The Dark Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Griffin said, “Why do you think he was so agitated?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. President. He was all for this experiment and now he’s wanting to blow it up.”

  Griffin shot a glance at Joseph, who wore a neutral expression. “What do you think, Joseph?”

  “Don’t have enough facts to have an opinion.”

  The President smiled. This was Joseph’s way of saying he knew something but would only share it with the president. Looking back at the senator, Griffin said, “David, I appreciate your support and bringing this to our attention. I can assure you from the initial reports I have received, our experiment is working extremely well.”

  “Good. I would appreciate any information you can share. I want to reassure the good senator from Montana that all is well.”

  “The FBI will have a summary to you by tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  All three men stood and shook hands. When Clayton left the room, Griffin turned to Joseph. “I saw that look in your eye.”

  “This is what Sean was concerned about the last time I spoke to him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sean’s team found that Monk ran a bank scam which, over time, transferred a lot of money to an account he controlled. They also found this money was being transferred somewhere else when it reached a certain level. Where the money went, they haven’t been able to determine yet.”

  “So, these people are well-funded.”

  Joseph nodded. “Lots of money. His team also believes additional funds are being generated from ransomware attacks coming out of Belarus.”

  “How much more?”

  “Quite a bit, actually.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “The individuals they’ve arrested, and the evidence gathered so far, suggests the group’s reach extends to several states surrounding Wyoming. Quinn is from Montana, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  The National Security Advisor took a deep breath. “What if Senator Jordan Quinn has been compromised?”

  Griffin stared at Joseph. “How could we determine that?”

  “Follow the money.”

  Chapter 48

  Washington, DC

  Later That Evening

  Just before leaving his office in the White House for the evening, Joseph Kincaid sent a text message with one symbol—a question mark. Ten minutes later his cell phone received an incoming call. The caller ID on his dashboard screen indicated the caller was Unknown. He answered anyway. “This is Joseph.”

  “Good evening, Joseph. I thought you’d lost my number.”

  “I try not to bother you, JR.”

  “I always enjoy talking to you. What’s up?”

  “It’s about this group involved with Alan Seltzer’s death.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have you been able to trace any of the money?”

  “Yes. We’ve confirmed there is a sizeable amount coming from several banks in Belarus to an account in Zurich. From there it’s going to an account in Canada. Distribution out of the Canadian account looks like a normal business account with payments going to numerous vendors. Why?”

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “Check to see if any of those funds are going to a PAC or any accounts associated with Senator Jordan Quinn.”

  “Interesting request.”

  “Why?”

  “Sean already asked me to do the same thing.”

  Joseph smiled. “And?”

  “In a roundabout way, the answer to your original request is, yes. A lot of the money is going into various political PACs. Those are providing funds to a variety of senators and members of the House.”

  “How much are we talking about?”

  “Let’s put it this way—most of the contributions are disguised as coming from a variety of different individuals and businesses. None of the payments exceed the legal amount.”

  “Can you get me proof they are coming from the same fund?”

  “Given time.”

  “JR, that’s a commodity we don’t have an excess amount of at the moment.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  ***

  Jordan Quinn opened the envelope handed to him by one of his staff members and unfolded the piece of paper inside. He looked up at her. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It was left at the reception desk by a courier.”

  He looked at the front. The seal of the Department of Justice appeared at the top left corner. It was addressed to him in an elegant script. “Thanks, Shellie.”

  The aid walked out of his office and he opened the paper again. In the same elegant script, he saw an address for FBI Agent Sean Kruger in a town in Missouri.

  He returned to his office, closed and locked the door before going to his desk. Using his cell phone, he dialed the number received in a text message the previous day. A number he knew belonged to Kevin Marks.

  ***

  JR rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock in the bottom right hand corner of his middle screen. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he realized his late nights at the office were becoming more frequent. Mia understood, Joey did not. Maybe someday, but at four years old, not so much.

  As he started to shut his system down, he received an instant message from a tripwire program he’d installed on several websites. All thoughts of leaving vanished as he stared at the message. He immediately reached for his cell phone.

  ***

  “At least I wasn’t in bed this time, JR. What’s up?”

  “A large sum of money was transferred out of a Canadian bank account ten minutes ago into the account of someone named Blake Morton.”

  “So?”

  “Blake Morton is the AKA name of an individual named Yuri Romanovich who just happens to have a rap sheet longer than your height.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yuri currently resides in Kansas City, Sean.”

  “Uh—oh.”

  “Yeah, uh—oh. Are you prepared?”

  “With the help of yourself, Jimmie and Sandy, about as well as I can be. I’ve tried not to spook Stephanie and the kids.”

  “Let’s hope this information amounts to nothing.”

  “Yeah, let’s.”

  ***

  The motion detector on the east side of the garage activated an alert on Kruger’s cell phone at 3:42 a.m. He nudged Stephanie. “Steph.”

  He heard a groggy, “Yeah.”

  “I need you to get the kids and yourself into our bathroom.”

  She bolted upright. “Why?”

  “Please, just do it.”

  Without another word, she threw the sheets back and hurried to Kristin’s room. A minute later, a sleepy little girl stumbled toward the large bathroom with her mother behind her, holding a still-sleeping younger brother.

  The look on Stephanie’s face conveyed concern, but confidence in her husband.

  Kruger reached under his side of the bed and removed a small gun safe he kept there. He punched in the code and the lid flipped up. Inside he found his spare Glock 19 and a magazine. As the bathroom door shut, he stood, slammed the clip into the gun and charged the weapon. With his Glock in his right hand and his cell phone in his left, he left the bedroom for the main body of their home.

  ***

  An overcast sky obscured light from the moon and stars in the normally quiet neighborhood in the southwest section of the city. Yuri Romanovich crept along the eastern side of the house. The fact he was unfamiliar with the layout of the home or the occupants did not bother him. A life of improvising and surviving gave him confidence. Wearing night vision goggles, he approached the gate of a privacy fence leading to the back yard of the home.

  With a slow, careful motion, he opened the gate and slipped into the darkness of the backyard.

  ***

  Kruger felt his cell phone vibrate with a new message. Motion detectors in the backyard indicated som
eone had tripped a switch. Lights suddenly illuminated the deck and the yard beyond, producing a shadow of someone standing still and casting a shadow on the closed blinds of the window overlooking the deck. Kruger stood quiet, his back against a wall in the family room, his Glock raised in a Weaver Stance.

  The interior of his home remained quiet. The only sound he perceived was his own heart beating loudly enough to give away his location. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead into his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. The shadow moved toward the back door and he heard someone working the locks with a picking tool. When the back door swung open and the shadow entered the kitchen, the silhouette of the intruder was clear to Kruger. He yelled, “Hands where I can see them. On the ground, now!”

  ***

  When the backyard lights flicked on, Yuri stood still, expecting the owner of the house to open the door next to where he stood. With his back against a window, his thoughts turned to abandoning his task. When the door remained closed, the decision to continue won the argument. Keeping as close as possible to the wall, he stood in front of the entrance. A quick check told him he had to conquer a deadbolt and a door lock before gaining entry.

  After extracting a slim tool from his jeans pocket, he worked the two locks and defeated both in a matter of minutes. He peered inside the house. No additional lights were turned on indicating no one inside was aware of his impending entry.

  As he turned the door knob, he withdrew a CZ 75 hand gun from a holster located on his hip.

  As the door opened, he slid into the room. At that same moment, he heard someone yelling. His first instinct caused him to raise the CZ and start pulling the trigger.

  ***

  Lights from every sort of emergency vehicle bathed the neighborhood in an eerie strobe light effect. JR Diminski stood beside his friend, a hand on his shoulder, while paramedics attended to the body lying on the kitchen tile. Stephanie and the two children were now safe across the street in the care of Mia Diminski.

  Springfield Police Detective Sam Moody stood in front of Kruger taking notes. “When did the first indication of the intruder occur, Agent Kruger?”

  “About a quarter till four.”

  “Why didn’t you call 911?”

  With a sad smile, Kruger looked up at the detective. “My first thought was to get my wife and children safe. After that it was just a matter of training. The thought of calling the police didn’t actually occur to me.”

  The detective nodded and pointed to Kruger’s left arm. “Do you need to go to the hospital with that?”

  A shake of Kruger’s head was his response. “No, EMT said it was only superficial.”

  The detective looked at JR. “How long did it take you to arrive, Mr. Diminski?”

  “I installed the security system in Sean’s home. It alerts me as well.”

  “You already said that. How long?”

  “I heard the shots as I got to the front door.”

  “How many did you hear?”

  “Four or five. It was hard to tell.”

  The detective nodded. “That agrees with the number of casings we found. Three from the intruder and two from Agent Kruger’s weapon.” He paused and looked back as the EMTs loaded the body onto a gurney for removal. “Okay.” He pointed at Kruger’s arm. “I strongly suggest you have that looked at.” He turned and walked toward the EMTs.

  Kruger looked at his friend. “How many emergency vehicles are out there?”

  With a chuckle, JR said, “Seven police cars, two fire trucks, an ambulance and three county sheriff SUVs. Why?”

  Standing, Kruger said, “Neighbors are going to petition Steph and me to move after this.”

  “Nonsense. This just adds excitement to the area. They all like the fact you’re an FBI big shot now.”

  With a shake of his head and his hand still holding his sore left arm, he studied his friend. “You’re impossible.”

  “That’s what Mia tells me.”

  ***

  As the sun peaked over the horizon, Jimmie and Sandy arrived at the Kruger household. Only a few emergency vehicles remained—two SPD vehicles and a sheriff’s department SUV. Knoll looked at the three bullet holes in the family room wall and shook his head. “Where were you, Sean?”

  Kruger pointed to the gap between the three holes. “In between those two.”

  Knoll looked at him and then back at the wall. “I take it yours hit the target.”

  A nod was his answer.

  Jimmie entered the house from the back door and held up a cell phone. “Found his car and this on the seat.”

  JR took the phone and started punching numbers.

  Kruger tilted his head. “You tell the cops?”

  “About the car…” He nodded. “Just did.”

  The FBI Assistant Director tilted his head. “I take it you failed to tell them about the phone.”

  “Ahh—that might have slipped my mind.”

  Raising his head, JR smiled. “I’ve got phone numbers here, gentlemen.”

  Chapter 49

  Springfield, MO

  By noon, Stephanie and the kids were safe in an extended-stay hotel suite and a contractor arrived at the house to start the process of erasing evidence of the early morning events.

  Kruger yawned, sipped coffee and leaned against the credenza as he watched JR working his computer. “Find anything interesting about the cell phone numbers?”

  “Yes.” Silence fell over the two friends as JR sat back in his chair and looked up. “Did they confirm the guy’s identity?”

  “Fingerprints confirmed it was Yuri Romanovich. They told me to tell you they appreciated the tip about his identity.”

  “Did they ask how I knew?”

  “I told them you’re a consultant to an FBI Cyber Task Force. They didn’t ask any more questions.”

  “Good.”

  “What about the cell phone?”

  “Lots of curious calls.”

  “Not in the mood, JR. Be specific.”

  “Numerous ones between Romanovich’s phone and one located in Canada starting about five p.m. last night.”

  “Did you check the Canadian number?”

  JR rolled his eyes. “What do you think?”

  “Sorry, I haven’t had enough coffee yet.”

  “Before the calls with Romanovich, the phone in Canada received a call from a number in Washington, DC.”

  “Can you identify the number in Canada?”

  “No, it was purchased with cash. It’s a burner.”

  Standing, Kruger held his coffee cup in both hands. “What about the phone in Washington?”

  JR smiled. “The number is assigned to a personal cell phone in a Verizon account owned by Senator Jordan Quinn.”

  Kruger studied the liquid in his coffee mug. “How hard would it be to get Quinn’s bank records?”

  With a shrug, JR said, “Hard, why?”

  “What about campaign funding?”

  “Same answer.”

  “It’s not a coincidence Quinn called the number in Canada and my family gets a visit by a Russian thug less than twelve hours later.”

  “I would agree.”

  “Quinn’s dirty. I just want to know how dirty.”

  After staring at his friend for several seconds, JR turned and started doing what he did best.

  ***

  The Next Day - Friday

  A nervous Jordan Quinn looked in his rearview mirror and saw the large SUV continue to follow his BMW M8. Second thoughts about visiting his weekend getaway condo on Tangler Sound kept creeping into his mind.

  The decision to turn around and head back to his apartment occurred at the same moment the SUV turned on flashing hidden blue lights in the grill. With no other choice, Quinn slowed and pulled his car into the parking lot of a strip mall.

  Aggravation and concern were his emotions as he stared at the rearview mirror. He saw both the passenger and driver side doors of the SUV open at the same time. Two men,
both in dark suits, approached his car. One toward the driver’s door and the other toward the passenger side.

  Quinn rolled down the window. He stared up at the man now standing by his door holding his FBI credentials for the Senator to see.

  “What is the meaning of this, Agent? I’m a US Senator.”

  “FBI, Senator. Please step out of the car.”

  “Not until I’m told why you stopped me.”

  “Senator, please step out of the car.”

  “Not…” The appearance of a Glock in the FBI agent’s hand gave Quinn pause.

  As he reached for the door handle, the agent said, “Sir, keep both hands where I can see them.”

  “I’m a US Senator.”

  “Please step out of the car with your hands visible.”

  After Quinn opened the door and stepped out, he said, “Did you hear me, Agent? I’m a US Senator.”

  “Yes, sir, I did hear you.”

  As he faced the agent, the other agent from the passenger side came up behind him, grabbed his left arm and applied one side of a pair of handcuffs to his wrist. The agent facing him said, “You are under arrest for violations of the McCain-Feingold Act, bribery and conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Quinn felt the uncomfortable experience of having both hands cuffed behind his back.

  ***

  The high-priced attorney sat in the interview room and reviewed the evidence against his client. “Quite frankly, Jordan, you’re screwed.”

  “What do you mean, screwed?”

  “The standard definition—fucked.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes and screamed, “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Bank records, phone records, testimony by your staff, how much further do you want me to go?”