by J K Ellem
Hoost didn’t grace the insult with a reply. Instead he asked for clear instructions. “Do you want me to kill them?”
There was a pause on the other end. The man on the line was contemplating various scenarios and outcomes in his head. So many variables and pieces to juggle. This minor incident with Rasul was a stupid distraction he did not need right now. It would be far simpler to just secure the cell phone and erase everyone who had come into contact with it.
“You said a man and a woman?”
“Correct.” Hoost looked at the woman’s DMV photo and details on a side display screen. He had a small laptop secured to a bracket arm, like the ones found in police cruisers. He had already run her plates and gotten her name, address, and photo. He had no details on the man who was with her, but he had seen enough of him to know who was in charge.
“The man is in charge. The woman is just a tag along.”
“And they definitely have the cell phone?”
Hoost glanced at the man in the passenger seat next to him, the tracking device in his hand. The man nodded at Hoost.
“Raymond’s tracking it now, right in front of us, in the vehicle, heading south. Not far from you.”
“And there’s nothing on the cell phone that can tie them to us? Are you certain?”
Hoost nodded at Raymond, wanting him to answer so if they got it wrong there would be no repercussions against him.
“No Sir, there’s nothing of importance on it. Just a bunch of texts, all nondescript. Rasul was told to be careful.”
Careful? Hoost thought. How careful was he? He was most likely dead and his cell phone had fallen into the hands of two strangers who were definitely not the police. Hoost knew the woman was a flight attendant from her license details but her partner was a mystery. Hoost was undecided on him.
“Can’t we scrub the phone? Erase it?” the man on the end of the line asked.
“Can’t do sir, we don’t have that capability yet.”
Another pause, more contemplating, more cogs turning. Then another question. The man on the end of the line was being very cautious. “So there’s nothing on the phone about our plans at all?”
Hoost let out a deep breath, his impatience growing. If it was up to him he would ram the small hatchback from behind, run it off the road, put a bullet in the back of the head of the two occupants, and retrieve the phone. But he reluctantly played along with his employer’s concerns.
Raymond responded. “Absolutely not sir. Nothing about Stage 2 or any of the other plans. Rasul didn’t even know what was in the package he smuggled into the airport. He didn’t need to know either; Rasul was just a mule. He just had to give it to the man in the toilet cubicle next to him.
“Hoost, take me off speaker.”
Hoost pulled the cell phone out of its cradle and brought it to his ear. He listened for thirty seconds, nodding as instructions were fed to him for his ears only. When he was done he terminated the call and placed the cell back to charge.
It was going to be a long day for him, and him only.
24
She had never seen anything like it before.
Beth Rimes stood in the doorway of the motel room, the air thick with the smell of blood. She had received the call from dispatch twenty minutes ago. Apparently the on-site manager of a cheap motel had called the police in a blind panic, saying there were bodies in one of the rooms, blood everywhere.
Beth was the closest when the call came in, and Davis arrived fifteen minutes later. Beth told him to secure the area and make sure no one came to the last room. She opened the trunk of her cruiser, pulled on paper booties, and slid on a pair of latex gloves. Then she went inside, making sure she didn’t disturb anything.
The inside of the small room looked like a war-zone, upturned furniture, holes in the walls, a smashed lamp on the floor.
A huge man who looked like a biker lay face-down near the front door, his head turned to the side, dead eyes staring at some point in the distance, a neat hole in the center of his forehead, a line of dried blood ran vertically to the floor, the carpet sodden with a pool of blood. She didn’t need to take his pulse.
She almost gagged in her hand when she went into the bathroom; the smell was appalling, the sight horrific. There, on the white tile, in a large pool of congealing blood, lay the man who was the subject of a nationwide manhunt. He was tied to a pipe that ran up from the floor to the back of the toilet. His throat was cut almost clean through, a hideous snarl on his face, a gag in his mouth. Blood seeped through the gag where he must have bitten his tongue and lips as he tried to chew through it.
She had seen the consequences of domestic violence. Wives beaten to death with a baseball bat. A young man, a hitchhiker who had stepped out drunk onto the highway and was flattened by a long haul truck. But she had never seen anything like this.
Both men had been dead for a while.
She walked outside, closed the door, and called the FBI in Salt Lake City. They were sending a helicopter and a ground team immediately. She was told to secure the crime scene and not touch anything.
Really? Beth thought after she hung up. She wanted answers as to what was going on in her jurisdiction, and she was determined to get them.
Davis came back from the front office. He had taken a statement from the woman who managed the place. It had taken her a few minutes and half a box of tissues before she was calm enough to offer any recollection that was coherent.
She blabbed on about opening the door and almost falling over a dead body at the entrance of the room. She assured Davis that she didn’t touch anything, just ran screaming from the room and called the police. She told Davis it was a man and a woman who had rented the room.
“And the two who were in the room, who rented it?” Beth asked.
“Gone, took off in a white car this morning,” Davis replied checking his notes. “Paid cash, no credit card records. I checked the guest register but she didn’t record their names, addresses, nothing.”
Beth let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. “Damn it!” she groaned. “That’s because she pocketed the cash. No questions asked. Skimming off the top as well. Renting out rooms but not recording the income; owners of this dump are none the wiser.”
Davis nodded and continued, “She said the big biker, the one dead near the door, arrived yesterday, alone. Rented a room at the front, paid cash. Then two more bikers turned up this morning but she didn’t get a good look at them. One was bald, covered in tattoos, the other thin, wiry. That’s about all I could get out of her.”
Beth looked at the big Harley that was leaning on its side stand at the front of the motel, its owner dead on the floor in the room behind her.
The FBI would eventually ID the dead biker. “And no one heard anything?”
Davis shook his head. “An old couple was in the room next to the bikers. But they checked out early, left their key in the early checkout box outside the office.”
Beth was getting frustrated. She turned away from Davis. She could feel the tightness in her neck and spine from the night before coming back.
“I want the other rooms secured. No one goes in, okay?”
Davis nodded.
“And where the hell is Taylor?” she yelled.
“I tried him on his radio and his cell phone. Nothing, didn’t pick up.” Davis shrugged.
Beth dismissed Davis with a wave of her hand and he went off with a roll of police tape to block off the other two rooms and the Harley Davidson bike.
Beth walked back to her SUV. “Bloody FBI,” she cursed, peeling off her booties and gloves before sealing them in an evidence bag just in case.
Her own backyard was about to be invaded by a bunch of suit-wearing, arrogant pricks and there was nothing she could do about it. She was going to be pushed aside and have her office taken over. She knew the drill. Sure this was now their case but there was something about them she just didn’t trust. They treated her and her officers like they weren’t all on the
same team. It brought back memories of a large meth drug lab that she had busted last year. The Feds swooped in, pushed her aside, and took all the credit.
Beth slammed the trunk shut.
The next time she saw Taylor she was going to kick his ass.
25
There were subtle things about the silver SUV that Shaw had noticed as soon as it pulled in behind them after they left the truck stop. Things an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed. Or if they had, they would have put it down to someone spending some serious cash on aftermarket features that they might not get back when it was time to sell the car and trade up. But then again, no ordinary person would expect to be under surveillance, let alone be tailed moments after they left the diner after enjoying a late-morning breakfast. Shaw was usually conducting the surveillance in the vehicle doing the tailing, not the other way around. Given this, Shaw knew exactly what to look for.
When they pulled out of the parking lot of the truck stop and accelerated onto the southbound lane of the interstate, he was expecting it, just not so soon.
The silver SUV had risen on a side ramp, then slowed, allowing the distance to expand between it and the Golf before sliding in a few cars back. It had stayed in that position for the next few miles, like a shadow, following them. Shaw had gotten a good view of it when it accelerated onto the interstate before dropping back. Dark tinted glass. High ride height, enhanced suspension. Rugged tires and a decent antennae array on the roof just above the top of the windshield. The SUV looked like it could easily go off-road while keeping the ride comfortable enough to make you think you were cruising down Rodeo Drive.
Shaw checked the rearview mirror and side mirror again. Every now and then the silver SUV would bob into view when cars behind changed lanes or the highway curved slightly, but the faces of the occupants remained hidden behind the dark tinted glass.
It could be something or it could be nothing. But Shaw trusted his gut. And right now his gut was telling him the silver SUV was tailing him and Jessie. He could almost feel its presence behind him, something malevolent, a dark cloud following in his wake.
Shaw hadn’t mentioned it to Jessie; he didn’t want to panic her. She forced him to take her along for the ride, but he was certain she would fold when things got ugly, and they would. However, at the moment he was glad she was there. She knew a lot more about technology and cell phones than he did so while she searched the phone, he could focus on the SUV behind them.
“So where are we going?” Jessie asked. She had the phone plugged into the USB port and had the GPS map up on the screen.
“I want to find a place to hole up for a while. Maybe a motel.”
“Hopefully something better than the Pink Poodle you found last night.”
Shaw frowned, “I thought that was your choice?”
“The hell it was,” Jessie retorted jokingly. “That was your idea. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a place like that.”
“I thought it was pretty good for a first date.” Shaw wanted to keep it lighthearted, keep Jessie’s mind off what could have happened.
Jessie turned to him. “A first date? Are you crazy? You would seriously take a woman there?”
Shaw shrugged and glanced in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see the SUV but he was certain it was there, tucked behind a minivan, he could feel it there, hidden but lurking.
“I don’t know,” Shaw continued, teasing her. “It had a certain ambience about it.”
“Ambience? What would you know about ambience?”
“So where would you like to be taken on a first date?” Shaw asked.
Jessie swiveled in her seat toward Shaw and cocked her head. He was certainly an enigma. He wasn’t her type. She preferred her men a bit more rugged and rougher around the edges. But looks could be deceiving and she certainly learned that with Shaw. He was good-looking, maybe a bit too good-looking. Most men she knew like that ended up being total wet rags, wimpy, limp. Ben Shaw was not like any man she had ever met.
She looked at his hands as he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles bruised from the recent violence. At times he would say nothing, be reclusive, and withdraw into himself like he was wrestling with some internal dilemma. He was driven though; he had a strong sense of righting any wrong that came across his path, but he wasn’t invincible. He had courage, more than anyone she knew or had known.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to be taken to some tacky cheap motel with orange carpet and curtains and a three-legged pink neon poodle out front.”
Looking ahead he could see a small town grow out of the horizon, a spread of low buildings on the right side, half a mile or so past the exit ramp.
“I’m positive I can do a lot better than the last place.” Shaw signaled and took the exit ramp. He checked the rearview mirror. They rode the gentle rise of the ramp then made a wide right curve over a service road before heading down toward the town to the main street, stopping at a set of lights.
The silver SUV followed them but held back, slowing almost to a crawl, allowing more traffic to slide in front of them. The light changed and Shaw pulled onto the main street that ran down the center of the town. Each side of the main street was lined with the typical big chain retail outlets, small u-shaped malls with parking lots out front, well-known restaurant chains, fast-food drive-ins, and gas stations.
The silver SUV had vanished from behind. The traffic was light but Shaw couldn’t see it. Maybe the driver had realized he was following just a little too close. Shaw turned at the end of the main street, followed the road for a few hundred yards, then turned again when he saw a street sign.
“We’ve just gone around the block,” Jessie noticed, looking around her headrest.
“I know,” Shaw replied. He checked the rearview mirror again.
Nothing.
They entered the on ramp for the northbound lane of the interstate and Shaw accelerated smoothly, before merging behind a long haul tanker truck and big Ford King Ranch towing a double horse trailer.
“So we’re heading back the way we came?” Jessie asked in disbelief.
“Just checking on something.”
“Checking on what?”
“The silver SUV that’s been following us ever we since left the truck stop.” Shaw checked his mirrors again. Vehicles whizzed past him and he passed a few slower ones as well. But no silver SUV. His gut was telling him otherwise. It was there, somewhere farther back, a predator hiding amongst the rocks and shadows in the deep water.
A few minutes later the truck stop came into view and Shaw took the exit ramp and pulled off the highway. There was the same side road he had seen this morning with the old row of abandoned buildings perched on a rise. He drove past a cluster of duplexes before the Best Western came into view. It looked a lot nicer than the Pink Poodle.
Shaw pulled in and parked in the visitor’s parking space. The motel was an idyllic, two story L-shaped design of brown brick, white siding, and grey tiled roof. Children played in a small pool at the front under the watchful gaze of their parents who sat reclined on white sun chairs. The Stars and Stripes, the Canadian Maple Leaf, and the state flag of Utah fluttered from a row of flag poles along the front of the property.
The silver SUV carried on past the Best Western before turning in at the truck stop. It pulled up around the side of the main building, away from prying eyes. Two men got out, one from the front, the other from the rear. Both men carried small duffle bags. The silver SUV then pulled away, leaving them behind.
The two men waited in the shadows of the building until twenty minutes later when a late model black Escalade pulled into the truck stop and they both climbed into the back. The Escalade slid smoothly away and disappeared into the haze of late-afternoon heat and dust.
Access to the old gas station and strip of abandoned stores without being seen was via an old dirt road. To get there you needed to exit the highway about half a mile past the truck stop then follow the service road for another three hundr
ed yards. Then on the left the old dirt road appeared.
There were no signs, no indication what the dirt road was for or where it led. It snaked through low scrub then up a gentle rise, cutting a path through a clump of dense trees before opening up at the rear of the decaying building and the old gas station. It was a longer, roundabout way to get to the location, but it meant the approach remained hidden and undetected from the highway side.
It was late afternoon by the time the silver SUV emerged from the forest of trees in a funnel of dust and parked behind the old stores. Hoost climbed out and opened the rear tailgate. Behind the rear passenger seats sat two rugged plastic tubs. Each tub contained all the necessary equipment to set up and maintain a simple overnight surveillance, like this one, or an intensive extended mission that could last more than a week. The interior of the SUV was fully decked out.
Hoost pushed a tub aside and lifted a rear floor panel. Within the custom-built modular cavity was his armory. Sitting snuggly in rubber clasps was an AR-15 style semi-automatic rifle with a red-dot holographic sight. Next to it was a rifle tripod for long-distance sniping. Next to this sat three additional handguns. In a deep section of the cavity was a flip-lid hard case with a thousand rounds each for the rifle and the handguns. Enough firepower to repel a small army if needed, all legal, all with the necessary permits and paperwork.
Hoost pulled up his shirt, drew his handgun and checked the magazine, then slid it back in place. He withdrew a folded duffle bag and filled it with what he needed from the tubs. He gathered up the rifle, hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder, closed the tailgate, and locked the vehicle.
As he walked toward the row of dilapidated buildings, his mind was heavy with the feeling that the next twenty-four hours was going to be boring and uneventful.
26
The room was clean and modern, a definite step up compared to the last place. Shaw had requested a room on the top floor, at the end of the row, next to the fire door and the stairwell, a quick secondary exit if needed.