First Deadly Conspiracy Box Set

by Roger Stelljes

  “I worked out of the Minneapolis office way back in the early nineties, Chief,” Burton replied. “Our paths crossed on occasion. I wondered if you would remember.”

  “Good to have you,” Flanagan replied. “This is the girl’s father, and a friend of mine, Lyman Hisle.”

  Hisle took Burton’s hand. “Word is you’re pretty good at this sort of thing,” Lyman said.

  “I’ve had some success, sir. We’re going to do everything we can to get your daughter back.”

  “Well, let me tell you one thing that will help you,” the chief said. “You keep my boys over here in the loop,” Flanagan waved toward Mac and the others. “They’re damn good.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Burton replied blandly, shaking hands and getting names. When he got to Mac, he held his hand an extra moment, “McRyan? Are you a relation of Simon McRyan?” Burton inquired with an unmistakable tone of respect.

  “He was my father.”

  Burton held the handshake and pointed, “He was a hell of a cop, son, a hell of a cop. You worked that PTA case with the CIA guys, right?”

  “With these three,” Mac answered, gesturing to Riley, Rock, and Lich. Burton turned to the chief.

  “Damn right I want to work with these guys.” There was noticeable approval in the FBI man’s voice. Then he looked to Riley, the senior officer.

  “What do we know?” Riley gave the run down for what seemed like the tenth time. It didn’t sound any better no matter how many times he told it, Mac thought.

  “Well, probably not a nut then,” Burton said.

  “No,” Mac replied, “it was a well-orchestrated attack. These guys knew exactly what they were doing.”

  • • • • •

  It was dark now, approaching 10:00 p.m., but the temperature was still in the mid-seventies. It if weren’t for the fact he had just completed a kidnapping, it would have been a lovely night to be out for a drive, Smith thought. Apparently, many Minnesotans agreed. During the summer, Minnesota cabin owners tended to stay up north at their lake places as long as possible before trekking home for another week grinding away at their jobs. As a consequence, even at this late hour, an endless stream of headlights glowed for miles in the distance, coming in the opposite direction on Interstate 94. The mass of traffic heading back into the Twin Cities would be of assistance to him soon enough.

  Smith approached the Clearwater exit, which was forty-five miles from the Twin Cities and eleven miles southeast of St. Cloud. He took the exit ramp up, turned right, and drove a quarter mile before turning right into the parking lot of an abandoned fast-food restaurant. The lot was full of weeds, plastic soda bottles, and discarded fast-food bags. He pulled his car up to the single pay phone on the side of the building, the back of the car facing the road.

  He stepped out of the car with a duffel bag. At the phone, he reached into the bag and pulled out a plastic bag with ten dollars worth of quarters, a Dictaphone, and a portable voice changer. He attached the acoustic coupler to the handset and adjusted the selector switch for a low voice. He then reached with his gloved hand for the pay phone and put in enough quarters to cover his call back to the Twin Cities. He dialed the number and put the receiver to his head with his left hand and held the Dictaphone in his right hand.

  • • • • •

  “Here we go,” Burton said, jumping into action as the phone rang. Waving Lyman over, he put an arm around his shoulder, directing him. “Try to keep him on as long as you can,” Burton said to Lyman. “Keep him talking and maybe we get a fix on his position. Keep him going a little longer and maybe we can get somebody there. Get your daughter back! That’s your job, your mission here. Get her back. Keep him talking.”

  On the third ring, Lyman picked up, “Lyman Hisle.”

  The voice came over the intercom, obviously disguised.

  “We have your daughter.”

  “How do I know that? How do I know she’s alive?”

  There was a muffled sound followed by a click and then the slow, quivering voice that made Lyman cringe.

  “Daddy, I am okay. I have not been hurt. Please do as these men say, and I won’t be harmed. I love you…”

  The tape cut off. There was another muffled sound, and a few seconds later the voice was back. “Satisfied?”

  “No, I want to speak with her,” Lyman answered.

  “That is all for now,” the voice answered.

  “Wait,” Lyman pleaded, “I need to tell you something. Shannon is a diabetic.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

  “Are you hearing me?” Lyman implored, stringing it out as best he could. “She’s a Type I diabetic. She requires daily injections of insulin. If she doesn’t get it, she can get very sick. She could go into a coma without it; she could die. What good is she to you if she’s dead? You have to help her with that.”

  “Then you better do as we say,” the kidnapper replied.

  “I won’t do that until I speak with her, so I can hear her voice, so I know that she’s okay.”

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  “Wait, wait… Her insulin! She needs her insulin!” Lyman yelped, but the line was already dead. He looked helplessly to Burton as he slowly set the receiver back into the cradle. The chief went to his friend, putting an arm around him.

  Burton looked to the agent working a laptop.

  “Anything?”

  The agent held his hand up while watching the screen.

  “It’s coming… wait… Bingo! A landline… payphone, in… Clearwater.”

  “Where’s that?” Burton asked.

  “An hour northwest, up Interstate 94, toward St. Cloud,” the chief said, turning back to the group. “I take that exit going north to my cabin.”

  Chapter Four

  “He’s got options from here.”

  The Explorer sped north, engine roaring, the siren and lights moving traffic out of the left lane as the needle on the speedometer passed one hundred. Mac worked the wheel, with Lich scanning a Minnesota map, checking out Clearwater. Riley and Rock were trailing in an unmarked sedan, alternately on the phone with the Clearwater Police, the State Patrol, Mac and Lich, as well as Burton and Peters.

  Five miles from the exit, Mac said, “You know what was weird about the call?”

  “What?” Lich asked.

  “They didn’t ask for the ransom,” Mac replied. “If this is about ransom, why not ask for it right then?”

  “They’ll call back, I’m sure,” Lich replied. “Maybe he figures if he stays on the line too long he’ll get pinched.”

  “Maybe. Maybe. But something doesn’t seem right.”

  “There’s nothing right about any of this.”

  Mac hit the exit ramp, hammered the brakes, and turned hard right. Two state patrol cruisers, a Clearwater squad car, and a Sherburne County Suburban, lights flashing, clustered at a pay phone in the parking lot for an abandoned fast-food joint. Lich sighed.

  “That’s what I feared.”

  “What’s that?” Mac asked.

  “He’s got options from here.”

  “Options?”

  Lich pointed at the map, where Interstate 94 and State Highway 10 bracketed their position. Mac understood immediately.

  “He could make the call and go north on County Road 24 for four miles, which gets him to State Highway 10, or he could go left and back over to 94,” Lich said.

  “Or just stay south on 24, which will take you toward Annandale and Maple Lake twenty miles to the south,” Mac added. “Shit.”

  “And if he jumps onto 94 heading back to the cities, with the traffic coming home from up north, he just blends in with everyone else,” Lich said glumly as he climbed out. Riles and Rock were out of their car, and Riles immediately started in.

  “Shit, he could go any number of ways…”

  “…out of here,” Mac finished.

  “We know,” Lich said with disgust. “He has options.”

  The area ar
ound the phone had been taped off by the locals. Forensics personnel from the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) would arrive shortly and begin processing the scene. The Clearwater police chief, a pot belly man named Billy Miller, introduced himself and then ran it down.

  “No surveillance cameras, this old burger stand’s been closed for over a year now.”

  “How about at the convenience store across the road, Chief? Is there any surveillance over there?”

  “A trooper went over and asked and looked at their surveillance system. But…”

  “You can’t see anything across the road and into this parking lot,” Mac said, shaking his head.

  “Correct,” Miller replied.

  “Are we checking with all these businesses, gas stations, and restaurants around here?” Riley asked.

  “My two guys are on it,” Miller answered, “along with a couple of troopers. They’ve been at it for a half hour, but as far as I know, they haven’t come up with anything.”

  They turned and watched as the BCA folks arrived and began walking around with flashlights, fingerprinting the telephone, bagging everything in sight. The effort was being made.

  “Maybe the BCA will turn up something,” Rock said unconvincingly.

  Miller shook his head, downcast as the rest of them.

  “I don’t suspect much will be found, and when he rolls out of here…”

  “We know,” Rock replied, waving to County Road 24. “He’s got options.”

  • • • • •

  11:42 p.m.

  Smith dropped the car at the Park & Fly, which was emptier now, and jumped back into the van. Inside the van, he revved the engine and turned the radio to the talk station. The kidnapping of Shannon Hisle was big news, and the talking heads were focused on it. Of course, so were the nuts, all of whom were frothing at the mouth, ranting for all to hear.

  “I agree, it was a brazen act in broad daylight,” the host responded to a caller.

  “Well, with something like that, it’s just further evidence that people should be carrying a gun to defend themselves. If this girl had a gun, she could have defended herself.”

  “Well, as all you listeners know I’m an ardent supporter of the Second Amendment, conceal and carry,” the host responded, “but I think that response is perhaps an overreaction…”

  Smith smiled at this as he turned left onto Shepard Road, motoring east back to the safe house. A gun wouldn’t have mattered for Hisle. Even if she did have one, Dean was on her so fast she never could have used it. But what really made him smile was the environment such coverage created—of people behaving hysterically, stupidly, carrying guns, calling the police to report every little thing, distracting them from the task at hand. It was perfect.

  And then he smiled again.

  If people were hysterical now, just wait until his next plan went into effect.

  Chapter Five

  “Only the paranoid survive.”

  It was after midnight when Mac pulled back into Lyman’s driveway. The crowd had thinned some, but there were plenty of folks hanging around, family, friends, and media, all hoping for a break.

  The group made its way back to Lyman’s office and found him, the chief, Burton, Duffy, Peters, and the mayor quietly talking. For now, it appeared that the chief, the mayor, and Duffy were all tolerating one another. The chief had to be chafing. They learned on the way back that the mayor wanted the FBI to take a prominent role and had essentially forced it on the chief. Mac imagined that, when they got in private with no mayor, no Duffy, and no Burton around, the chief would swear a blue streak.

  “Nothing, I assume?” the chief said.

  “We crapped out,” Riles replied.

  “No surveillance cameras?” Burton asked.

  Everyone just shook their heads.

  “Probably wouldn’t have mattered,” the chief said. “I know the place. It’s right on County 24 up there and when he pulls out of the parking lot…”

  “He’s got options,” they all replied in unison.

  “Plus, if the abduction is any indication, even if there was surveillance or we got a plate, I’ll bet you it was stolen,” Mac said. “These guys have thought this through. They knew exactly what they were doing and were gone like that.” He snapped his fingers, a little admiration in his voice.

  The group hashed over the abduction, River Falls and Clearwater all over again, but a sense of helplessness, at least for the time being, pervaded the room. If there was to be any progress, it would come from Lyman’s files, some tip, or a mistake by the kidnappers. Finally, the chief suggested Lyman try to get some rest.

  “One thing I want to do first,” Lyman said as he reached inside a duffel bag. “I prepared a couple of these black bags while you were gone.” He handed one to Mac and one to Riley. “The bag contains a vial of Glucagon, a needle, and a syringe. You would administer this if her sugar is too low.”

  “Wouldn’t she need insulin?” Mac asked.

  “She may and I’ve included a vial of that as well. I’ve also included a spare glucose meter. If you find her, depending upon when the last time she took insulin was and depending upon what her blood sugar is, she may need either Glucagon or insulin. Are you familiar with this, Mac?”

  “I used one once,” Mac said.

  “Me, too,” Riles added.

  “Good. But as a refresher for you guys, here is what you do.” Hisle showed the group the contents and instructed them in administering the proper dosage.

  Mac asked the hard question.

  “How long can she go without insulin?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Hisle answered. “She has had some episodes in the past where she went without insulin for just a few days and got very sick. So it depends upon when she last took insulin and I suppose whether she has any with her and they let her take it. If she hasn’t been diligent and she doesn’t have any with her she could have issues within a few days. So it just depends on when she last had insulin. Did you find her purse at Cel’s?”

  “No,” Mac answered, “just her cell phone and keys.”

  “Well, if they have her purse, hopefully she’ll have an extra dose or two with her. She should. I’ve always told her she needs to do that, but she’s a college kid. If she has insulin with her and they allow her to take it, she shouldn’t have a problem, at least not for a few days. If she doesn’t have insulin with her, she doesn’t get the proper food, and then if this goes for a while, it could be an issue, a big issue.”

  “What do you mean by a big issue?” Mac pressed.

  “If she goes too long without insulin, she can become disoriented and then eventually pass out. If it goes beyond that, she could end up in a coma. That almost happened once a few years ago.”

  “So if we find her, we give her some insulin or Glucagon and that should help get her blood sugar back in line.”

  “At least until she gets medical attention. She knows what to do if she has insulin and food available.”

  “Then let’s hope they’re taking care of her,” Burton said. “I expect they will. If there is a demand for ransom, which is what we’re hoping for here, they’ll take care of her.”

  “If anything comes up, anything at all, we’ll let you know,” the chief said. “But for now, my friend, you need to try to get some sleep,” the chief added as he walked Lyman out of the library and put him in the custody of his sister, who would take him across the house to his room. Hisle was spent and exhausted. He needed to rest, although sleep would likely prove elusive.

  Once sure that Lyman was gone, Lich cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “Are we sure Lyman is in the clear?” Mac shot Lich a look, as did a few others, but he was undeterred.

  “I’m sorry, but the question has to be asked.”

  “And it’s been answered,” the chief answered sternly. “Lyman’s clear.”

  “Burton and I put him through the paces,” Peters added.

  “For the record,” Lich rep
lied, noting the looks from others, “I didn’t think he had anything to do with it. But I thought a prudent investigator should ask the question.”

  Mac took his chance to change topics.

  “So what do you think? Is this all about money?” he asked Burton. There was a hint of doubt in his voice.

  “That’s certainly a part of it,” Burton replied and added confidently, “and if it is, we’ll have a good shot at catching them.”

  “Because of the drop?” Lich asked.

  “Exactly,” Burton replied, “Hell, I always pray it’s about the money. If it’s about the money, the person kidnapped stands a better chance of making it. The other thing is that if it’s about the money, that gives us a good chance of catching them because they have to pick up the money. That’s when we get ‘em.”

  “What are the odds on the drop?” Peters asked.

  “Overall, really good,” Burton answered confidently. “Like I said, they have to expose themselves to get the ransom, that’s when we can catch them.”

  “What about doing the money electronically?” Lich asked.

  “Nah,” Mac answered before Burton could answer, “I’d think it would be easier for the FBI to track that. Especially as good as the government has gotten on that with the war on terror.”

  “You’re mostly correct about that,” Burton answered. “Since 9/11, I haven’t had anyone try it on me that way, at least on a domestic kidnapping. If you have someone, however, who’s really good at the electronic transfer process, and moves it to countries that have been less than helpful, then it could be an issue, although in the end we’d still probably be able to track it down.”

  “We’re talking money here, aren’t we being just a little presumptuous? I mean, they didn’t demand the ransom when they called,” Mac stated and then he turned to Burton. “Does that strike you as odd?”

  Burton was nonplussed. “A little. But I’m pretty confident they’ll get to it. Given how they’ve operated thus far, I sense we’re only part way into whatever it is they have planned.”

  “You’re thinking this is only about money though?” Riley pressed.