The Dark Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Pointing to the laptop in front of where Lyon stood, Clark turned to Sandy. “Agent Knoll, please secure Mr. Lyon’s laptop.”

  Less than thirty seconds later, Knoll and Gibbs were escorting Gordon Lyon from the conference room toward the elevator.

  ***

  Kruger looked up as Gordon Lyon, his hands cuffed behind him, entered Kevin Marks’ office, still escorted by Knoll and Gibbs. Clark followed them into the office and closed the door. He placed the laptop he held next to JR, who still sat behind Marks’ desk.

  Turning to Knoll, Kruger asked, “Has he said anything?”

  Shaking his head, the big man said, “He hasn’t even protested his arrest.”

  Studying the man, Kruger tilted his head. “Why is that, Gordon?”

  The commissioner stared at the carpet next to his shoes.

  “Where are the trucks?”

  He looked up. “What trucks?”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger pursed his lips. “We played that game with Roger Blake last night. After I explained the consequences of those trucks exploding, he—”

  “I don’t know where they are. Marks never told us.”

  “But you do know about them?”

  “Yes.”

  “At least you’re smarter than Blake. He denied knowing anything about them all the way to Cheyenne.”

  Lyon’s eyes grew wide. “Cheyenne?”

  “We’re federal agents, Gordon. You’re facing federal charges. Now, I suggest you tell me what I need to know.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  With a shake of his head, Kruger stood and walked closer to the man. “I was hoping you’d be more cooperative, but I can see you aren’t going to be.” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I assume you remember Timothy McVeigh.”

  A nod.

  “Do you remember the length of time it took to arrest him, put him on trial, convict him, sentence him to the death penalty and actually execute him?”

  “No.”

  “Six years, Gordon. Six years. The clock starts today.”

  A tear flowed down the soon to be ex-County Commissioner as he took a deep breath. “What exactly do you need to know?”

  ***

  With his cell phone pressed to his ear, Kruger paced in Kevin Mark’s spacious office. JR, still at the desk, started the task of tearing into Gordon Lyon’s laptop.

  Kruger said, “Paul, we know the trucks are on the road now. One is heading toward the east coast and one toward the west coast. Where, we don’t know.”

  “That’s a big area to cover, Sean. Lots of roads and lots of destinations.”

  “We know. JR’s making progress, but to be honest with you, I don’t think Blake and Lyon know the details. I’m not sure what their purpose was in this little drama, other than to give Marks status in the community.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Blake is in the federal building in Cheyenne being questioned by the agents recently assigned to this area. Where are the ones who were transferred out?”

  “Not sure. HR handled that.”

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have them questioned.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a hunch they knew what was going on.”

  “Oh, boy. What else?”

  “Lyon is being escorted to Cheyenne by Agent Reed for more interrogation.”

  “I understand you and him got sideways.”

  “At first. It’s amazing how a little embarrassment changed his attitude.”

  “He’s a good agent, Sean. He doesn’t have your experience, but he will someday.”

  “He needs to learn humility first.”

  “So did a young agent with a cocky attitude and a PhD in psychology.”

  Kruger remained quiet.

  Stumpf continued, “What’s your next step?”

  “We have to determine—”

  JR interrupted Kruger. “Sean, I found something.”

  “Hang on, Paul.” Lowering the cell phone from his ear, he looked at JR. “What is it?”

  “I know the destination of the east bound truck.”

  Kruger smiled slightly. He returned the phone to his ear. “I’ll call you right back, we might have a break.”

  Chapter 43

  Sweet Grass, Montana

  US Interstate 15 terminates in Sweet Grass, Montana at the Canadian border and becomes Alberta Highway 4 in the town of Coutts, Alberta. As the busiest port of entry in Montana, it is also the state’s only commercial entry port operating twenty-four hours a day. Semi-trucks on their way to and from Canada with goods and agriculture pass through their own entry gate, while cars and small trucks pass through six separate gates for inspection.

  At the same time Sean Kruger held his phone conversation with Paul Stumpf, Kevin Marks pulled into the only gate open and presented a passport with the name Kevin Markovic.

  The board gate attendant said, “Business or pleasure in Canada, Mr. Markovic?”

  “Hunting trip.”

  After comparing the picture with the man presenting the passport, the attendant handed it back to Marks. “Good luck and enjoy your stay.”

  As he entered Canada, he glanced in the Ford’s rearview mirror as a small smile appeared on his lips.

  ***

  The spacious home owned by Kevin Marks sat on a five-acre plot southwest of Lander in the foothills of the Wyoming Range. Kruger walked through the home. The décor appeared to be professionally done without any indications of a family. As he passed from room to room, he turned to Ryan Clark, who accompanied him. “Was Marks married?”

  “Married to his work, according to all of the employees at the store.”

  “Girlfriends?”

  “Not that anyone knew.”

  “Kids?”

  “According to the employees, he never mentioned any.”

  “Pretty nice house for a single guy.” He smiled and glanced at Clark. “Would you agree?”

  “Beats the hell out of the place I lived in when I was single.”

  “I understand there’s a floor safe in his bedroom.”

  “Yeah, when the first agents got here, they found the door open and nothing inside. They’re testing it to see if it contained a weapon.”

  Kruger nodded. “I’m sure it did.” He wandered into the gourmet kitchen and stood with his head cocked. “There’s nothing out of place in this house. No one lives like that.” He walked closer to the marble cabinet tops and ran a finger over the surface. He lifted it and showed Clark. “Cabinet tops are dusty. This room hasn’t been used for a while.”

  Clark walked to the Subzero refrigerator and opened it. The shelves were bare except for a six-pack carton of beer containing five bottles, two apples, four oranges, four black bananas and an unopened gallon jug of milk. He picked up the milk container and looked at the expiration date. “This is out-of-date by a week and it’s never been opened.”

  Now at the sliding glass door next to the kitchen, Kruger looked out at the view. The rear of the house faced east and from this height in the foothills, the town of Lander could be clearly seen in the distance. “Let’s see the bedroom.”

  Kneeling, Kruger looked at the still-open floor safe. He stood and gazed at the disorder within the closet. He turned and viewed the bedroom. The contrast of this room to the rest of the home was like night and day. He said, “Marks left in a hurry.”

  Clark stood next to the unmade bed. “Why do you say that?”

  The senior FBI agent’s hand gestured to the closet. “Hangers and clothes are on the floor, there’s an empty space next to the safe where I bet a suitcase or something similar was kept, plus I see an open gap where his pants are hung.”

  Pointing to a spot on the bed next to the nightstand, Clark said, “Looks like someone sat on the side of the bed.”

  Nodding, Kruger moved away from the closet. “Just like someone sat there and answered a phone call.”

  A yo
ung female FBI agent entered the room. “Director Kruger, we found something in his home office.”

  “Lead the way, Agent Nelson.”

  When Kruger and Clark entered the room down the hall from the bedroom, the first thing they noticed was the cluttered desk with numerous files scattered around. “Is this how you found the room?”

  A different female agent stood behind the desk holding a manila file folder. “Yes, most of these appear to have been taken out of here.” She pointed to an open drawer on the right side of the desk. “There were several gaps in the contents. We also found this.” She handed the folder to Kruger.

  “What is it?”

  “Registration and ownership paperwork for a Ford F-150.”

  “Okay, we know what he’s driving.” He looked at the contents and started flipping through the pages. He stopped on one in particular and smiled. After handing the page to Clark, he said, “Nice work, Agent Cummings.”

  After skimming the page, Clark looked up. “Who the hell is Kreso Markovic?”

  Kruger was now looking through the scattered papers on the desk. He stopped, uncovered an eight-by-five white envelope with a return address located in New York City and picked it up. He bent the metal clasps keeping it closed, opened it and extracted the papers inside. As he read it, he frowned. “Our Kevin Marks isn’t who he says he is.” He showed the paper to Cummings. After she took it, he turned to Clark. “It appears our Kevin Marks is actually a naturalized citizen from Queens, New York, whose real name is Kreso Markovic.”

  Clark frowned. “Russian?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  With a shake of his head, Clark replied, “I wish you’d stop finding Russians under every rock you turn over, Sean.”

  The corner of Kruger’s mouth twitched. “Getting old—isn’t it?”

  ***

  After a call to Paul Stumpf, a team of FBI forensic technicians based in Denver was dispatched to the home of Kevin Marks in Lander, Wyoming. Ryan Clark, now acting as Special Agent in Charge, took over the investigation, with Frank Reed cooling his heels in Cheyenne babysitting Blake and Lyon.

  JR, still at the Marks’ house, started digitally tearing apart the computer byte by byte. While JR worked, Kruger paced with a growing concern his team would be too late to stop the trucks.

  Looking up from the computer, JR said, “You’re going to wear a trench in the carpet.”

  Kruger stopped, glared at JR and ran a hand through his hair. “Less talk, more work. We’re running out of time.”

  With a slight grin, JR nodded. “Yes, we are. Let me ask you a question.”

  “What?” His tone was harsh.

  “As you say sometimes, let’s chase some rabbits.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger let it out slowly. The tension in his voice eased. “Okay, what’ve you got?”

  “The destination of the eastbound truck is a warehouse in Baltimore.”

  Kruger remained quiet his gaze locked on his friend.

  “Exploding a fertilizer bomb in a warehouse seems like a wasted effort to me.”

  “Agreed. Where are you going with this, JR?”

  “I found a reference in a file someone tried to delete that mentioned UPS trucks.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “What sort of trucks blend into our surroundings to the point they’re basically invisible and can stop and go at will anywhere they travel?”

  “Oh, boy. A UPS or FedEx truck.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You said someone tried to delete the references. If they deleted it, how did you find it?”

  “I found several in the recycle bin. When you delete a file on a PC, the operating system changes the files location index so it can be recovered if you didn’t mean to delete it. I will assume Marks deleted it. What he failed to do is empty the recycle bin. The file was there to be recovered.”

  “What was in the file?”

  “Instructions for the truck drivers. While documents I found never actually indicate it, I believe these to be semis. Both drivers have been instructed to deliver the truck to a warehouse. Lock the doors to the cab and leave. They are then instructed to walk some distance away from the warehouse and contact Uber for a ride back to the airport.”

  “You mentioned UPS trucks.”

  “The memo told the drivers there would be UPS trucks at the location and not to worry about them.”

  “Uber would have a record of picking up someone in a warehouse district.”

  JR nodded. “Or they will.”

  “When are they scheduled to arrive?”

  “Sometime today or tomorrow.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’m still looking.”

  “You’re onto something, JR. Can you find files that were deleted from the recycle bin?”

  “Yes, with the right software. Which I have.”

  “Well?”

  He returned his attention to the computer. “Working on it.”

  While JR concentrated on the computer, Gibbs and Knoll returned from Cheyenne and motioned for Kruger to follow them out to the back deck of the Marks home. When they were alone, Knoll said, “Blake wants to cut a deal.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “He thinks he knows the location of the trucks.”

  “Did he get a lawyer?”

  “Yes, and the US Attorney in Cheyenne is talking to her. We explained what we knew so far and he’s onboard with helping us.”

  “Did Blake offer anything specific?”

  “Not yet. Frank Reed is there and, after a lengthy discussion with his boss, has seen the error of his ways about not cooperating with you.”

  A nod from Kruger was his response.

  “It seems Blake overheard one side of a phone conversation the other day. Apparently, Marks was talking to someone, Blake didn’t know who, about where the trucks were headed.”

  Kruger’s eyebrows rose. “Where?”

  “Baltimore and San Francisco.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, but from listening to him and Lyon, you can tell they’re both racists.”

  “Figures. What else?”

  “They also don’t like the Federal government.”

  “Goes without saying.” Kruger turned and looked down from the location in the foothills over the town of Lander. “We have another dilemma.”

  Knoll folded his arms. “I take it JR found something.”

  With a nod, Kruger said, “The trucks are to be delivered to a central location. While the document he found didn’t specifically mention it, they may have secured delivery vans and painted them to look like UPS trucks.”

  “That’s not good.” Gibbs frowned. “They have multiple targets identified, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do. And we’re running out of time to determine what those multiple targets might be.”

  JR opened the sliding glass door and leaned out. “You three better get back in here. It just got worse.”

  Chapter 44

  Warehouse District – Baltimore, MD

  Tommy Cole considered himself a professional truck driver, having driven just over two million miles in his twenty-year career. This was his final trip. He would make more in this one job than he did driving hard for six months.

  His current location was a deserted section of a large warehouse district in Baltimore close to the Patapsco River. A sensation of dread crept into his thoughts as he drove the big rig down the length of the long building. He did not see any cars or other trucks in the area. The chain-link fence protecting the location looked rusty in spots and missing in others.

  The bay number he sought appeared above an open loading door in the middle of the structure. His instructions were to drive the semi inside, park it, lock the tractor cabin and lower the door before leaving the building. His instructions also told him to ignore anyone he saw and walk back to the main road before calling Uber for a ride to the airport. A ticket would be waitin
g for him at the American Airline counter.

  The manifest for the contents of the trailer indicated he was hauling agricultural products. Because of the amount of money being paid for his services and the mysterious destination instructions, he doubted it. He really did not care what the truck contained. His only concern was washing his hands of the load and walking out of the warehouse. This part of his life would be in his rearview mirror and he could get on with something else.

  He noticed three UPS trucks parked on the far wall of the open space. Once again, his instructions were to ignore them, which he did without question.

  He parked the truck, shut the diesel engine off and started the paperwork for his journey. Paperwork he would submit for his check.

  With his head down concentrating on the bookkeeping, he failed to see the mustached, barrel-chested man approach the driver’s side door from the rear of the trailer. As Tommy Cole stepped down from the cab, the large man startled him. The truck driver did not see the face of the man in front of him. He only saw a short double-barrel shotgun pointed at his head.

  Tommy Cole did not hear the sound of two shotgun blasts as his head dissolved in a mist of blood, bone and brain tissue.

  ***

  Lander, Wyoming

  JR pointed to a Word document displayed on the laptop screen. “This was an encrypted file residing in a rather mundane file called Store Receipts. It was the only non-Excel file there.”

  Kruger folded his arms. “How’d you get it open if it was encrypted?”

  With a grin, JR said, “Encryption key was in a file called Keys.”

  Gibbs laughed. “I’ll have to tell Alexia about that one.”

  A small laser printer on a credenza behind JR spooled up and spat out several pages. He turned back to Kruger and handed him the sheets. “I believe you need to read these immediately.”

  Scanning the pages, Kruger smiled as he reached for his cell phone.

  His call was answered on the second ring. “What did you find?”