The Imposter's Trail (The Sean Kruger Series Book 3)

by J. C. Fields

  Kruger chuckled. “I have this funny feeling JR could bring the whole system down, and no one would know who did it.”

  Joseph half smiled. “Remember the four-hour interruption of trading on the New York Stock Exchange a few months back?”

  Both Seltzer and Kruger nodded. Seltzer said, “Yeah, they blamed it on a software upgrade. Was that JR?”

  “Yes. One of the companies JR consults for was working with the Exchange to upgrade their security. Someone in the company’s IT department told him they succeeded in making the Exchange safe from hacking without his input. JR proved her wrong.”

  They ordered dinner, and the conversation turned to more mundane topics. After the waiter took the dishes away, Joseph swirled the ice cubes in his glass. “Sean, there’s a reason you were named to head this new endeavor.”

  Kruger raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “I’m not getting any younger. I need someone available to take my place, should something happen.”

  Frowning, Kruger looked at his old mentor. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that someone needs to understand what I do and be prepared to carry on. That’s all.”

  “Does anyone, besides yourself, know what you do?”

  “The President.”

  “Who besides the President?”

  “No one, except maybe the Director of the CIA and Paul Stumpf. Lawrence Osborne will be the third chief executive I’ve served in my current capacity.”

  Neither Kruger nor Seltzer spoke.

  “When the President asked you to do a few things for him while you thought you were retired, what do you think he was doing?”

  Kruger shook his head.

  “He was making sure you were the right person to take my place.”

  “What exactly do you do, Joseph?”

  The older man smiled. “I help make problems go away. Actually I don’t, but my team does.”

  “What type of problems?”

  Joseph turned his drink tumbler clockwise, then he turned it counter-clockwise. “During the administrations prior to Osborne, my team was utilized mostly overseas. But since Afghanistan, the military has finally figured it out and increased the number of Special Forces personnel. Plus, they have improved their training. My team isn’t needed as much anymore. However, Special Forces can’t be used inside the United States. The Posse Comitatus Act prohibits the use of military force as a law enforcement agency. Since I was originally with the CIA, our, let’s say, missions were always under their jurisdiction. We are and will remain independent. I answer only to the President. Because of the domestic aspect of our new mission, it was decided to bring in an agent with the FBI. You will officially remain an agent, but, like myself, you will only answer to the President.”

  Kruger stared at Joseph, his eyes blinking more rapidly than normal.

  Joseph smiled. “That was why you were never officially classified as retired. It’s also why all of the specialists with my team were transferred to the Coast Guard. Even though the Coast Guard is unaware of their status.”

  “Why the Coast Guard?” Seltzer spoke for the first time during this part of the conversation.

  “Because the Coast Guard falls under the jurisdiction of Homeland Security and has domestic law enforcement capabilities within the United States.”

  “Very neat, Joseph, very neat.” Kruger’s frown increased. “Exactly what will this team do moving forward?”

  Joseph looked Kruger in the eyes. “When JR finds a problem and local law enforcement is outmatched, or calling in the FBI would create a media circus, your new team will handle it. They will go in, take care of it and be gone. The team can be on the scene in less than four hours anywhere in the country. Usually a lot faster.”

  “What about the rights of the person we’re concerned about?”

  “That’s one of the reasons you’re being placed in this position. Your experience with psychotic criminals may help you determine if someone has the potential to walk into a crowded church and start spraying the faithful with an AR-15. You will be the individual who decides to send in the team. At that point, the situation will have deteriorated to where the individual or group of individuals has already forfeited their rights.”

  Kruger sat back in his chair. He looked at Seltzer and then at Joseph. He brought his hand up to cover his eyes. Shaking his head, all he could say was, “Ah… Geez.”

  ***

  Stephanie Harris-Kruger smiled. “I think you should do it.”

  Kruger was pacing. He stopped, shook his head slightly, and stared at her. “What?”

  “I think you should do it. You’ll be perfect.”

  “Do you realize what you’re saying?” He paused briefly. “I would have to determine if someone should be arrested or ignored. If I send in the team, someone could die.” He stared at her and started pacing again. “Do you understand the consequences of that responsibility?”

  She smiled. “I know you would agonize over the decision, and you wouldn’t make it until you were certain.” She stood, placed her hand on his chest to stop his pacing. She looked into his eyes. “I would rather see someone like you making those decisions than some faceless technician in a basement office somewhere in Washington, D.C.”

  He relaxed. “I guess…” He paused briefly, searching for the correct words. “Maybe I’ve lost confidence in myself.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you have. It’s my fault. I’ve put a lot of pressure on you to not travel.”

  Shaking his head, Kruger hugged her. “No, that was my decision. I don’t want to be away from you and Kristin.” He grew quiet, turned his head, and stared out the window of their bedroom. “I missed eighty percent of Brian’s childhood. Most fathers don’t get a second chance. I’m not going to repeat the mistake with Kristin.”

  “Sean, I’m not going to let you repeat it either. But,” she paused and smiled, “you are bored to tears with teaching. When you retired from the FBI last year, something changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but you don’t laugh as hard. You don’t sleep well anymore and you don’t jump out of bed with… I don’t know, the enthusiasm you did when we first met. I’ve felt like a small part of you died when you retired. Does that make sense?”

  Still staring out the window, he just nodded, but remained quiet.

  “I’ve been a little selfish, too. I can deal with you traveling. I just don’t like being away from you. When we both traveled so much those first years, I was miserable when we were apart. Even my friends at work noticed it.” She stopped and hugged him tighter. “Don’t worry, I’ll remind you if the traveling gets out of hand. But I don’t think you’ll let it.”

  She fell silent and put her cheek against his chest. They stayed like that for several minutes.

  He stopped staring out the window and kissed the top of her head. “Not sure what I would do without you.”

  Chapter 12

  West of Atlanta, GA

  Randolph Bishop stood at the library window and watched Judith Day get into her car parked in the circle drive of the mansion. His eyes were narrow, and his brow was furrowed. As the therapist’s Audi moved forward and headed toward the gated entrance, he briefly thought about not allowing her to leave. The thought was quickly dismissed. Now was not the time to panic. When the car was out of sight, he headed down the stairs to the basement.

  He opened the soundproof room where Stephen Blair lay dosing on a mattress. Bishop turned on the overhead lights and waited for Blair to stir. It took several minutes, but the groggy captive leaned up on one elbow and stared at Bishop.

  “What do you want?”

  “How long has Zimmerman been discussing having a therapist talk to you?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Bishop smiled grimly. “Are you sure you want to lie to me? Camila won’t like it.”

  Taking a deep breath, Blair exhaled. “He started talking about it several months ago.”

  Bisho
p ran toward the mattress and kicked Blair in the stomach. He screamed, “Why didn’t you tell me? You fool, you’ve screwed everything up.”

  Gasping for air, Blair stared up at Bishop, but stayed quiet.

  “She was here. She knows.”

  Blair shook his head and continued to gasp for air. In between labored breaths he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Knows what?”

  “I’m not you.”

  ***

  Judith Day nervously pulled out of the circle drive and drove to the front gate and waited anxiously for it to open. To her relief, it did. She drove straight to Zimmerman’s luxury condominium in the Buckhead district and let herself in. After pouring two fingers of scotch into a glass, she downed it in one gulp. She sat at the kitchen table and pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She found the number she wanted and pressed the call icon. It was answered on the second ring.

  “How did it go?”

  She briefly hesitated. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had a therapy session quite like it.”

  Zimmerman was quiet for a few moments. “I’m not sure how to take that. What happened?”

  “Well…” She didn’t finish her sentence. “Let’s say, he wasn’t what I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s on the edge. He’s a volcano ready to explode. There’s no way he has scopophobia. He’s more psychotic than anything. He scared the hell out of me.”

  “Judith, you are a seasoned therapist. You’ve seen a lot of psychosis. What made this so different?”

  “Not sure. His eyes got to me. They stare right through you. I’m not sure how to describe them, but the word evil comes to mind.”

  “Judith, Stephen is a gentle soul, there is nothing evil about him. He has his challenges about being in public, but I’ve never heard him to say anything threatening or antagonistic.”

  “Tom, I did not detect one symptom of scopophobia. He looked straight at me the entire time, never sweated, wasn’t short of breath and enunciated his words perfectly. He looks different from the picture you showed me. He looks ten years older and a lot heavier. It was…” She hesitated briefly. “Creepy.”

  “Should we be worried?”

  “We should get the hell out of town, is what we should do.”

  Zimmerman was quiet for a long time. “You’re exaggerating, Judith.”

  “No, I am not, Thomas. He has either lost it, or it was someone impersonating him, which I know sounds crazy.”

  “So you think we’re too late?”

  “I would say so. Thomas, I’m not going back. I will only see him in a professional setting with bodyguards.”

  “I doubt he will agree to that.”

  “Don’t care. Those are my conditions.”

  “Very well, I’ll see what he says in the morning during our call.”

  ***

  After the conference room emptied and Thomas was alone with the computer. “How did your therapy session go yesterday, Stephen?”

  “You know exactly how it went, Thomas. You sent her to spy on me. She’s no therapist. You’re trying to have me declared incompetent, aren’t you?”

  Zimmerman took a quick breath, then calmed himself before he spoke. “Stephen, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. She has over twenty years of experience.”

  “She’s a charlatan, a fraud. I know what your plans are, Thomas. I’m way ahead of you. I’ve agreed to sell my shares to a private equity company. You’ll be out of a job soon.”

  Zimmerman stared at the screen. Stephen’s image was in shadows, but he could almost see the manic expression on the man’s face.

  “Stephen, the board of directors has to agree to any stock transfer, you know that.”

  “Not so, Thomas, I own fifty one percent of the outstanding shares. I can sell them without approval from anyone. It’s a cash deal, and I’m not going to tell you when it will be finalized. For all you know, it might be tomorrow. What do you think about that?”

  “I wish you would have consulted us. We might have found a way to buy your shares. You never mentioned an interest in selling.”

  Zimmerman heard a laugh that curled the hair on the back of his neck.

  “No, Thomas, you would not have bought them. You were going to have me declared incompetent and stolen them. Your plan backfired.”

  The screen went blank as the connection ended. Sitting back in his chair, Thomas stared at the blank screen and put his hand on his forehead. Slowly, he pushed his hair back.

  ***

  Bishop slammed the laptop closed. He stood and started pacing the mansion’s library. His path took him from the desk to the picture window overlooking the circle drive and back. His breathing was rapid and uncontrolled. After several minutes, he stopped, placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. After closing his eyes, the breathing slowed. It took several more minutes, but a calmness spread over him as he stood up straight.

  He went back around the desk and opened the laptop. It was time to finalize his transition to Stephen Blair and move on with his plan. Stephen would pay for his sin of forgetting to tell Bishop about the therapist.

  ***

  “By the way, Stephen, I have some news for you.”

  Blair stared at the ceiling, and Bishop could not tell if he was cognizant or just ignoring him. The room smelled of unwashed male body, sour urine, and garbage. Plates with uneaten food lay strewn about

  “Kind of stinks in here, Stephen. You should take better care of yourself.” Bishop paused. No reaction from Blair. He continued, “It’s amazing what one can do on the internet. Did you know with the right amount of money you can buy a car, have it delivered, and never leave the house? Amazing. Oh, by the way, you bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee this morning. They delivered it an hour ago.”

  Blair continued to stare at the ceiling.

  “I have a few loose ends to tie up before I successfully take over your life, Stephen. Which means I need to be in and out for the next few days. Since there won’t be anyone to take care of you...”

  Blair turned his head slightly, his blank stare focused on Bishop.

  “That got your attention, didn’t it? You see, the lovely Ms. Camila isn’t here anymore. She’s at the bottom of Lake Lanier. Her car missed a turn and, well, she didn’t make it.

  A tear formed in Blair’s eye and rolled down his face.

  “I haven’t decided what to do with your body yet. Would you rather be buried in the woods somewhere or join Camila in the lake?”

  Blair returned to staring at the ceiling.

  “You don’t have to make the decision yet. We have a few days.” He laughed, closed the door, and walked up the stairs.

  ***

  Bishop parked the new Jeep Grand Cherokee in the Park Ride Lot A at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. A shuttle bus delivered him, with his empty carry-on bag, to the north terminal. Without hesitation, he walked past the ticketing gates and headed toward the Sky Train. Ten minutes later he was showing his Everett Stewart passport and Australian driver’s license to a young black female with mid-length tightly curled hair.

  “How long will you be needing the rental car,” she paused and looked at his passport, “Mr. Stewart?”

  “At least two days, maybe three. Let’s say three to be safe.”

  “Very well, I have a Toyota Camry available. Will that work?”

  “Very nicely, thank you.”

  Twenty minutes later, Bishop left the airport property and headed north on I-85 toward the Buckhead district in northeast Atlanta.

  Chapter 13

  Springfield, MO

  The nondescript three-story building near the resurgent downtown area was, at one time, an apartment building. Now, after being purchased by JR Diminski, it was a multi-purpose building, housing his business and his residence. The first floor was utilized as reception, office space and storage. It was seldom used except for a receptionist who was only there during normal work hours Monday through Friday. She was JR’s right han
d and took care of everything business-wise, scheduling, billing, collections, and on the rare occasion when JR left town, his travel arrangements. Her name was Jodi Roberson. She was in her late-forties, round-faced, with nicely styled short brownish hair transitioning to gray, intense green eyes that missed nothing, and a perpetual smile.

  The second story held the guts of JR’s business; computers. The third floor was JR and Mia’s home.

  Kruger walked into the reception area from the parking lot. “Good morning, Jodi. How’s the family?”

  Jodi liked Kruger, and her smile intensified. “They’re doing great, Sean. Grandson number one turns three this Saturday. How’s that darling little angel of yours?”

  “Growing and getting cuter by the day. Thanks for asking. Where’s JR?”

  She pointed up. “Second floor conference room. Joseph arrived a few minutes ago.”

  Kruger nodded and headed for the stairs. The second floor of the building was an open cubicle farm arranged around the numerous structural support posts for the building. On the opposite wall from the stairwell was a glass enclosed conference room. He could see Joseph with a coffee cup in his hand sitting across from JR. Stopping at one of the Keurig brewers JR kept outside the room, he chose a coffee pod and a mug. When the coffee was done, he stepped into the room.

  JR was hunched over a paper file. Normally he would be hunched over a laptop or high-end computer keyboard, but not today. His laptop sat closed next to him. Kruger shook Joseph’s hand and asked, “Is that the directive?”

  Joseph nodded. “This is JR’s first time to read it. He fussed about it being on paper.” He grinned. “JR doesn’t like real paper.”

  Without looking up, JR said, “Why kill a tree just so I can read something? That was the original concept for the computer. No paper.”

  “Who perpetuated that lie?” Kruger sat down next to Joseph.