FOUND ON THE SOUTH side of the city, the Town and Country RV Park occupied a twenty acre rectangular parcel of land with a paved road that looped the interior. A swimming pool centered the loop with camping spaces backing onto it. Across the looped road the remaining sites lined the park boundary. Most sites had a mature tree to provide shade and all offered standard hookups.
In the northeast corner of the park, facing the interior road, a fancy bronze painted 45-foot motor home housed the subject. The impressive rig bristled with slide-outs, and had a satellite antenna mounted on the roof. The thirty foot awning extended over a picnic table and two bright green folding chairs. Next to the table and chairs, a brown SUV faced the road.
Ashley arrived at the Town and Country early Saturday morning and drove the loop. Only a few sites were occupied because of the hot weather. The big motor home stuck out like a circus clown in a church choir. She got a park map at the office and studied it, then called Jerry. "I've found the perfect site. It will view the entrance side of the subject's motor home with an unobstructed view. The site is a pull-though. That puts the large tinted rear window of our trailer facing the subject. He can't see us enter or leave the trailer."
"Sounds great. Rent it."
"Will do. It's site number twelve."
That afternoon Jerry arrived with a twenty-nine foot trailer and a pickup truck. They parked their trailer, and hooked up. To create an authentic appearance, Ashley unfolded a couple of lawn chairs, strung a clothesline and hung two wet towels on it. "Now we look like real campers." She tossed an overnight bag on the foldout sofa.
Cebeck grinned broadly and clapped his hands. "All the comforts of home. Time to get to work.” In the rear of the trailer, facing the subject's motor home, Cebeck mounted four computer monitors. Two were attached to tiny wireless surveillance cameras mounted on the roof. One camera viewed the subject's campsite, and the other the park entrance. A third monitor remained available for messaging and general Internet use. The fourth served as a backup unit. A 250 watt radio transmitter bounced a satellite signal back to all mobile units–the chase cars. If a power outage occurred, an onboard portable generator stood ready.
Ashley watched as Cebeck scurried about, much like a caterer making last minute preparations for a big banquet. Impressed with the improvised command center, she asked. "What, no binoculars, Jerry?"
He scarcely looked her way. "Of course. Night vision binoculars." He pulled a pair out of a duffel bag and handed them to her. "This will keep you out of trouble working the night shift." He also handed her an infrared digital camera. "Works well under extreme lowlight. I have other cameras for daytime use." He showed Ashley how to work all the equipment. When finished, he asked, "What do you think?"
Ashley reviewed the procedures. A bit more advanced than her stakeouts in Chicago, but easy enough to handle. "Great setup. Now what?"
Cebeck checked his watch. He flicked on his phone and tapped an app. "It's a new moon tonight. It’ll be dark outside."
Ashley nodded. "Great for bug planting, right?"
"Why do you think I dressed in black?"
The story around the office said Jerry would never have to worry about money because if he quit the Bureau he could always make a good living as a cat burglar. A crude joke, but also an implied compliment that recognized his ability to move with stealth. Ashley, using the binoculars, watched his shadowy green form slip through the night planting a miniature satellite tracking device on the SUV and the motor home. It took fewer than five minutes.
Tomorrow would be the first full day of surveillance. She would at last see the killer of Russell Smith. It would also be a day that would turn Ashley's life in a different direction.
THIRTY
ASHLEY COMPLETED HER SHIFT at midnight and then stretched out on the queen-size bed at the other end of the trailer. Fully clothed, she fell asleep in seconds. A little before five o'clock, she woke to the smell of fried bacon. After splashing cold water on her face, she checked out the kitchen. Jerry was feasting on scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and coffee. "I made some extra. Help yourself."
She dished the food and poured a cup of coffee. "Any action over there?" She pointed her eyes towards the giant motor home. With a mouthful of toast Jerry shook his head no. "You look beat," she said. "Why don't you turn-in? I’ll take over."
"Good idea." When finished, he picked up his dishes, dumped them in the sink and headed for the bedroom, closing the folding door behind him. "Thanks," he muttered.
Still dark, Ashley checked the monitors, selected a book entitled, The Practices of Islam and began reading. By 6:00 a.m. the sun gradually brightened. She sensed movement on the first monitor. A tall, dark man stepped out of the motor home. As the sun rose, it caused the awning to cast a shadow across the picnic table where the man stood. She adjusted the telephoto feature of the surveillance camera to see him better. Ashley saw his form, but not much detail. She turned on the video recorder.
After a minute, he unrolled a small rug and laid it on the ground, then bowed facing east. He's performing his Morning Prayer ritual–the Five Pillars of Islam. For fifteen minutes the man knelt, bowed, placed his head on the ground and sat in meditation. Then he stood, rolled the rug, and stretched his arms over his head. The sunlight, brighter now, showed a well formed man, lean and muscular. With a clean shaven face, surrounded by black hair, he moved in a deliberate manner as he reentered his motor home.
Absorbed capturing this action on video, Ashley didn't notice her heart thumping or her rapid breathing until seconds later. So that's what the son-of-a- bitch, looks like. A killer who could pass for a male model. Odd, you’d think they would select someone who didn’t standout physically.
At eight o'clock Jerry stumbled out of the bedroom, his hair a mess. Ashley showed him the recording. He played it back several times. His only comment, "Scary bastard." Ashley agreed.
The man emerged from his elegant camper at noon. He wore shorts and a T-shirt, common clothes for summer. The subject unlocked his SUV and climbed in.
Jerry picked up the radio microphone. "Unit 1 and Unit 2, the subject is on the move. He's in a brown Lincoln MKX. License number VAK-8909. Copy?" He got an immediate response.
"Unit 2, copy." Then a moment later, "Unit 1, copy. Got him." Both agents assigned to tail the Lincoln waited until the subject moved out of sight. Each tracking screen showed a moving map of street patterns. The satellite device Jerry attached last night blinked rhythmically on their tracking screens. Jerry got the same signal on his monitor.
Ashley watched the slow speed pursuit play out. The subject drove north on highway 285, then turned west zigzagging through the west side of town. At the intersection of Hobbs Street and Union, he turned north onto Union and continued for several blocks.
"Unit 1, reporting. He's turning into a small strip shopping center."
Jerry directed their movement and noted the time. "Unit 1, pass him by. Unit 2, turn in and park away from the subject." He watched his monitor as the flashing dots emitted by his pursuit vehicles complied with his orders. "Keep an eye on him Fred, but don't get out of the car. What can you see?"
Fred, in Unit 2 answered. "This is an old complex. Four shops side by side in one building. He's getting out of his car. He's approaching the door of the second shop on the south end between a vacuum cleaner repair shop and an ice cream parlor. The sign over the door says..." Fred paused. "I can't see it. He's unlocked the door and entered the building."
Jerry thought a moment. "Stay put, Fred. You can read the sign when you leave." He checked the location of Unit 1. Joe had parked one block north on a side street ready to move either north or south on Union. They waited. Fifteen minutes later the subject exited the building and drove out of the parking lot onto Union and turned north. Unit 1 picked him up when he passed by.
"What's the sign over the door say, Fred?"
"Smith Trading. Imports and Export. Can't see inside.”
"Good man. Standby."
"Unit 1. What's he doing, Joe?"
"He's parking. There's big building back here. It's a movie complex. He's getting out of the car. I think he's going to the movies."
"Okay. Joe, park, then buy a ticket and follow him inside. See what feature he’s attending. Make sure he goes into a theater.” Jerry beamed at Ashley. "This is great. If he goes to a movie we know where he is and how long he'll be in one place. Perfect. Damn perfect."
Five minutes later Joe came online. "He went into theater 3. Crime Hunter is playing. Running time two hours and three minutes."
"Okay, gentlemen. Stay on target. Remember there is more than one way to exit a theater. Let me know when he’s on the move again." Jerry checked his watch: 1:05 p.m.
"Are you going over?" Ashley asked.
"You bet." He grabbed his tool kit and started for the door. "I have never jimmied a motor home door lock. I hope it's not some offbeat mechanism."
"Why not use a key?"
He stopped at the door. "Because I don't have one."
Ashley slapped down a key on the kitchen counter. "Now you do."
"Where’d you get that?"
"I called the manufacturer and asked for two keys. Gave them the VIN number I got from the DMV. When you're the FBI you can do stuff like that." Her lips curved up. "I'm coming with you."
Jerry slipped the key into his pocket. "No, I need you to stay here. Joe or Fred might call in. You understand?" He arched an eyebrow at her.
"Sure. I'll mind the store. Have fun."
Trying to look like a camper on a casual walk, Jerry approached the metallic colored motor home, and then quickly stepped to the door and unlocked it. Ashley watched. She imagined him searching for the best place to hide each of the listening devices: three, she figured–one at each end and the third in the middle. The time: 1:15.
Twenty minutes passed, and no Jerry. Where is he, she wondered. The bugs are state of the art, and easy to hide. He called them chameleons because when placed they assumed the color of any surface.
At a quarter to two, she prepared to march across the road, when the door to the motor home opened. Jerry stepped out and hurried across to their trailer. "Hey, is the Bug Man losing his touch?" Ashley asked as he entered, "Any problem?"
No answer.
Ashley watched him as he turned away from her, and stored his gear. He moved to the bathroom and shut the door. She waited. Finally he came out. He wore a grim expression. Avoiding her eyes, he said, "I downloaded the contents of a laptop over there. It took a while. I have to go downtown." He started for the door. "I need a secure line to send this download to Bill Johnson at the field office."
On her feet, Ashley blocked the door. "You're not telling me something. What happened over there? Did he set a booby trap?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
He backed up, then dropped into an upholstered chair–a vacant look in his eyes. Ashley waited for his answer. Finally it came. "There's someone over there."
"My God, our cover is blown!"
"No. It's not."
"What do you mean?"
"She is blinded with a black bag over her head and is tied up.
"She? A black bag? How can you be sure it's a woman?"
"Because she’s naked."
Ashley stepped back to steady herself, a hand on the kitchen counter. "What’s her condition?
"She made a sound. Like a moan or a cry, but she isn't aware of anything. I checked her pulse. It's weak." He forced himself to focus on Ashley. "She's a tiny thing tied to a king-size bed. Splayed at both ends. Arms stretched out tight over her head. Feet spread wide and tied to a pipe. She's been there a while."
Ashley tried to piece together the image.
"There are bruises all over her body and plenty of dried blood. The pelvic region has most of the blood." He stared at Ashley, his hands gripped the arms of the chair, his jaw muscle tight. "I think you get the picture."
She got the picture. She could see the woman in her mind. A wretched creature being used up little by little until...until....
Jerry stood. "I have to go. You need to stay in contact with Fred and Joe."
Ashley moved forward. "We can't leave her there."
"I don't like this any more than you, but we can't make a move now. Touch that woman and we expose the surveillance. The whole operation blows up."
"She needs help. She needs us."
"I'll talk to the SAC. See what Kent thinks. I got a go." He opened the door and stepped out. "I'm sorry. I've seen a lot over the years, but nothing quite like this." He shut the door.
Seconds later Ashley heard the truck start and pull out of the driveway. Her wristwatch read two minutes past two o'clock.
THIRTY-ONE
THERE ARE BRUISES ALL over her body and plenty of dried blood. Jerry's description, haunted Ashley. She paced the floor, her feelings vacillating between anger, sadness, and deep concern.
Only a few hundred feet away a helpless woman lay brutalized, too weak to speak. A victim of a monster who had already killed a pathetic little man. Now this savage has enslaved a woman for sexual gratification or worse. Without intervention, only death will free her. Death that will come when he finishes with her.
Ashley struggled to deal with the ramifications of any decision she would make. She had the power to free the woman, save a human life, and take her to a hospital for medical treatment. Such an act would have consequences. When this evil man discovers his sex slave is gone he will know someone entered his secret world, cut her loose and carried her away. He will react. If he runs we may lose him, and the case falls apart. Even if we find him and continue the surveillance, he will be more cautious. He will take extraordinary steps to protect himself. If arrested, we can’t be sure he’s working alone. His mission might be assigned to another terrorist leaving us with a dead end.
Absorbed in thought, Ashley found herself staring at her image in a full-length mirror mounted on the wall. She spoke to a face twisted with distress and filled with anguish. “If I rescue this woman, and he gets away, it will be my fault. I could lose my job, my career and my reason for being.”
Ashley turned and faced the motor home across the road. She sat in front of Cebeck's array of electronic gadgets. She thought back to a decision she made long ago. She remembered, as a little girl, she cuddled next to her mother after her first day in school. She cried and told her mom the kids teased her, called her little rich Jew girl, and sometimes hit her when the teacher looked the other way. Frightened, with her hands covering her face, she asked, "What can I do mom?" Her mother kissed her gently, held her close, and told her God would protect her as long as she tried to make the right decisions.
Ashley remembered her Mother’s words "You will make many hard choices in your life. Let your heart show you the way and your mind carry you forward. You must decide if you will hide from the scorn and the cruelty of people or be strong and stand your ground because that's the right thing to do." Those words gave her the strength to fight back, and by the end of that school year she earned the respect of her classmates. Remembering those words, Ashley knew only one course of action lay before her today.
She stood, and began packing the tools she would need in the minutes ahead: a box cutter, side cutters, first aid kit, camera, and hand tools. She turned the video recorders on and scratched down a note to Cebeck–leaving it on the kitchen counter. The clock on the wall read 2:15.
Ashley bolted from the trailer, slammed the door behind her and sprinted to her car parked across the road next to the park office. She backed the car and kicked up gravel as she drove the short distance to the motor home, and parked as close to the camper entrance as possible. Once outside she dug in her pocket for the second key
and unlocked the door. The electric step slid out. In seconds she entered the motor home, and ran for the bedroom in the back. What she saw sickened her.
In the darkened room, sprawled across the king-sized bed lay an emaciated waif-like form–her arms hung from above, hands curled over at the wrist like dried leaves about to fall. Stretched wide, her legs had no slack to bend at the knees. Like gnarled stumps, two small feet, tightly wrapped with layers of duct tape, jutted up above a PVC pipe. A black bag, pointed at the corners covered her head. Ashley gasped when she saw the crudely performed female genital mutilation now caked with scabs covering partially heeled tissue.
She quickly moved to the side of this pathetic spectacle. Black bruises, some fading into yellow circles covered her body. Smears of dried blood marked her lower torso. On and around her breasts Ashley saw small circled wounds–burn marks from a hot object like a cigarette or a red-hot kitchen utensil. Ashley exploded into blind fury, and started to tear at the woman's bonds, then pulled back. She realized this indescribable horror may not be believed. She must photograph it. It would take only a few seconds, then she would free her.
The camera flash lit the dimly lit room much like a bolt of lightning reveals the damage of a deadly storm. Two, three, four shots at different angles; every gruesome detail recorded. Then she went to work–first the arms. They were fastened to eyebolts screwed into the wall. Ashley snipped the plastic ties that dug into the woman's wrists. When the hands dropped down some of the plastic stayed in the crusted wounds. Using the box cutter she turned her attention to the feet. She carefully sliced through the many layers of tape that trapped her swollen ankles against the plastic pipe. The left foot fell free followed by the right. Now for the black bag hiding her face. Drawn tight, a cord held it in place. She cut it away and pulled the bag off. A once beautiful face looked at her with unseeing eyes. A narrow strip of tape covered her mouth. Ashley reached to check for a pulse and found a choke chain imbedded in her neck, and a dog leash curled next to her head. The woman made a whimpering sound. Ashley pulled the tape from her mouth. With caring hands, she unclipped the metal collar and pulled it gently from around the woman's throat. She placed the gray hands across a scarred belly and pulled the legs together.
The Seventh Message Page 13
