Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  “UPS,” Bailey said, before Thorpe could announce they were feds.

  The door opened, and Bailey stepped into the woman’s line of sight. “Jia Crusher?”

  “Yes. Who are you?” Mrs. Crusher was delicately beautiful, with mixed Asian and European facial features.

  “Agent Bailey, FBI. Can I come in?”

  Mrs. Crusher’s lips trembled. “Why are you here?”

  “We have questions about the Palisades Mine.” Bailey wanted to ease into this. If she began by accusing her husband of kidnapping, the woman might shut down.

  Thorpe stepped out so Mrs. Crusher could see him too.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know anything about it. You’ll have to talk to my husband.”

  “Where is he?” Bailey asked.

  “Up at the mine. If you’ll excuse me.” She pushed the door to close it.

  Bailey stuck her foot into the space and pushed back. “Are you aware that several scientists are missing?”

  Jia Crusher blinked rapidly and backed up. “No. What does that have to do with me?”

  “We’d like to come in and explain.” Bailey leaned against the door and the woman stepped back into the house, allowing Bailey and then Thorpe inside. Bailey resisted the urge to pull her weapon. She assumed Thorpe had his in his hand.

  “I’m going to call Shawn and ask him to come down here.” Mrs. Crusher turned toward the desk near the bay window.

  “No, you’re not!” Bailey shouted. “Sit down!”

  The woman spun back, eyes wide with fear.

  Bailey pointed at the couch. As Mrs. Crusher eased onto it, Thorpe moved behind Bailey and stood where he could see out the front window.

  “We need your help,” Bailey said, as she pulled out the coffee table and sat on it. “People have been kidnapped, and it’s possible they’re here on this property somewhere. Or maybe at the mine.”

  “That’s just crazy.” She shook her head. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  “One disappeared from San Jose, very near your hometown of Mountain View. Another disappeared from Seattle, just over the mountains from here. We have a lot more evidence suggesting your husband is responsible, but I can’t share it with you.”

  “No.” Mrs. Crusher shook her head vigorously, just like a little kid would. “You don’t know Shawn. He’s ambitious, but he’s a good man. He donates to charity and treats his employees very well.”

  Who was she trying to convince? Bailey pressed on. “Do you know Jerry Rockwell?”

  Her face lost its color. “He worked for Shawn recently as a pilot.”

  “Worked?” Bailey needed clarification. “Past tense?”

  “He died very recently.” Mrs. Crusher rubbed her hands on her legs and wouldn’t meet Bailey’s eyes.

  Jerry Rockwell was dead? Bailey’s pulse quickened. What the hell happened? “How did he die?”

  “He went home to Alaska for a family funeral and had a heart attack.”

  Bullshit! “Your husband told you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’d like to look around.” Bailey needed a moment to process the new intel. She didn’t believe the heart attack story for a minute. Rockwell had died in a way that Crusher didn’t want his wife to know about, and that meant Crusher had probably killed him. But why? The only logical reason was that he knew Rockwell had been identified. But only people inside the bureau had that information, so someone had leaked it. What the hell? She hadn’t felt this betrayed since high school. Bailey stood, shook off her discomfort, and focused her mind. Who was working against her? No one she knew in the DC headquarters came to mind.

  Instinctively, she looked at Agent Thorpe. Was it him or someone else in the Seattle field office? Thorpe also had inside knowledge of his ex-wife’s research and schedule, so he could have facilitated her kidnapping. But his own son? What was in it for him? Maybe Thorpe hadn’t known Crusher would go that far. But still, when you made a pact with the devil . . .

  Thorpe gestured that he would search the bedrooms. Bailey turned back to Mrs. Crusher. “Is there a basement?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve only been here a few days. Before that I only saw the place when we bought it.”

  She tried to calculate whether the woman would run or try to inform her husband. Bailey strode over to the desk and scooped up Mrs. Crusher’s phone. “Sit on the couch and don’t move until we’re done.”

  The woman bit her lip but sat down again. Bailey hurried into the kitchen and moved quickly through it to the garage. A big black SUV and not much else. She glanced inside the car and didn’t see anything, not even a scrap of trash. The door was locked, so she let it go for the moment. Crusher had probably been smart enough not to use his personal vehicle for any of the crimes, and Bailey was looking for captive human beings. She spotted a few packing boxes on the cement floor, but they were empty. A quick search of the floor and perimeter indicated there wasn’t an access point to a basement. Back in the kitchen, she opened all the bottom cupboards, most of which were also empty. She felt around each one, looking for latches or places where the wood or drywall might give a little. Nothing. Bailey knelt on the floor and inspected it the same way. The vinyl was worn and faded, but it didn’t have any obvious trapdoor openings. Mrs. Crusher hadn’t moved but tears ran down her face now. Bailey headed for the bedroom, where she heard Thorpe opening drawers.

  Thorpe turned as she walked in. “I can’t find any hidden compartments.”

  “The victims aren’t here. They’re at the mine.” Bailey was sure of it, as she had been since she’d connected Palisades to the drugstore robbery. The question was whether she trusted Thorpe to go with her. What if he was working with Crusher? Maybe that was the only reason he’d agreed to come here with her. If she brought him along, would she end up dead and buried at the mine?

  Bailey went back to the living room and Thorpe followed. Mrs. Crusher stood when they entered. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. Why don’t I take you up to the mine? You can look around and talk to Shawn, then go find the real criminal.”

  A surge of relief washed over Bailey. With the wife along as a witness, neither Thorpe nor Crusher was likely to move against her. Still, if Thorpe was a traitor to the bureau, she couldn’t trust him to do a real search. She would have to search everything herself and be prepared to kick ass if she found anything. “Great. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 41

  They followed Mrs. Crusher’s big black vehicle up the mountain. She wouldn’t be calling ahead to warn her husband, as Bailey still had her phone in her pocket.

  Bailey wanted to confront Thorpe about the leak of Rockwell’s identification, but it would serve no purpose. If he was a mole, he would simply lie. She needed a way to test him. But she wouldn’t have time before she searched the mine. So their trip was mostly silent.

  At the gate, Mrs. Crusher got out and Bailey followed her, then watched over her shoulder as she punched in the code. The woman didn’t try to hide her number selections, so Crusher would probably change it at the first opportunity.

  “I wish you would let me call Shawn and let him know we’re here,” Mrs. Crusher whined. She’d asked for the phone as they left the house, but Bailey hadn’t even bothered to respond. Nor did she now.

  The heavy gate retracted as they got back into their cars. On the other side, the clearing was massive and stark compared to the forests and mountains beyond it. The pit itself came into view a moment later. An ugly, tapered crater that spanned the size of ten football fields. Ahead to the right was a gravel parking area filled with some of the same trucks and beat-up cars she’d seen leaving town that morning. Beyond the vehicles was a series of buildings, including a giant structure that looked like a convoluted set of silos and conveyor belts. The task of searching the property suddenly seemed overwhelming. Bailey wished she had a team of
agents.

  Even if she did, Crusher could still turn them away. Without a search warrant, they would be trespassing. She didn’t care about the legality, but if Crusher and his employees had weapons and tried to defend the property, the technicalities could get sticky later in court. Especially if they failed to find the kidnapping victims.

  Mrs. Crusher parked and scurried toward a small building in front. Thorpe shut off his engine and said softly, “How far are we going to push this?”

  He’d either been thinking along the same lines or wanted her to back off.

  “Let’s see how Crusher responds and whether he has weapons.”

  “I don’t expect that. If Dana and Garrett are here, Crusher will either turn us away or run.”

  Bailey reached for her door handle. “Let’s go find out.”

  The first building, a mix of cedar and corrugated metal, looked like an office with a window that viewed the crater. Mrs. Crusher had already hurried inside. Bailey picked up her pace, weapon at her side. She climbed the short wooden steps and pushed through the door. A forty-something man with a potbelly was standing up behind a messy desk. He glanced at her gun as Thorpe came in the door behind her. Mrs. Crusher stood off to the side, looking uncertain.

  “What’s going on?” The man’s hands came up, open palmed.

  “We’re FBI.” Bailey holstered her Glock and stepped toward him. “Who are you?”

  “Tom Boxer. I’m the manager. What do you want here?”

  “Jia Crusher has given us permission to search this facility.”

  “For what?” His sweaty brow crinkled, and he glanced at Mrs. Crusher, then back at Bailey. “She’s not the owner, and I can’t let you wander around here without his permission.”

  “JCC Holdings is the registered business owner, and Jia Chen Crusher owns the holding company. So why don’t you step outside and take a break.”

  Mrs. Crusher spoke up. “Where’s Shawn?”

  “I’m not sure,” the manager said. “He went to check out the new extractor, but that was an hour ago.”

  “His car is still here.” The wife’s worried face seemed to tighten with every new development.

  “Shawn is probably visiting with his uncle in the caretaker’s cabin.” The manager grabbed a pack of cigarettes from his desk and bolted out the door they’d just come in.

  Mrs. Crusher trotted down a short dark hallway, and Bailey followed. As she walked across the room, Bailey called over her shoulder to Thorpe, “Search this building. I’ll stay with her.”

  If Thorpe was the leak, she was screwed no matter what happened. But if he wasn’t, they had to split up and move quickly, or they might not find Crusher before he headed for the hills. His wife passed two small rooms, both with open doors. As Bailey hurried by, she glanced in. Storage spaces stuffed with crap—tools, machinery, coveralls, boots, and paperwork. Was that a box of dynamite? Typical for a mining operation, she realized. Still, she hoped Thorpe would do his job and search both rooms thoroughly.

  They exited out a back door and crossed a small dirt area that held a chicken coop and a greenhouse. To the left, several hundred feet away, was the processing plant she’d spotted from the parking lot. An unlikely place to hold captives, especially if they needed facilities to work in. Several recreational vehicles sat alongside the tall silo: two quads, a dirt bike, and an old black Jeep with no top. Straight ahead was a narrow building with peeling horizontal siding that looked like a bunkhouse for workers. Ahead of her, Mrs. Crusher knocked on the door and called out, “Shawn!”

  Bailey stayed right behind her. She wanted to see how Crusher reacted to the news of FBI agents on the property—in the moment it happened, not after he’d had a chance to prepare. If he’d kidnapped four people and killed two, then he was probably a psychopath, on the extreme end of the antisocial spectrum. Or possibly a rare empath who’d gone off the deep end, pushed by stress or greed or raging jealousy to ignore his conscience and commit heinous acts. Mothers who killed their children came to mind.

  The door to the bunkhouse opened and Shawn Crusher stood in the frame, looking puzzled and alarmed. He also seemed older than she remembered. When his gaze focused on Bailey, his expression froze, then hardened. After a second, he forced a smile. “I know we met last week, but I can’t remember your name.”

  Bullshit. “Agent Bailey.”

  “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  “Your wife gave us permission to search the property. Please step aside and let me in.” Bailey wanted to cuff him to a chair, but she had no real reason to yet. Her priority was to find the victims, and she might need his cooperation. As soon as she located them or their holding cell, a single call would bring in local agents, cops, and the sheriff. Or, if Crusher bolted, she would have to trust them to track and apprehend him.

  “Search for what?” Crusher asked. “This is a legitimate mining operation.”

  “Kidnapping victims—as you well know.”

  He forced a laugh. “That’s crazy.”

  “Step aside.” Bailey glanced over her shoulder to see if Thorpe was coming along—either to help or to hinder.

  “My wife doesn’t have the right to give search permission, and I’m telling you no.”

  “Yes, she does.” Bailey cited the ownership paperwork again.

  Crusher grabbed his wife’s arm. “Jia, tell her to leave. This is ridiculous.”

  Mrs. Crusher jerked free. “If nothing is going on, prove it, Shawn, and be done with it for good.”

  Five long seconds passed while he weighed his options. Finally, Crusher stepped back, clearing the door. “I have nothing to hide.”

  His wife walked into the bunkhouse and Bailey followed, keeping her eye on Crusher. A big family room with fake wood paneling and scarred pine floors. Bailey glanced around, determining where to start. Her weapon was still in her right hand, and she had to keep it ready. Searching with one hand would be a pain.

  A big Asian man walked into the room. Midfifties, she guessed, with dull eyes. He must be the uncle someone had mentioned. She stepped toward him. “Who are you?”

  “Tai Ming. I live here.”

  Was he the one watching and feeding the prisoners? “Who else is here? Are you hiding some people?”

  He blinked and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Have a seat, please. I’ll have more questions for you later.” She gestured with her weapon.

  The big man complied. Crusher and his wife stood close together in the middle of the room, whispering. The scenario felt out of control, with her outnumbered. Where was Thorpe?

  Keeping one eye on the group, Bailey walked around the room, knocking on walls and listening for hollowness or a change in tone. Nothing surfaced. She visually inspected the floor and found no seams or hidden latches. After moving a TV and coffee table, she made Tai get up from the couch so she could pull it away from the wall and search behind and under it.

  As she finished, Thorpe came through the door. “There’s nothing significant in the office.”

  “Keep an eye on everyone while I search the rest of this building.”

  “Will do.” Thorpe turned to Crusher. “If you have my son, I’ll put you away for life.”

  She wasn’t a good judge of emotions, and anyone could lie, but Thorpe sounded sincere. She holstered her weapon and moved down the hall, knocking on paneling and looking for seams in the floor. The building was smaller than it had looked, with only three bedrooms and a large locker room–style bathroom and shower with an adjacent laundry room. She went through the whole space quickly, looking for the obvious, then returned to the first bedroom for a more thorough pass. Damn! She needed a whole team with crowbars to pull up the floorboards.

  After another ten minutes, Mrs. Crusher came into the room. “I think we’ve proved there’s no one els
e here. I’d like you to leave now.”

  Oh hell. How to handle this? Be assertive or appeal to her humanity? Bailey stood up. “What if they are here? What if your husband kills them later today to cover his tracks? How are you going to feel when we find the bodies later?”

  Mrs. Crusher’s lips trembled, but then her eyes flashed with anger. “You’re wrong about Shawn! Leave now or I’ll sue you for harassment.”

  Negative consequences rarely deterred Bailey, and every nerve in her body wanted to keep searching. Garrett was here! Her heart could feel it. But Bailey couldn’t risk losing her job. She would leave, but she wasn’t giving up. She would think of a way to manipulate everyone into leaving the property so she could come back secretly with a crowbar and tear the place apart. She couldn’t resist throwing another threat at Crusher’s wife. “You’ll be charged as an accessory when this blows up in your face.”

  Mrs. Crusher stood her ground, faithful to her husband. “Leave the property now.”

  Bailey wanted to smash her gun through the tiny bedroom window, just for the pleasure of hearing the glass shatter. She resisted, but the impulse gave her an idea. “Go ask your husband how Jerry Rockwell really died. We know for a fact he didn’t buy a plane ticket to Alaska or log a private flight there.”

  Mrs. Crusher glared, then hurried from the room. Bailey turned to the ancient window, unhinged the latch, and slammed her gun against it—so it wouldn’t lock again. With any luck, no one would even check it. She made a few loud tapping sounds with her weapon against a dresser to cover the first noise, then gave the room another once-over. A stained pair of pants on the floor looked too small for Uncle Tai. Who was staying in this room? She picked up a magazine from the desk. International Journal of Minerals, Metallurgy, and Materials. She couldn’t imagine Tai reading that. Had Milton Thurgood been in this room?

  Mrs. Crusher burst back in. “I want you to leave. Now!”

  Bailey shook her head. “Big mistake.” She strode down the hall, mentally cursing her failure. In the living room, Thorpe stood watch, stiff legged and silent, like a solid agent. She still didn’t know if she could trust him. “I guess we’re out of here.”