive about this investigation or let it drag on. Let’s get ahead of it.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“We need to lead the group where we want them to go. Let’s set them up for a takedown that will send them to prison for a long time.”
Whoa. Was he talking about entrapment? “I want to put them away too,” Drager said. “But maybe we should see what they have planned. As long as we have advance warning from our UC, we can step in and arrest them in the act of whatever it is.”
The boss shook his head and damn-near shouted, “I don’t want them on hacking or vandalism or some petty bullshit! I want justice for Judge Bidwell. I want them incarcerated for life, so other activists think twice about joining their cause. Get creative and set them up for a big fall.” The boss turned and strode out.
Chapter 5
Friday, Oct. 3, 10:00 a.m.
To kill time and blow off tension, Dallas spent the morning windsurfing on the river, enjoying the last of the bright summer days. After July in Phoenix, she’d been happy to move to Maryland for the fall, and the weather had been great. But she was restless now and hated the traffic.
She went home for lunch, then logged onto the Justice Reform Now website and checked their calendar. The national group had a demonstration planned in front of the White House next week. She wondered if the inner circle would be there. They were probably too high-profile now and not willing to risk even a minor arrest. A new blog had been posted on the site so she read it, stunned by the case it outlined. A mother of four in Florida had been sentenced to eight years for selling pot, a charge she claimed was trumped up. The JRN blog called for supporters to donate money to the mother’s defense fund. Dallas hoped for the sake of her children that the organization was successful in getting the woman a new trial. Sending her to rehab made much more sense than putting four kids in foster care for nearly a decade.
Yet some parents, like her own, never got it together. Hers had snorted meth and drank themselves into stupidity during her entire childhood. She’d been passed from relative to relative, living out of an overnight bag, and her Aunt Lynn had paid for dozens of activities to keep her busy. Her parents had finally given up the meth, but not in time for her father’s liver to recover. Mostly, Dallas chose not to think about them.
She clicked through to another blog. As part of her cover, she’d written a few opinion pieces and submitted them to the JRN website. They’d uploaded one, and she clicked on it just for fun. Writing was a decent pastime, but she could never make a real career of it. Sitting in front of a computer made her crazy after about two hours. She looked at the clock. It wasn’t time yet. What kind of meeting would it be, and what did the activists have in mind?
Dallas got up and paced her little apartment, playing out possibilities in her mind. In the best-case scenario, the inner circle would ask her to join their cause and move into their house or complex. That level of trust and accessibility would allow her to gather intel quickly and wrap up the assignment. She was eager to complete this assignment. She hated living in DC. Once she’d seen all the historical points of interest, it was just a busy, touristy city. She’d kept sane by running along the river and learning how to windsurf. But she’d already been here for six weeks, and she missed Cameron. She’d flown to Flagstaff three weeks ago to see him, and it had been great—but also a little reckless. Once she was inside the group, she would have to break all contact with him. Her background profile for this case included a brother in Flagstaff, so she was covered for the trip she’d already made, but she couldn’t go again. The inner circle might scrutinize her more closely for a while to make sure they could trust her.
Potentially, this was the most dangerous group she’d investigated. If they were willing to kill a judge just to stimulate public and Congressional dialogue on the subject of prison reform, they might well kill her if they discovered she was a federal agent. Dallas headed into the bedroom and pulled a small safe from under the bed. Inside, she kept two burner phones, one for contacting Agent Drager and one for contacting her friends and family. She let out a rueful laugh. That meant three people. Stacie, her best friend, had inspired her to choose Phoenix as her bureau location. Aunt Lynn, who lived in Flagstaff, where Dallas had grown up. Her mother was there too, but Dallas never contacted her. And Cameron, another old friend from high school, who was also her current lover.
She remembered that her therapist’s number was in her phone too, but they typically conducted sessions through Skype. Dallas hadn’t contacted Dr. Harper since she’d started seeing Cameron. Was she worried the shrink would disapprove? Or would Harper encourage her to get serious about Cameron? That might put an end to her undercover career. Dallas grabbed the phone and called Cameron, hoping it would go to voicemail, because that would be easier.
“Jamie. So good to hear from you.” His deep voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine, but I’m probably going deep undercover soon, so you won’t hear from me until the case is over.”
“How long?
“My best guess is a month or so, but it could take up to a year.” She knew of a UC agent who’d spent three years working a money-laundering case in Florida. He’d ended up divorced, of course.
“A year? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s not likely.”
A pause. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
She almost laughed, but he was so serious. “Of course I will.” Liar!
“I have an offer on the brewery. We’re meeting tomorrow.” He was trying to sell his business so he could move to Phoenix to be with her.
“Don’t undercut your asking price on my account. I don’t even know when I’ll be back in town.” Why would anyone who knew about her career get involved with her? None of her previous boyfriends had known she was a federal agent, assigned to undercover investigations. Instead, she’d called herself a government analyst. But Cameron was different, a lifelong friend who would be there for her even when their intimate relationship ended. So he knew the truth and would soon grow tired of her absences.
“You don’t really want me to move to Phoenix, do you?”
True. And not true. “I do. Because I’d get to see you more often. But I hate to see you sell your business, your dream, when I can’t promise any kind of real relationship.”
A long pause this time. “You could give up undercover assignments. Maybe even ask for a transfer.”
She knew he would ask eventually. “No. This is my specialty, and I’m not giving it up until I get the promotion I really want. Which would be an overseas assignment.”
“You mean spying in a foreign country?”
“This is who I am. I told you upfront.”
A sigh. “I know. But I can’t walk away. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
The thought of him with another woman gave her a jealous pang, something she hadn’t experienced since high school, and with the same guy. “I’ll do the best I can to be a good partner, but you won’t think it’s enough and eventually you’ll move on.”
“Do you hook up with your targets?”
The abruptness caught her off guard. “It’s against the rules.”
“That’s not a direct answer.”
“I sometimes seduce them. And engage in foreplay. But no real sex.” So far.
“I’m sorry I asked.”
“Think of it as an acting job. I’m getting paid to pretend to like someone and kiss them. It’s no big deal. And not every case is like that.”
“What about this one?”
Luke came into her mind. They had chemistry, and she kn
ew he wanted her, but Abby was a mitigating factor. “Probably not.”
“Good. Now tell me what you mean by deep undercover. It sounds dangerous.”
“I’ll become a member of the group. It’s only dangerous if I break character or do something stupid, and neither of those things will happen.”
“Please be careful.”
“Always.” Liar! “I have to go now.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” She made it sound casual, like she would say to a brother. Which was stupid, because they’d declared their love for each other in high school. But she wasn’t comfortable with intimacy. “Bye.” Dallas hung up before it got weird. Usually, she broke up with the guy she was dating when she went on assignment. That kept everything simple and fresh when she got back. But she’d hooked up with Cameron when she’d flown home to see her dying father, and old feelings had surfaced for both of them. Sometimes she loved their relationship, and sometimes it felt like a burden. She’d have to discuss it in more depth with Dr. Harper—but not until after this assignment was over. Dallas laughed. She even kept her shrink at arm’s length.
At three thirty she headed out, taking a small backpack with personal items, in case she ended up staying out overnight. At the last minute, she grabbed her lucky cloth and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. The keepsake had started out as a childhood blanket that went everywhere with her. As a young adult, she’d started cutting it in half and tossing large pieces. Now she was down to a two-inch square of fuzzy cloth that she liked to rub, and occasionally sniff, if she was feeling particularly insecure. Someday she would toss the last piece of it.
She walked six blocks to Saxby’s Coffee shop on O Street and used her Tara Adams phone to text Luke and let him know where she was. Normally, she thought of targets and subjects by their last names—as everyone in the bureau did—but she interacted too closely with the inner circle for them to be last name only. Mistakenly calling Luke ‘Maddox’ when she was talking to another member could be a tip-off. But Drager referred to everyone by last name, which was fine with her. She hated the name Jamie and once she’d entered the bureau, she’d been happy to be called Dallas. Or Sonja. Or Tara. She loved slipping into a new persona and getting on a plane to go stay in a new setting. It was in her DNA now, after growing up in constant motion.
Luke texted back immediately: I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes. White van with blue lettering. Be outside and ready.
The message sounded urgent and a little clandestine. Energy surged through her body, so Dallas downed her coffee and walked around the block three times, barely noticing the DC architecture and multiculturalism that normally caught her attention. Seventeen minutes later, she stood in front of the coffee shop, waiting. She remembered Luke asking if she would break the law to further the cause. Would they test her loyalty? How serious would the crime be? The bright sun was warmer now, and sweat pooled at her bra line. When she’d infiltrated a prostitute ring in New Mexico, she’d snorted cocaine to blend in and had once delivered a satchel of cash to a white-collar criminal right before arresting him. But every nerve in her body was telling her this would be a whole new level of criminal participation.
Chapter 6
Five minutes later, a white van lettered with Eric’s Electric pulled up, and the side door opened. She stepped toward it, and Cree scooted over to make room on the passenger bench. Dallas climbed in and pulled the door closed, the sound echoing like the slam of a jail door.
“Hey, Tara.” Cree grinned beside her. “You wore black. Good instincts.”
“I like to be prepared for anything.”
From the driver’s seat, Luke glanced over his shoulder. “Welcome.” He turned back and gunned the van into the flow of traffic. Abby, in the front passenger seat, shifted to face her. “The location of the meeting has changed. It’s happening right here, right now.”
A hand clapped her shoulder from behind. “I’m Aaron.” Dallas turned and nodded. Aaron said, “You came along at the right time. My body’s giving out, and I just can’t move like I used to.”
Aaron was middle-age and gaunt, which made his brow protrude from his forehead. Did he have AIDS or some other wasting disease? Was he an ex-con too? Luke and Abby both had criminal records from long ago, but neither had been in trouble since their last release. She’d heard their personal stories—Luke’s more tragic than Abby’s—as well as perused their law enforcement files. But Aaron was new to her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m still here, so yes.” He winked. “Thanks for asking.”
She would sneak a peek at his ID later. When she had a last name, she would send it to Drager to research. First rule of undercover work: Know who everyone is and minimize the surprises.
Abby snapped her fingers, so Dallas turned back, suppressing her irritation. “What’s the plan?”
“Sabotaging a fundraiser for Congressman Ralph Bletzo. He’s the primary reason Texas has more for-profit prisoners than any other state. He’s also blocking legislation to end mandatory sentencing. JRN has people protesting at every event he stages, but we need to cut off his money. We’re working on a digital solution to empty his campaign account, but cutting off the flow is the best place to start.”
Dallas’ shoulders relaxed. The mission sounded relatively harmless. “What do you have in mind?”
“The main objective is to take over the A/V system and broadcast our message instead of his. Reporters will be there, and we hope to get the feed out live to a national news audience.” Abby’s eyes sparked with excitement. “It’s a chance to tell millions of people about the capacity clauses in for-profit prisons.”
Dallas had familiarized herself with their issues and understood that those contracts put pressure on states to keep private prisons full. “Can you explain the concept in a brief format? Won’t we have to get in and out quickly?”
“We’ve already recorded our piece, complete with a slide show, and it’s only ninety seconds long. Aaron will run the tech stuff from the van.” Abby grinned. “You, me, and Cree will go in and lock all the access doors and shut down the AC. We want the fat cats who put money into Bletzo’s campaign to feel what it’s like to be in prison, if only for a moment.”
Dallas wondered what Luke would be doing but didn’t ask. As the leader, he might simply be the wheelman, the one who got away to continue the cause if everything else went badly. But she didn’t think it would. These people hadn’t been caught yet, so they were obviously clever. Still, throwing her, a newbie, into a mission at the last minute, seemed reckless. “What building? Do you have a map? I feel unprepared.”
“But you’re in?” Abby challenged Dallas with her eyes.
“Sure. I can lock doors and move quickly.”
“Sweet.” Cree held out his hand for a fist bump.
Dallas obliged. At least he wasn’t a hugger. “So where is this going down?”
“The Lincoln Ballroom at the Grand Roosevelt Hotel.” Abby reached into her satchel for a set of blueprints and held them in her lap. A few minutes later, Luke pulled off into a small shopping mall area and parked under a shade tree on the perimeter.
“Scoot over,” Aaron said, coming forward. He had a giant clipboard and set it in his lap. Abby spread out the building plans on the board.
Luke took charge and detailed the plan. “Cree goes straight to the central-air control unit in the basement. Tara goes up to the second floor to wait near the main doors. Abby will stand just inside the ballroom by the side exit. She’ll text Aaron at the right moment to hack into the A/V, then walk out.” Luke looked up from the blueprints and stared at Dallas. “When you hear our recording kick in, lock the doors from the outside, then take the stairs and get out.” He handed her a shiny master key that looked fresh off the grinder. “Wipe the key and drop it in the first garbage can or drain you see. If you’re spotted, run. If you’re caught, refuse to answer questions. I’ll be parked at the gas station on the next block over to the north.”
>
Her pulse quickened at the thought of getting caught and blowing her cover. “What about cameras? They must have some security.” Dallas let her nervousness show. It seemed natural for the situation.
Luke reached over and squeezed her hand. “Aaron will block the video feed when he cuts into the system, but the cameras are on these corners and easy to avoid.” Luke pointed to four locations in the wide foyer outside the ballroom. “Keep your head down when you’re locking the door, just in case.”
Dallas visualized herself inside the building and memorized the camera locations by mentally nodding at each one. This was a familiar routine—with a different motive.
Abby handed her a hat with a wide, floppy brim. “Put your hair up and cover it. All that blond draws too much attention.”
She’d worn it in a braid, but it was still noticeable. “I can cut my hair for future missions, if you think it’s a problem.”
Luke gave her an odd smile. “I like your commitment, but that shouldn’t be necessary.”
This mission wasn’t any different from an FBI operation. Just less dangerous. But ending up in jail could cost her the assignment and send the inner circle further underground. So she needed more information. “How long will I be in there? How much time between when we set up and when we go for it?” She was careful to make her word choices sound like an amateur.
“Six minutes,” Abby said, even though she’d asked Luke.
“Do I have a reason to be in the hotel? A ticket to the fundraiser or something? In case someone asks.”
“You’re just a guest, a tourist.”
“Okay.” Time to dig for intel. “Have you guys done anything like this before?”
Luke nodded. “We’ve run a few small missions, but nothing that’s hit the national media. We’re trying to start a dialogue and engage citizens to act.”
“I hope it’s effective. People tend to get worked up for a few minutes, then go right back to whatever they were doing.”
“Social consciousness is dead,” Cree declared.
The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) Page 3