by R. A. McGee
“That is the real question,” Badway said, fishing in the bag for another bagel.
“I’ve been giving that some thought,” Porter said. “They must have tracked him somehow. I’m guessing that big-ass watch he had. Probably has some sort of locator in it. That’s why they didn’t chase us when we left. They knew they could just find him when they were ready.”
“Walk down there and screw them all,” Badway said.
“You finally get it.”
“What?” Amy said.
“Nothing.” Badway took another bite of bagel.
“So they track him down and wait for the right time to spring him from us,” Porter said.
“Why not shoot you guys?” Amy said. “Easier to get Vance out if you two are dead.”
“They couldn’t come in shooting since they couldn’t take the chance they would hit Vance. They were probably watching us for a few minutes. Bore-scope snake cameras. Little cameras with a long, flexible neck. They can slip into a place through the windowsill or underneath the door and get a peek around.”
“We had those in the Army,” Badway said. “We would find a crack in the building somewhere to get better intel on the inside of the objective. It made our life a lot easier.”
“Seems like it made Parabellum’s easier, too,” Amy said.
“Looks like it,” Badway said.
“What’s our next move?” Amy said.
“Our?” Porter said.
“Yes, our. I would have gone to Vance’s place with you guys last night if Cat hadn’t… you know. Now I want in more than ever.”
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Porter said. “Things are escalating, and at this point, I can’t promise you won't get hurt. That’s the last thing we need.”
“Maybe you can’t, but your cousin will. Won't you?”
“Won't I what?” Badway said.
“Promise I won't get hurt,” Amy said.
“Amy, I can’t say that and be honest. There’s no telling where this thing ends up.”
“I understand that.”
“Then if I say you won’t get hurt, I’d be lying to you,” Badway said.
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d be telling me what I want to hear, with the best intentions. If something changes that, it’s not your fault,” Amy said, blue eyes fixed on Badway.
Porter walked to the trash can, throwing out his napkin. “Yeah, but we would feel bad if something happened to you. We can’t just put you in the line of fire.”
“You’re sure?” Amy said.
“Yes,” Badway said.
“That’s your choice,” Amy said. “I guess I’ll take my… what did you call it? Intel? I guess I’ll take my Intel and go home.”
Porter looked at Badway, then to Amy. “What Intel?”
“I told you I was working on something, remember? Well, it came through. I sure wish I could tell you guys, but I’m not on the team.” Amy made an exaggerated pouty face.
Porter sat back down and studied the journalist’s face, then laughed. It was a deep, genuine laugh that lasted for a minute before he caught his breath. “You’re a crazy person, right?”
Amy laughed with him for the next round, Badway joining in. It was infectious. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or their dire circumstances over the last few days, but the floodgates opened.
“Shit,” Porter said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Crazy person.”
“Maybe I am,” Amy said. She breathed deeply and exhaled. “But you have to remember, I was already looking into Vance and Parabellum before you guys came along. I’ve dug up so much dirt on them, and I want to finish the job. I know there’s a news story in this somewhere when I’m done.”
She leaned forward on the table. “Besides, what happened with Cat was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m in this thing and I’m in it the whole way. With or without you. So, you two handsome fellas have two choices.
“Option A is that we’ll all go lounge out on the couch and loveseat for a while. I’ll finish washing and drying your clothes because I’m a good hostess. We can watch a movie while we wait, I have that new spy flick that everyone is talking about. Then, I give you your clothes, and give each of you a hug as you leave and you guys try to figure out how to find Vance.”
“The alternative?” Badway said.
“Option B starts the same as Option A. Except before your clothes are done drying, I go and get the info that helps us figure out where Vance is hiding. Then you guys put your clothes back on and we all leave together and get Vance. Then when we’re done, I’ll give you the hug,” Amy said.
Porter looked at the woman. He realized his initial impression of her as a Valkyrie wasn’t too far off. Amy was fierce, loyal, and unafraid. More importantly, she was smart enough to get what she wanted.
If Badway didn’t ask her out soon, Porter wasn’t sure he could keep from proposing to her.
Thirty-Two
“I like the second plan,” Porter said.
“Me too,” Badway said.
“Good. I thought you might see it my way.” Amy got up and walked toward the laundry room.
“She’s a pistol,” Badway said.
“A pistol? People still say that? You have a beard from the forties and now you’re picking up the lingo, huh?”
“Guess so,” Badway said. “You okay with this?”
“What choice do we have? If she can help us find Vance, it’s worth it. Besides, she’s just gonna dig into this anyway. She has to be better off with us around.”
“Tell that to Cat,” Badway said. He went back to his bagel.
Amy reappeared. “All we have is a dry cycle, then we can hit the road. Movie?”
“As great as that sounds, we should probably see what you have on Vance. Porter’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes, so it may take him a while to process whatever you tell us.”
Porter made a face like he was going to start drooling.
“Suit yourself,” Amy said. She went into her kitchen and opened a drawer, pulling out the manila folder from their lunch meeting the day before. There were smears of red across the folder. Porter knew what those smears were and who they belonged to.
Amy opened the top of the envelope and slid a handful of papers out, flipping until she got to the right one, then dropped it on the table in front of the men. “This should give us what we need.”
Porter held the paper up. Chicken-scratched on the sheet was a list of three-letter airport codes, dates, and times. “You planning on taking a flight somewhere?”
“Me? I never get enough leg room. But Vance is a different story. He’s definitely flying somewhere.”
“How do you know?” Badway said.
“The FAA,” Amy said, as if it answered all the questions.
“The FAA?” Porter said. “Listen, I need you to pretend like I’m the dumbest person you know. How does the FAA help us right now?”
“I doubt you are, but let me break it down. Vance is a pilot, right?”
“Yeah, that’s what you said,” Porter said.
“Remember I read that article where he talked about flying and the article said he had an airfield at all of his houses?”
“Yes.” Badway stood and ran his hands through his drying hair. “We saw a little plane at his house last night.”
“Well, private airfield, private plane—it doesn’t matter. They have to register a flight plan with the FAA.” Amy looked proud of herself. “So, the FAA knows where the plane is going to take off from, land, and the flight path.”
“Sure. How does that help, though?” Badway said.
“Well, private planes are not exempt from this, although it is easier for them to have a last-minute change in flight plan. They’re more nimble than big planes, and can land on smaller runways than their big brothers.”
“Being rich has its benefits, ” Porter said.
“A while back, I did a piece on the FAA. Went to the airport, met people, the whole nine yards.
I kept in touch with a few of them. I asked one of them about the private airstrip at all the airfields behind every address I could trace to Vance.”
Porter leaned forward.
“I was working on it after my run this morning. My contact works the overnight shift at BWI. He was just getting off, but he ran a search of the airstrips and he found something interesting.”
“Vance is taking a flight?” Porter said.
“Vance is taking a flight,” Amy said, her smile growing larger. She pulled out a printed map of the area, checked the address of the private airstrip, and then pointed. “Right here.”
“What is that place?” Badway said.
“It’s a defunct concrete factory. A holding company of Vance’s first corporation bought it. They were using it to supply infrastructure building materials for Iraq and they discovered it was much cheaper to make it themselves, so they bought out a little mom-and-pop. It hasn’t been used in years, but guess what runs for several hundred feet behind the factory?”
“An airstrip?” Badway said.
“That’s right. Hell, it was probably cheap for them to make, since they were mixing concrete on the premises. And when my contact ran the report, it popped up that there’s a flight scheduled to leave that airstrip this afternoon.”
Porter looked at the map, then the business paperwork. “This is good.”
“I told you it would be.” Amy hopped up on the kitchen counter, letting her feet dangle.
“We know where Vance is going to be,” Badway said.
“We also know where he’s going,” Amy said. “Look at the code next to it.”
“SJO? Isn’t that San Jose?” Porter said.
“California?” Badway said.
“Costa Rica,” Porter answered.
“He’s leaving the country today, guys.”
“Anyone want to bet me that Stacy Brown and Trey are going with him? They kill Kevon, kill Cat, and then skip out of the country for a while until the heat dies down. No angry husband trying to extradite the boy, no pissed-off lawyer going after them. They’ll be in the clear,” Porter said.
“Not if we get there first,” Badway said.
“You know, you’re very cute when you’re determined,” Amy said.
Badway smiled. Porter had never seen him blush before. “You have a computer? I think we should skip the movie, and do more research.”
Amy produced her laptop and cracked it open. Her fingers at the ready, Porter guided her through his usual routine of Google Maps checks and satellite overviews. He wanted as much information as he could about the area before he got there.
Amy printed the papers and brought them over to the table. From above, the concrete factory was massive. Just off the main road, in the middle of nowhere, Virginia, the factory was carved out of the forest around it. There were five or six warehouse-type buildings, two ponds, an entire pod of trailers, and a large airstrip running behind the entire place.
“How would you guys assault this target?” Amy said.
“What do you know about assaulting targets?” Badway said.
“I was overseas, remember? You pick up the lingo.”
Badway looked at the overhead view. “The thing is, there’s only one way in and out, not including by air.” He pointed to the small road that snaked off the large highway. It ran into the front of the facility.
“Why not?” Amy said.
“It funnels us into a place that’s easy for Vance’s guys to shoot us,” Porter said. “If we drive up to the front, we’re as good as dead.”
A memory crept over Porter, explaining the same concept to Cat before the group went to the storage unit. He ground his teeth.
“Then do we come in from the sides? Out of the woods?” Amy said.
“Yeah, that’s part of it,” Badway said.
“We need to get Vance as he gets on the plane. That’s the place we know he will be, at some point. Other than that, they could be in any of these other buildings. There are more of them than there are of us. We can’t go door-to-door and hope to make it out okay,” Porter said.
“Definitely not,” Badway said.
“What’s a better option? How do you get him on his way to the plane?” Amy said.
“We’ll figure something out. Give things a little time to marinate in our heads,” Porter said.
“Well, that’s why you guys are here. Somebody needs to be the brains of this operation,” Amy said.
“If you’re looking for brains, you may need to go somewhere else,” Porter said.
Amy’s phone rang, and she excused herself to her bedroom to answer it.
“I’m thinking diversion,” Porter said. “Like we set up at Vance’s house, but this time we make it work.”
“I can get behind that. A big boom. Send them into a panic. They’ll have their security concentrate on the noise, force Vance toward the plane, get him on and into the air.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Like you said at Vance’s house, maybe it’s easier to keep him safe if he isn’t moving,” Porter said.
“Then we make the boom once Vance is already on his way to the plane. Too far to turn back to a building. Give him a little push in the right direction,” Badway said.
“Exactly.”
“Did you see the way I planned that out?” Badway said.
“What about it?” Porter said.
“Did you notice how special it was?”
“Yeah, you’re special, all right,” Porter said.
“Think Amy knows how to shoot?” Porter said.
“I was thinking a third gun couldn’t hurt,” Badway said. “We can ask her.”
Amy returned from her bedroom, thanking the person on the phone and hanging up.
“Who was it?” Badway said.
Porter smiled. “Probably Mr. Olson saying he’s on his way home.”
Amy ignored Porter and scrunched up her face.
“What’s wrong?” Badway said.
“Remember I said I would have my friend look into how Kevon died?”
“The county health worker?” Porter said.
“That was her on the phone. They’re done with the preliminary reports. Two things to note. First is that the body was dead when it was burned. There was no indication that the cilia or tissue on the inner lungs were singed.”
“Good,” Badway said. “Being burned alive is a shit way to die. It would have been awful for Kevon.”
“Then there’s the second thing,” Amy said. “The person at the storage unit was not Kevon Brown.”
Thirty-Three
“What the hell do you mean?” Porter said.
“Just what I said. That person was not Kevon Brown.”
“How did they find out so soon?” Badway said.
“Rapid DNA testing. They have these new, portable DNA testing machines, it’s kind of amazing. This match was even easier, since there was an existing sample in the National DNA Database.”
“Who did it match?” Porter said.
“Some guy with a weird name. Strumpf,” Amy said.
“Chandler Strumpf?” Badway said.
“You know him?” Amy said.
“I do. I mean I used to, a little while back. He was a Marine. When he first got out, he used to come to my group meetings at the VA. Him and Kevon were friends,” Badway said.
“Wait a minute—why was his DNA on file?” Porter said.
“What do you mean?” Badway said.
“Just because you were in the military doesn’t mean that your DNA is in a database somewhere. That means—”
“Criminals,” Amy interrupted. “Some criminals have to submit their DNA. Strumpf was convicted of rape. Must have been after he got home from his overseas tour. Looks like there was a plea bargain and he didn’t get any time, but had to register as a sex offender.”
“I knew he stopped going to my meetings, but I had no clue he was like that.”
Porter stood. “How soon till the clothes are ready?”
“We need to get moving,” Porter said. “You can tell us the rest in the car.”
“What’s the hurry?” Badway said.
“Someone wanted us to think Kevon’s dead. If he really was, they would have left his actual body at the storage unit,” Porter said.
“You think he’s still alive?” Badway said.
“If so, one guess where he is right now.”
“At the concrete plant,” Amy said. “Might as well kill him and dump him in Central America somewhere. One less dead body around.”
“When does that flight leave?” Porter said.
“Close to two p.m.”
“We have four or five hours. Let’s get going, we need time to set up.”
Amy brought the men their clothing, then left the room to give them some privacy.
Porter and Badway dressed in the still-damp clothes and grabbed their personal items.
When she emerged from her bedroom, Amy had changed from her running outfit into a long-sleeved shirt, khaki-colored utility pants, and a smart pair of hiking boots. “Ready?”
“Let’s hustle. Sarge, swing me by the armory. I’d better get my truck.”
Badway nodded. “Can’t hurt to have another vehicle.”
The group exited Amy’s townhouse, and she locked the door behind them. When they rounded the corner to the parking lot, she spoke up. “I’m guessing our ride is the beat-to-hell truck?”
“Good guess,” Porter said.
Porter sat in the back seat, giving Amy shotgun, and Badway pulled out of the parking lot.
Badway took the surface streets across town, catching most of the green lights as he went.
“How is Chandler involved in this?” Badway said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You said him and Kevon were friends, right? Maybe they were hanging out and Vance’s guys snatched them both up. Nailed Kevon’s ID to Strumpf’s head to throw us off,” Porter said.
“Maybe.”
In the front seat, Amy looked through paperwork. “I think Vance will be at the factory. If he is, you guys still going with the same plan—diversion, extraction, the whole nine yards?”
