Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  “I have another half an hour, then I have to make a meeting. But I can come back late this afternoon.”

  “Great. I’ll get you set up.”

  Detective Turner stood. “I’ll photograph the drawing and send you a digital file to distribute.”

  “Thanks.” Jocelyn led Amy to a computer station and opened their mug shot database, which contained images for witnesses to peruse. “If you find him, let me know right away. I’ll be down the hall in the open workspace.”

  Back at her desk, Jocelyn checked her email. She had a message from the manager at Metro Mobile:

  The calls from 202-729-4593 were made from one of two locations: near the corner of 7th and D. NW Streets or Forest Hills Park. I hope that helps.

  The first location was downtown, and the park was in a nice neighborhood farther north. Jocelyn visualized the downtown area and tried to determine what businesses were nearby. A coffee shop and BBQ-style diner came to mind. But the man who’d killed Zach Dimizaro had wanted a microchip. He had to be someone with money, power, or knowledge. The area wasn’t far, and she had to go see it for herself. Her witness would be busy for a while and could call her if she found the guy.

  The drive took ten minutes, and while she sat in traffic, she racked her brain for where she might have seen the perp’s face. After circling the block a few times, she squeezed into a parking space not far from the corner where the calls had been made. As soon as she stepped out of her car, the connections hit her, one after another, leaving her breathless.

  FBI headquarters was two blocks away, and the perp in the sketch was a dead match for Brent Haywood, the bureau’s assistant director. Well, that didn’t help much. But the resemblance was so uncanny, she knew she’d need to look into it further or it would drive her crazy. Jocelyn fumbled to get her phone out of her pocket, then called her husband. She bounced on her feet while she waited for him to answer.

  “Hey, Jocelyn. I hope we’re still on for dinner.”

  “Ross, I need you to check something for me, and it’s a little weird.”

  “What is it?”

  “The home address of Brent Haywood, your AD.”

  A pause. “That is more than weird. I’m not sure I have access to the information. What is this about?” He was clearly worried.

  “I don’t even want to say it on the phone. But I’ll meet you outside your office. This is really important.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can find and call you back.”

  The AD a killer? It seemed ridiculous, and she had to be wrong. But then again, encryption was extremely critical to everyone right now—the NSA, the FBI, terrorists, and foreign governments too—which meant the price tag for the right software could be in the millions. And money had a way of revealing who people really were.

  CHAPTER 44

  Tuesday, March 24, 5:25 p.m., Wanapum, Washington

  Bailey paced her hotel room, trying to plot her next move. She needed to get everyone away from the mine so she could search it again. But how? Call in a fire? A more immediate concern was that Crusher or one of his thugs might have followed her back to the motel and might try to kill her again. Could she make them think she’d left town with Agent Thorpe?

  She stopped in the middle of the room. Before she could move forward, she had to know who she could trust. Everything about Thorpe’s actions and attitude seemed genuine. And the fact that his ex-wife and son were in jeopardy made him the least likely person to pass information to Crusher. Yes, families betrayed each other. But she couldn’t find a motive. And Thorpe was a long-term agent who’d been promoted to head of a field office. But if not him, then who?

  She ruled out Havi, then realized she had no reason to beyond her affection for him. She reconsidered, mentally worked through her reports to him, then realized she hadn’t discussed Rockwell’s identity with him until very recently. That left Lennard or Haywood, both also long-term, highly placed agents. Unease made her start pacing again. Which one was the most logical culprit? And how could she find out for sure?

  She recalled the meeting in Lennard’s office when she’d been assigned the case. Haywood had pushed her to investigate the Australian scientist as a serial killer. A bizarre direction to send her. Why had he even been part of the meeting? His presence had seemed wrong at the time, and now she wondered if he’d participated for the purpose of steering her away from Shawn Crusher and his rare earth mine. She’d also been pulled off the case, and Lennard had seemed uncomfortable with the decision. So it was probably Haywood. But why? It had to be about money or control. Or both.

  The assistant director? Oh hell. There was only one way to find out. And it was a risk on many levels.

  She called Agent Lennard, and her boss sounded surprised to hear from her. “Bailey. I thought you were taking some time off.”

  “I was. But there’s more to this investigation than you realize, and I couldn’t walk away from it.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Wanapum, Washington, at the Sagebrush Inn.” If her boss was the leak, a bullet might come through her door in ten minutes or less.

  “What’s going on?” The noise in the background stopped, and Lennard’s tone shifted.

  “Shawn Crusher owns a rare earth mine here, and Jerry Rockwell works for him. Or at least he used to. Rockwell supposedly died just this week, and Crusher lied to his wife about how. I have to assume someone in the FBI told Crusher his thug had been identified.”

  A long pause. “You’re working off book and leaping to conclusions.” Her voice held no conviction.

  “I figure the traitor has to be either you or Haywood. If I get fired after this conversation, I’ll know it’s you.” Bailey stopped in front of the window and peeked through the curtains. No one was out there. Lennard hadn’t cut in, so she kept going. “Analysis tells me it’s Haywood. He inserted himself into the investigation and tried to steer me away from the earth-metal connection. He’s also the one who pulled me off the case. Correct?”

  Another long silence. “I’ll see what I can find out.” Lennard abruptly hung up.

  She’d put her boss in a delicate position. But if Haywood was working both sides of the law, agents’ lives were at risk, and he had to be exposed. If Lennard handled it well, she was probably in line for the AD’s position.

  Bailey grabbed her travel bag and hurried out. If she was wrong about Lennard, she was a bull’s-eye now and had to move. Crusher might come after her even without updated information. She headed west on I-90, back the way she’d come into town. Her plan was to loop around on a back road, come into town from the other end, and find a different motel, if there was one. None of it was probably necessary. Crusher had to be busy trying to wrap things up or move his forced-labor research effort. He probably didn’t have time to send his other thug after her. Now that she knew for sure Crusher was the mastermind, she hoped to identify his hired help.

  Bailey passed the city-limit sign and glanced in her rearview mirror. Another car was back there, but in the fading light, she couldn’t tell the model. The vehicle hung back, but she kept an occasional eye on it, then turned right at the first road after the golf course. Was this the right way? GPS wasn’t helpful in this situation, because her destination was the same as the place she’d just left. Also, the road she needed to circle around on crossed the highway and ran in both directions. Signs of civilization disappeared quickly, and rocky outcroppings lined the landscape. This couldn’t be right. She was supposed to circle around the golf course and drive past the airport.

  Bailey slowed, looking for a decent place to pull a U-turn. The sun had dropped behind the mountain, and visibility was suddenly minimal. The grassy roadsides looked slick and soft, and she didn’t want to get stuck. She glanced in her mirror again, but didn’t see any lights behind her. Not finding an ideal place, she simply eased off the road and started her turn. She st
opped and backed up a few times to keep the radius tight. In the final phase of the turn, she heard another engine and jerked her head back to the road. A truck with no lights screeched to a stop thirty feet away, blocking both lanes.

  Trouble! She wanted to press the gas and blow past him, but she’d have to drive off the road. The dirt and rock and whatever else was out there in the dark could disable the car. And if the driver had a gun, she’d be an open target as she approached. Bailey threw herself sideways and grabbed her weapon from the passenger seat. A shot slammed into the windshield, cracking the glass. The bastard! Crawling on her side, she opened the passenger door, then shoved her feet out and down, keeping crouched behind the metal door. This left her ankles unprotected, but screw it—she’d rather die standing and firing than cowering in a car. Another shot shattered the passenger window just above her head. A third shot blew out a tire.

  She had to take action. Bailey straightened her legs and popped up, bringing her arms into an elevated firing position at the same time. The driver was out of the truck and coming at her. Before she could pull the trigger, a blast nailed him in the back and he stumbled, then fell, facedown. What the hell? She scanned the darkness behind the fallen man, her finger itching to use the gun. Friend or foe? Just because whoever it was had dropped her assailant didn’t mean he wouldn’t come for her. She had to wait and see. A lean figure ran alongside the truck, coming into view in her headlights.

  Dukko!

  “Are you hit?” he called out.

  “No.” Bailey’s arms relaxed, but she kept her weapon ready and stepped out from behind the car door. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your life.” He knelt down and checked the man for a pulse. “But only so you can help me find Lee Nam.”

  Bailey walked toward him. “You followed me all the way from DC?”

  “I guessed that you were flying to Seattle, then followed you from the missing scientist’s home” He stood again. “Let’s go up to the mine. Now! Kim Jong-un’s deadline is midnight, East Coast time.”

  They had less than three hours to save Jake Austin’s life and prevent whatever else KJU had in mind. Bailey glanced at the dead man. He was bigger and heavier than Crusher. She squatted down and rolled his shoulder so she could see his face. Was this the same bastard who’d tried to kill her in Seattle? He definitely was the kidnapper in the DC hotel video.

  “That’s him.” Dukko spat on the dead man. “He drugged me and took Lee Nam.”

  Bailey pulled a wallet from the corpse’s pants pocket and checked the license. Harlan Romero. She hadn’t seen his name in ZoGo’s employee files. But she was confident he worked for Crusher. She took the gun, a compact Luger, out of his still-warm hand and searched him for more ammo. There wasn’t any.

  She stood and sized up the North Korean bodyguard. He wasn’t her first choice for backup—considering what he’d done to her in DC—but he was willing and had already proven useful. He was also correct. They were nearly out of time.

  Dukko walked back the way he’d come. “We’ll take my car. Yours has a flat tire.”

  Bailey stared after him. They needed to clear out before they got stuck answering a lot of questions. But would anyone out here even report the gunshots?

  While Dukko drove, she called Thorpe, who was still on his way toward Seattle. He answered, but the connection was scratchy. “It’s Thorpe. Anything changed?”

  “One of Crusher’s thugs just tried to kill me again. We’re going back up to the mine.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “I’m with a foreign diplomat who’s looking for Lee Nam. We only have a few hours before the execution deadline.”

  “What makes you think the missing North Korean is with Dana and Garrett?” A car rushed by in the background, making Thorpe hard to hear.

  Bailey gave him the basics. “The thug who kidnapped Lee Nam is the same guy who just shot at me. So yes, the kidnappings are connected, and we have probable cause.”

  “I’m turning around to head your way. I’ll call in a team too.”

  Bailey hung up, her throat dry and thirsty. She asked Dukko if he had any water.

  “In the back.”

  She reached over the seat, found a bag with beef jerky and water, then gulped down half a bottle.

  “Who’s Crusher?” Dukko made the first turn off the main road.

  “Shawn Crusher, CEO of ZoGo, a phone manufacturer. I think he’s trying to produce more of the metals he needs and to develop a new one.”

  “Why did he take Lee Nam?”

  Bailey had given that some thought. “Encryption is a critical issue. Consumers want it, but law enforcement hates it. Since Crusher has your guy, he obviously wants to embed his product with the best security available.”

  “So he kidnapped him?”

  She couldn’t resist. “Isn’t that how your government operates?”

  Dukko didn’t rise to the bait.

  “We need to form a plan,” she said.

  Dukko glanced at her. “We take Crusher hostage and torture him until he tells us where the victims are.”

  She liked his determination, but it wouldn’t be that simple. “I think they’re underground. And if Crusher is with them, your plan won’t work. We have to find the access, and I’ve already looked once. Briefly.”

  “I will find it.”

  “Are you an expert at hiding prisoners?”

  “We don’t hide prisoners. We make examples of them.” His voice was cold.

  Bailey turned back to the issue. “I’m sure the access is in the bunkhouse. That’s why the old guy is there, to keep an eye on them.”

  Dukko looked over again. “I lied. We do hide people sometimes. So I’ll check closets and utility rooms first.”

  CHAPTER 45

  An hour earlier

  When Shawn reached town, he pulled into the parking lot behind the feed store and called Harlan. While the phone rang, he played out scenarios of how they would trick, shoot, and bury Agent Bailey. Well, not bury. That took too much time, and there were plenty of remote places to dump her body. He really hoped Harlan had already done the shooting. The call went to voice mail. Shawn cursed and put down the phone. He would give Harlan twenty minutes. If he didn’t hear from him by then, Shawn would head straight back to the mine.

  The wait seemed to go on forever. Shawn checked his phone and realized he hadn’t noted the time earlier. Fuck! Had Harlan been killed by the agent? He couldn’t think about that right now. But if it was true, he had to get back up to the mine immediately.

  Shawn got on the road, and as soon as he cleared city limits he pushed the accelerator as hard as he could. This phase of the project was making him a nervous wreck, and he was desperate for it to be over. The new material, which would be used mostly in the speakers and microphones, would go into production within a few weeks, the mine was producing most of the other elements he needed, and the new-generation phones would start rolling out soon after. The encryption wasn’t that critical—at least not to him. As long as he had some password-protection software installed, most customers would be happy. ZoGo would soon be the only US company making phones people could afford. The only sticking point—besides the people in the basement—was his backer. Max wanted the unbreakable encryption ASAP. Shawn was starting to think the software was just a commodity to him. Something to sell to the highest bidder.

  At Palisades, the sun was dropping, the parking lot was empty, and the processing plant was still. The quiet bothered him. They’d been operating eighteen hours a day for months, and this would be a setback. Shawn pulled the gun from the glove box, tucked it into the back of his pants, and hurried down the dark dirt-and-gravel path to the bunkhouse. Halfway there, he stopped. He needed supplies. First, the phosphine gas. A few canisters were left over from when they’d used it to kill the rodents that had made nests in the b
uildings when the mine was shut down.

  He crossed the open space, entered the shack behind the processing plant, and picked up a large red canister. All he had to do was open a valve, run for the door, and let the lethal stuff flow into the bomb shelter. He backtracked to the office and found a box of dynamite in the storage room. Wishing he’d brought a backpack or bag, he picked up four sticks and shoved two into each jacket pocket. Would that be enough? Gas, gun, dynamite. Feeling ready, Shawn hurried out the back door.

  Moonlight reflected off the plastic greenhouse as he crossed the yard between the buildings. The openness made him feel vulnerable. Shawn looked around. No one was watching. He turned his gaze to the bunkhouse. A large shape on the right caught his eye. A car! Who the hell was here? He ran over and ducked behind the chicken coop. Was it Bailey? Why hadn’t Harlan called and warned him? Shawn poked his head out and tried to determine the type and color of the vehicle. Oh shit! It was Jia’s Escalade. What the hell was his wife doing here?

  Maybe she’d come to say good-bye to Uncle Tai before driving back down south. That was the only possibility that made sense. Unless she doubted him and . . . Shawn wouldn’t let himself think it. He sprinted to the bunkhouse and bolted inside. No one was in the living room, and the building was quiet. Uncle Tai’s things were gone, and Jia was nowhere in sight. Panic flooded his chest, making it hard to breathe. No! No! No! he screamed silently as he ran down the hall to the laundry room.

  The trapdoor was partially open. A string of curses flew from his mouth in a repetitious pattern as he pounded down the stairs, still carrying the gas canister and dynamite. He stopped in the tunnel just outside the bomb shelter door. What now? If Jia was in there, could he convince her everything would work out? Shawn put down the canister and felt in his pocket for the ski mask. He didn’t have it! Damn! He looked behind him in the tunnel and on the stairs and didn’t see it. Just stop! It didn’t matter now. Letting the captives go wasn’t an option anymore. Federal agents had been to the mine. The released mother and son would tell their story, and the feds would come back. If they found a single fiber of DNA belonging to either of the kidnapping victims, it was over for him. Life in prison. That was also not an option. He couldn’t live in a cell with a bunch of common criminals. Until this moment, he hadn’t let himself consider the possibility.