by J. C. Fields
***
Looking through half-readers, retired Special Forces Major Benedict “Sandy” Knoll scanned the file on the laptop in front of him.
Joseph sat next to Sandy in JR’s conference room. Across from them were JR and Kruger. Sandy looked up over the half-glasses. “You found one, didn’t you?”
JR and Kruger nodded.
“Damn. Are we too late to stop him?”
Kruger shook his head slightly. “Don’t think so. But the window of opportunity is closing. He fancies himself an improvement on James Holmes. So I believe he will follow Holmes’s pattern of attacking a movie theater on an opening night of a major motion picture.”
“Do we know which one?” Knoll looked back at the laptop.
JR said, “Click on the file marked ‘Comparison.’”
Knoll moved the mouse and pressed the left side. A split image appeared with the left side showing a picture of a figure clad in black body armor holding an exotic looking rifle. On the right side was a photo of similarly clad figure also with an exotic looking rifle.
Looking up from the screen, Knoll looked at Kruger. “Guy on the right has a Beretta ARX 160 without a clip. Don’t recognize the one on the left.”
Kruger smiled. “That’s because the guy on the left is from the fantasy world of Star Wars. His weapon doesn’t exist. The guy on the right is our target.”
“Shit.”
Joseph nodded slightly. “That’s an understatement. JR and I couldn’t figure out what the one on the left had to do with Safar, but Kruger filled us in. It seems there’s a new Star Wars movie opening in two weeks. Our friend Safar is an admirer of James Holmes, who killed twelve and wounded seventy in a Colorado Cinema 16 on the opening night of a Batman movie. Safar submitted the picture on the right to a theater management company as an audition for a Star Wars promotional parade they are planning opening night. He was accepted to march in the parade. We think he’s going to use the parade as a ruse to get into the theater and then start firing his weapon.”
Knoll continued to stare at Safar’s picture on the laptop. “Huh.”
“This is the first one we’ve been able to isolate, Sandy.” Kruger pointed to the file. “It might be a false positive, but I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I.” Knoll stood. “I can have three guys in Chicago in less than six hours. I’ll head that way tonight. What are my rules of engagement?”
Kruger gave Knoll a grim smile. “I would prefer an arrest, but don’t let him harm anyone.”
Knoll nodded and smiled. “We won’t.”
***
Sandy Knoll watched Bassel Safar enter the high-rise office tower in downtown Chicago. “What floor is his office on?”
Jimmy Gibbs looked up. “Thirty-second floor.” Gibbs was in his late thirties, a recent retiree from the Seal Team Three and one of Sandy’s newest recruits. Average in height, he was lean, tanned, black haired and dressed like a downtown Chicago commuter. “CPA firm named Chambers, Hall and Dvorjak.”
Knoll frowned and looked at Gibbs.
Gibbs shrugged. “Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a junior accountant. Working on his CPA. Not well liked, but they put up with him because he’s fast, works long hours, and exceedingly good on a computer.”
“I’ve heard that.” Knoll looked up at the building. “Do we have surveillance on his house?”
Gibbs nodded. “Larry and Johnny are on it.”
Knoll nodded. “You stay here; I need to take a look at his house. Call me if he leaves the office.”
***
Dressed as an employee of the local utility company, Knoll casually walked to the rear of Bassel Safar’s row house in southern Chicago. Using a slim tool from his wallet, Safar’s back door yielded to Knoll in less than fifteen seconds. Inside he stood still, listening to the empty house. The place smelled of cumin and onions, but the only sound he heard was water filling the ice maker in the refrigerator. After it filled, he heard only silence. After clearing the ground floor, he cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor. Ten minutes later, he determined there was nothing incriminating in Safar’s bedrooms and bathroom. He headed down to the basement level and stood at the bottom of the stairs surveying the open space in front of him. Only a washer, dryer and a ping pong table met his gaze. Nothing on the three levels suggested Bassel Safar was planning a terrorist attack.
He walked the perimeter of the white-washed, wood-paneled basement and returned to the stairs. Nothing. Just as he was about to head back up, a mark on the floor next to the dryer caught his eye. Kneeling next to it, he placed his index finger on the mark and felt a slight indentation in the concrete. Standing up, he saw, between two planks of the paneling, a barely noticeable separation. On further examination, he saw the well-hidden outline of a door. He stood still as he stared at the well-concealed invisible entry. Not knowing what else to do, he pushed on the left side of the door closest to the dryer.
The door popped open.
Inside was pitch black. Using the flashlight app on his cell phone, Knoll pointed the bright light into the gloom of the newly discovered room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
Chapter 15
Buckhead District, Atlanta, GA
Judith Day’s interview with Stephen Blair continued to unsettle her as she waited in Zimmerman’s luxury apartment. She had been practicing more than twenty years, and this was the first time she walked out of a therapy session scared. Not just scared, but completely terrified about what the patient was capable of doing. She was on her second Glenlivet when Thomas Zimmerman entered.
“Judith, what the hell happened at Stephen’s?”
She studied the empty glass and swirled the barely melted ice cubes. “I’m not sure, Tom. He scared the hell out of me.”
“I gathered that from your phone call, but...” Zimmerman paused, struggling for words. “How could Stephen possibly scare you?”
“Well, he did.”
“Judith, Stephen is not a violent man. You have to be mistaken.”
“Thomas, I saw pure evil in his eyes. There was no gentle soul behind them. I really can’t describe it any other way. Evil. Pure evil.”
Thomas stared at her, unable to say anything. Finally he cleared his throat. “Exactly what happened, Judith?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The session started out fine, except he wouldn’t look at me, which is normal for individuals afflicted as Stephen is. However, as we got further into the session, when he did look at me, his eyes would bore through me like I wasn’t even there. I detected little emotion from him. People with Stephen’s condition generally are afraid and reclusive. Not Stephen. He was more narcissistic than anything.”
“What do you mean, narcissistic?”
She sighed loudly. “It means what it means. All he wanted to do was talk about how great he was and how he lifted his company up to be where it was, a global powerhouse.”
Thomas frowned. “We’re not a global powerhouse, we’re a software company.”
“Not according to Stephen. He was obsessed with your meddling in the day-to-day affairs of his company. He even accused me of being in collusion with you to take the company away from him.”
Taking a deep breath, Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “I spoke to him after you left. He was quite agitated. I’ve never heard him talk like that before.”
Judith poured herself another Glenlivet. “He knows, Thomas. He knows.”
“Apparently, but how? How the hell could he know?”
“He was impatient and not the least bit shy.”
Remaining quiet, Thomas stared at the floor.
“Thomas, who told you he suffered from scopophobia?”
“His father. Stephen was diagnosed at the age of thirteen. Once he started meds, he got through high school and a master’s degree in college, but managing a multimillion dollar company pushed him over
the edge.”
“He didn’t look like the picture you showed me. He was more world-weary. He resembled a man ten years older than the person you described to me.”
“I haven’t seen him in several years, Judith. People age.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Thomas. He didn’t act like a man who has isolated himself for fifteen years.”
“He isn’t isolated. He meets with us every day on the internet.”
“I don’t know, it’s hard to explain exactly how I felt. But he scared me.”
Zimmerman was about to respond when the security intercom chimed. He walked to the unit. “This is Thomas.”
“Sir, its Bill Harris at the gate. I have an FBI agent here who would like to speak with you. His name is Sean Kruger.”
“Did he say what it was about?”
“No sir. His ID looks legit.”
“Very well, give him directions.”
He turned to Judith. “Wonder what this is all about. Could Stephen have called the FBI and told them we were trying to steal his company?”
Judith shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.”
Five minutes later, there was a knock at Zimmerman’s door. As he opened it, he was shoved back into the apartment and a man entered, shutting the door as he entered.
Zimmerman gained his composure and glared at the man. “What’s the meaning of this intrusion? You can’t barge your way into my home like this.”
The man produced a small Ruger SR22 with a suppressor screwed into the barrel and pointed it at Zimmerman’s head. “Shut up.”
Staring at the gun pointed at him, Zimmerman heard a gasp from Judith. “Oh, my gawd, Stephen, what are you doing?”
Randolph Bishop, in the disguise of Stephen Blair, turned to Judith and said in a calm voice. “Nice to see you again, Judith. I trust our little session today stirred your desire to cure me of my psychological idiosyncrasies.”
“You’re not Stephen Blair.” Zimmerman stared at the man holding the small gun.
“You are correct, Thomas. But I can’t let you tell anyone.” Bishop pulled the trigger and the 22LR hollow point struck Zimmerman above the left eye. His dead body slumped to the floor as Judith screamed.
***
FBI agent Tom Stark shook Kruger’s hand as they stood outside Thomas Zimmerman’s condo. “Thanks for flying in on such short notice, Sean.”
“No problem. Bring me up to speed.”
“Someone identifying themselves as you gained entry to this gated community last night. The guard saw the identification, thought it looked legitimate and called Thomas Zimmerman, who agreed to see the man. It’s all in the log book. They even have a CCT picture of the man sitting in his car while the guard called Zimmerman. I knew it wasn’t you; there’s no resemblance. But using your name raised questions.”
Three inches taller than Kruger’s six-foot frame, Stark was high school skinny with an Ivy League haircut on top of an angular face. They worked several cases together after Stark graduated from the academy.
“I appreciate it, Tom.”
“Zimmerman is an executive at a software company. Did you know him?”
Kruger shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
Stark handed a print out of the CCT picture to Kruger. He studied it for a few moments and shook his head. “He doesn’t look familiar, but his face is partially obscured by the fedora.”
“I asked the guard about it, but he said lots of fashion-conscious men in this part of Atlanta wear them.”
“Great. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“It’s bad, Sean. Hope you can help us.”
Kruger slipped the booties he was given over his shoes and inserted his hands into the latex gloves provided. When he entered the room, his eyes went to the outline of a body on the floor. “Is this where the male was shot?”
Stark nodded and handed Kruger an iPad with the digital pictures. After studying them for a few moments, he asked, “Where was the female found?”
“Back bedroom. This is where it gets gruesome.”
As soon as he stepped into the room, Kruger stopped. The scene was all too familiar for him. “Shit.”
Stark nodded. “Yeah, that was my reaction also.”
Kruger shook his head slightly. “No, that’s not what I meant, I’ve seen this before. Several weeks ago, I was in a house where a woman was murdered, and it looked exactly the same.” Pulling out his cell phone, Kruger searched for a number. When he found it, he pressed the call icon. Three rings later, the call was answered.
“Charlie Craft.”
“Charlie, it’s Sean. I’m going to have an agent named Tom Stark send you a packet of pictures. I need your perspective. Call me when you get it.”
***
“We haven’t released any information to the media about what we found in Brenda Parker’s home. There’s no way this is a copy-cat murder.”
Charlie Craft spoke to them via Skype. Kruger’s laptop was pointed toward the wall Kruger was staring at. The words written in blood on the wall dominated his concentration. Kruger turned the laptop back, and he saw Charlie look back at the photos of the woman’s body on his computer. “Same signature cuts and mutilation as Brenda Parker, Sean. It’s him.”
“I agree, Charlie. But what the hell did Thomas Zimmerman and Judith Day have in common with Brenda Parker?” Kruger continued to stare at the walls of the bedroom.
Charlie shook his head. “Apparently, Randolph Bishop.”
Kruger turned to Tom Stark. “Tom, dig into Zimmerman’s life. Maybe the answer is there. I have to catch the 6 p.m. flight back to Springfield.”
Chapter 16
Springfield, MO
“I’m looking at two suicide vests, Sean. They’re crude, but from what I can see, deadly. Plus there’s an arsenal of assorted weapons: Remington shotgun, the Beretta ARX 160, two AR-15s, a Glock 17 and 19, a SIG Sauer .45 caliber, a couple of CZ 9mm’s, and thousands of rounds of ammunition.”
Kruger stood outside a departure gate at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International airport, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he waited for his flight back to Springfield.
“Are you sure about the suicide vests, Sandy?”
“Yeah, I’ve spent enough time in Iraq and Afghanistan to tell. Looks like he’s packed them with ball bearings and small decking screws. If detonated in a crowded room, the result will be devastating.”
Kruger was silent for a few moments. “Leave everything where you found it and get out. We need guidance from the Attorney General before we move forward.”
“One more thing, Sean.”
“What’s that?”
“An ISIS flag is hanging on the wall.”
“Don’t let this guy out of your sight until I get back to you.”
“Got it.”
Kruger closed his eyes as he ended the call. His right hand rose to cover them. After several moments, he punched a number into his cell phone. The call was answered on the fourth ring.
“Alan Seltzer.”
“Alan, we found one.”
***
Kruger arrived at his home in southwest Springfield a little after 8 in the evening, fourteen hours after taking off earlier the same day.
After kissing his wife and his daughter, he took his backpack to his office and returned to the kitchen where Stephanie was feeding Kristin.
She stopped and looked at her husband. “What’s wrong, Sean?”
It was several moments before Kruger could answer her. “Sandy found two suicide vests, guns and an ISIS flag in the basement of Safar’s house.”
Stephanie gasped as she raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh my gawd. What are you going to do?”
“Take him down. It’s the only thing we can do. Possession of an explosive device is a felony, covered under Illinois Article 29D on possession of a terrorist weapon that can cause bodily injury. The only problem is we found everything during an illegal search of his residen
ce.”
She was quiet for a few moments, then smiled. “What did you do when you found the evidence about Norman Ortega?”
Kruger took a deep breath. “Used the ruse of a fire to enter his motel room?”
“Exactly. Why not now?”
He was quiet as he stared at Stephanie. Slowly, his stern look relaxed, and he nodded slightly.
“Maybe. We’re walking on egg shells, Stephanie. One false move, and his rights overshadow our attempt to stop him. We have to have everything by the book, or we lose the opportunity to get him off the street.”
She nodded. “What was so urgent in Atlanta that made you leave before Kristin and I were up this morning?”
“One apartment, two murders, one a bullet in the head and the other…” He hesitated for several moments. “Randolph Bishop struck again.”
Stephanie stood, walked to her husband and hugged him. “In Atlanta?”
Nodding, Kruger returned the hug. “Very upscale gated condo development. Bishop gained entry with a fake set of FBI credentials.”
Lifting her head from his chest, she looked at him. “No…”
“Yeah, he used my name.” He paused. “Because of that, they called in an agent from the Atlanta field office. He and I worked a few cases in the past, and he knew immediately from the security camera it wasn’t me. But he knew I needed to be informed.”
“Are you going to be involved in the case?”
Kruger remained quiet for several moments. “I already am.”
***
It was after 10 when Stephanie joined him on the wooden deck attached to the back of their house. He was sipping on a cup of chamomile tea, finding it helped him sleep better than a glass of wine. Their home faced east, which made the back deck a perfect place to watch storms move in from the northwest. Above them, stars shined brightly, while off in the distance, they disappeared. While the storm was too far away to hear thunder, occasional flashes of lightening could be seen.
