by David Kersey
The big rig truck driver stopped at the Caryville, Tennessee Express truck stop to fuel up and grab a bite to eat. It afforded Tracy time to buy a cheap cell phone and purchase minutes. After receiving the activation, she dialed Rahul’s number.
Khalil heard Rahul’s phone ring, but didn’t recognize the incoming number, only that it was a number from a U.S. area code. He passed the phone through the bars that detained Rahul. “Answer it,” Khalil demanded, “but no funny business.”
“Rahul, its Tracy. Thank God I’ve got you on the line. Did you receive a text saying that I was in jail?”
“No.” Rahul tried not to give away in Khalil’s presence that it was Tracy calling.
“Well, I am out of jail. It has all fallen apart over here. Has the money been deposited?”
“No.”
“Talk to me. Why are you not talking to me? What has happened?”
Rahul noticed that Khalil was using his own cell phone to video the phone call. He didn’t know what to do, but maybe Khalil didn’t know the French language. Rahul spoke in French, “It’s a sham. I’m in jail. There will be no money, and……..” The phone was slapped out of his hand and crashed into the wall.
“Hello, hello?” Tracy looked at her phone. “Rahul, hello.” There was no response, so she terminated her end of the call. Rahul, her former French student, and with whom she had chummed with occasionally, was in trouble. And so was she. Oh how she wished she had never come to America. There was no way she would venture the risk of returning to Delhi, or anywhere in India for that matter. Not only was the extortion money never going to be deposited, but her life savings would be confiscated, and she would forfeit all of her personal belongings. With luck, she would arrive in Belgium before things could get worse, but she would be broke in the purse and broken in spirit.
Khalil left the jail cell. He handed his own phone to a soldier who he knew understood French. Once the video confirmed what Rahul was saying, and that it was the Dobbelaere woman he was talking with, Khalil returned to the holding cell. Rahul’s smashed phone no longer was operable, and therefore the incoming number from the woman was unavailable to him. He stared at the wimpy Rahul seated in the metal chair in the middle of the cell. Outraged beyond control, Khalil drew his pistol and shot the prisoner between the eyes. Blood and brains splattered the back wall. Rahul’s eyes rolled back into his head. The lifeless body listed to one side, then slithered to the floor.
Khalil recalled that the U.S. area code from the incoming call was 423. He texted Ankur with that information, with the addition: ‘Find her’. Khalil was incensed that the RAW operatives in America were such namby-pamby fools. He was tempted to go there himself. He might just do that, and if he were to find the Dobbelaere woman, he would make her pay in more ways than one. His thoughts were interrupted by an incoming call.
“Hello, it’s Amail Saluhulean. Do you remember talking with me? I am the neighbor of Amit Mehra.”
“Yes, I remember you.”
“I thought it my duty to call you if I heard from Amit. You asked me to do so, right?”
“Yes. Have you heard from him?”
“I just hung up with him. He is in the United States of America. Can you believe that?”
“Did he say where he was in the United States of America?”
“Uh, he said he and Shreya were both taking teaching jobs at the University of St. Louis, but I don’t know if that is where he is now. He told me they were on their way there.”
Khalil thought a moment. “Wasn’t that nice of him to let you know that. Tell me, why would he tell you that?”
“Oh, the reason he called is that he wanted to let me know that his daughter’s chaperone would be moving in to his old place next to me. He told me her name, but I didn’t write it down. I think it was Trudy or something like that, and a strange last name, like double air. I thought you’d want to know, because you asked me to call you if I heard something. Right?”
“Well that was quite the neighborly thing to do, yes? Did he say when the chaperone would arrive? And would the daughter be arriving with the chaperone?”
“Nothing specific as to when she would arrive. Just in the next few days. That’s all he said. He didn’t mention his daughter’s plans in the conversation.”
“Please tell me the telephone number that your neighbor called from, yes?”
“Uh, hold on.” Amail pulled up his received calls list. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I am here.”
Amail recited the number that Amit had called from. “Did you get that?”
“Yes, I got it, and thank you Amail. You have done a great service for your country. Call me again if you should hear something more, yes?”
Khalil pondered the call after it had ended. Why would the Dobbelaere woman use the vacant Mehra home when she had a fully furnished place of her own in Delhi? The call from the neighbor appeared to be a set-up. If that turned out to be true, then the neighbor must be punished. Additionally, if the con game is indeed the case, it confirms that the Mehras know they are being pursued. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he was being deceived, but perhaps the neighbor was an innocent stooge in the deception. Whatever the case, he needed to arouse the RAW ops in the St. Louis area, even if it would be chasing a goose. He also needed to get his people tracking the Mehra phone number, though he suspected that was a machination as well.
+ + + + +
Joshua had watched the Dodge Intrepid leave with some trepidation. He hoped that Amit had the plan committed to memory. The call to his Delhi neighbor was the first order of business, and Joshua hoped that Amit would remember to place that call from Bowling Green, which was well inside the 270 area code and not his local 606 code. He was to purchase a cell phone in Bowling Green, make the call from the new number, then dispose of the phone immediately. He must remember to pay cash for the phone and the minutes to operate it.
The next part of the plan was to use the Rakesh Singh credit card at a gas station in Evansville, Indiana, and then later, at a motel on the outskirts of St. Louis, though he would not stay at the motel. He would instead find the Sunshine Mission in the downtown area and stay there overnight. Joshua had set that up with his old friend Paul McNally before Amit left. Lastly Amit must remember to pay cash for anything and everything on the return trip. It must appear that he has situated himself in St. Louis to stay.
Amit had insisted that his wife and child remain with Joshua, or else he wouldn’t carry out the plan. He was adamant about it, so Joshua complied with hesitation. Amit thought they would be safer staying put than possibly being nabbed by the police or other pursuers. Joshua admitted that there was the risk of that very thing happening, since the plan involved Amit’s neighbor alerting the Indian intelligence, so he condescended. The plan had risks, big ones. After all, Amit would be broadcasting, through his neighbor, where he was actually going.
Joshua assumed that eventually the State Police would find their way to the barn. The Dodge Intrepid would be hard to explain in case the vehicle became an item of interest. It would be better that the car disappeared for a while. The last part of the plan that involved Amit was that he would park the Intrepid, upon his return, at the Whitley City government center, and Autry would run him back to the barn.
Joshua also configured the boxes of Ball jars in the basement as a temporary hiding place. He helped Shreya and Namanda move their personal belongings out of the Ranger cottage and into a cranny behind the boxes, as well as create a space large enough for the two to hide. Then there was always the cave should there be enough time to abandon the barn unnoticed.
All in all, it was a plan, albeit a brazen departure from the admonitions of both Jack and Patricia. The both of them intimated that it wouldn’t be all that bad for the NSA to find and relocate the Mehras. They were both attempting to cover their behinds. Joshua didn’t agree, not as long as he had the opportunity to work with, and help, Namanda. He was positive that if the NSA put the family i
n protective custody, that he would never see them again, and that Namanda would never be able to choose her own path for the future.
+ + + + +
Mike Littleton entered the office of his supervisor, Bob Murray. “Couple of new things on the Mehra/Singh case, Bob. First, there was a call placed domestically from a number we don’t have on file, but it was directed to a number in Delhi which we do have. Shortly after there was a text placed from Delhi to Nashville and to the same RAW operative as before. I was able to triangulate the domestic number, and it appears that cell phone is in transit, moving south on US 27 toward Knoxville, Tennessee.”
“What’s your opinion?”
“The incoming text to Ankur in Nashville stated that the call to Delhi was placed by the Dobbelaere woman, along with only the area code of her call, and instructions to find her. The area code jives with the positioning of the triangulation. My opinion is that she is travelling south to an unknown destination. I also am led to believe she is travelling without the Mehras. She is going it alone, I think.”
“Why do you think she is on her own?”
“There was a text placed from Somerset, Kentucky to the same number in Delhi we have in file. Even though the text was never received, we were able to intercept it and read the text. The text stated, ‘Rahul, its Tracy. I am in a jail in Whitley City, Kentucky’. After thinking about it, I think the Mehras abandoned the woman and are long gone.”
“Well, we need to find that out. I’ll get someone down there to interview the jailer, and I’ll get with the Tennessee State Police and have them put out an APB. Thanks, Mike.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - Bombshells