The Assassin's Trail

by J. C. Fields

  Considered by many to be one of the foremost FBI experts on profiling, Kruger was in high demand by police departments across the United States. Constant traveling came with the job. After earning a PhD in Psychology from the University of Oklahoma, he found teaching to be less challenging than expected. On the advice of an adviser at OU, Kruger applied at the FBI and was accepted. Now, twenty-five years later, the job was less challenging. He yearned for consistency, less traveling and a home life never realized.

  The flight arrived early and he was at his car by 9:30 p.m. After putting his bags in the trunk, he retrieved a cell phone from his backpack and made a call. On the third ring, he heard, “Hope you’re back in town.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I know it’s late, just wanted to see if you were still up.”

  “Considering I just got to the condo twenty minutes ago and my body’s still on Pacific Time, I’m not even remotely tired.”

  “How was LA?”

  “Beautiful weather, great people, fantastic restaurants. There was only one thing missing.”

  “What was that?”

  “You.”

  Kruger smiled, happy she was back. “It’ll take about thirty minutes for me to get home. Are you hungry?”

  “Not really, are you?”

  “Nope. I thought if you were, I’d pick something up.” He paused briefly. “What I really want is a beer. I think there’s a few left in my fridge. Can you check? If not, call me and I’ll pick up a six-pack.”

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Kruger ended the call and started the long drive from the Kansas City airport to his condo on the west side of The Plaza. Stephanie Harris was his neighbor in the condo next door. Both moved in soon after the building was remodeled and converted to condos. Strangers when they moved in, now four years later, they were close friends and in love. She was a senior VP with a greeting card company. Her traveling rivaled Kruger’s; she was gone as much as he was. Their arrangement was simple: they were committed to each other. If both were in town, they would spend as much time together as possible. If not, long telephone calls were the norm. Since they lived in adjacent apartments, there was no need to move in with each other.

  Kruger’s first wife abandoned him and their 10-month-old son after three years of marriage. She simply packed a suitcase one day, left a note and disappeared. She would call their son on his birthday and occasionally on Christmas. After Brian started college, even those calls stopped. Now a senior at the University of Missouri, Brian had not heard from her in over four years.

  Apparently, he was correct about the beer. Stephanie did not call him back. So he drove straight to the condo and parked his black Mustang GT in its designated parking spot. Their adjacent apartments were located on the second floor of the building with the back stairs entrance only ten feet from his car. Designed with an open floor plan, his living area blended into the kitchen and dining space. Dominating the space was a central see-through fireplace, one of his favorite features of the condo. Another favorite spot was a balcony off the living area. It faced east and overlooked The Plaza. Two bedrooms were located in an adjacent hall, each with its own bathroom. One was his bedroom. The other served as an office and spare bedroom when Brian came home from college. The wall separating the living space and bedroom area was highlighted by floor to ceiling book shelves and a built-in entertainment system. He preferred not to have a TV in his bedroom, but there were speakers on each bedroom wall fed by his main system. Normal music was smooth jazz, classical or the occasional classic rock.

  Stephanie’s condo was next door and a mirror image of his floor plan. He had laughed when he first saw her place, commenting about how the architect had pulled a fast one on the developer by charging for both designs. At one time, her balcony had a better view of The Plaza. But now new construction blocked her view. When they spent any time on the balcony it was always at his apartment.

  As he opened his front door, he could see her on the balcony sitting at a small bistro table, looking out over The Plaza and the well-lit bell tower in the distance. After depositing his suitcase and computer backpack in his bedroom, he found two beers in the refrigerator and joined her.

  Stephanie was a beautiful petite woman in her early 40s, seven years younger than Kruger. Where he had straight dark brown hair, she had naturally curly light brown hair, which she wore past her shoulders. Her normal casual attire was one of Kruger’s sweatshirts and faded blue jeans or shorts, depending on the weather. Tonight she wore only the sweatshirt. Her bare legs stretched out to a stool to her left. He kissed her, handed her a beer, and sat down on the stool across from her.

  Smiling, she said, “How long’s it been? Two weeks?”

  Kruger nodded. “At least. I think I’m here for a while, how about you?”

  “Nothing planned right now, but that could always change. All I have on my calendar next week are meetings at the office and lots of follow up.” She paused, grinned and took a sip of beer. “Catch any bad guys lately?”

  Kruger smiled as he took his second gulp of Boulevard Pale Ale. “From the way you’re dressed, it looks like there’s a bad girl I need to catch.”

  Her dark blue eyes twinkled in the lights from The Plaza. She laughed. “That might be possible later. You said you wanted a beer, so drink your beer.” She paused, gazing out over 47th Street and all the hotels, restaurants and retail stores of The Plaza. She started to say something, but hesitated. After a few silent moments, “Have you heard from Brian this week?”

  Something was on her mind. She was stalling, making small talk.

  Kruger said, “His last email indicated the university finally offered the one class he needs for graduation. He has to take it this summer, which is a good thing since he starts grad school next fall. Other than that, he says things are great.”

  Stephanie was quiet again. Her gaze remained on the few cars on the street below as she took a sip of beer. “Sean, do you ever think about getting married again?”

  “Yes.” He watched her as her gaze returned to the brightly lit buildings. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, lately I’ve been feeling there has to be something more important in life than making sales budgets every year. It seems silly at times, constantly making sure the shareholders are happy, worrying about customer service, and keeping our sales team motivated. The challenge is gone.” She paused and looked at him. “I’m not sure how much longer I want to keep doing it. Besides, I want to be a mother.”

  The statement caught him off guard. “Stephanie, aren’t we a little old to be starting a family?”

  “Other women have done it.” She paused, keeping her eyes on him. “I’m not sure having a child at my age is a good idea. Too many risks for the baby.” She looked back at the view. “I’ve been thinking about trying to adopt.”

  In silence, she turned back to Kruger.

  “Would you be willing to do that with me?”

  Kruger was silent for a while as he stared into her eyes. There it was. Something they had never discussed. It was implied but never discussed. It was funny how, just this morning, Ryan Clark had told Kruger he should marry Stephanie. Adopting a child was a new idea. An idea, which surprisingly, didn’t bother him. In fact, he found the prospect of raising another child exciting.

  Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah.” After a brief pause, “I would like to start a family with you.” He took a swig of his beer. “Want to know something funny?”

  She nodded, her eyes still focused on him.

  “I spent half the day thinking about doing something different myself. I was planning on discussing it with you tonight. Apparently we’re more in sync with each other than we realized. The adoption idea is new.” He grinned slightly. “What brought this on?”

  She shrugged, “Don’t know. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I’ve missed you so much these past two weeks, I was miserable.”

  “I know, it was a long t
wo weeks.”

  “After you called tonight, I decided it was time. I’ve known since I first met you, if I ever decided to get married and have a family, it would be with you. Funny how life works, isn’t it?” She grinned and raised the bottom of the sweatshirt just a bit to expose a bare hip. “I’m not wearing anything under this sweatshirt. Got any ideas?”

  Kruger smiled, finished his beer in one gulp and stood. “Yes, I do. Let me grab a quick shower and I’ll let you know what my idea is.”

  Chapter 3

  Memphis, TN

  Saturday

  Norman Ortega sat at a two-person table in the far rear corner of The Music City Bean. Sitting with his back against the wall allowed him to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the coffee shop. He didn't care for the coffee, but the Wi-Fi was fast and free to access.

  Searching the online version of the Washington Post with his laptop, he was not particularly pleased, no mention of the events of Friday morning. Finally, at the bottom of page eight in the local section, he found a small mention of the death of Kyle Rousch. No details, just that he had been murdered in an early morning mugging. The article asked for anyone with knowledge of the incident to contact police.

  A mugging? Really? The man had been dispatched by a trained assassin. This was the second time the Post had treated his team’s activities as inconsequential. Before closing the web site, he found the email address for the editor and started writing a letter explaining why Rousch had been executed. As he was about to click the send icon, he paused. With his frustrations subsiding he re-read the email. The contents revealed more information than he wanted to disclose at this early stage of the operation. The next event would make a bigger splash, a more dramatic example of the capabilities of his team. If the national media ignored the next assassination then, he would send an email. He deleted this one.

  The next target was scheduled to arrive in Kansas City this coming Friday to prepare for important meetings the following week. As he read the information provided by one of his team members in New York City, an idea started to form. The man assigned to this operation lived in southern Alabama and would be heading toward Kansas City on Wednesday. He opened a Gmail account known to the man, changed the password, and then typed out a message. When the message was finished, he saved it as a draft and closed the account. His next step was to turn on his cell phone and send a text message to the man’s cell phone with the new six-digit password.

  This was the way the team communicated. Each had an email account known only to Ortega and the member. Before each member composed a message, they would change the password, write the email, save it as a draft, and text the new password. Receiving a text signaled a message was in the email account to view. Important operational details could be discussed without code words, leaving nothing open to interpretation. Their only stipulation was to never use names. Target information was sent via the post office, good old-fashioned snail mail. Because the emails were never sent through the internet, the giant computers at the NSA could not pick up on key words or phrases their computers were tasked with catching. It was a handy process he had learned during his final tour in Afghanistan.

  So far, the communications system worked. He closed the lid on his laptop, placed it in his backpack and headed toward the post office.

  Chapter 4

  Kansas City, MO

  Saturday

  Kruger awoke with a start. What time was it? Frantically trying to remember where he was, he saw a digital clock on a nightstand, his nightstand. It was 5:14 in the morning. Realizing he was in his bedroom in Kansas City, he relaxed. Moments like this were occurring more frequently. The result of too many nights, in too many hotels, in too many different cities. When he was a younger man, he could sleep through fifteen or twenty minutes of blaring music. Now he often woke before the alarm. Feeling reassuring warmth next to him served as a reminder he was indeed home. Stephanie lay curled up with her back touching his, her breathing slow and rhythmic. His thoughts went back to their lovemaking late last night. He hated being away from her, but the homecomings were almost worth the time apart. Almost. However, he wouldn't mind if the traveling stopped.

  Experience told him trying to fall back asleep would be futile. Carefully getting out of bed, he found running shorts, a long sleeve t-shirt, running shoes and socks. Dressing quickly in the bathroom, he quietly left the bedroom and headed down to street level. One of the great benefits of running in the morning was how quiet The Plaza was at this time of day. He loved to run early, without traffic or crowds. It allowed him to clear his mind and think.

  Being an active FBI agent, Kruger was required to be armed at all times, so he carried a fanny pack with his ID, cell phone and a Glock 26. Even though he had only used his firearm once in the line of duty, he trained constantly and was an excellent shot. Stephanie hated guns, but understood the need. She had been assaulted one night shortly after moving into the condo. Kruger had just parked his car when he heard her scream. He was able to disrupt the attack before anything serious occurred, and they had been close ever since.

  Forty minutes later, he slowed to a cool-down walk when his cell phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID, involuntarily sighed and accepted the call, “Kruger.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Wandering around in the early morning dawn of Kansas City. Are you aware of what time it is?”

  Alan Seltzer responded, “Well, I know its half past seven in the morning here, so I figured your body was still on Eastern Time and probably up. I was right.”

  “I’m on vacation, Alan, or did you conveniently forget that.”

  “No, I didn't forget. I just don’t care. There’s a firestorm brewing here in D.C., and I need to know when you can be back.”

  Kruger would normally have hurried up to his condo, taken a quick shower and grabbed his go bag. But after his conversation with Stephanie last night, he wasn't going anywhere. He silently counted to ten and said, “Probably not for a week or two, there’s some personal business I need to take care of.”

  “Sean, I realize you just got back, but the President is breathing down the back of the director and he’s breathing down Paul’s neck. Paul’s a good deputy director and I like working for him, but as you know, shit rolls downhill and we’re in the valley. The director wants to know who killed the Israeli attaché and the PAC chairman. The President had a call from the Israeli Prime Minister expressing his disappointment in our lack of effort to catch the killer. Bottom line—I need you here to get this investigation started.”

  Kruger took a deep breath. “No, you don’t. There are at least a dozen good agents based in D.C. that can handle this.”

  Seltzer cut him off, “Sean, this is not a request, it’s an order. Get back to D.C. today. Is that understood?”

  “Well, Alan, you leave me no choice. I just retired.”

  “Sean, this is no the time for theatrics.”

  “I’m serious, Alan. I’m done. Find someone else to ask how high when you say jump.”

  Silence.

  Finally Seltzer said, “Okay, take a few days and call me Tuesday.” The call ended and Kruger smiled as he walked up the stairs to his condo. This new found sense of independence was fun. Maybe it was time to retire, find a teaching position at a university and start a new family with Stephanie.

  The aroma of coffee permeated the condo when he opened the front door. With a mug of coffee in hand, Stephanie was watching the sun peek through the buildings of The Plaza from the balcony’s sliding glass door. She turned as he came in and smiled. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and the light shining through the thin material outlined her curves perfectly. She said, “I saw you come back five minutes ago. What took you so long?”

  He held up the cell phone and pointed to it. “Alan called right after I started my cool down. He wants me back in D.C. today.” He saw her stiffen. “I told him no. I’m taking some vacation time. We have things to do.”

  She relaxed
immediately and walked to the kitchen, filled another mug of coffee, and brought it to him. “You know, I think I’ll go into the office this morning and wrap a few things up. That way I can go in early Monday and turn in my vacation request. A week of vacation sounds good. Let’s start with dinner at Houston’s tonight.”

  “Great idea. I’ll walk up there today and talk to Max about reservations. What do you think, eight?”

  “Perfect, now I need to go next door and get ready for the office. If I get there early, I can get back by noon.”

  As she walked past Kruger toward the front door, he stopped her, pulled the t-shirt off over her head, picked her up, and returned to the bedroom.

  ***

  One of the benefits of living right off The Plaza was the ability to walk to an amazing number of great restaurants. Houston’s was Stephanie’s favorite. Kruger preferred O’Dowd’s Little Dublin Pub, but tonight, Houston’s was a better fit for their mood. For a Saturday evening in mid-April, the place wasn't too busy. The high school prom crowd wouldn't start until the next weekend, so they didn't have to deal with long tables of overdressed teens. Max, as promised, had reserved their favorite table, one in the far back corner. It was an old habit, sitting with his back to the wall so the front door and the rest of the restaurant were visible.

  After they were seated, Stephanie said, “I want to start with a bottle of red wine tonight. What kind do you want?”

  Kruger smiled. “Are you planning on more than one bottle?”

  Stephanie continued looking at the wine list. “Maybe.” She paused for a moment. “Yes, more than one bottle.”

  Leaning toward her, Kruger said in a low voice, “Do you have an ulterior motive to ply me with wine and take advantage of me.”

  “No, I do not have an ulterior motive. I already took advantage of you this morning. I just want to get mellow and enjoy the evening.”