by J. C. Fields
As he hurried toward the elevator bank, his only thought was how not to screw up. Being around Franklin Dollar made him nervous. The man was a walking contradiction of a professional FBI agent. As the elevator door opened, he hoped the director did not judge the rest of the agents from the Vegas field office by Dollar’s actions.
Watching the LED readout of the floors, he withdrew his agency-issued Glock 19 Gen 5 and held it at ready as he approached the thirty-first floor. When the door opened, he turned to his right and hurried down the hallway toward room 31141. Slowing as he approached the room, he continued to hold his weapon with both hands pointed at the floor.
He stood beside the door, reached over and knocked. In a heavy Spanish accent, he said, “Room Service.” After several moments without a response, he repeated the knock and the announcement. Still no response. With his right hand still holding his weapon, he reached into his suitcoat pocket for the object Kruger handed to him. A pass key for the building. Sliding into the door’s locking mechanism, he heard the click and saw the green light on the door. As quickly as possible, he opened the door and slid inside at the same time yelling, “FBI! FBI! Hands where I can see them.”
With his weapon again in both hands, he swept the room, then the bathroom and closet. Next he checked under the bed. Nothing. Satisfied, he holstered his weapon and made a call on his secure agency radio. “All clear, suspect is not in his room.”
He heard Kruger’s response. “What do you see?”
Looking around the room, he saw a laptop, suitcase, assorted personal care items in the bathroom, and clothes hanging in the closet. “His personal items are still here.”
“Do you see a computer?”
“Yes.”
“Car keys?”
Gonzales did not see any on his survey of the room. He looked again and in several of the desk drawers.
“No, not at the moment. I’ll keep looking.”
“Don’t worry about it. Seal the room and do not let anyone in until we get there. Good work, Tim.”
A board smile appeared on the young agent’s face. Praise from an agency legend like Sean Kruger helped dissipate his concern about being around Dollar. He moved quickly to the room’s door and stood outside. No one would be going into the room.
***
“Are you ready to earn your monthly stipend?” Kruger glanced over at JR and Mia as they walked to the bank of elevators.
JR remained quiet, lost in thought.
Mia looked at Kruger. “Have they found Bishop?”
Kruger shook his head. “No, not yet. We know he left the meeting room five minutes before we entered. He’s not been seen since.”
“He’s gone, Sean.” JR stared at the elevator door. His expression grim.
“I would agree, but the Director has the local police looking for him and the remaining agents with the Vegas field office are now involved. I overheard the conversation between Paul and the local Special Agent in Charge.”
They entered the elevator and Kruger pressed the button for the thirty-first floor. JR watched the floor indicator. “Bet that was unpleasant for the SAC.”
Kruger nodded, “His judgement about sending Dollar to head the team was discussed. Let’s just say Paul didn’t care for the response he was given. There may be two openings in the local office.”
The rest of the ride was in silence.
When they arrived at the room, Kruger could see three agents collecting evidence. Gonzales came out of the bathroom, his gloved hands holding several evidence bags containing a hairbrush, toothbrush and a glass cup, each in its own bag. “We should be able to get DNA off these.”
Kruger smiled. “Tim, get those to the forensics lab immediately. We need proof Bishop was here.”
Gonzales nodded and headed out the door.
Paul Stumpf stood by the large picture window, his back to the room. When Kruger stepped over, he stood next to the man and stared out the window as well. He waited for the director to say something.
“Well?”
“We haven’t found him yet.”
Nodding, Stumpf turned to look at Kruger. “I hate the bureaucracy and the politics of this job. The local SAC argued with me, claiming the personnel file he received on Dollar contained a glowing recommendation from the Director of the FBI.”
“Let me guess.” Kruger gave Stumpf a grim smile. “It hadn’t been updated.”
“No, it hadn’t. When I asked him who signed the letter of recommendation for Dollar, he was silent. It was the letter from my predecessor.”
“JR is here, sir. He can start looking at the computer.”
Stumpf turned to the room. “Agents, thank you for your efforts. Gather what evidence you have and get it to the lab. We can finish here later. I need all of you on the street looking for this man.”
The room cleared quickly. Stumpf offered his hand to JR. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Diminski. All of it good.”
JR shook the offered hand and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”
Kruger leaned in close to JR’s ear. “Relax, he’s one of the good guys and he’s on your side.”
“Please call me, JR, sir. Mr. Diminski makes me nervous.”
Stumpf chuckled. “Very well, JR.” He nodded to the laptop sitting on the room’s desk. “Can you tell us what’s on that machine?”
JR looked at it, picked it up, and checked the model and serial number. He looked at the Director. “Give me a few minutes.” Pulling his own laptop out of the shoulder bag he carried, he hooked it to Bishop’s computer with a USB cable. He lifted the lid to his laptop. “I’ll check to make sure he didn’t set any booby traps first.” With those words, JR started performing his magic.
***
Four hours later, the sun had set and the lights of Vegas sparkled through the still open curtain of room 31141. Kruger was in and out of the room several times, as was Paul Stumpf during the wait. When JR was ready to review the contents of the laptop, both were in the room listening.
“The Stephen Blair who checked into this hotel is definitely an impostor. My guess is the real Stephen is dead, along with his housekeeper. However, there’s nothing on this computer to indicate he’s Bishop.”
“It’s Bishop.” Kruger showed JR a text message on his phone. “A fast DNA exam confirmed it about ten minutes ago.”
JR looked at the message and nodded. “He has money stashed all over Zurich and the Cayman Islands. Most of it I can get to, some of it I can’t.”
Stumpf crossed his arms and raised a finger to tap on his lips. “How much does he have?”
“Almost two hundred million. About sixty percent of it is from the sale of Blair’s stock in New Age Software, the other is from a lot of different sources. Apparently he’s been talking to a lot of investors about his supposed venture in artificial intelligence.”
“What about his emails, any mention of accomplices?” Kruger asked, looking over JR’s shoulder.
Mia looked up from the laptop she was working on. “I’ve been going through those. He’s still communicating regularly with someone in Taiwan. They never use names, and the email accounts change monthly.”
JR looked up from Bishop’s laptop. “Given time, we can isolate the emails.”
Stumpf nodded. “Any information on his exit plans?”
Shaking his head, JR glanced back at the screen. “Not on this computer. Since there wasn’t a cell phone found in this room, I would assume he has it with him.”
Kruger was staring out the window at the lights of Vegas. “They found his rental car at McCarran. It’s possible he had another car parked there. No records of Blair or Stewart Everett flying in or out.”
JR looked up from the laptop. “I can start monitoring his cell phone. The number is on a bill he gets via the internet. But he’ll know we have his computer. He’s very smart, so my guess is he’ll stop using it.”
Stumpf frowned. “For now, freeze all the accounts you can.”
JR nodded. “O
ne other thing.”
Kruger looked back at JR. “What?”
“He leased a condo in Dallas and rents a small office in a shared office complex.”
“How?” Stumpf put his hands on his hips and stared at JR. “We’ve been monitoring any financial activity of Stephen Blair. It didn’t show up.”
“Shell company. It leased the condo and office space.”
Stumpf shook his head, reached into his suit coat inside pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and walked out into the hall to make his call.
“Good work, JR. You’ve earned your pay this month.”
JR smiled grimly, turned back to his laptop, and let his hands start playing the computer like a master pianist.
***
It was 10:30 p.m. Pacific Time when Stumpf made the decision to spend the night in Vegas and leave early in the morning for Dallas. Kruger was alone in one of the many bars in the resort, writing an email on his cell phone to Stephanie. Franklin Dollar sat down next to him and cleared his throat.
“Are you proud of yourself, Kruger?”
Kruger looked up and pressed an icon on his cell phone. “Excuse me?”
“Are you proud of yourself?”
“For what?”
“Getting me suspended.”
Kruger chuckled. “I had nothing to do with your getting suspended, Dollar. You accomplished it all by yourself. It’s the only thing I recall you doing well since you’ve been with the agency.”
His face grew crimson, but Dollar took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be back in good standing as soon as the review board convenes. Then, watch out.”
“Is that a threat, Dollar?”
“Consider it a warning. You’ve never played by the rules, Kruger. I’ve been following your career, and there’s no way you’re as good as you appear to be. No one is. I’m going to expose you for the fraud you are.”
Smiling, Kruger shook his head. “When you have standards as low as yours, everyone will appear to be Superman.”
Dollar snorted and stood. Giving Kruger a scowl, he walked toward the front of the bar. As Kruger watched, Dollar discreetly nodded to a woman sitting near the bar’s entrance. She stood and slowly wandered over to his table. She was a tall woman in her mid-to-late twenties, with blond hair hanging down to her waist, long legs, and a form-fitting beige dress with a plunging neckline.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Kruger was staring at his cell phone. “Free country, sit where you like.”
“I like it here.”
When she sat down, Kruger looked up. “How much did Franklin Dollar offer you to get me in bed?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Simple question. How much is he paying you?”
“You’re not being very friendly.”
“I’m not in a friendly mood.” He placed his cell phone on the table, the recording app still operating. “I hope you got paid up front. He’s not known for keeping promises or fulfilling an agreement.”
She nodded.
“I’ll take the nod as a yes.”
“He said you were an old friend going through a rough time and needed a companion for the night.”
“He was blowing smoke up your dress. He’s not an old friend, or a new friend, for that matter.”
She folded her arms under her breasts, exposing more cleavage. “Doesn’t mean you and I couldn’t have a good time anyway. You know what they say, what plays in Vegas, stays in Vegas. No one would know.”
“I’d know.” He stood. “Don’t follow me to my room. Oh, and when you see Franklin Dollar again, tell him I recorded his conversation and the one you and I just had.” He pressed an icon on his cell phone and showed it to her. “I just sent both to the Director of the FBI.”
Her eyes grew wide as he walked away.
Chapter 25
Flagstaff, AZ
Sleep eluded him as he lay in the creaky bed watching the lopsided ceiling fan turn. The hotel was cheap and the room cheaper, smelling of stale cigarettes and Lysol. His hasty departure from the Mandalay Bay created an issue with cash. Cash needed to fund his un-timely departure from the United States. His emergency money was still available, but he would need more once he got to his post-Stephen Blair location.
Unfortunately, he was running into an issue with his bank accounts. Each time he checked, his anger grew. “Zero Balance” or “Account Frozen” was the response from nine of the ten accounts scattered around the globe. One account in Dubai was still accessible, and he immediately transferred those funds to a brand new account in Zurich. With less than ten million dollars available, he needed to find a way to get his two hundred million dollars back. With his anger changing rapidly to fury, Bishop resorted to breathing exercises, learned in Thailand, to reign in his emotions.
Leaving the laptop behind was an unavoidable mistake. Apparently the FBI used it to find his accounts and compromise them. His exit from Mandalay Bay was chaotic. After walking out the hotel entrance into the circle drive and having his car returned, he drove straight to the airport. It took fifteen nerve-wracking minutes as he continuously checked his rearview mirror for any sign of pursuit. After leaving the rental with Hertz, he took the shuttle to the departure terminal. Without stopping, he immediately walked to the arrival area and took the shuttle to Terminal Three long term parking. Twenty minutes later, after paying for his parking, his Jeep Grand Cherokee was exiting the airport. He found I-515 West, which led to US-93 South. At Kingman, Arizona, he took I-40 East. Four hours after leaving Vegas, he drove past a city limit sign for Flagstaff, Arizona. At the first Walmart he saw, he used cash to buy an HP laptop, a duffel bag, two changes of clothing and a few personal grooming items. After everything was packed into the duffel, he drove to a two star hotel with a sign out front claiming free Wi-Fi near the downtown area.
Paying cash, he checked into the hotel under his Everett Stewart ID and sequestered himself in the room. Without knowing if the Stewart ID was compromised, he decided he would leave early evening for the drive to Mexico. But first on his priority list was finding more information on the FBI agent who seemed always one step behind him.
He sat at the computer and Googled the name Sean Kruger. The results shocked him. He expected an FBI functionary, but found a dynamic, prolifically efficient investigator. He sat back and for the first time in several years, felt concern. A year earlier, Kruger unearthed and stopped a plot to blow up an auditorium with 15,000 souls attending a meeting. Prior to this, he spent two decades at the forefront of tracking down and bringing to justice numerous serial killers.
Bishop sat back in the desk chair and placed his right hand under his chin.
“I have to find his weaknesses.”
He didn’t realize he had said it out loud.
Searching Facebook, he discovered the FBI agent did not have a presence on the site, but he found someone who claimed to be his ex-wife. The ex-wife lived in Aurora, Colorado. A twelve-hour drive from his location. The ex-wife was extremely chatty on Facebook, most of it uninteresting. Within some of her posts, there were hints about a son. Nothing concrete, but hints. When he searched for the son, he found nothing. Just like the father, the son did not seem to have a presence on social media, something he found strange assuming the boy’s age.
Frustrated with the lack of finding anything further about the FBI agent, he walked to the parking lot and lifted the back gate on the Jeep. Making sure no one was watching, he lifted the floor board to reveal the spare tire, jack and tools. Once the screw holding the spare tire in place was loosened, he lifted the donut tire and removed one of three narrow brown paper bags used in liquor stores to cover wine. He then re-secured the spare tire and replaced the floor board and carpeting. Once back inside the Jeep, he opened the paper bag and pulled out one of three bundles of hundred dollar bills. In all, nine bundles of emergency money were stashed in the car. Ninety thousand dollars would have to last him until he could acquire a new set of IDs in Mexico and establish
an account to transfer funds from his last remaining account in Zurich. Then, and only then, he would get his revenge on the FBI agent Sean Kruger.
He left the hotel parking lot, returning to the Walmart a mile and a half south. He walked to the back of the store to the electronics department where he bought a Virgin Mobile Samsung prepaid smartphone. He also purchased a wheeled suitcase and additional clothing. His next stop was a Target store on the way back to the hotel. There he purchased two cheap prepaid phones, these he would use only once.
Back in this hotel room, he used the Virgin Mobile phone to call Thailand. By the end of the call, he knew where to go and how much it would cost to become someone else.
***
For an American, entering the tourist area of Nogales, Mexico, was easy. For someone like Randolph Bishop, it was daunting. Unsure of his Everett Stewart Australian credentials and confident his Stephen Blair identity was blown, he sat on the American side of the border in a small café pondering how to get across the border. He watched tourists park their cars in lots around the border crossing, pay for the parking, obtain their Mexican Tourist Card and walk across the border. While he was in the café, several tourist buses from Tucson arrived and disgorged their passengers—all of which walked across the border.
He checked his watch and decided he would get his Mexican Tourist Card as Everett Stewart and cross the border when the next bus arrived. If his luck held out, when his transaction was done in southern Nogales, he would be someone else. Everett Stewart would disappear in Mexico, never to be heard from again.
His gamble paid off. The Mexican Immigration Officers barely looked at his passport and card. When asked, he told them he would be in Nogales for less than twenty four hours. The man smiled and stamped the Tourist Card.
Once past the touristy section of Nogales, he found a cab. The address he gave brought a frown to the driver’s face, but he nodded and headed south. Bishop was dropped off in what seemed to be an abandoned industrial park with dilapidated buildings. Checking the GPS map on his cell phone, he located the correct building and walked through a door next to a loading dock.