The Cooper Affair

by Jack Patterson

  And it’s exactly the same behavior he was emulating as he trudged ahead, pain and all, in pursuit of Flynn and Banks.

  Dad would be so proud.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t. It certainly wasn’t sporting to push two people out of an airplane with only one parachute. Nor was it fair to slather bloody raw meat on them before dropping them in bear country. And removing all chance of reaching the outside world without a long trek through unfamiliar mountainous terrain during an early season snowstorm wasn’t exactly leveling the playing field either.

  Dad was wrong. This is fun.

  Gordon glanced down at the GPS in his hand. He could hear Flynn and Banks talking up ahead—and he could tell the state park recreational area was no more than five hundred yards ahead.

  As he crept closer, he reverted to a stealthier approach, walking on his toes in an effort to reduce the sound of snow crunching beneath his feet. His movement toward them was a practice in patience and concentration. Moments away from flushing them into the open, Gordon didn’t want to lose sight of them for a second, nor did he want to stumble along the trail and give up the element of surprise. Everything was at stake.

  Nearly unflappable, Gordon gritted his teeth and pressed on.

  Step. Step. Step.

  He checked the snow-coated forest path in front of him before glancing in the direction of his prey.

  Step. Step. Step.

  Low murmurs helped him remain focused on the ground as he moved forward. As long as he knew they were still crouching in the woods, unwilling to dash into the open, he had them right where he wanted them.

  Step. Step. Step.

  Gordon looked down and then up again. But this time, the silhouetted figures he expected to be hiding just off the pathway at the entrance of the forest trail were gone.

  What the—

  Step. Step. Step.

  He stopped caring as much about his stealthy approach when he realized they were gone. But he still didn’t want to give up his position either.

  After a few more meters, Gordon came upon the spot where Flynn and Banks had been hiding. He peered around a sign just off the pathway.

  There they are.

  He smiled to himself as he watched them try to talk to an old man about their situation and where they were. It was evident they were trying to talk him into helping them.

  Gordon squinted, straining to see the man’s face.

  “Is that—?” He stopped talking to himself for a moment before resuming. “That can’t be him. How’d he track me out here?”

  Gordon stood up and hustled toward them.

  It’s time to get down to business.

  He pulled back the hammer on his pistol as he approached them, drawing their attention away from Coleman.

  “Who’s ready to dance?” Gordon growled.

  CHAPTER 44

  THE HEADLIGHTS GLINTED off Coleman’s gun as he held it loosely by his side. Flynn noticed Coleman teeter as he stood in front of them. The man didn’t say a word.

  With both hands surrendered in the air, Flynn focused his gaze on Gordon. “I think you better put your gun down before you make a terrible mistake.”

  Gordon shuffled closer, edging within ten feet of the trio. “You’ve already made a terrible mistake—and it’s going to cost you dearly. You see, Coleman and I have been working together this whole time. I knew no one would believe a maligned FBI agent, a man who deserved better. But you and every other agent in the Bureau treated him like a pariah. Well, now you’re going to pay for your lack of respect.”

  Flynn glanced at Banks. Her slight headshake signaled that she didn’t want to encourage him to do anything. Flynn ignored her. He put his hands on his hips and took a step forward.

  “Well, I’m not buying it,” Flynn declared emphatically. “The Harold Coleman I know is a man who spent his whole life in search of the truth. And from where I’m standing, it seems like he was right all along. But I doubt he came here tonight to rub my nose in that fact before he shoots me.”

  Flynn took another step toward Gordon.

  “That’s far enough,” Gordon said as he extended his gun in Flynn’s direction.

  Flynn noticed Gordon grimacing in pain, almost hunched over, with his left hand draped across his midsection. Without hesitating, Flynn took another step.

  “I said, that’s far enough,” Gordon said, taking a step backward.

  Before Gordon could make another move, Flynn crouched down and exploded with a leg kick up toward Gordon’s stomach. The sudden movement caught Gordon off guard and he didn’t have an opportunity to defend himself. With a powerful blow, Flynn sent the suspect tumbling backward.

  Meanwhile, Banks wielded her own roundhouse kick toward Coleman, who didn’t respond like a frail old man. Remaining upright, he grabbed her leg and threw her. She landed on her feet and wasted no time in sprinting toward him, landing a vicious uppercut that stunned him. He regained his bearings and grabbed her, throwing her to the ground. Pinning her arms down with his knees, he placed both hands around Banks’ neck and started to choke her. Banks wrestled one arm free and tried to gouge him in the eye. He withdrew and avoided her attempt. Frantically searching for a way to extend the fight and give herself a chance to emerge victorious, she slapped the ground for something to assist her and put her hand on a rock. She swung hard at him, connecting with the side of his face when an odd thing happened—she slashed his face but no blood came out initially.

  As they struggled, a mask fell off his face—and she realized that she wasn’t fighting Coleman after all. It was her partner, Chase Jones.

  “Jones!” she screamed. “I’m gonna kill you.” In an adrenaline-induced rage, she squirmed free and kicked him in the face several times, rendering him incapacitated.

  Banks snatched Jones’ gun and stood up straight. She looked over at Flynn who had yet to get Gordon in a compromising position. Gordon kept his gun trained on Flynn.

  “Well, well, well, I guess the secret is out of the bag,” Gordon said as he broke into a guffaw. “Makes no difference to me. The outcome tonight will be no different—and the public will be none the wiser.”

  Banks saw Jones moving before she grabbed his arm and kicked him in the back. He fell face first in front of her. “So, it’s games you like?” She didn’t wait for a response. “This is one you can’t win.”

  Gordon laughed again and shook his head. “Agent Banks, the woman with all the answers. Why don’t you pull the trigger and get this over with? Or should I say, get this started? Because the second you pull that trigger, you’re dead—and so is your partner. Because this time I won’t miss.”

  Banks put her knee into Jones’ back and leaned down toward his ear. “How could you? My own partner—a traitor. And with him, no less.” She ripped what was left of his latex mask off his face and tossed it aside.

  “I had no choice,” Jones said. “He’s blackmailing me. He kidnapped my son.”

  Banks put more weight on his back with her knee. “I’ve been working with you long enough to know when you’re lying.”

  “I swear, it’s true!” Jones said.

  “Shut the hell up, Jones,” Gordon said. “We met at a bar when you were drunk and you said you needed some money—all those gambling debts. And I offered you a solution. Simple as that.”

  “I should let her kill you right now,” Jones said.

  Gordon smiled. “First of all, she couldn’t even if she wanted to. Secondly, if you do, you’ll never find out where your share of the money is.”

  Jones squirmed, his chest still planted firmly against the ground. “I already know where it is—littered over CenturyLink Field.”

  “That’s not all of it,” Gordon said. “Besides, there’s still room for you to emerge the hero of this story as long as you keep your head.”

  Flynn broke his silence. “The hero? He’s going to prison when this is all over with, if not for collusion, most definitely for murder.”

  “Not after he arr
ests the Cooper Copycat and hauls him off to prison,” Gordon said.

  “You’re a pathetic excuse for a copycat,” Banks said.

  “And you’re a pathetic excuse for an FBI agent,” Gordon shot back. “It took a retired disgraced agent to actually figure out who was behind everything—and you still didn’t believe him. But I’ve managed to do everything Cooper did—and more.”

  Flynn broke into a quiet snicker.

  “Something funny, hack?” Gordon said.

  “Except you didn’t outsmart the FBI,” Flynn said. “They’re going to cart you away to prison—and you’ll never see the light of day again.”

  “You can dream, Mr. Flynn,” Gordon said. “But it’ll never happen. I’ll never be tried or convicted of anything, regardless of what transpires here tonight—that much I’m sure of.”

  “Then your arrogance will be your downfall,” Banks chimed in.

  “And your ignorance will be yours,” Gordon said, training his gun on Banks. “I suggest you don’t move another muscle or you’ll be nothing more than a fallen agent who failed to capture another D.B. Cooper.”

  After a brief tense moment, Flynn spoke up. “So, I’ll play along. How is Jones going to be the hero of this story?”

  “Once I shoot you two and feed your bodies to the bears, Jones will arrest me. He’ll be famous and make off with some of the loot. And I’ll be famous as well. It’s a win-win.”

  “Except you’re going to prison,” Flynn said.

  Gordon started coughing and spewed a stream of blood onto the ground. He held up his finger and bent over while keeping an eye—and his gun—trained on Banks. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  After another brief coughing spell, Gordon stood upright.

  “I’m going to die, Agent Banks,” he said. “I’ve got stomach cancer—and even if you shoot me now, you’re only escalating the inevitable by a few weeks.”

  “But why?” Banks said. “What would compel you to do such a thing?”

  “I do it for the same reason D.B. Cooper did all those years ago—because I can,” Gordon said with a wry grin on his face. “The greatest American bandit in modern day history. He stumped the FBI and they never caught him—and if you arrest me, at least everyone will know who I really am. And it will come out that the only reason you figured out it was me was because I let you figure it out. You’re ignorant and arrogant.”

  “And you are naive if you think anyone is ever going to celebrate you with songs and talk about you in pop culture,” Flynn said. “You’re nothing more than a sad wannabe.”

  Gordon shrugged. “Perhaps not, but at least I know what it’s like to be D.B. Cooper. And at least my name won’t go down in history as a failure.”

  The foursome was so engrossed in the conversation that no one heard the approaching footsteps—or the click of a gun.

  CHAPTER 45

  “CUTE STORY, BUT IT ENDS RIGHT HERE,” boomed a voice a few yards away from the foursome. Harold Coleman smiled as he lumbered forward, leaning on his walking stick with one hand and clutching his gun in the other.

  “If I wasn’t holding a gun, I’d slow clap for you right now,” Gordon said. “It’s about time you figured out what was going on.”

  “I’ve had you figured out all along, you sonofabitch. Nobody would believe me, but I’m hoping all the knuckleheads at the FBI will appreciate the fact that I stuck with this case, especially you, Agent Banks.”

  She forced a smile and nodded.

  Gordon spit again onto the ground and grunted. “This isn’t going to end like you think it is, Agent Coleman. Just another swing and a miss at trying to catch a fugitive criminal in the Washington mountains. I never thought you’d take it this far but I’m afraid you’re going to be joining Mr. Flynn and Agent Banks on the dinner table of a few black bears.”

  “What’s stopping me from shooting you right now? You think I give a damn?” Coleman growled.

  Gordon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh, plenty is stopping you—you want to be the hero. You let D.B. Cooper slip away in these same woods but now you want to bring me in to redeem yourself—in your own mind, anyway. You’ll always be the guy who failed the FBI.”

  With everyone engrossed in the conversation, Jones exploded off the ground, catching Banks by surprise and knocking her gun to the side. Jones scrambled for the gun and reached it before Banks. He then shot Coleman in the shoulder, sending him sprawling backward.

  As Coleman fell, he dropped his gun. Flynn dove for it, but Gordon beat him to it, kicking it to the side. Flynn lunged for it again but froze when Gordon shot the ground, just inches away from him.

  Gordon chuckled. “Seems like the odds have changed in my favor, thanks to another failed FBI agent trying to be a hero.”

  He paced around for a few moments before speaking again.

  “We’re going to do things my way, Mr. Flynn,” Gordon said.

  Coleman watched as Jones took full control of Banks, pinning her to the ground in the same manner as she held him only a few moments before. “I finished first in my class at Quantico, not second,” Jones said as he applied more pressure on Banks’ back.

  Coleman lay back on the ground, trying to ignore the fiery pain consuming his right arm and the entire right side of his body. He put his left hand over the wound and applied pressure, trying to stop the bleeding.

  I’m this close to bringing this bastard in—I’m not going out like this.

  He glared at Gordon, who directed Flynn and Banks back toward the woods. Gordon and Jones flanked them, keeping their guns trained on the two hostages.

  “You’re just gonna leave me here to die?” Coleman said as he tried to stagger to his feet.

  Coleman managed to get to his knees and was about to stand up before Gordon crept next to him and got in his ear.

  “Yes, old man, you’re going to die out here—alone—a failure,” Gordon said. He cackled as he stood up and started to return toward his prisoners.

  Coleman mustered up all his strength and hustled after Gordon.

  “What the—” Gordon said as he spun around behind him, just in time to see Coleman’s walking stick crash against his face.

  Banks sprang into action against Jones, delivering a devastating wheelhouse kick to his side that knocked him off balance. Her second kick connected with his head, putting him out cold.

  Meanwhile, Flynn picked up a rock and looked to finish the job Coleman started. He bashed Gordon in the head with it, stunning him for a moment. Gordon’s gun fell out of his hand and Flynn pounced on it. Gordon made another move toward him to get the gun.

  “Not so fast, genius. We’re doing this my way now,” Flynn said.

  Coleman directed Banks to run back to his car and get something to secure the prisoners with. After he finished talking, he grew faint and closed his eyes.

  “Stay with me, Mr. Coleman,” Flynn said. “Talk to me. Don’t pass out.”

  Banks returned with some rope and zip ties. In a matter of moments, they secured Gordon and Jones and shoved them into Coleman’s car.

  Flynn hustled back toward Coleman, who was lying flat on his back and moaning in pain. “We’re going to get you some help, Mr. Coleman. Just hang in there,” Flynn said.

  Coleman turned his head and looked at Flynn.

  “Tell Edith I love her,” Coleman said. “And tell her that I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER 46

  FLYNN TOOK A SEAT on the front row of the FBI press conference the following day a few minutes before noon. He wanted to hear Thurston describe Banks’ heroics and all the sordid details to the public. It was the story his editor, Theresa Thompson, had been waiting on since the news first broke that someone had leapt out of an airliner with a million dollars and disappeared. Unless the President died, there wouldn’t be a bigger story during the next 24-hour news cycle.

  Banks slid into the seat next to Flynn. Her eyes sparkled beneath the glow of the television lights surrounding the room. �
�How are ya?” she asked.

  Flynn took a deep breath. “Grateful to be alive after yesterday.”

  “Did you tell your editor what happened?”

  He nodded.

  “And she didn’t give you the day off?”

  Flynn smiled. “She offered but I declined. I wanted to see you up there getting the praise you deserve for what you did last night.”

  “You should be up there with me.”

  “I’m just a consultant, remember? Besides, I still have a job to do.”

  “Well, I think you’re going to be surprised. Thurston has something special planned.”

  Flynn watched Banks hustle away, ducking low to stay out of the view of the cameras. Less than a minute later, she reentered the room, following Thurston and several other FBI officials.

  Thurston stepped forward and delivered a statement.

  “As you might guess, the FBI has countless people who have worked tirelessly on apprehending the man responsible for not one, but two federal heists. The first one resulted in the theft of one million dollars, the second less than a week later for two hundred thousand dollars. But last night, those efforts paid off when FBI Agent Jennifer Banks arrested a suspect in the robbery, the man we believe to be behind the two heists.

  “Unfortunately, she also had to arrest another man in connection with the case. Her former partner, Chase Jones. We are still sorting through the extent of Jones’ involvement in the case, which will be revealed more in depth at a later time.

  “For now, we believe that we have both men in custody who were behind the brazen attempts to steal federal money and abscond with it.

  “However, it must be noted that Banks couldn’t have done this without the help of a former FBI agent whose involvement in this case was vital. And that person is none other than former FBI Agent Harold Coleman.”

  Thurston turned to his left, his arm outstretched. The door swung open and an FBI official wheeled Coleman into the room.

  Coleman smiled and waved with his left hand. His right arm was bandaged tightly, and a few nicks and scrapes on his face from the fray the night before remained visible. A lightning storm of flash bulbs lit up the room.