The Hunters Series Box Set

by Glenn Trust

  Raising a hand acknowledging Jerome’s instructions, Andy walked to the side of the store. The small flip phone he pulled from his pocket was cheap and outdated, the sort you could buy on a month-to-month plan at one of the big discount box stores, which was where the phone and account had been set up. Pressing the speed dial numbers, Andy waited through two rings.

  “Yeah.” George’s voice was deeply calming.

  “Budroe’s around.”

  “You see him?”

  “No, not that, but I saw a guy that I’m sure has got to be working’ for him.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I’ve seen him before on the case back in Pickham County”

  “Tell me.”

  Five minutes later, Andy was sliding boxes around and stacking them in the store’s cooler, making room for the beer delivery. George had other calls to make.

  50. A Question

  “How high are we?” Jake Beery clung tightly to the seat as Rince banked the Cessna over a clearing. His butt clenched so tightly, he thought that the suction was going to suck the seat cover up his asshole.

  “Oh, about thirty-eight hundred feet.” Rince looked over at the sheriff of Meacham County and smiled. “It’s not how high we are that counts, it’s how low. Remember, high is good.” Looking down at the canopy of trees below he added, “Low is bad. Not many places to put this thing down there.”

  Jake nodded. High is good. He would remember that.

  A cell phone, just like the one in Andy’s pocket chimed. Rince reached for it and pressed the speaker button.

  “OSI air support. How may we help you,” Rince grinned at Jake. He was in his element, enjoying the day, enjoying being involved with the team, enjoying life. Flying.

  George laughed. “So where the hell are you guys?”

  Jake spoke up. “Damned if I know. I grew up around here, but I’m lost. Everything looks different from up here. Can’t see a landmark anywhere.”

  “We’re flying a grid, ten miles east of Deerton.” Rince leveled the wingtips and scanned the tree canopy below on his side of the plane. “Just made a turn to the south.”

  “Okay. I have some information for you.”

  Jake grabbed a clipboard from between the seats. “Go ahead.”

  “There’s a very high probability Roy Budroe is around. Andy confirms seeing a person suspected of working with him.”

  “Who’s Roy Budroe?” Jake asked.

  “Known crime boss from Pickham County. We suspected that he might be behind the kidnapping of the girls. Physical is, white male, two hundred forty pounds, five feet ten, heavy build. Drives a black Cadillac Escalade. You should keep a lookout for that car.”

  “Right. Roy Budroe, heavyset, black Escalade.” Beery made the notes on the clipboard. “You think he’ll be driving the Escalade around here if he’s involved?”

  “Yeah. If I know Budroe, he’ll be driving his big ass Escalade. He’s too arrogant not to.” George paused to make sure Beery had the notes down before continuing. “Additional lookout on a silver heavy duty Chevrolet pickup. Driver is a white male, six feet two inches, about two twenty and muscular.” George hesitated and thought about giving more. He still had another call to make. “That’s all I have for now. Keep an eye on the roads and let us know if you see either vehicle.”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  “Not now. You boys be careful up there.”

  “I keep my hand on the yoke, but my ass belongs to God.” He turned and grinned at Jake who failed to see the humor. “OSI air support signing off,” Rince said cheerfully and punched the red button.

  Leaning over as far as he could, Jake Beery scanned below. He might not know where the hell they were, but he could spot a car. Cars didn’t change shapes from the air like the damned countryside.

  Steering the SUV around a bend, Sharon looked over at George. “You think Andy is right about the man in the Chevy pickup?”

  “One way to find out,” George said dialing a different number on the cell phone. It was just a few seconds before he spoke. “Sandy, George here.” He got right to the point. “I have a question for you.”

  “Go ahead, George.”

  “Who’s on off days, vacation, sick leave, administrative leave or just generally AWOL?”

  Sandy Davies thought it was an interesting question.

  51. What Else Could He Say

  “And what is your reason for visiting the United States, Mr. Gutierrez?” The immigration agent spoke Spanish, fluently but with an irritating Mexican accent.

  “I am here to see family.” Eduardo Rivera smiled a pleasant grandfatherly smile. “And to take in the sights, of course. My grandchildren say that I must see Disney World this trip.”

  Scanning through the Dominican passport for visas and entry stamps, the agent came to the identification page and looked carefully at the photograph of Gerardo Gutierrez. It matched the man standing before him.

  “Have a pleasant visit in the United States, Mr. Gutierrez.” He handed the passport back to Rivera. “Next please.” The agent motioned forward the elderly woman standing next in line.

  Gathering his passport and carry-on bags, Rivera walked through the portal into the terminal. Ramon Guzman had been passed through by a different agent and until now, the two men had given no appearance of traveling together.

  “All is well?” Guzman asked.

  “Of course.” Rivera had complete confidence in the quality of the forgeries he bought. False identification was a risky thing unless you could afford the very best. Eduardo Rivera could afford the best. There was also the added security that the forger who provided him documents that did not stand up to the closest scrutiny would not be forging again, and very possibly would not be seen again. Rivera knew value when he saw it and was willing to pay for the best, but he could be a temperamental customer. Those who did business with him were ever mindful of that fact. Not one to go to the complaint department when dissatisfied, Rivera was straightforward in resolving issues with his suppliers. They just stopped supplying him, or anyone else.

  They found the car rental agencies across from the baggage claim area. Rivera waited while Guzman secured a suitable vehicle. Regarding the Americans scurrying to and fro, he was always amazed at the affluence exhibited by the lowliest of classes. He knew there was poverty here, but it seemed that even the poorest had luxuries only dreamed of by the majority of his fellow Cubans.

  Guzman returned with the keys to a large four door SUV and led the way to the cars. A few minutes later they were headed north through the heart of Tampa on I-275. Traffic was light. The merge onto I-75 was easy for Guzman, who had made the trip a number of times.

  “So where do we go now?” Rivera watched the glistening Tampa skyline as they drove through the city.

  “North, to Georgia.” Guzman, comfortable driving in the States, tapped the horn at a driver cruising along below the speed limit in the left lane. “We have hotel reservations in Valdosta. We check in and then we have a meeting with our partner.”

  Rivera nodded. “It is interesting. The names Valdosta, Tampa, they sound almost Spanish, but they are not. They have no meaning in Spanish.”

  Guzman shrugged. “Americans have very little idea where anything comes from. The names could be from the native Indians, or just the product of some settler’s imagination. It is hard to know.”

  The scenery changed from city to rural Florida. It was very green, like Cuba or the Dominican Republic. Rivera saw that it was also very different.

  “These Americans are strange, are they not?”

  “In many ways, yes,” Guzman said keeping his eyes on the road. “But in many ways, not so different from you and me. Our partner is a man very much like us. Do not be deceived by his appearance.”

  “Yes, so you’ve said.” He turned towards the younger man. “I take your advice seriously, Ramon. We will move quickly to stop any plans this Budroe may have. Rest assured.” He saw the si
mple nod Guzman gave without making a response. “You are not happy I came with you, Ramon. I can see that.”

  Wondering if this was some sort of test. Guzman thought for a moment before responding.

  “I fear that it is an unnecessary risk. You are critical to the success and expansion of our enterprise. Should something happen to you, all is ended.”

  “I understand.” Rivera nodded and turned his head back to the window and the green scenery flowing by. “I am a businessman, Ramon. I do not invest in businesses until I am satisfied and know everything. Supply, demand, costs, operations, personnel, all of the factors that any financier considers before investing in a business. It is the small things that can cause a deal to go bad, things that you may not see.” His voice became soft, like that of a father teaching his oldest son an important lesson. “Understand, Ramon, we are building this together. The rewards for you will be enormous. I ask only that you trust my judgment. It is necessary that I see for myself. After that, it is yours. I will handle the international export of merchandise and you will handle all else.”

  Guzman nodded, without response. Was Rivera truly explaining all of this to him as a father figure, a mentor, or was this just another form of manipulation by a very experienced manipulator? He could not be certain.

  “You do trust me, Ramon, don’t you?” Rivera had turned back towards him, watching.

  Ramon Guzman felt the eyes boring into him, piercing through clothes and skin into his heart. He wondered what they saw. Nodding once more without daring to look into those eyes, he said only, “I trust you Eduardo. Completely.”

  What else could he say?

  52. Proceed

  What the hell was up now, he wondered leaning back in the leather chair. Bob Shaklee waited for Jesse Bell to speak. The governor sat across from him, Pamela Towers to his right. After a minute, the Governor held up the sheaf of papers he had been reading and looked up.

  “Anything you want to tell me, Agent Shaklee?” Official, not using his first name so Shaklee would know this was serious.

  “About what, Governor?” Shaklee sat up straight, intent and focused, like a boy trying to understand why he had been called to the principal’s office.

  “I have here a memorandum from the State Attorney General. He is going to pursue an investigation of possible abuse of the public trust. As a courtesy, he wanted me to know…an hour before he holds a press conference revealing it to the world.”

  Bob made no movement, steadfastly looking the governor in the eye. He had an idea where this might be headed. It had always been a risk.

  “Abuse of the public trust,” Bell continued, “by the recently appointed head of the Governor’s Office of Special Investigations. That would be you Agent Shaklee.”

  Bob nodded. “May I read the memorandum, Governor?”

  “Certainly, your name is prominently mentioned throughout.” Bell tossed the clipped papers on the coffee table.

  Picking them up, Bob spent a few minutes scanning them and then looked up. “You want the short version, or the long?”

  “Well, since Swain is meeting with the press in a few minutes, you better make it the short version. We can go into details later.”

  Bob nodded. “We were in pursuit of a killer. He had committed two murders down in Pickham County. George Mackey was a Pickham County deputy.”

  “I know all of this. It was covered extensively in the press,” the governor snapped impatiently.

  Bob continued, unperturbed. “The killer committed a third murder in Rye County and was about to take another life when Mackey tracked him down with a GBI agent, Sharon Price. Price fired on him to prevent the last murder, and he fled into the woods.” Shaklee took a breath. “The short version, Governor, is that Mackey pursued the killer, an armed and dangerous fleeing felon and, in a fire fight, killed him.”

  “The Attorney General says he executed the killer, violated his rights, deprived the public of justice and put all citizens at risk of law enforcement taking matters into their own hands whenever they like.”

  “I understand Governor.” Bob sat back, willing to let things lead where they may. “There is no evidence of that.”

  “Swain says there is no evidence because you covered it up, Agent Shaklee.” Bell’s voice rose. “You, Agent Shaklee are named prominently throughout the Attorney General’s memorandum and complaint! You are alleged to have concealed evidence. You are alleged to be complicit in the murder of an unarmed man, killer or not. You said nothing about all of this when I appointed you to head the OSI. You, Agent Shaklee!”

  “I know.” Shaklee’s voice was quiet, controlled. “There was nothing to say at the time. There was no investigation by the Attorney General. I stand by the GBI report and my findings. Deputy Mackey did what he had to do. There is no evidence to the contrary.”

  “Evidence or not, Swain is going to use this as ammunition in the next election and if he plays it right, keeps it in the press long enough, times things to come to court just before the election, it will be very powerful ammunition. Do you understand that, Shaklee?” Truly pissed at having this thrown in his lap, the governor had dropped the title, Agent.

  “I understand,” Shaklee said quietly.

  “Give me one reason, why I shouldn’t cut losses and relieve you of your position, or just shut the whole bullshit Office of Special Investigations down, now…immediately.”

  “We have a case.”

  “What?” The governor’s face was a mixture of annoyance and disgust. “You have a case. What the hell does that mean?”

  Pamela Towers spoke for the first time in the meeting. “You should listen to this, Governor, before you make a decision. There is a way to win here.”

  Bell took a deep breath, regaining his composure. Looking at Shaklee, he said, as calmly as possible, "Explain your case to me, Agent Shaklee.” Thanks to Towers, the title ‘Agent’ was back in the governor’s vocabulary, at least temporarily.

  “Governor,” Bob said leaning forward. “We have taken a case that may involve human trafficking.”

  “Human trafficking? You mean like selling people? Slavery?”

  Bob nodded. “Selling human beings for use as the buyer sees fit is considered slavery, so yes slavery…human trafficking.”

  “Here? In Georgia?” Bell’s voice was incredulous.

  “Here, in Georgia.” Bob explained quickly. “We have a man undercover and a team in place to support him. George Mackey is part of that team.”

  “You understand what this means, Governor.” Townsend spoke quietly, knowing the political wheels were spinning at hyper-speed in Bell’s brain.

  The governor stared out the window at the gold-domed state capitol. There was a way to make this a victory. He was beginning to see it, and in doing so, he might just turn the tables on Colton Swain.

  “So,” Bell started, speaking slowly, putting the plan together in his mind. “So, the Governor’s Office of Special Investigations breaks up a human trafficking ring. Slavery. Those involved will be heroes no matter what happened in the serial killer case. In fact, it will strengthen the argument that you were doing your duty, aggressively, but by the book when your team took out the killer.” Bell leaned back, thinking and then added a final thought. “In the end it won’t matter what the result of Swain’s investigation and prosecution is.” Bell stared Shaklee in the eye, wanting him to know where he stood. “Even if Swain is successful, if Mackey goes down…if you go down Agent Shaklee, this operation will trump anything he does and make him look like the political hack that he is.”

  It was apparently lost on the governor that the last words he spoke thrust him right into the ranks of political hacks. Shaklee let it slide. There was no reason to respond. The governor had let him know where he and the OSI stood. Bob, George Mackey, the others, all were politically expendable.

  Bob accepted the playing rules the governor had laid out. There were lives at stake.

  The governor looked at Bob, and spoke a
last word before the meeting ended. “Proceed.”

  53. Betrayal

  Certain that the girls at Nicks Cove were somehow connected to Budroe’s operation and the missing women, they had created a search pattern, with Nicks Cove at the center. Sharon steered the car down the back roads of Meacham County. George marked off side roads and trails that they passed on the map in his lap. Knowing that any chance encounter with Budroe or his men might prove deadly for the girls, their object was to identify possible locations for surveillance from the air. There was a delicate balance to be drawn. The window of opportunity for locating the girls was closing. Juanita and the others would not be kept in Meacham County indefinitely, but acting precipitously might endanger them even more.

  The cell phone on the console between them chimed. George hit the speaker button.

  “Any good news, Sandy?”

  “I’m not sure how good the news is, but I do have some names for you.” He picked up the notes he had made at his desk, behind a closed door. “You ready to copy?”

  “Go ahead,” George flipped to a blank page in his notepad.

  It took Sheriff Davies less than a minute to read off the list of names. Thorough as usual, it included a jail deputy who had called in sick for the last three days; reports were that he was down with strep throat he had picked up from his five-year-old son. A member of the administrative staff had taken two days of bereavement leave to attend her aunt’s funeral. Two deputies were out on vacation leave. One deputy had taken a week of comp time that he had accumulated working overtime.

  Staring at the list in his notebook, George choked down the anger. It was the ultimate betrayal. Everything they believed, what they were, thrown in the dirt, as if they meant nothing.

  Having arranged for his comp leave two days before taking it, Boswell ‘Boss’ Stimes had left Pickham County the day after he had assisted George and Sandy in the raid on Pete’s Place. It was all a show. The deputy who had faced down the bikers at the bar while George looked on was one of them, somehow linked to Roy Budroe and the women abducted and held in Meacham County.