Martyr's Inferno

by Scott Gamboe

  Nick made one more impassioned plea for their location, but Jim terminated the call with a press of a button. A few minutes later, they left the interstate. Amit turned into a McDonald's in the small town of Collinsville. They entered by the rear doors. Jim immediately went to the restrooms to clean up. He lingered at the sink to wash away the blood and grime from his face and hands while Amit ordered their food.

  They ate breakfast in the truck. Krista used an available wireless internet connection to find answers to a few pertinent questions. As she typed away at her keyboard, Jim pulled out the satellite phone. This time, he did not hesitate before dialing the number.

  "Crime Scene Unit. Officer Donald Scott."

  "Hey, Don. It's Hunter again."

  A heavy sigh came across the line. "I told Johnson you called. He was really pissed at me for even talking to you. In fact, he said I was to immediately hang up if you called again."

  "So why haven't you hung up."

  Another pause. "Because I took your advice. I compared those partial prints I recovered from the filing cabinet at the Perkins scene, to the prints on file for Tony Marcel."

  "And?"

  "And nothing. Or, almost nothing. There aren't enough Galton details on the latent print for me to make a positive identification."

  "But you can't say the print isn't Tony's."

  "That's right. His left index finger matches all five of the indicators I found in the minutia on the latent print."

  "Come on, Don. This is all off the record. I know you well enough to realize you have an opinion. And I know your opinion is right."

  "Yes, I think it's Tony's fingerprint. But I'll deny I ever said that, and I won't testify to it."

  "Well, here's the important part. Do you believe me, when I tell you I haven't killed anyone?"

  "Well . . ."

  Jim gave a short laugh. "Okay, let me rephrase that. Do you think I committed any of the murders I'm accused of?"

  "No, Jim. I don't. But I'm in the minority. You have no other friends on the department. Matt James wants your head on a platter. He gave an interview to the news, talking about how betrayed he felt. He said he is going to bring you to justice, one way or another." Don sighed, leaving a brief, uncomfortable silence. "Tell me something. Matt is the officer on the take, isn't he?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "I had my doubts about this case from the beginning. First of all, I knew you were no drug trafficker. But if the scene at the lake was supposed to be a drug deal gone bad, why would anyone involved have run off and left all those drugs in the car? The street value was well into five figures. Around here, that's way too much to be abandoned. And if you were moving that much dope, you wouldn't still be living in a cheap apartment with another cop."

  "Hey! I liked that apartment!"

  "It was cheap. Matt, on the other hand, was always buying things. Toys. Electronic gizmos. Trips to exotic locations. Matt always seemed to have money. The final straw was when you called me in confidence to tell me what you knew. Everyone knows you and Matt were best friends, so you should have trusted him. Why would you call me, instead of Matt? Obviously, because Matt is trying to kill you."

  "Sounds like you should have been the detective, not me. I let everything slip by me. It almost cost me my life." He told Don about how Matt had betrayed him, shot him at the lake, and had been trying to kill him ever since. "Don, please be careful around him."

  "Actually, he's not around. He got into a shootout with a local drug dealer and killed him. Matt's on administrative leave again. No one has seen him in several days, including the department psychiatrist."

  "Well, I hope you didn't tell anyone else I called. If Matt hears, he may try to move on you, just in case. And he has my gun, so if he kills you, they’ll think I did it. The last thing I need is another murder rap, especially for the people I haven't killed."

  "Your concern is touching. But Lieutenant Johnson promised not to tell anyone, because he was afraid I might get suspended for talking to you. Don't worry about me. You just be careful."

  "I'll do that."

  "One other thing. I heard back from our cyber crimes experts yesterday. They finished piecing together information from Perkins's computer. They think they know what he was working on when he was killed. He was trying to incorporate an electrolysis device with an internal combustion engine. Does that help you any?"

  "It just might. Thanks, Don. I'll be in touch."

  Jim hung up the phone. He ran his fingers lightly through Krista's hair, eliciting a smile. Although Nick had already given him the information about Perkins's invention, it felt good to have it confirmed by a source Jim trusted. At least he knew Nick was not feeding them false leads. "Well, we have at least one more ally. The officer I just talked to is a crime scene investigator for Bloomington PD. Don had already figured out Matt was working for the other side."

  "So where does that leave us?" Amit asked.

  Jim dropped his head against the back of the seat and stared blankly at the roof of the cab. "I really don't know how much value it has at this point, other than as a route to inside information. We have all these bits and pieces of the puzzle, but we don't know what to do with them."

  "We can try to put them together in a bit," Krista said, not looking up from the computer. "I've traced some of the deposits made to Twin Cities Trust and Cardinal Investments. There is quite a web of corporate ownership and hidden money transfers. I've managed to map most of it out into a spreadsheet. The interesting part is that there were deposits made by at least twenty different entities, but when you trace them back to their sources, there were only three different original depositors. That includes the one I pointed out before. And all three have Middle-eastern sounding names."

  Amit held up a hand. "Let me see the names."

  Krista turned the computer to let him see the screen. He traced a finger along the information she had gathered. He muttered under his breath, licking his lips.

  "This man here," he said, indicating one of the three names Krista had found, "was the member of the Taliban we discussed before. The second is a distant cousin to bin Laden. He’s still active in the leadership of al-Qaeda, although he tends to work in the background. The other is one of the main financiers for Hamas." He gritted his teeth in silent fury. "He's one of our most-wanted terrorists."

  Jim spread his hands. "So where does that leave us? Tony bought something. He had already arranged to sell it to someone else. The product was brought into the country illegally by a man from the former Soviet Union. He dropped off two briefcases, presumably ready to exchange them for a very large quantity of cash. And Tony has been on the payroll of three very prominent terrorists."

  "It looks like he has cut multiple deals with them," Krista said. "The man from the Taliban was the only one who made payments around the time of the Perkins murder. But all three have been steadily depositing money ever since."

  "This is starting to make sense," Amit said. "These Islamic terrorist organizations are funded largely by oil proceeds. If someone was to significantly increase the fuel efficiency of cars in America, it would reduce the income of the Arabs who finance these groups, and might even cause their funds to dry up."

  Jim rubbed his stubbled chin. "They contacted Tony to have him kill Perkins before he could finish what he was doing. Sometime during the negotiations, they learned that Tony has connections and a distribution network in place. So they worked out a deal to have him acquire certain weapons for them. They let him handle the hassle of getting those weapons past Customs." He looked to Amit. "What kind of weapons do you think he is selling?"

  "Based on the size of the packages, it would almost have to be biological or chemical weapons." He drummed his fingers on the dashboard. "I doubt they’re chemical weapons. They wouldn't cost anywhere near what he was going to pay for them. He would have to sell them at a loss. It almost has to be biological weapons."

  Krista's eye flew wide. "You mean, like anthrax?
"

  "If we're lucky," Jim told her. "There are worse things than anthrax. Like Ebola, for starters. Whatever he has, there's probably enough in those two briefcases to wipe out a small city. I don't know. I'm no expert on biological warfare."

  "Do we call the police?" Krista asked. "Or maybe the FBI?"

  "On what basis?" Amit asked. "We're purely in the realm of speculation right now. We have no solid evidence for them to go on."

  "Not to mention," Jim added, "everything we have has come about through means that would be considered illegal search and seizure. The police would never even consider following up on this. Maybe, if we knew when and where they will make the exchange, or even where they are storing the biological agents, we could get them to do something. But until we have something solid, we're on our own."

  "What's our next step?" Krista asked.

  "We need to find Tony and Matt," Amit said. "We follow them, and maybe we'll learn where they are hiding the briefcases."

  "How about this?" She pulled up the internet on her computer once more. "We can use Tony's own cell phone against him. Matt's too, for that matter." The two men watched while she navigated through several websites, bypassing security protocols. In minutes, she had access to classified records. "I assume you have Matt's cell phone number?"

  Jim bit his lip. "Actually, I don't. I never bothered to memorize it because I had it on speed dial. And now, I don't have my own phone anymore."

  Krista smiled, rolling her eyes. "Okay, I can try to get that, too. But for now, I think Tony's is enough. According to his provider's records, he's still in Fairview Heights. He just made a call ten minutes ago. Using triangulation based on the cell phone towers, I've got it down to about a three block area, if you two are ready to go find him."

  #

  The man who called himself Nick Halliton sat in his darkened sedan. The only sound came from the cooling fan in the laptop computer sitting on the passenger seat. He waited patiently, reclined in his seat with his eyes closed. Nick had been in the parking lot of the hotel for the better part of an hour, waiting for Jim Hunter to use the satellite phone again. Jim had been smart enough to turn off the full-time GPS locater in the phone, so Nick had to resort to finding him while the phone was in use. The call he had made to Jim earlier, plus one Jim had placed immediately afterward, allowed Nick to trace him to the interstate just outside of Collinsville. Nick had hustled over from Fairview Heights. He randomly selected a hotel parking lot as his base of operations. All he had to do now was stay in the area. The next time Hunter used the phone, Nick could go right to him.

  Another hour passed, and still there was no phone activity. Nick's relaxed demeanor melted away. He gnawed at a fingernail. His resolve not to be the one to call Jim gradually faded. His fear that Jim would suspect something was replaced by the greater danger that Jim was on the run once more. He would soon be too far away from Jim to be effective. He decided he would have to place the call.

  He dialed the number, but his finger hesitated over the "send" button. Should he do it? Hunter was very intelligent, with a good sense of deductive reasoning. He might be able to decipher the meaning behind the call, in which case he would likely throw the phone away completely. Then again, by sharing a little of the information he had withheld, Nick could convince Jim there was a legitimate reason for the call. But would it work, or would Jim see through the lie? Nick cast those worries aside and punched the button.

  The phone rang several times, but Jim finally answered.

  "What do you want, Halliton?"

  "I have some information for you, Hunter. Your lab guys have a near-match on a fingerprint at the Perkins crime scene. They think it might be Tony Marcel's."

  "Yeah, I already know."

  Nick glanced at the screen. His computer needed more time to finish the GPS read on the satellite phone. "How did you find out?"

  "I have my sources. Look, I'm a little busy right now. I'll give you a call when we have something else."

  Jim ended the call. Nick stared at the computer screen and grimaced. The call was too short to have obtained an exact location. As it was, he was able to determine that Jim was back in the area of Fairview Heights. He pulled out onto the interstate, headed in that direction. He dialed his phone as he drove. A female voice answered at the other end.

  "It's me," he said. "I need a favor."

  "So what's new, Ryan?"

  "I need cell phone numbers for two people. One is a mobster out of Chicago named Tony Marcel. The other is a cop out of Bloomington named Matt James." He gave her all the physical data he had on both of them, including their approximate ages. She took down the information and promised to notify him when she had retrieved the data. When, not if. She's good at this, and she knows it. "Okay, thanks, Lynn. I owe you. Again."

  "Yes you do."

  Ryan set the phone on the seat next to the computer. He raced off in the direction of Fairview Heights. Time had become critical.

  #

  Amit turned into a shopping mall parking lot. He parked far enough from the building to minimize contact with people, but close enough to still be within the cluster of parked cars. Jim liked the tactic. There was always a fair amount of anonymity in a crowd. He glanced over at Krista, who was trying to reestablish her internet connection.

  Her eyes narrowed. She studied the screen for several minutes. "Okay, guys, here's what we've got. I managed to pull up Tony's phone records for the last three months."

  Jim feigned a concerned look, his brow furrowed. "Hey, isn't that illegal? I don't see any warrant."

  She smacked his arm, not even looking up from her work. "Shut up, James. There are several numbers here I don't recognize, but that's not significant in itself. However, there is one number he has called with increasing frequency over the last five weeks. Prior to that, he had never called the number, at least on the records I have."

  Amit squirmed in his seat as he turned sideways and put his back against the door. "Can you figure out who the number belongs to?"

  "Working on that now."

  Jim sat quietly. While he waited for Krista to find what they needed, he stole admiring glances when he thought she wasn't looking.

  "James, it's hard enough to concentrate. Could you stop that?"

  "Yeah. Anything else?"

  "I could use a soda. Ask Amit if he wants anything."

  Jim's mouth dropped open, one eyebrow shooting up in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You want soda at a time like this?"

  "I'm thirsty too," Amit said with a laugh. "Here's a twenty. There's a gas station just around the corner to the left."

  Words eluded Jim. He grumbled under his breath as he climbed out of the truck. He slammed the door and walked away.

  "James?"

  He stopped, but did not turn around. "Yes, Krista? Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Can you make mine a Diet?"

  Not trusting himself to answer, he walked away. Krista's laughter drifted across the night air and faded into the distance.

  #

  Brandon had worked behind the counter at the gas station for over a year. He found the job incredibly boring. True, he had been robbed twice, one of those times at gunpoint. But life-threatening situations hardly qualified as being exciting. At least, it was not the kind of excitement he was looking for. All of his friends had better jobs, whether it was fast food or retail. For them, it seemed like every day brought a change of pace. But for Brandon, each shift was a tedious reproduction of the previous day's banality.

  The door chimed. The man who walked in was a study in contrasts. His clothes were mussed. While his hair was cut very short, he looked like he had not shaved in several days. The battered condition of his face spoke volumes about a recent fight. The man made no attempt at greeting Brandon. Making no eye contact, he opened the cooler and removed several sodas. Brandon watched him closely. He wondered if the man was there to shoplift something. Mirrors placed in strategic locations allowed him to watch the darker corners
of the store, so he was ready.

  The man struggled with several bottles. He managed to balance them under one arm while he picked up bags of chips with the other. Apparently satisfied, he carried his load to the counter. Brandon scanned each item to the accompanying beeps from the cash register. The man pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Brandon peered more closely. He recognized the face from somewhere, but he could not remember the name. He set the change midway across the counter. The man thanked him as he grabbed his change and picked up the sacks. In the process, Brandon was afforded a good look at his face.

  The door chimed again with the man's exit. Brandon snatched the cordless phone off the wall and breathlessly dialed a number. The call rang through while he peeked out through the store's Venetian blinds.

  "Fairview Heights Police."

  "I think I just saw this dude from America's Most Wanted. Is there a reward, or something?"

  #

  The cell phone rang, and Matt checked the display. He held the phone out for Tony. "It's him."

  Tony nodded and accepted the phone. "Marcel."

  "Hello, my friend." The thick Middle-eastern accent made it difficult for Tony to understand the voice on the line. "I will be in town in six or seven hours. Do you have my parcels ready for delivery?"

  "Yes. And the payment?"

  "Once I verify the contents, I will wire the money to your account. I won't leave until you have verified the deposit. If this goes as planned, I may be in the market for more of these."

  "That could be a problem. I had to eliminate my handler due to unforeseen circumstances. I'll have to find another before I can pick up more product."

  "Ah. How unfortunate. Keep me informed."

  Tony closed the cell phone. He tossed it back to Matt. "Everything is arranged. We just need to keep the lid from blowing off this thing for a few more hours. Then we're home free."

  "Why, are we leaving after that?"

  Tony raised his hands, palms up. "Who's to say? We have to see what kind of damage Hunter has caused. If it's irreparable, we head for South America. There'll be enough money from this transaction alone to make us wealthy for the rest of our lives."