by Tim Kizer
There must be someone in the back of the truck. They wouldn’t have rented a truck unless they were transporting an abducted person.
If they left before the police arrived, she would tail them. Fortunately, the big vehicle with its flashy graphics wasn’t easy to lose, so she wouldn’t have to follow it closely.
The truck might have a GPS tracker in it.
Holly walked up to a waitress and said, “Excuse me. Do you have a back door? My ex-boyfriend is outside. I don’t want him to see me.”
“Sure. Let me show you,” the waitress replied.
Holly followed the waitress to the back door, exited the building, and sprinted to her car, hoping to God Chapman wouldn’t leave in the next two minutes. As she started the engine, her phone beeped. It was a message from Falcone: “Is this a license plate?”
Holly drove to the restaurant and parked close enough to see Chapman’s truck. Watching Chapman in the rearview mirror, she dialed 911, and when the operator answered, she said in a trembling voice, “There’s a man with a shotgun in the parking lot of the IHOP on Airline Drive near the airport. Please send someone. He’s going to kill us.”
“Are you in danger, ma’am?”
“Yes.” Holly put the phone on speaker and opened Google Maps. “The address is One one seven three Airline Drive, Kenner. Please hurry.”
“Okay, I'm sending the police right now. Is that man alone?”
“I don’t know. He drives a U-Haul truck. Are the police on their way?”
“Yes. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“I’m sorry. I have to hang up now.”
Holly terminated the call and dialed Falcone’s number, her eyes glued to the rearview mirror.
If Chapman saw her and came over to her car, she would run him over.
“Is everything okay?” the detective asked.
Why not just run him over now?
“I found Chapman. He rented a U-Haul truck. The license plate number I sent you belongs to the truck.”
“Where is he now?”
“Near New Orleans Airport. I called the police. I’m going to follow him if he leaves before the cops come.”
“I don’t think you should do that.”
“I have to do it. Can you ask U-Haul if Chapman’s truck has a GPS tracker in it?”
“Okay.”
Should she run Chapman over?
A tall man with long dark hair, wearing khaki pants and a blue T-shirt walked up to Chapman, and a few moments later they got in the truck.
Was that guy Chapman’s partner?
“He’s leaving,” Holly said, starting the engine.
“Be careful.”
“I will. Goodbye, Chris.”
Chapman backed out of the parking space and pulled out onto Airline Drive, heading west. Holly followed him. Her heart was pounding so hard it seemed to shake her entire body.
She could save Eric. She could save Veronica.
Holly dialed her father’s number and put the phone on speaker.
“Is everything okay?” Sanders asked.
“Dad, I found Chapman. I’m following him right now.”
“Where are you?”
Chapman stopped at a red traffic light.
“New Orleans.”
“Are you following him on foot?”
“No. I’m in a rental car. Chapman rented a U-Haul truck. Can you call the local highway patrol and ask them to arrest him?”
There was silence on the line. Finally her father said, “I’ll arrest him myself.”
“How?”
“You said he was going to Washington, right?”
“Yes.”
The traffic light changed to green and Chapman’s truck started moving again.
“Can you follow him for four, five hours?”
“Yes. Why don't you want to call the highway patrol?”
Another silence. “He’s CIA, Holly. The highway patrol will let him go.”
Chapman worked for the CIA? Was that why the Plano Police Department had let him go and why there was no record of his arrest?
“Why didn't you tell me that before?”
“Do you have your regular phone with you?”
“No. It’s in my suitcase.”
“Where’s your suitcase?”
“On the bus.”
“I want you to install an app called Family Tracker.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to text you an invite code. You need to enter it in your profile.”
“This app will show you my location?”
“Yes. What kind of truck is Chapman driving?”
“A ten-foot truck.”
“Is he alone?”
“No. He’s with his partner.”
“Don’t get close to them. If they see you, drive away as fast as you can.”
“Hurry, Dad. I think Eric and the woman they kidnapped are in the back of his truck.”
A few minutes later Chapman turned into a gas station and parked in the corner of the lot. Holly pulled into the lot of a construction equipment rental company across the street and stopped about forty yards from Chapman’s truck near a row of excavators, whose bent arms reminded her of scorpion tails. Chapman and his partner got out and went into the store.
Keeping an eye on the truck, Holly opened the app store on her phone, found Family Tracker, and tapped Install.
Chapter 45
1
“Are we taking I-Fifty-five?” Castor asked as they pulled into a gas station.
Osiris nodded. “Yes.”
He planned to take Interstate 55 to Interstate 12 and then get on Interstate 59. He could have saved about forty minutes by taking Interstate 10 to Interstate 59, but he didn’t want to drive through New Orleans.
They both wore sunglasses, and they put on their caps to complete their disguises before getting out of the truck.
“Let’s get water,” Castor said as they entered the store.
“Okay.”
Osiris went to the cooler section and took out five bags of ice. As he closed the cooler door, Castor walked up with a twelve-pack of water bottles.
“You think that’s enough?” Castor asked.
“We’ll see.”
Osiris tucked a bag of ice under each arm and picked up two more bags, and Castor grabbed the remaining bag. The penetrating cold of the ice reminded Osiris of his mission to Moscow in January of last year. His task was to terminate a former NSA contractor who had stolen a shitload of classified information from the US government. He had injected the guy with an undetectable, fast-acting poison concocted by CIA chemists (if it had been up to him, he would have chopped off the traitor’s dick and balls and then eviscerated him). During his stay in Moscow the temperature had never risen above fourteen degrees and had been below zero for three days. He couldn’t have stopped wondering why the Russians had made such a cold place their capital.
Castor paid for their purchases with cash, and they went back to the truck.
“Did you give her any water?” Castor asked, setting the twelve-pack and bag of ice down.
“Yes.”
They would give Veronica another drink of water in five hours, before administering the sedative.
Osiris removed the padlock, turned the latch, and raised the rear door about two feet. While he held the door, Castor tossed the bags of ice inside, one by one.
“Let’s check on her in two hours.” Osiris shut the door and put the padlock back on the latch.
When he turned onto Airline Highway, he took off his cap and wig.
Chapter 46
1
Sanders had lied to his daughter. He had no intention of arresting Michael Chapman, or whatever his real name was. He planned to kill the son of a bitch.
Sanders was sure Chapman was going to kill Holly. Because he worked for the CIA, she wouldn’t be able to hide from him for long, so the only way to stop Chapman was to kill him.
Chapman might never return to his house
in Dallas, so he had to waste the bastard today.
Holly thought Eric was in Chapman’s truck, but Sanders doubted that. Eric was probably dead. And he might have told Chapman everything he knew about Holly before the bastard killed him.
Sanders switched on his laptop and opened Google Maps. He had to figure out where to meet Chapman.
Chapman would most likely take either I-59 North (and then I-75 North, I-81 North, and I-66 East) or I-10 East (and then I-65 North, I-85 North, and I-95 North). If he chose the first route, in five hours he would be near Birmingham, Alabama. If he chose the second route, in five hours he would be near Tuskegee, Alabama.
The flight distance between Dallas and Birmingham was about five hundred and eighty miles. A private jet could cover this distance in about an hour. It probably took two hours to prepare a plane, so he could get to Birmingham two hours ahead of Chapman.
He would find out which route Chapman had chosen in about an hour.
Sanders took out his phone and called his old friend Mitch Meyerson. Meyerson owned an oil company and was worth over six hundred million dollars. As many multimillionaires, he had a private jet and Sanders hoped he would let him use it.
“Can you do me a favor?” Sanders asked Meyerson.
“Sure. What is it?”
“Do you still have a jet?”
“Yes.”
“I need to be in Birmingham, Alabama, in three hours. It’s about my daughter. Can I rent your plane?”
“Sure. Is your daughter okay?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Jim.”
“How long will it take to get your plane ready?”
“About an hour and a half.” Mitch paused. “Consider it your Christmas gift, Jim.”
“Thank you, Mitch. Is your plane at Dallas Love Field?”
“Yes. My assistant will give you all the details.”
2
While she waited for the Family Tracker app to download, Holly searched the Internet for the gas mileage for U-Haul trucks and found that a ten-foot truck could go about three hundred and seventy miles on one tank. Assuming the truck’s tank was full, Chapman could drive for about five and a half hours before he had to refill it.
When they came out of the store, Chapman and his partner were carrying five bags of ice, which they put in the back of the truck.
What did they need the ice for?
Chapman pulled out of the gas station lot and turned left onto Airline Highway.
How was her dad going to arrest Chapman? Would he get on a plane and go to… Where would he go? He wasn’t going to Washington, because it was a sixteen-hour drive from here and he’d asked her to tail Chapman for five hours.
Where would Chapman be in five hours? Probably somewhere in Alabama or Georgia.
What would her dad do when the CIA demanded that he let Chapman go?
He knew that the CIA would order him to release the bastard. Maybe he wasn’t going to arrest Chapman. Maybe he intended to kill him.
As Holly pulled onto I-310, it occurred to her that Chapman and his partner might have put the ice in the back of the truck to cool the air.
3
Sanders pulled out his service pistol and spare magazines and locked them in the safe behind his desk: he didn’t want to risk losing the gun while pursuing Chapman.
He would have to remove the license plate from his rental car. There was a screwdriver in the glove compartment of his BMW; he would take it with him.
Sanders told his secretary that he was leaving for the day, then drove three blocks down G Avenue, parked on Seventeenth Street in a residential neighborhood, and called a cab. After hanging up, he retrieved the screwdriver from the glove compartment and put it in his duffel bag, which he then moved from the trunk to the backseat.
He figured it would be better if there was no proof that his cell was in the vicinity of where Chapman was murdered, so he made a stop at a cellphone store and bought a disposable phone. He activated it, installed the Family Tracker app, and sent Holly an invite code. Then he called her and told her he would use the burner cell to communicate with her.
“I just sent you the invite code. Don’t forget to enter it in your profile,” he said.
A minute later Mitch Meyerson’s assistant called and told Sanders that the plane would be ready by ten o’clock.
“It departs from Jet Flight Support Terminal One at Dallas Love Field Airport,” the assistant said. “Please use the entrance at the corner of Lemmon Avenue and Lovers Lane. The terminal is right down the driveway.”
After he hung up, Sanders checked Holly’s location on Family Tracker and saw that she was on I-55 heading north.
Had Chapman’s plans changed? Was he still going to Washington?
When he checked his daughter’s location again fifteen minutes later, she was on I-12 heading east. I-12 connected with I-59 and I-10 in Slidell.
Which route would Chapman take?
The cab dropped Sanders off at the airport entrance at Lemmon Avenue and Lovers Lane. He found Jet Flight Support Terminal 1 and gave his name to the receptionist. She told him his plane would be ready soon and asked if he'd like something to drink. Sanders declined.
He changed out of his uniform and into the jeans and T-shirt in the restroom and then took a seat in the beautifully furnished waiting lounge. At a quarter to ten, two pilots came in, introduced themselves, and asked Sanders to board the plane.
“When will we arrive in Birmingham?” Sanders asked.
“Around eleven,” said the pilot named Harry Pacey.
“What airport?”
“Birmingham-Shuttlesworth Airport.”
When they boarded the plane, a beautiful Gulfstream G550, Pacey showed Sanders how to use the cabin management system that provided control over lighting, temperature, and entertainment equipment. There was a fully stocked minibar, and if he didn’t have to drive in less than two hours, Sanders would have had a glass of Scotch.
He took a seat in the back of the plane. Before he buckled his seatbelt, Sanders removed the battery from his regular cell and tucked them into a pocket of his bag.
Holly reached the junction of I-12, I-59, and I-10 as the jet taxied to the runway. Sanders stared at his disposable phone intently, waiting to see which route Chapman would take. As the plane accelerated down the runway, the red circle with Holly’s name on it crawled onto I-59 heading north. Chapman had chosen the route that passed through Birmingham.
Sanders dialed Holly’s number and she answered on the second ring.
“Are you on I-Fifty-nine?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you still on Chapman’s tail?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on a plane to Birmingham. It’s about three hundred miles from where you are right now. We’ll land in an hour.”
“Do you have a gun with you?”
“Yes.”
“Only one gun?”
“Yes.”
“They put several bags of ice in the back of the truck. I think they’re using it to cool the air. There’s someone in there, Dad. I’m sure of it.”
At eleven o’clock Chapman would be about two hundred and forty miles from Birmingham. It should take Sanders no more than an hour to get a rental car. Chapman would be about one hundred and seventy miles from Birmingham at noon. He could meet Chapman eighty-five miles southwest of Birmingham, at around half past one.
He was considering two ways of killing Chapman: he could shoot the bastard through the window while the truck was moving, or he could force Chapman’s vehicle off the road and kill him as he got out.
He would spare Chapman’s partner, but only if the guy didn’t try to kill him.
Chapter 47
1
There was a rest area twenty miles north of Slidell, and Osiris decided to make a stop there to check on Veronica and use the restroom. The place was about two hundred yards long and consisted of a one-story office and two single-row parking lots:
one for cars and one for semitrucks. Osiris parked at the far end of the lot, six spaces from the nearest car. He and Castor got out and went to the rear of the truck.
“What if she’s dead?” Castor smiled mischievously.
Osiris took off the padlock, raised the rear door about four feet, climbed inside, and lowered the door. It was hot in there, but not unbearably so. Most of the ice hadn’t melted yet. He pulled Veronica’s head and shoulders out of the box so that her legs were stretched out, and checked the pulse in her neck. The woman was alive. Osiris placed two bags of ice along her left side and three along her right and got out of the truck.
“She’s fine,” he told Castor.
He locked the rear door. “Go to the restroom. I’ll go after you.”
“Okay,” Castor said, and made for the office building.
Standing in the shade of the truck, Osiris took out his encrypted phone, switched it on, and called Sheridan.
“Hi, Peter.”
“Hi, Gordon,” said the CIA’s director of Black Ops.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way to McLean. I should be there by eight a.m.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you, Gordon.”
Osiris figured Sheridan wanted him to kill Veronica (it would be really hard to convince the surgeons to cut the heart out of a living, healthy human being; he planned to suffocate the woman with a plastic bag). Because he couldn’t wait to return to Dallas and take care of Holly Williams, he hoped Sheridan would have everything ready for the operation tomorrow.
By the way, where was Holly? Had she gone back to Dallas yet?
She would try to hide from him, of course, but he would find her sooner or later.
Chapter 48
1
It was ten past eleven when the plane touched down in Birmingham. As it taxied to the private jet terminal, Sanders checked Holly’s location and saw she was on I-59 a few miles north of Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and about two hundred and thirty miles from Birmingham. He called Holly and she told him she was still following Chapman.
