by J. C. Fields
With the initial shock of the confrontation wearing off, Stephen Blair realized someone was staring at him. Perspiration appeared on his forehead, and he felt faint. He steadied himself by putting both hands on the kitchen countertop and took a deep breath.
Bishop smiled. “Still have scopophobia, don’t you, Blair? Perfect.”
Stephen let out a long breath and took another deep one. He didn’t look at Bishop, but stared at a spot on the wall. “Who are you?”
Bishop laughed. “I’m you, Stephen. Can’t you tell?”
Stephen forced himself to look closer at the man with the gun. There was a slight resemblance, not exact, but close. The man’s facial features resembled a cross between his own and his father’s. He stammered, “How?”
“The miracle of the internet and a remarkable, but now dead, plastic surgeon in Hong Kong. Isn’t it amazing? The man did a better job than I realized. I thought I would look too old, but I can see you’ve aged.”
Stephen’s face contoured in comprehension. “You can’t. No one will believe you’re me.”
“On the contrary, you’re the ideal candidate. I’ll make the perfect impostor. No one has seen you in almost fifteen years. Both of your parents are dead, and you have no brothers or sisters. The only people who know about me are you and Camila here.” The man pressed the gun harder against the woman’s temple. She cringed and let out a gasp.
“No. Leave Camila alone. She’s done nothing to harm you.”
“I have no intentions of hurting her. But from now on, she will be a permanent resident. Insurance, let’s say, to keep you quiet while I learn about your company.”
Stephen started shaking and his legs felt like they were anchored to the floor. He whispered again, “Who are you?”
“Stephen, it’s not important for you to know who I am.” The man’s slightly jovial demeanor changed abruptly. His eyes narrowed and his tone lowered, “Stop asking.”
Just as quickly, the smile returned. He lowered the gun. “I need coffee.” Looking at Camila, he pointed at a coffee pot. “If you’re smart, señorita, you will stop crying and get me a cup of coffee.”
Bishop leaned against the breakfast bar separating the kitchen and breakfast nook. He sipped his coffee and gazed at the two individuals sitting at a small dining table. Camila was still whimpering, and Stephen Blair studied the wood grain of the table top, perspiration beading on his forehead. Bishop set the coffee cup down.
“When do you talk to your management team, Stephen?”
“Not today.”
Bishop leaned forward and slapped Camila aside the head. She screamed and cried harder. “Not the correct answer, Stephen. You have a video conference daily. When is it?”
Stephen shook his head, tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He closed his eyes as tears ran down his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “Ten this morning. It’s 10 every morning Eastern Time, 9 for the Dallas office and 8 for the Denver office.”
“That’s more like it,” Bishop nodded. “Now you will attend the meeting as usual this morning, and I will make sure you do not blurt out anything inappropriate.”
“What are you going to do?” Stephen could not look at Bishop. He continued to stare at the top of the table.
“The señorita and I will be in the same room, listening. If you say anything at all about your current situation, she will die and so will you. It would be unfortunate for me, two years of planning down the drain. But if it’s necessary, I will not hesitate to kill both of you. Do you understand the seriousness of your situation, Stephen?”
Stephen closed his eyes and nodded.
“Good.” Bishop looked at his watch. “It’s 8:30, we have some time to get to know each other better.”
***
Forty five minutes after starting, the teleconference concluded. Stephen Blair had listened and offered few comments and no directions. The sight of Bishop holding a gun to Camila’s head just out of view of the camera on Stephen’s laptop, kept him subdued. As Stephen watched, the members of his management team gathered their papers and prepared to leave the conference room. The company’s senior vice president, Thomas Zimmerman returned his attention to the camera. “Stephen, you’ve been unusually quiet this morning. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, Tom. I’m just a little under the weather this morning.”
“Very well,” Zimmerman nodded. “Have you considered my proposal yet?”
Stephen shook his head. “No, Tom, I don’t believe we have the funds to expand to the West Coast at this time. I don’t wish to discuss it again.” Instead of waiting for an answer or comment, Stephen ended his side of the conference by closing the lid of the laptop.
Bishop smiled. “Very good, Stephen. Both of you get to live another day.”
***
Thomas Zimmerman was in his mid-fifties, with receding silver hair revealing more of his forehead than he liked. He was one of the original members of the management team put together by Stephen’s father ten years ago. Now he was the number two man, answering only to Stephen.
He stared at the blank computer screen. “What that hell was that all about?”
Wendy Morgan, Vice President of Sales, stopped gathering her files and looked at him. “What did you say, Tom?”
Zimmerman shook his head. “I hope that wasn’t a sign Stephen is getting worse. His last comment didn’t make any sense.”
She smiled. “You know Stephen…”
“I know, but this was way out in left field.”
She frowned. “Okay, I’m not following you.”
“I just asked Stephen if he had considered my proposal.”
“Which one?”
“The one about bringing in a new therapist. She’s had lots of success treating individuals with Stephen’s condition. He was excited about it when we discussed it last week, but he wanted to think about it some more.”
She remained quiet and continued to look at Zimmerman.
“His comment wasn’t remotely related to the idea. He just told me we wouldn’t be expanding to the West Coast. I’ve never discussed an expansion, because it’s not necessary. Then he breaks the connection before I can correct him? That’s not like Stephen at all.”
Morgan sat back down at the table and asked, “Is he losing it, Tom?”
Zimmerman shook his head. “God, I hope not.”
Chapter 8
Springfield, MO
Sean Kruger held Stephanie’s hand as they walked into the hotel ballroom. The wedding was a small, private affair; a minister, the bride and groom, the best man, maid of honor, Stephanie, Kruger, and an elderly lady playing the organ in the small chapel. The reception was another matter entirely.
The din of hundreds of conversations met them as they entered. A band was setting up on the far wall, and two open bars were busy serving thirsty guests on opposite sides of the expansive room. Stephanie tugged on his arm. “Who are all of these people?”
Kruger smiled and shrugged. “Not sure. Joseph was the best man, he put this together. Let’s find him and ask.”
It took several minutes of maneuvering through the various groups of well-wishers, shaking hands with people they didn’t know, exchanging hello’s and how-are-you’s. Eventually they found him. Tonight, Joseph was dressed in a tuxedo, instead of his normal khaki slacks, white button-down and navy blazer.
Kruger remarked, “I didn’t think JR knew this many people?”
Joseph smiled. “You’d be surprised. JR’s company is bigger than I realized. All I did was contact a few of his clients.” He swept his hand across the air, adding, “This is the result.”
“Speaking of JR, have the newlyweds arrived yet?” Stephanie asked.
Joseph shook his head and glanced at his watch. “They’ll be here in a few minutes, just before the band starts playing. In the meantime, there are a few individuals I want Stephanie to meet.”
He offered his arm. Stephanie smiled at the formal gesture, placed her h
and on Joseph’s elbow, and looked up at Kruger. “Don’t wait up.”
Kruger laughed and looked around the room as Joseph led Stephanie off into the gathering. Just as they disappeared into the crowd an old friend appeared at his side. “Let’s go get a drink and step out into the hall. I need to talk to you.”
Kruger nodded and followed. Alan Seltzer was a year younger than Kruger, although he looked ten years older. His short black hair was speckled with gray, and the lines around his brown eyes were more pronounced than Kruger remembered. Seltzer was the nephew of the man who just escorted Stephanie off to mingle with the guests. Joseph had been the person responsible for both men joining the FBI. They joined the Bureau at the same time and graduated in the same class at the academy. Seltzer moved into management, and Kruger remained in the field. During the last seven years with the Bureau, Kruger worked for Seltzer. Now as the first African-American Deputy Director of the FBI, Seltzer was in a position of power.
“So, what brings you to town, Alan?” Kruger sipped his glass of beer as he looked at his friend.
“I’m visiting my uncle.”
Kruger grinned. “BS. Joseph goes to Washington on a monthly basis to see Mary. You two always have dinner when he’s there.”
Seltzer smiled and sipped his beer. “Busted. Okay, I came to see you. I need to discuss something with you.”
Kruger frowned, “What?”
“The director knows you have a special arrangement with the President of the United States.”
“Not sure what you’re talking about, Alan.”
“I understand the confidentiality agreement. But I also know you’ve performed several tasks for the President, and he’s been pleased with the results.”
Kruger was quiet for several seconds as he scrutinized his old friend. “What did you need to discuss, Alan?”
“Do you remember Randolph Bishop?”
Kruger’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, what about him?”
“His brother’s ex-wife was found murdered a week ago.”
Kruger closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh, no… What happened?”
“Good question. Local police were out of their league on this one. They asked the Chicago Bureau for assistance. She didn’t show up for work one day, so her supervisor became worried. She’d never failed to call in when she was ill. Police were called and found her in her bed. I’m told it was bad.”
“Raped?”
Seltzer nodded. “And more. I spoke to one of our techs who helped out. He’s a twenty-year veteran, someone who’s seen a lot. This one bothered him.”
Kruger stared past Seltzer with a faraway look. “Her name was Brenda. Randolph had a hypnotic hold over his younger brother, Paul. The hold eventually broke up the marriage and Brenda moved to Rockford, Illinois, to get away from Randolph. After Paul killed himself, she took the body back to Rockford with her. Last time I spoke to her, she’d bought a double plot and planned on being buried next to her ex-husband—when the time came. Guess the time came sooner than she expected.”
“I remember reading your report.” Seltzer took a sip of his beer and continued, “Randolph embezzled how much money?”
“Somewhere around six million.”
“That’s right, six million. The guy just disappeared. He’s still on the most wanted list.”
Kruger nodded, his thoughts miles away. “Do they think Randolph killed her?”
“The prevailing theory is yes, but there’s a slight problem.”
Kruger refocused on Seltzer. “A slight problem?”
“Yeah, do you remember hearing about the Malaysia Airline jumbo jet that went down in the Indian Ocean?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s still missing, after months of searching.”
Kruger nodded.
Seltzer sipped his beer. “When a plane goes down for suspicious reasons, like this one, our anti-terrorist division pours over the passenger manifest, looking for any known terrorist names or aliases. The passenger manifest listed a Randolph Bishop as a passenger. Since Bishop is still on the most wanted list, the name raised a red flag and was checked out further.”
Kruger was now staring at Seltzer. “And…”
“One of the passports used to buy a ticket was for the Randolph Bishop who disappeared over six years ago.”
“When did you find all of this out, Alan?”
“I got the report on my desk last Tuesday. I debated about calling you, but decided the right thing to do was fly out here and talk to you in person.”
“I was in Washington, D.C. this week. You could have spoken to me then. You’re not telling me the whole story, Alan. What else is wrong?”
“There were ten other Americans on the flight, the family of a State Department employee and a film crew for CNN. The plane had flown out of the Bangkok International Airport. Since it disappeared under suspicious circumstances, the Bureau also sent a team to investigate. They found something that’s been kept out of the media coverage.” Seltzer paused and drained the last of his beer. “I need another, how about you?”
Frustrated at the pause in the conversation, Kruger shook his head. “Dammit, Alan, finish the story.”
Seltzer hesitated. “One of the baggage handlers for that particular flight was found executed in his apartment. Not murdered. Executed. One shot in the chest and another to the head from point blank range. The apartment was ransacked. Someone was looking for something. The agents believe whoever killed the baggage handler was looking for money, possibly money he’d paid the baggage handler for putting something on the plane.”
“Sounds like a lot of speculation and few facts.”
“The murdered man was seen placing a small suitcase in the baggage hold just seconds before it was closed. A long time after the other bags were loaded.”
Taking a deep breath, Kruger stared at Seltzer. “Okay, you have my attention. What else?”
“Another passenger, an Australian named Everett Stewart, was returning to Sydney after a business trip in Thailand. He was issued a boarding pass, but never used it to get on the plane.”
“People miss flights for lots of reasons.”
“Mr. Stewart has never returned home.”
Kruger said nothing keeping his attention on Seltzer.
“His passport was used to enter San Francisco two weeks ago. Brenda Parker was killed a week later.”
Kruger stared at Seltzer for a few moments, and then turned his attention back to the door of the noisy reception. “What’s the bureau’s official stance?”
“Officially, we have no comment. We’re still investigating.”
“Unofficially, what does it believe?”
“The flight was brought down by something placed on the plane by the now-dead baggage handler. We also think someone traded places with Mr. Everett Stewart and used his passport to enter the U.S.”
“Did anyone bother to check if Bishop’s passport has been used since he left the country six years ago?”
“Yes.”
Kruger chuckled, “Alan, are you going to make me reach over and shake the information out of you?”
“You’re asking the right questions, Sean. His passport hadn’t been used since he left the country. Then all of a sudden it was used to book a flight from Bangkok to Sydney. A flight that mysteriously disappears over the deepest water on the planet.”
Kruger smiled grimly. “Bishop’s back.”
Seltzer nodded. “It would appear so.” He paused for a few moments. “The Director feels the type of person who would deliberately kill over three hundred innocent passengers and crew members just to fake his own death is…”
“Sick? Psychopathic? Yeah, Bishop’s all that and more.” Kruger paused. “I’ll have to clear any time away with the head of the Psychology Department.”
“The Director told me about your new status.”
“Great, who else did he tell?”
“Not too many, just me. We need you to fly to Rockford and review
the crime scene.”
Kruger shook his head. “Did anyone bother to discuss this with my wife?”
“Uh…” Seltzer paused for a moment. “No, the Director felt it was your responsibility to discuss it with Stephanie.”
***
Stephanie Harris-Kruger was a petite woman, five-foot-five in her bare feet. She wore her naturally curly light brown hair down to her shoulders and resisted the urge to cut it. Their daughter would soon be older and hopefully not pull on it when she held her. Normally she wore her hair in a bushy ponytail, but tonight it fell gently down on her shoulders. At the moment, she was staring at her husband with her arms crossed tight against her chest.
“I vaguely remember the name. What’s so important about Randolph Bishop?”
Kruger stared out the glass wall opposite the ballroom entrance. “He’s only fugitive to ever elude me during my twenty-five years with the Bureau.”
“So, you want to run off and look into his return. Am I hearing you correctly?” She was unconsciously tapping her right foot.
He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
She relaxed slightly. “How long will you be gone?”
“One night, maybe. No more than two.”
She turned and stared out the glass wall, just like Kruger. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and sighed. “We’ll be fine.”
He turned to look at her. “Steph, I won’t go if you feel strongly about it.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m just being silly.”
“You’re not being silly. Besides, Alan offered to have some agents keep an eye on the house while I’m gone.”
“No.” She shook her head rapidly. “I don’t need babysitters. We’ll be fine. I’m not scared about you leaving, Sean. I’m worried about you getting hurt…again.”
“All I’m going to do is look at the crime scene and talk to a few of the agents assigned to the case. That’s all. There’s nothing dangerous about viewing a crime scene.”
