by J. C. Fields
Stumpf acknowledged Kruger’s arrival with a nod. “Glad you could join us, Agent Kruger.” He glanced toward the hotel manager. “Please open the door, Mr. Mathews.”
Using his pass card, the man unlocked the door and stood aside. One of the local agents, gun drawn, pushed the door open and the director of the FBI, along with two other agents, stormed into the room.
***
Paul Stumpf was furious. Kruger had known the man for twenty years and could not remember seeing him this agitated. The only occupants of the meeting room were three men from Dubai, waiting for the man they knew as Stephen Blair to return from the restroom.
Stumpf turned to Kruger and growled, “Find Franklin Dollar and get his butt in here.”
Suppressing a smile, Kruger nodded and left the room. Stumpf pointed at the tallest of the local agents. “Find out what you can from these gentlemen.” To the other agent, “Bishop can’t be too far. Find him.”
The agent rushed out the door at the back of the meeting room just as Kruger followed Franklin Dollar through the front entrance.
Stumpf glared at Dollar. “Did you bother to check to see if the room contained a second exit?”
Dollar shook his head slightly.
Taking a deep breath, Stumpf let it out slowly. “My next question should seem obvious, but with your performance over the past couple of years, it might not. Why?”
Dollar stood straight, his shoulders back slightly. “The other agents should have checked. I was busy establishing rapport with hotel management.”
Once again, Kruger suppressed a laugh, barely able to keep a smile off his face.
Leaning in, Stumpf was inches from Dollar’s nose. “You were establishing rapport with hotel management? I’ve been told you were harassing them, flashing your credentials at anyone who would look your way. We’ve now lost track of a known serial killer because of your incompetence.”
Dollar started to protest, but Stumpf cut him off. “You would be wise to keep quiet and seek counsel.”
Now staring at his shoes, Dollar said nothing.
Stumpf stood straight and took a calming breath. He turned to Kruger. “Agent Kruger, please relieve Mr. Dollar of his credentials and weapon. As of this moment he is suspended, pending a review by the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility.”
Chapter 24
Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino, Las Vegas, NV
As the elevator door opened, Randolph Bishop observed the commotion at the casino check-in area. At the front desk, a man was berating a young woman and demanding to see someone from hotel management. When he started flashing his FBI credentials, Bishop bowed his head and hurried away from the bank of elevators in the opposite direction of the ruckus. Once he was at a safe distance he secured himself out of sight and watched the confrontation.
The realization hit him that his masquerade as Stephen Blair was probably at an end. Frowning and taking a deep breath, his thoughts turned to escape. He had achieved the commitment of more gullible millionaires than he originally anticipated. In fact, before coming down the elevator for his next meeting, a message from one of his banks in Zurich confirmed twenty of the thirty investors already transferred money to his account. He didn’t realize how susceptible these individuals were to the prospects of doubling or tripling their initial investment. It had been child’s play. Checking the time on his cell phone, he realized he was a few minutes late for his next meeting with several princes from Dubai. Once this meeting was concluded, he would leave the hotel and execute his escape plan. He smiled, turned, and walked toward their prearranged meeting location.
***
Forty minutes into his meeting with the Dubaian princes, Bishop struggled to mask his frustration and anger. The three men kept talking among themselves in Arabic. Their questions were becoming more technical as the meeting progressed. Questions he was finding more and more difficult to answer. Finally, Bishop excused himself to use the restroom and left through a rear entrance.
With the FBI in the building and lack of progress in his meeting, he decided it was time to return to his room, pack, and leave. Taking the back way toward the bank of elevators he stopped and from a distance, saw a familiar face walking across a common area of the hotel. FBI Agent Sean Kruger.
Bishop stopped and realized Kruger was joining a group of men preparing to enter the meeting room where the Dubai princes waited his return. Without hesitation and without waiting to see them enter the room, he hurried through the crowd near the check-in and casino area toward the front of the building. Once outside, he made a right turn and headed toward the parking valet for the hotel. Reaching into the front pocket of his suit pants, he made sure the flash drive with his files was there. His fingers felt the object. Satisfied, he withdrew his claim ticket from his suit coat breast pocket and handed it to a young male valet, who hurried off to retrieve his car.
***
JR and Mia watched as Kruger exited the room and hurried toward the two FBI agents posted near the lobby of the hotel. One of them was Franklin Dollar. Kruger pointed his finger at the man and motioned for him to return to the meeting room.
“Uh oh,” JR sat straighter in his chair. “Something’s wrong.”
As Kruger walked behind Dollar, he glanced across toward JR and Mia still sitting in the wine bar. He frowned and shook his head slowly.
Mia looked over at JR. “Sean looks concerned and frustrated.”
JR didn’t respond immediately. “Something tells me Bishop wasn’t in the room.”
Five minutes after Dollar and Kruger disappeared into the room, Kruger was back out and motioned for the other FBI agent to join them in the room. The man hurried to where Kruger stood and listened for a few moments. Kruger handed him something, which the young agent slipped into his suitcoat breast pocket before sprinting toward the elevators.
“He’s gone.”
Mia looked at her husband. “What?”
“Bishop wasn’t in the room. They’ve no idea where he is. This is going to get intense real fast.”
***
Tim Gonzales, a recent graduate of the FBI Academy in his first assignment, barely made the height requirement. He made up for it with his strength. Broad shouldered with a thin waist, he could bench press three hundred pounds without straining. Born in Fort Worth, Texas, his proud parents were new citizens of the United States, having taken their oath the day after Tim’s graduation. Clean shaven, with short, coal-black hair, his face was tanned and male model handsome. He spoke English like a Texan and Spanish like a native of Mexico City, one of the reasons his first posting was in Vegas.
As he hurried toward the elevator bank, his only thought was how not to screw up. Being around Franklin Dollar made him nervous. The man was a walking contradiction of a professional FBI agent. As the elevator door opened, he hoped the director did not judge the rest of the agents from the Vegas field office by Dollar’s actions.
Watching the LED readout of the floors, he withdrew his agency-issued Glock 19 Gen 5 and held it at ready as he approached the thirty-first floor. When the door opened, he turned to his right and hurried down the hallway toward room 31141. Slowing as he approached the room, he continued to hold his weapon with both hands pointed at the floor.
He stood beside the door, reached over and knocked. In a heavy Spanish accent, he said, “Room Service.” After several moments without a response, he repeated the knock and the announcement. Still no response. With his right hand still holding his weapon, he reached into his suitcoat pocket for the object Kruger handed to him. A pass key for the building. Sliding into the door’s locking mechanism, he heard the click and saw the green light on the door. As quickly as possible, he opened the door and slid inside at the same time yelling, “FBI! FBI! Hands where I can see them.”
With his weapon again in both hands, he swept the room, then the bathroom and closet. Next he checked under the bed. Nothing. Satisfied, he holstered his weapon and made a call on his secure agency radio. “A
ll clear, suspect is not in his room.”
He heard Kruger’s response. “What do you see?”
Looking around the room, he saw a laptop, suitcase, assorted personal care items in the bathroom, and clothes hanging in the closet. “His personal items are still here.”
“Do you see a computer?”
“Yes.”
“Car keys?”
Gonzales did not see any on his survey of the room. He looked again and in several of the desk drawers.
“No, not at the moment. I’ll keep looking.”
“Don’t worry about it. Seal the room and do not let anyone in until we get there. Good work, Tim.”
A board smile appeared on the young agent’s face. Praise from an agency legend like Sean Kruger helped dissipate his concern about being around Dollar. He moved quickly to the room’s door and stood outside. No one would be going into the room.
***
“Are you ready to earn your monthly stipend?” Kruger glanced over at JR and Mia as they walked to the bank of elevators.
JR remained quiet, lost in thought.
Mia looked at Kruger. “Have they found Bishop?”
Kruger shook his head. “No, not yet. We know he left the meeting room five minutes before we entered. He’s not been seen since.”
“He’s gone, Sean.” JR stared at the elevator door. His expression grim.
“I would agree, but the Director has the local police looking for him and the remaining agents with the Vegas field office are now involved. I overheard the conversation between Paul and the local Special Agent in Charge.”
They entered the elevator and Kruger pressed the button for the thirty-first floor. JR watched the floor indicator. “Bet that was unpleasant for the SAC.”
Kruger nodded, “His judgement about sending Dollar to head the team was discussed. Let’s just say Paul didn’t care for the response he was given. There may be two openings in the local office.”
The rest of the ride was in silence.
When they arrived at the room, Kruger could see three agents collecting evidence. Gonzales came out of the bathroom, his gloved hands holding several evidence bags containing a hairbrush, toothbrush and a glass cup, each in its own bag. “We should be able to get DNA off these.”
Kruger smiled. “Tim, get those to the forensics lab immediately. We need proof Bishop was here.”
Gonzales nodded and headed out the door.
Paul Stumpf stood by the large picture window, his back to the room. When Kruger stepped over, he stood next to the man and stared out the window as well. He waited for the director to say something.
“Well?”
“We haven’t found him yet.”
Nodding, Stumpf turned to look at Kruger. “I hate the bureaucracy and the politics of this job. The local SAC argued with me, claiming the personnel file he received on Dollar contained a glowing recommendation from the Director of the FBI.”
“Let me guess.” Kruger gave Stumpf a grim smile. “It hadn’t been updated.”
“No, it hadn’t. When I asked him who signed the letter of recommendation for Dollar, he was silent. It was the letter from my predecessor.”
“JR is here, sir. He can start looking at the computer.”
Stumpf turned to the room. “Agents, thank you for your efforts. Gather what evidence you have and get it to the lab. We can finish here later. I need all of you on the street looking for this man.”
The room cleared quickly. Stumpf offered his hand to JR. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Diminski. All of it good.”
JR shook the offered hand and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.”
Kruger leaned in close to JR’s ear. “Relax, he’s one of the good guys and he’s on your side.”
“Please call me, JR, sir. Mr. Diminski makes me nervous.”
Stumpf chuckled. “Very well, JR.” He nodded to the laptop sitting on the room’s desk. “Can you tell us what’s on that machine?”
JR looked at it, picked it up, and checked the model and serial number. He looked at the Director. “Give me a few minutes.” Pulling his own laptop out of the shoulder bag he carried, he hooked it to Bishop’s computer with a USB cable. He lifted the lid to his laptop. “I’ll check to make sure he didn’t set any booby traps first.” With those words, JR started performing his magic.
***
Four hours later, the sun had set and the lights of Vegas sparkled through the still open curtain of room 31141. Kruger was in and out of the room several times, as was Paul Stumpf during the wait. When JR was ready to review the contents of the laptop, both were in the room listening.
“The Stephen Blair who checked into this hotel is definitely an impostor. My guess is the real Stephen is dead, along with his housekeeper. However, there’s nothing on this computer to indicate he’s Bishop.”
“It’s Bishop.” Kruger showed JR a text message on his phone. “A fast DNA exam confirmed it about ten minutes ago.”
JR looked at the message and nodded. “He has money stashed all over Zurich and the Cayman Islands. Most of it I can get to, some of it I can’t.”
Stumpf crossed his arms and raised a finger to tap on his lips. “How much does he have?”
“Almost two hundred million. About sixty percent of it is from the sale of Blair’s stock in New Age Software, the other is from a lot of different sources. Apparently he’s been talking to a lot of investors about his supposed venture in artificial intelligence.”
“What about his emails, any mention of accomplices?” Kruger asked, looking over JR’s shoulder.
Mia looked up from the laptop she was working on. “I’ve been going through those. He’s still communicating regularly with someone in Taiwan. They never use names, and the email accounts change monthly.”
JR looked up from Bishop’s laptop. “Given time, we can isolate the emails.”
Stumpf nodded. “Any information on his exit plans?”
Shaking his head, JR glanced back at the screen. “Not on this computer. Since there wasn’t a cell phone found in this room, I would assume he has it with him.”
Kruger was staring out the window at the lights of Vegas. “They found his rental car at McCarran. It’s possible he had another car parked there. No records of Blair or Stewart Everett flying in or out.”
JR looked up from the laptop. “I can start monitoring his cell phone. The number is on a bill he gets via the internet. But he’ll know we have his computer. He’s very smart, so my guess is he’ll stop using it.”
Stumpf frowned. “For now, freeze all the accounts you can.”
JR nodded. “One other thing.”
Kruger looked back at JR. “What?”
“He leased a condo in Dallas and rents a small office in a shared office complex.”
“How?” Stumpf put his hands on his hips and stared at JR. “We’ve been monitoring any financial activity of Stephen Blair. It didn’t show up.”
“Shell company. It leased the condo and office space.”
Stumpf shook his head, reached into his suit coat inside pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and walked out into the hall to make his call.
“Good work, JR. You’ve earned your pay this month.”
JR smiled grimly, turned back to his laptop, and let his hands start playing the computer like a master pianist.
***
It was 10:30 p.m. Pacific Time when Stumpf made the decision to spend the night in Vegas and leave early in the morning for Dallas. Kruger was alone in one of the many bars in the resort, writing an email on his cell phone to Stephanie. Franklin Dollar sat down next to him and cleared his throat.
“Are you proud of yourself, Kruger?”
Kruger looked up and pressed an icon on his cell phone. “Excuse me?”
“Are you proud of yourself?”
“For what?”
“Getting me suspended.”
Kruger chuckled. “I had nothing to do with your getting suspended, Dollar. You accomplished it all by yourse
lf. It’s the only thing I recall you doing well since you’ve been with the agency.”
His face grew crimson, but Dollar took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll be back in good standing as soon as the review board convenes. Then, watch out.”
“Is that a threat, Dollar?”
“Consider it a warning. You’ve never played by the rules, Kruger. I’ve been following your career, and there’s no way you’re as good as you appear to be. No one is. I’m going to expose you for the fraud you are.”
Smiling, Kruger shook his head. “When you have standards as low as yours, everyone will appear to be Superman.”
Dollar snorted and stood. Giving Kruger a scowl, he walked toward the front of the bar. As Kruger watched, Dollar discreetly nodded to a woman sitting near the bar’s entrance. She stood and slowly wandered over to his table. She was a tall woman in her mid-to-late twenties, with blond hair hanging down to her waist, long legs, and a form-fitting beige dress with a plunging neckline.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Kruger was staring at his cell phone. “Free country, sit where you like.”
“I like it here.”
When she sat down, Kruger looked up. “How much did Franklin Dollar offer you to get me in bed?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Simple question. How much is he paying you?”
“You’re not being very friendly.”
“I’m not in a friendly mood.” He placed his cell phone on the table, the recording app still operating. “I hope you got paid up front. He’s not known for keeping promises or fulfilling an agreement.”
She nodded.
“I’ll take the nod as a yes.”
