The Trap (Agent Dallas 3)

by Sellers, L. J.

  “Is that your laptop?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Bad idea. If it gets confiscated, they’ll track your communication to this place.”

  “I planned to leave it in the van.”

  “Why take the risk? Just leave it here.” Abby stepped in front of her.

  “Aaron takes his.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Aaron’s computer is essential to his part of the mission, and he never gets out of the van. Just leave it. The ride into the city isn’t that long.”

  Oh well. The report could wait. “No problem.” Dallas went back into the house, trotted upstairs, and stashed her laptop between the mattresses where she kept it when she left her room. Someone doing a thorough search could find it, but at least she wasn’t making it easy to take a quick peek while she was out.

  They took the same seats as the time before, with Aaron in the back. Dallas turned to him. “Are you feeling better?” She hadn’t seen him since driving him home from the clinic the day before.

  “Fine as frog’s hair.”

  She laughed at the expression. “I’ve never heard that. Is it regional?”

  “It’s from the past, and you’re making me feel old.”

  “Sorry.”

  Luke pulled out onto the road. “We appreciate Aaron’s experience and wish more middle-aged people would join JRN. Seniors too. Everyone knows someone in jail or who does drugs and could have gone to prison just as easily.”

  Dallas started to mention her father, then choked it back. Now that he was dead, it was harder to think about him. “I saw on the website that JRN is staging a protest in Richmond today. Is that where we’re going?”

  Luke spoke over his shoulder. “Yes, we plan to hijack the governor’s speech with our own message, like last time.”

  “Only we have another surprise for him.” Abby turned in her seat and grinned. “You know how I want to raise the stakes? We begin today with your burglary skills.”

  A wave of apprehension washed over Dallas. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We need you to open a locked garage door, so Cree can break into the governor’s car.”

  “And do what?”

  Abby held up a packet of white powder. “This is meth, and you’re going to plant it in his glove box.”

  That was why she had the drugs. Devious!

  Abby handed the tiny plastic pouch to Dallas. “Maybe getting arrested for possession and having a felony conviction will convince the governor that something needs to change.”

  Dallas couldn’t argue. Drager wanted her to steer the group into something even more radical, so it would seem bizarre to protest this, then later suggest a home invasion. “How will you arrange for him to get stopped and searched?”

  “Easy,” Luke said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Governor Slaybaugh likes to drink at a downtown bar called Mac’s. We’ll call in a drunk driving report on his license plate, which he deserves, and the police will handle the rest.”

  “Where do you get all this information?”

  “From the JRN network. The organization has people everywhere, and we tap into the database and connect with members who can help us.”

  Did those activists know what the inner circle was up to? Dallas tucked the packet of meth into her jeans pocket, wondering if she would have an opportunity to ditch it. “What does Slaybaugh drive and where will it be parked?”

  “A 2009 charcoal-grey Bentley. We believe it will be in a private VIP garage connected to the convention center.” Abby pulled out a map that looked like it had been printed from an online site, then pointed to a central location. “This is the building where the speech will be held, and the VIP parking is this locked area here. The van will be down the street at the mall.”

  Dallas didn’t see how they would get away with it. “His vehicle probably has an alarm.”

  “Cree will be with you, and he’ll jam the RF, disabling the car’s locks and the alarm.”

  “What’s my role?”

  “To get into the back area of the building and pick the lock on the door to the VIP garage.” Abby’s voice challenged her. “You can do it, can’t you?”

  “Probably, but why I do I have to carry the drugs?”

  Abby chuckled. “You’re the newbie. That’s how it goes.”

  Cree patted her leg. “Don’t worry. We’ll be in and out. Piece of cake.”

  Dallas wished she’d known the whole plan before she’d called Drager the day before. Getting arrested in Virginia for drugs could be devastating. What if she just said no? Again, she thought it would seem weird if she refused this somewhat minor thing, then suggested something more criminal later.

  Luke spoke up. “Tara, don’t forget there will be protestors, and we’ll be messing with the sound system, so the security will be distracted.” Luke looked back over his shoulder. “We wouldn’t ask you to do this if we thought you’d get caught.” He pulled onto Highway 95, heading south this time.

  “I’m good with it.” It was time to put Drager’s plan in motion. “In fact, I’m surprised you guys don’t have something bigger planned.”

  Abby, still turned in her seat to face the team, smiled at Dallas for the first time in days. “I like your thinking. Remember, I said that the other night too.”

  “That’s what got me going on it.” Dallas paused, not wanting to seem too eager. “Senator Ray Pearlman seems like the biggest obstacle to justice reform.” She started to say more, then backed off. This had to seem like their idea.

  “He definitely is,” Abby said. “JRN members have been bombarding him with emails and case histories of devastated families, but nothing has moved him an inch toward reform.”

  “Have you looked for weaknesses?”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “You mean like something we could blackmail him with?”

  “Or use as leverage.”

  Cree’s leg vibrated beside her. “The pot decriminalization legislation comes up for a vote Friday. If we could pressure Pearlman to support it, I think it might pass. That could change everything.”

  “Pass in the Senate, you mean.” Dallas thought it seemed like a long shot, but JRN had been working on the issue for years.

  “Yes, but that makes it a legitimate idea, and that’s how the revolution starts.” Cree was more animated than she’d seen him so far.

  “Pearlman has a weakness,” Luke said, suddenly. “A little terrier that he loves more than his wife.”

  Dallas tried not to laugh. “A dog-napping?”

  “Why not?” Abby blurted. “If we take the dog, he’ll vote the way we want and encourage his pals to vote with him. Then we give the pooch back. No harm done.” She glanced at Dallas and mumbled, “Unlike what happened to Treck.”

  Everyone ignored the comment.

  “I like the idea.” Luke tapped the steering wheel. “It’s time to be more aggressive. But we don’t have to actually take the dog. We can just send a video from inside his house.”

  “What about his wife?” Abby asked. “Stella Pearlman is the chairwoman of that damn group that’s opposing everything JRN does. We should threaten her instead. That way we get both of them to back down at the same time.”

  “No!” Luke snapped his head toward Abby. “We’re not threatening a person, especially not in their own home. It’s the same as kidnapping and carries a very long prison sentence.”

  Dallas felt relieved. She wanted Drager to get the big bust he was after for this investigation, but she kind of liked these people and their cause. Sending them all to prison for decades didn’t seem right. Plus she was glad Luke wasn’t a kidnapper. Then she remembered the dead judge. And the cyber theft. Stealing campaign funds was dirty business even if they didn’t keep the money, so they had to be stopped. But no matter what happened, she wouldn’t walk away from this one feeling good.

  Cree asked, “So we would take the dog when no one was home?”

  “Yes,” Luke said. “Minimizing our risk.”

&nb
sp; Dallas had planted the seed and nudged them toward a major crime—now she needed details to report. “If the dog is inside and they have an alarm, how will we pull it off?”

  Cree held out an electrical gadget a little larger than a cell phone. “This little baby will deactivate almost any alarm. It’s how we’re getting into the governor’s car today.”

  “We should do the dognapping Friday morning.” Abby was clearly excited. “The decriminalization vote is that afternoon.”

  “We’ll look into it and find out what their schedule is,” Luke said. “But it does seem like an ideal opportunity.”

  Dallas itched to relay the intel to Drager.

  Two hours later, they parked at the edge of a mall in downtown Richmond. Blocks away, a crowd gathered outside the Convention Center. A few had signs, and some were seated, waiting.

  Luke checked his cell phone. “The luncheon and speech start in twenty-five minutes. The protestors will begin chanting and enter the building about five minutes after he starts speaking. We need to all be in place before then.” Like the previous time, he laid out a map of the area and blueprints of building, then walked them through the plan.

  “Why are we going in a locked door at the side instead of using the front like the guests?” Dallas asked.

  “Because this is a private event, and we need to access the back part of the building.” Luke gave her a quick smile. “You can do this, right?”

  Dallas nodded. She was good with picks but not a pro. It all depended on the complexity of the system.

  From the back seat, Aaron called out, “Get going. I need to focus.”

  “Let me find their system before I take off. I’m faster than you are.” Cree reached over the seat and took Aaron’s laptop. Two minutes later, he announced, “I’m in,” and handed it back. “Let’s go, Tara. We have to get inside and find the door to the VIP parking.”

  Dallas climbed out of the van, ready to stretch her legs. Patches of blue sky broke out between the clouds, and the Richmond downtown seemed clean and quaint. She spotted a police officer on the perimeter of the protest crowd, and the adrenaline started to flow. Cree hopped out behind her, zipped his jacket, and moved toward the street. Dallas hurried to get in step with him.

  “Should we split up before we get there?” She wanted to get the meth out of her pocket. But if she did, would she be able to fake planting it in the glove box? Or would Cree be standing right there watching?

  “Just walk ahead of me, until we get into the alley,” he urged.

  She picked up her pace, glancing at the businesses and scanning for places to duck into later, if necessary. She crossed Marshall Street, noticed the growing crowd of protestors, and turned left. A half block later, she ducked into an alley, as they’d planned. They didn’t want to be seen together. Green trash bins dotted the narrow pass-through, begging her to ditch the meth. But Cree was right behind her, and there was no way to be subtle about dumping the drugs. It was probably too soon anyway. Cree might ask to see the packet at some point. She told herself it would be okay. The bureau would get her out of anything messy.

  An employee leaned against the back door of a restaurant, smoking. Dallas nodded, pulled out her phone, and looked down at it as she passed. At the end, the alley intersected with another walkway that ran alongside the Convention Center property. Dallas went left again and crossed to the other side. She glanced around, didn’t see anyone, then quickly scaled the six-foot cinderblock wall. Dropping down on the other side, she landed on a soft strip of grass at the edge of a courtyard. The few outdoor tables were empty, and she dashed across the flagstone to the door leading into the building. She glanced up. No security camera, which wasn’t surprising. The meeting hall likely didn’t keep cash or valuables and wasn’t attractive to thieves. Bending over, she examined the lock. A combination keypad and standard keyhole. Most employees—if they ever came out here—probably keyed in a code, but the standard bolt lock ensured entry into the building if the power went out.

  The tall concrete barrier around the courtyard gave her privacy, but as she pulled out her B&E tools, her pulse escalated. The meth in her pocket would get her more time in jail than breaking in. Fortunately, Tara Adams didn’t really exist.

  Cree dropped over the wall with a light thud. Dallas glanced back at him, then started on the lock, choosing a tool with a sharp double bend. She visualized the internal mechanism, then worked the pick in a side-to-side motion, hoping to catch both prongs.

  “How’s it going?” Cree was suddenly beside her, light on his feet for a man.

  “I don’t know yet.

  He stood right behind her, looking over her shoulder. “You have to hurry.”

  “Give me a minute. Sometimes this is about patience and luck.”

  She was rusty, and it took longer than she expected. In the afternoon sun, her sweater was too warm, and sweat broke out on her forehead. But the bolt finally retracted. She held open the door for Cree. “Lead the way.”

  “You rock.” Another fist bump as he walked past and stepped inside.

  The door opened into a small foyer with hallways leading in two directions. The sound of a heat pump came from a nearby room, but otherwise the back of the building was quiet. The muffled sound of a roomful of voices drifted down the hall to the right.

  Cree stopped and checked the time on his cell phone. “The speech has started, and Aaron should be cutting into it any minute. Let’s move slowly until we hear the protestors trying to push through the front door. The police will try to stop them, and it will get loud. That will be our best opportunity.” He turned to the left. “This way.”

  Dallas followed, worried about the meth in her pocket and whether she would have to leave it in an innocent man’s car just to keep her cover. She would inform Drager, and hopefully the bureau could take care of it. After another turn, they spotted a steel door. A security guard stood near it.

  She froze and so did Cree. They both took a step back behind the blind corner. Once they were out of sight, they turned to hide their faces, but didn’t retreat.

  Cree checked his cell phone again and held up two fingers.

  Two minutes? Dallas’ nerves were humming. She hadn’t expected a security guard. Now she just wanted to get the hell out.

  Muffled shouting came from the front of the building. Officers yelled, “Get back!” and chanters shouted, “No prison for profit!” Nearby, footsteps pounded away from them.

  Dallas peeked around the corner. The security guard had bolted toward the action.

  She hurried to the metal door with Cree right on her heels. After examining the lock, she pulled out her picks and selected one with a zigzag head that she’d never used before. Dallas slipped it into the opening, pressed left, and jiggled it.

  An alarm blared.

  “Oh fuck!” Dallas spun around.

  Cree was already running back the way they’d come, his pack bouncing. Dallas sprinted after him, heart pounding. Maybe with all the commotion of the hijacked sound system and protestors storming the entrance, no one would check the doors. Maybe they would think the alarm had been set purposefully as a distraction. She rounded the corner and spotted the courtyard door showing beyond the outline of Cree’s back. They just needed to get outside and over the wall.

  The same security guard came barreling toward them. “Stop!”

  Ahead of her, Cree grabbed the door handle, yanked it open, and sprinted through without looking back. The door started to close. Dallas lunged for it and missed. It slammed shut, and the guard grabbed her by the shoulder.

  Chapter 16

  Tuesday, Oct. 7, 8:45 a.m.

  Drager scooted through security and hurried to his workstation in the DC field office on 4th Street. A few blocks away, fellow agents worked at the bureau’s headquarters, handling national crises. As much as he’d always wanted to be part of the Critical Incident Operations Unit, he’d never put in the extra hours required to advance. Instead, he’d spent evenings and w
eekends with his son, and he had no regrets. But now Kyle was in college, his marriage seemed to be over, and he was free to dedicate as much time to his job as he was willing. Only now, he was tired and didn’t care if he got promoted. He loved his work, that wouldn’t change, but some cases were less interesting than others. This one, Freeman, had started slow, with the UC needing months to work her way in, but now it was rapidly picking up steam and could become a major takedown for him.

  At his desk, he checked his email and voicemail. A message from Sergeant Murphy at the MPD homicide unit: “The Bidwell task force is meeting in an hour. I’ll send you a brief if you can’t make it.”

  Yeah, right. He would be there, and Murphy knew it. His desk phone rang, an internal call from the reception clerk. “Drager here.”

  “I have Senator Pearlman on the line. He wants to report a cyber theft.”

  What the heck? He needed to talk to Pearlman anyway.

  Before he could respond, the clerk continued, “I know it’s not your department, but he suspects an activist group, so I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Put him through.”

  “Agent Drager? This is Senator Ray Pearlman. I just learned that two hundred grand and change has been hijacked from my campaign account!”

  “How?” Bank security was tighter than a duck’s ass.

  “Someone impersonating a bank employee called my campaign manager, who then sent an email with passcode information to my assistant. The idiot.” Pearlman’s disgust was evident. “The scammers must have intercepted the email, because the money was transferred to a Swiss account this morning. My bank is investigating, but I want the FBI on this too.” The senator went back to being outraged. “I think it’s the same group that sabotaged Congressman Bletzo’s fundraiser last week. The pricks have also bombarded my email account and messed with my website. They have to be stopped!”

  “We’re working on it. Send me an itinerary of your events, so we can get field officers out there.”