by Trust Fund
“Here,” Bo said, throwing Trajak the keys. “You drive.”
“What?”
“Go on,” Bo directed, gesturing toward the driver’s seat. “We aren’t going far.” He followed Trajak with the gun until the younger man opened the driver-side door and slipped in behind the steering wheel. Then Bo jumped into the car, keeping the gun trained on Trajak. “Let’s go.”
Carefully, Trajak eased the limousine forward and, at Bo’s direction, steered it to a parking lot on the far side of the building.
“Give me the keys,” Bo ordered.
Trajak turned off the engine and handed Bo the keys.
“Follow me out,” Bo said, opening his door and stepping onto the asphalt. He was aware that if Trajak was allowed to exit by his door, he might bolt. His prisoner had had time to think about an escape plan now. “Come on,” Bo urged, checking the parking lot for anything suspicious.
Trajak slid across the bench seat and got out beside Bo. He had no intention of putting up any resistance. “Don’t hurt me, please.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Bo assured him, pointing the nose of the revolver into his face, “as long as you answer all my questions. Now come on.” He grabbed Trajak by the back of the collar and pushed him along roughly, trotting behind him until they reached the car Bo had rented. “You’re driving again.” Bo pressed the rental car keys into Trajak’s hand. “Hurry.”
Moments later they were headed west on Leesburg Pike away from Washington, pushing farther into northern Virginia. “Just stay on this road until I tell you,” Bo ordered, glancing at the strip malls and car dealers rushing past.
“Okay,” Trajak agreed, his voice shaking.
Several minutes later they crossed the Dulles Toll Road, a wide swath connecting Dulles Airport to the Capital Beltway, and the scenery turned from strip malls to forest. Two miles past the toll road, Bo ordered Trajak to turn right, constantly looking back to see if they were being followed. Tall trees arched over them now and the terrain became hilly as they sped north on the winding road toward the Potomac River. By the time they’d reached Georgetown Pike, roughly paralleling the south side of the Potomac, the forest had become thick.
“Left here,” Bo ordered as Trajak eased to a stop at the intersection. He was scrutinizing a map of the area.
Trajak obeyed.
Bo’s eyes searched the darkness ahead of them. “Turn off the road here,” Bo directed as they crossed a bridge spanning something called Difficult Creek.
“Where?” Trajak asked, squinting into the darkness beyond the headlights, trying to see what Bo was pointing at.
“Here!” Bo shouted. He had found the abandoned fire road this afternoon.
Trajak slowed and guided the rental car onto a narrow, rutted path, stopping a hundred yards into the dense forest, where Bo felt they were safe.
“Turn off the engine.”
Again Trajak obeyed.
“It’s come-to-Jesus time,” Bo said quietly as the noise of the engine faded.
Trajak gripped the steering wheel with both hands and allowed his chin to fall to his chest. “What does that mean?” he asked, his voice hushed.
“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you as long as you answer my questions,” Bo said.
Trajak nodded, unconvinced.
“Tell me about Online Associates.”
Trajak glanced at the gun. He had been told many times that if he were to compromise the security of the operation, he would experience a punishment far worse than his prison sentence.
“Come on,” Bo urged.
“We’re just a small Web consulting company,” Trajak answered. “We offer a complete e-commerce solution for firms that are just beginning to offer products and services on the Internet.”
“Don’t give me that crap.”
“There are only fifteen of us,” Trajak whined. “We’re barely funded. Christ, I had a helluva time making payroll last month.”
“Then why are you being driven home in a limousine by a guy the size of Texas who was carrying this thing?” Bo demanded, nodding at the gun.
Trajak hesitated.
“I drove by your house in McLean today too,” Bo continued. “Very nice. Hardly the digs of a man who can barely fund his company.”
“How did you find out where I lived?”
“I have a friend who works for an airline. I had him run your name through his company’s frequent flyer program. Your address came up right away.” Bo raised one eyebrow. “That and your ticket history. You sure fly to Iowa a lot. What the hell is in Iowa?”
“Nothing,” Trajak said defiantly.
Bo leaned forward on the car seat and pointed the gun menacingly at the young man’s chest. “Answer my questions.”
Trajak shook his head. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “They’ll kill me.”
“Who will?”
“I won’t tell you.”
Bo cocked the trigger. “I’m warning you.”
“You can warn me all you want but I won’t say anything.”
Bo stared at Trajak for several moments, then shoved open his door with his shoulder. In the dim moonlight, he moved to the trunk of the car and pulled out a length of rope. “Come on!” he shouted, thrusting open the driver-side door and dragging the thin man onto the ground.
“What the hell are you going to do?” Trajak screamed, looking wild-eyed at the rope.
Bo placed the revolver on the car’s roof, then dropped to his knees beside Trajak and rolled the man onto his chest. Trajak struggled but Bo overpowered him easily, yanking his hands behind his back and lashing them together at the wrists before running the rope up Trajak’s back and looping it around his neck several times.
“What the hell are you doing to me?”
Bo said nothing as he dragged Trajak to the back of the car and tied the rope to the bumper.
“Oh, God, don’t,” Trajak pleaded. “Please!”
Bo returned to the front of the car and started the engine, spewing exhaust into Trajak’s face. He could hear Trajak screaming and choking. Then he jumped from the car and raced back to where Trajak lay whimpering. “You ready to talk?” he barked.
“Yes, yes.”
“Then tell me what RANSACK is.”
Still Trajak hesitated.
“Why has Warfield Capital poured almost two billion dollars into what you describe as a little operation that can barely meet payroll?”
Trajak glanced up into Bo’s eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, tears spilling down his soft cheeks.
“Bo Hancock. I run Warfield and I want to know what the hell’s going on.”
“Please, I can’t tell you.”
Bo stood up. “I promise you I’ll have no problem getting behind the wheel and dragging you all the way to the Potomac.”
“All right, all right!”
“Talk!”
“It’s an intimidation network,” Trajak admitted. “I gather personal information and my superior uses the information to scare his targets into doing things his way.”
“What kind of information?”
“Sexual deviance, drug use, infidelity, tax fraud. You name it, I find it.”
“How?”
“Through the network.”
“What network?” Bo demanded.
“I have complete access to all individual records at two very large companies.”
Bo caught his breath. “Let me guess. Global Media and AFG.”
“Yes.” Trajak struggled against the rope binding his wrists. “How the hell did you know?”
“Just keep talking.”
“Through the network I can access all individual records. We have also developed technology that enables us to follow people all over the Internet.”
“You place cookies,” Bo said. He knew enough about the Internet to understand that codes could be attached to URLs, or Web addresses.
Trajak shook his head as he lay on the ground. “No, I can follow you individually. We ca
n identify your specific e-mail address, then match that address against a list of names and home addresses we keep on computer file. I can know everything about you even if you are one of the few people who aren’t touched by Global Media or AFG, because there are always transactions going on between AFG and other financial institutions. I can get to you through AFG. People have no idea how easy it is.”
“And you needed the two billion for . . . ?”
“For infrastructure. Computer storage, servers, et cetera.”
“My God.”
“Yes, I can know more about you than you know about yourself.”
Bo untied the rope from the bumper, then loosened it from around Trajak’s neck. “Who is your superior?”
“Untie me all the way first,” Trajak demanded.
“Tell me.”
“Untie me!”
“You aren’t in a position to negotiate.”
“You don’t think so, huh?”
Bo studied Trajak through the gloom. “What do you mean?”
“That bodyguard you threw in the trunk of the limousine is supposed to check in with somebody every fifteen minutes. If he doesn’t, they come looking for me. He forgot to once and they were in my office ten minutes later.”
Bo glanced back down the fire road. “They’ll go to your home and the office.”
“They’ll come right here, asshole. You have maybe five minutes before they’re swarming up that dirt road.”
Bo’s gaze snapped back to Trajak. “How would they know?”
“I’ve got a homing chip surgically implanted in my leg. They did it to me when they hired me. It isn’t very high-tech, but it will lead them right to me. I’m not lying! They’ll kill us both!”
Bo’s eyes narrowed. Trajak could be bluffing but what he was saying made sense. And the man didn’t look as if he was bluffing. He looked terrified.
Bo picked Trajak up, tossed him onto the rental car’s backseat, jumped in behind the wheel, and gunned the car backward down the fire road, swerving crazily from side to side as he tried to steer the car through a gauntlet of trees, guided by only the red hue of taillights. As he skidded out onto Georgetown Pike, he could see headlights coming at him through the back window. The other car was just crossing the bridge over Difficult Creek. He slammed the car into gear and jammed his foot on the accelerator. “Come on!” he shouted. The car seemed to be reacting in slow motion, wheels spinning on the dew-slick asphalt.
Finally it lurched forward, but now the headlights of the other car were directly behind him, darting to the left and right as the driver tried to pull alongside. Bo jerked the wheel to the left, slamming fenders with the other car. “Who’s your boss?” he shouted to Trajak, watching the other car lag back after the impact.
There was no answer, just a groan as Trajack was hurled onto the floor of the car when Bo slammed on his brakes, then hit the accelerator again.
“Tell me, dammit!” Bo shouted. “We’re in this thing together now. Your best bet right now is to throw in with me.”
“Gerald Wallace!” Trajak shouted back.
“Senator Wallace?”
“Yes.”
Bo checked his side mirror. Whoever was in the car behind them was gaining ground quickly. “No wonder you’ve been going to Iowa.”
“Yes, no wonder.”
“Who is Wallace’s boss? How high up does it go?”
“I don’t know any more than what I’ve told you.”
A hundred yards ahead was a traffic light and the top of the long hill they had been climbing since pulling out of the dirt road. Bo checked his rearview mirror for a split second as they crested the hill. Suddenly a pair of high beams appeared directly in his path and he jerked the wheel to the right to avoid a headon collision, grazing the oncoming car and hurtling off onto a side road at the intersection. For several moments it appeared that the car would plunge into a gully by the side of the road. It hung on the edge for what seemed an eternity, but at the last second the tires grabbed hold of the roadway and leapt ahead, fishtailing several hundred feet before he could straighten out the front wheels.
“Dammit!”
“What’s wrong?” Despite the fact that his hands were still tied behind his back, Trajak had managed to get back up on the seat and into a sitting position.
“I don’t like this,” Bo answered, keeping the accelerator pressed to the floor.
“Don’t like what?” Trajak shouted, leaning against one side of the car to keep his balance as they raced forward.
“We’re going downhill.”
“So?”
“The Potomac is ahead of us somewhere and this road doesn’t look big enough to have a bridge.” A sign flashed past. “Shit, I was right. Look at the damn sign.”
“What did it say? I couldn’t read it.”
“It said that the park closes at dusk!” Bo shouted. “This road leads to a state forest or something. It’s a dead end.” Then he saw a small darkened ranger station bisecting the road ahead and a sign detailing the cost of admission to the park. “Four bucks for passenger cars!”
“I can’t get to my wallet right now!” Trajak yelled back. “I hope you understand.”
“Get down!” Bo ordered as they hurtled toward the white pipe gate obstructing the road beside the ranger station, leaning down into the passenger seat at the last moment.
The pipe slammed into the windshield, shearing off the roof of the car.
Bo rose up from the passenger side covered with tiny pieces of broken glass. “You all right?” he asked, wind whipping past his face.
“Just great!”
Bo skidded to a halt in the parking lot. It made no sense to try to go back up the hill. He could already hear vehicles racing through the forest toward them. He jumped out of the car, then leaned into the backseat, dragged Trajak out, and frantically untied the rope. “You’re on your own now.”
“Don’t leave me,” Trajak pleaded, brushing glass from his hair as he scrambled to his feet.
“You’ve got a homing device in your leg. I’m getting as far away from you as I can.”
Trajak reached out and grabbed Bo strongly by the shoulder. “I understand. Thanks for untying me. You didn’t have to do that.”
Two sets of headlights raced past the ranger station as Bo bolted to the left and sprinted past a Plexiglas-encased map of the area toward a hospitality center. Then he was beyond the wooden structure and running down a dirt path into darkness, aware that the headlights were following him. His pursuers had leapt the curb of the parking lot in their vehicles and were racing after him down the walkway.
Bo darted left down a smaller path and over a footbridge, then turned left again, racing through bushes that grabbed at his clothing. He held his arms up and forged ahead blindly, wishing he hadn’t forgotten to grab the revolver from the top of the car back at the fire road. Then he heard a great roar and came to a sudden stop, balanced for a moment on a rock ledge that seemed to fall away straight down into nothing. In the moonlight he could make out the Great Falls of the Potomac stretching out before him, the spring thaw from the combined Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers thundering over the rocks below.
Bo gazed into the darkness. It was seventy feet down to the swirling mass of white water. He started to turn back toward the path, but he could see the flashlights of his pursuers bobbing toward him.
He took a deep breath and jumped. Instantly the air was rushing past his ears, then his feet hit the frigid water and he was in the midst of chaos, fighting for a breath. A swirling current dragged him down, cartwheeling him over and over to the bottom, where a huge rock caught him flush in the chest. He blacked out momentarily, then the current sent him shooting up as if he were riding the crest of a large wave so that his entire body burst through the surface and he sucked life-sustaining oxygen into his lungs.
All at once the water turned calm and he was floating in a quiet pool. Slowly he swam toward the trees and dragged himself up onto the bank, exhausted
, unconcerned that his pursuers might find him. He had been swept downriver at least a half mile and they would have no idea where he was. He crawled back about thirty feet into the woods, where night-vision glasses wouldn’t be able to spot him, and collapsed on the ground, spent.
Ten minutes later he pulled himself to his feet, bracing his body against a large oak tree. He had a long trek ahead. He tried to get his bearings. If this was the Maryland side of the river, he thought, that would put even more distance between him and the people who had been chasing him.
Suddenly a flashlight beam shone directly in Bo’s eyes, blinding him. He turned to run, but a rifle butt slammed across the back of his head and Bo dropped to the ground unconscious.
The man who had struck Bo chuckled as he bent down and inspected his shoulder in the beam of the flashlight. “I guess Trajak wasn’t lying to us,” he called to his partner. “The tracking device is right here on Hancock’s shirt at his shoulder, just like he promised.”
CHAPTER 21
The hood was removed by someone behind him and for the first time in several hours Bo was able to breathe freely without drawing velvety material halfway up his nostrils. When the handcuffs were gone, he clasped and unclasped his fists several times to get the circulation going in his hands again.
Michael Mendoza sat behind Jimmy Lee’s desk in the mansion’s study, calmly smoking a cigar. “Hello, Bolling,” he said smoothly in his deep voice. “Sorry about all the rough stuff, but I had to make certain I got to you before you did something rash. I wanted you to have all of the facts.”
Bo sat in a chair in front of the desk. “Something rash?” he asked, watching the man who had removed the hood and the handcuffs exit the study. Now they were alone. “Like what?”
“Like calling the FBI or the Justice Department.”
“Why would I have done that?”
Mendoza shrugged. “Maybe you wouldn’t have.” He puffed on the cigar. “But I wanted the opportunity to lay it all out for you first, just in case.” He nodded at a scotch bottle on the desk and two glasses beside the bottle. “Have a drink,” he offered.
