by Paul Stein
“Sorry…I’m just nervous,” he confessed. “The sooner we get the car and ditch the airport, the better I’ll feel.”
Sarah left Morris another succinct voicemail message. She reported that Jarrod’s latest email read ‘Wildcat Catfish,’ which she surmised meant a catfish farm somewhere in Kentucky. She gave no indication about their present location or plans. The message delivered, she put away her phone and the laptop. It was time to follow their next lead to Jeremiah and Jarrod.
Within forty minutes of arriving in Louisville, the couple was on Route 30 toward West Point. Several highway billboards advertizing Wildcat Catfish buoyed their optimism that their search for Jer was fast approaching a conclusion.
As the Enterprise agent predicted, the Wildcat Catfish Farm complex was easy to find, primarily because it offered public fishing, and Southern folks had an affinity for catfish. Signs alerted travelers to the appropriate highway exit to reach the farm, and further directed them to the facility’s exact location.
As they drove, Ryan recognized the approaching farm by a series of locks that controlled water flowing into large ponds adjacent to the road. Then they saw the large feed silo with the Wildcat Catfish logo proudly announcing they had reached their destination. Ryan decided to drive by without stopping.
“This is it,” he said excitedly. “What’s your bet Jarrod’s machine is under the tarp on that Peterbilt? Notice all the other vehicles have the Wildcat logo? That one doesn’t… I’ll stake you anything it belongs to the guys that nabbed Jer,” he observed, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Ryan, slow down,” Sarah said, craning her neck around to get a better look.
“Not just yet. They’ll have posted a lookout and I don’t want to draw any attention. These guys aren’t prone to mistakes…no reason to believe they’re not watching the traffic, too.”
“Ryan, we didn’t come all this way just to observe, did we?” she asked, looking confused.
Ryan shrugged. “Of course not, but we can’t just storm the place demanding they return Jer. We’re going in, but we need to be strategic.”
“Okay, you’re right…so now can we call the authorities?” she asked hopefully.
“Sure, but just Morris, no one else. Tell him we’re at Wildcat Catfish Farm and we suspect the kidnappers are holed up here, too,” Ryan replied.
They drove about a mile past the main entrance of the farm and Ryan pulled alongside a work truck parked next to one of the ponds. The truck was unlocked. He reached inside and took one of the worker’s hats and a denim coat that looked much too small for his large frame. He grabbed it anyway.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked, looking increasingly puzzled.
“We’re turning around and you’re going to drop me off at the entrance. They’ll think I’m an employee returning from the field. I want to look around. If I see a black van we’ll know for sure that Jer’s here. Then we call the police.”
“Are you out of your mind? Ryan, we’ve settled this. I’m not leaving you. We’re in this together,” she said emphatically. “Now, please…no more talk about splitting up.”
“Don’t you understand how dangerous this is?” he asked, trying not to sound argumentative. “These guys play by different rules. They have no compunction. They’ve murdered, kidnapped, and robbed to get to this point. Yes, we need the police, Sarah…but I want to confirm Jer and Jarrod are really here. If the police raid that house and they aren’t inside, these men will retaliate. We’d lose them for sure. We can’t take that chance. Don’t worry…I’ll be careful,” he said reassuringly.
“Shoot! I hate when you’re right,” she said, grinding her teeth. “But I’m calling Morris first. He needs to know we’ve located the kidnappers.”
“Agreed.”
Sarah called Morris and left another message. She provided him their whereabouts and the plan to confirm if Jeremiah was present. She promised to call 911 when they had verification.
Ryan returned to the Wildcat Farm entrance and parked in the area opposite the visitor parking. He put on the ball cap, picked up the denim coat, and threw it over his shoulder.
Sarah stayed with the vehicle and watched her ex-husband walk toward the closest service building. The overhead retractable steel door was closed, forcing Ryan to enter from the side door.
As he entered the building a shot of adrenalin quickened his pulse. Inside were two black SUVs, conspicuous by the absence of the familiar Wildcat logo. Two men were busily working near the back of one of the vehicles but didn’t notice his presence.
Confident the vehicles proved the authenticity of Jarrod’s messages, Ryan decided to peek into the back windows of the main house, hoping for visual proof that Jer was inside. He maintained a casual gait, trying to imitate an employee who knew his business. He walked past the side of the house looking for an open window, but the shades had all been drawn. He continued searching but stopped abruptly at a gate leading into the back of the residence. The entire backyard was visible from the interior of the house, but the pool reflected off the porch glass, making it impossible to see inside. The risk of going any further was too great.
Ryan turned to retrace his steps and was startled by a tall man standing at the edge of the house holding a gun. Even though he had never seen the man’s face, he knew immediately this was the same man who had kidnapped Jeremiah.
“Welcome to the party, Mr. Marshall,” Stuart Farley said, keeping his 9-mm Glock pointed directly at Ryan’s head. “I don’t know how you found us, but I assure you it was the stupidest thing you ever did. Now put your hands on top of your head and let’s join your wife and son inside,” he said tersely, walking cautiously to get behind Ryan.
“You know…I was supposed to kill you and your cousin that night in Stanford. I was denied that pleasure by the dumb PI tracking your son. But now it seems I’ll get a second chance. Get moving,” he said, shoving Ryan hard in the back, keeping the gun trained on the back of his head.
“So it was you I chased down the street in Stanford,” Ryan said, with a mixture of satisfaction and alarm, mindful that he was completely at the man’s mercy. “You shouldn’t be so sure of yourself, mister. If I could find this place…so can the police. You guys are busted.”
“Shut the fuck up and get inside,” Farley demanded, forcefully shoving Ryan again as they walked. “Let’s see what Boss has to say.”
Pig-headed fool, Ryan thought. Jarrod was right on the money. Damnit, I shouldn’t have stopped Sarah from calling the authorities. Lieutenant Morris is our only hope now….
FIFTY-NINE
WILDCAT CATFISH FARM, KENTUCKY
THE FIRST THING RYAN saw as he entered the main quarters of Wildcat Farm was Sarah, her hands bound behind her back, tape across her mouth. She was seated and a man held a gun to her head. When he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, he lowered his hands and charged toward her. He only made it part way before Richard Kilmer and Sully Metusack blocked his path, wrestling him to the ground amidst a great commotion.
Ryan’s pent-up rage—brewing from the moment in Taos when Lieutenant Westbrook accused him of breaking into Jarrod’s office— erupted like a dormant volcano. His powerful build was more than a match for any one of Kilmer’s men, but he finally succumbed when Farley delivered a sharp blow with the Glock to the side of his head. As he went limp, Sarah’s struggle to break free intensified, her face turning crimson from fury. Farley straddled Ryan’s body, cinching a snap tie to his wrists, not unlike a cowboy roping the feet of a struggling calf.
Fully restrained and partially dazed, Ryan nonetheless spewed a steady stream of vulgarities, swearing on his mother’s grave to tear their hearts out. Tape applied to his mouth brought the surprise uproar to an abrupt halt. They gathered him up and shoved him unceremoniously next to Sarah at the table. Ryan and Sarah looked at each other dejectedly, wondering how things could have gone so wrong.
“We’re blown,” Sully said, helping to get Ryan seated as he still
struggled to overcome his assailants.
“Alright…ever’one, just calm the fuck down,” Kilmer said, backing away from Ryan, smoothing his hair and straightening his shirt. “Nothin’s blown, mates, ‘til we figure how they found us. I’ll bet it’s that fuckin’ Conrad again…git ‘is sorry arse in here,” Kilmer demanded, laboring to catch his breath. He was momentarily exhausted from the unexpected exertion of manhandling Ryan into submission.
Throughout the house a loud scream arose when Jer, Sela, and Jarrod heard Ryan’s voice and realized that he had been captured. Their voices cried out from back of the house to acknowledge their presence. Kilmer’s men visited each in turn, quieting the commotion, threatening physical harm to anyone who didn’t obey. Ventura cut Jarrod free and led him to the great room, keeping a steady gun at the ready.
“Ya stupid wanker,” Kilmer yelled as Jarrod entered the room. “What have ya done now?”
“Hey, man, I’ve been saying all along you’re in over your head,” Jarrod grinned evilly. “Have you an inkling now about what I’ve been trying to say? Hell…if my cousin can find your dumb ass, how far behind do you think the police are? You really are screwed, Mr. Leader,” Jarrod said, choosing his words carefully, aware that Ryan and Sarah would be hanging on each one.
“How’d they find us? I want answers and I want ‘em now. Who else knows? No bullshit…or yer Sheila ends up lookin’ like a bush pig,” Kilmer threatened, absolutely furious.
“Well…because you’re so persuasive, I’ll tell you, Chief,” Jarrod glibly answered. “Every time I used my computer, which you allowed, you dumb bastard, I sent Sarah a clue. First, the bus driver gave me Louisville—remember our little demonstration in the bus?” he asked impudently. Kilmer glanced over at Ventura, who blanched and hung his head.
“Then you marched us into this house right past the silo outside blazoned with the Wildcat logo. Elementary, Watson,” he said smugly.
Processing Jarrod’s explanation and realizing he’d been duped caused Kilmer to grow even angrier. His every movement became exaggerated; his jaw was taut, his eyes narrowed, and he looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Who…else…knows?” he asked in a slow and measured way, through teeth tightly clamped together.
Jarrod gave an almost imperceptible wink that only Ryan and Sarah could distinguish. “No one else knows,” he shrugged, making it seem obvious.
“Come on, man…think…pull your head out your ass. If the police knew our location, wouldn’t they already be here? My cousin’s on the lam, for chrissake...you saw to that,” he said, using parts of Kilmer’s plan to corroborate their story.
“When Jer was abducted,” Jarrod continued, “we made a decision to find him without involving the police. I was their only contact. It just so happens that you led them here when you kidnapped me. This is your doing, Chief…simple as that,” Jarrod said with a smirk. He was proud of his own adaptive brilliance, spinning a yarn on the fly that was both plausible and misleading.
“So help me, Professor…yer on my last nerve. If this is more bull dust I’ll personally blow yer arse away,” Kilmer threatened.
“By the way, ya might fancy knowin’ that yer partner sold ya out. It was Penburton put me on to ya. He conjured the plan to hit yer lab and finger Marshall,” he said nodding his head toward Ryan. “He even gave us Coscarelli. He’s got ya up shit creek.”
“Frankly, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. Our association started to sour when that agent from DOD insisted on monitoring my research. Niles is soft. I knew he was going behind my back. He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Jarrod replied, with little reaction to the news of his partner’s betrayal.
“Well, then maybe ya’ll fancy knowin’ that Farley blew up his car yesterday. He’s history.”
Kilmer could see from the look on Jarrod’s face that he had finally landed a blow. There was no mistaking that the surly professor was stunned by the news of his disloyal partner’s untimely death.
“By jingos, Professor, what’s wrong? Yer not lookin’ so swank now,” Kilmer said, enjoying his newfound leverage. “Here’s somethin’ else to ponder. Farley’ll be guardin’ yer rellies this evenin’. If anythin’s jaked and I don’t contact ‘im on time…he’ll cap every last one and git-off doin’ it.”
Kilmer’s statement quieted the room with utter finality; everyone on both sides seemed taken aback. Struffeneger stood abruptly and walked out of the room, taking the news especially hard. Mills also seemed nonplussed but remained quiet as a mouse, preferring not to draw any attention.
“Farley, git these yahoos out o’ my sight,” Kilmer ordered. “They’re yer worry now.”
“You heard the man, get your asses up,” Farley growled, pointing his gun at Ryan and Sarah.
With Ventura’s help, Farley moved the hostages to the back bedrooms of the house. They would be kept isolated until the team departed. Thereafter he planned to round them together in the great room to better facilitate guarding them alone. Farley was the only one that wasn’t surprised by Kilmer’s announcement about eliminating the hostages. He could hardly wait to have them to himself.
Time was running out and the strain of carrying out Holloway’s plan was beginning to show. The unanticipated arrival of the Marshalls had shaken Kilmer’s confidence. He couldn’t allow himself to believe that Conrad was actually telling the truth, but he had to acknowledge that his explanation made perfect sense. If the police knew about the Wildcat location, surely they wouldn’t let the Marshalls show up alone. Though he hated to admit the facts, he had no alternative but to accept Conrad’s explanation for how they’d been found. There was no other alternative but to stay the course and carry out the mission.
He thought briefly of calling Holloway but quickly dismissed the notion. He would only want the mission to start on schedule. There was nothing to gain in calling him but more insults.
Kilmer sat back down at the table to continue his review of the Fort Knox plan. It was almost noon, less than fifteen hours until he was to commence the biggest operation of his life. Never had he felt so unprepared; never had he experienced such misgivings. It did not bode well for the outcome.
SIXTY
WILDCAT CATFISH FARM
13:00 HOURS
AGENT JASON HENRY and Lieutenant David Morris arrived at the Louisville airport but did not immediately leave for Wildcat Fish Farm. Instead, Henry decided it best to wait for Emerson Palmer’s arrival; he had important information to discuss before they set out. In all the years he’d worked for the DOD there had never been a time when something this extraordinary was authorized. As he waited, Morris secured a rental car for the drive to Wildcat Farm.
Henry sat impatiently at the luggage claim for Palmer’s plane to arrive. To pass the time, he fell into one of his old habits: people-watching. A choice place to engage this pastime was in shopping malls, although amusement parks were also a target-rich environment. He enjoyed choosing a particular physical characteristic and counting the number of cases he could recognize, bemused by the seemingly infinite number of variations the human body could derive from forty-eight chromosomes. Tallying redheads was his favorite— a true redhead was a rarity and was easily distinguished from dyed red hair because it was actually orange. He wondered about the environmental significance of orange hair and what possible evolutionary advantage this genetic anomaly imparted. Fascinating, he mused. Today he focused on the escalator moving hundreds of people through the airport and waited, cutting through the boredom.
Henry’s daydreaming was interrupted by Palmer’s call signaling his arrival. After providing Palmer with his location at the Southwest luggage carousal, Henry informed Morris of the need for a brief confidential discussion with Palmer before leaving the airport.
Even though he hadn’t seen Palmer in several years, it wasn’t hard to recognize him as he approached the top of the escalator. He was still the compact, squared-away agent he’d always been, even though nothing much stood out about th
e man. The woman that accompanied him, however, stood out like a lighthouse beacon on a seaside cliff. Heads turned when she walked by, and he could tell from Palmer’s lively step that he relished having her by his side.
“Jason, ol’ buddy…holy hell it’s good to see you, man,” Emerson said, giving him a big bear hug. “Look at you…damn, you’ve aged, sport,” he added, eyeing him up and down with his hands on Henry’s shoulders.
“I can’t say you look much better, Emerson,” Henry rejoined. “Jesus, where’d you get all those wrinkles? I’ve seen better-looking Sharpeis,” he said with a chuckle.
“Very funny, Jason. Let me introduce Angelina Navarro,” Palmer said, turning his attention to Angel. “She’s been invaluable in my search for Sela Coscarelli.”
Jason greeted Angelina warmly, shaking her hand. “My deepest apologies for my friend’s boorish behavior, ma’am. He obviously has no idea how to handle himself in the presence of a beautiful woman,” he said with a mischievous grin.
“And I’m pleased to introduce you both to Lieutenant David Morris from the Palo Alto Police Department. Lieutenant Morris has been on this case since day one,” Henry said, completing the round of introductions as everyone shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Morris replied. “I’ve heard a great deal about your many exploits, Mr. Palmer. My admiration is considerable.”
“Well, don’t believe everything you hear, Lieutenant…especially from this joker,” Palmer chided, playfully shoving Henry.
“Okay, okay…everyone gets the point, Emerson.”
Henry turned toward Morris to suggest the need for privacy. “Lieutenant, would you kindly take Ms. Navarro for a cup of coffee? Emerson and I need to discuss a few things. Let’s all meet back here in twenty minutes.”
“Certainly…it would be my pleasure,” Morris eagerly replied.
