Lee pushed a button and waited for the second ring. “Did you get it?” a voice asked.
“I got it. Great work. Please get a copy over to agent Carl Timmons at the FBI office in Las Vegas right away.”
“You got it, man.”
“You earned your double your money.”
“We're that good, man. The invoice is being e-mailed to you as we speak.”
When he hung up, Lee pulled a number for Maggie's Casino and dialed.
“Maggie's” a well-worn-sounding female voice said.
“Maintenance Department, please.”
“One moment.”
A series of clicks and then a voice said, “Maintenance, this is Jason Lyons.”
“Hi, Jason. Let me talk to Frank Adams, will you?”
“Sorry, he just left for the day.”
“Can I talk to your manager?”
“I am the department supervisor.”
“Are you going to be there for the next twenty minutes?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I'm an investigator, Jason, and I need to get to Adams.”
“Something wrong?”
“He is a suspected kidnapper who is on the run. Now what's his address?”
“I can't give out his contact info. I can call him and have him call you if you would like.”
“Are you kidding? The guy is on the run from the law.”
“Look, mister, I don't know who you are, and Adams is expected back at work in the morning.”
“I'll be there in a few minutes, and so will the FBI. You can tell them his address if you won't share it with me. Do not call him. You got that, Mr. Lyons?”
“Yeah, I have it.”
When Lee got to Maggie's Casino, there were three unmarked and a black and white at the door. Another came racing up as Lee ran into the casino and looked around for some clue as to which way to go. One of the casino's directional arrows pointed toward the offices, so he ran in that direction. In the distance, he saw a narrow hallway filled with police.
A uniformed officer stopped him as he approached. “What do you need?”
“I'm an investigator. I turned over Anders's ID to the FBI.”
The officer was unimpressed. “And?” he said.
A voice came from down the hall. “Let him in.”
As Lee walked past the myriad of officers, a man with short brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses that rested on a large nose walked into the hall and extended a hand. “I'm Carl Timmons. And this is my partner, Margo Barnes. A well-dressed and beautiful black-haired woman with perfect olive skin extended a hand that Lee shook. He apparently looked at her a little too long. Timmons chuckled and said, “Yep, Margo has that effect on people.”
“Sorry,” Lee said, returning to the world.
“So you're him,” Timmons said, smirking.
“Him?” Lee asked.
“Yeah, you're the investigator that Sandoval says is a pain in the ass and a smartass, but, what did she say? Has the soul of a great cop.”
Lee grinned and said, “What have we got?”
Timmons replied, “Our man is gone for the day. Expected back at 7:30 a.m.”
“Are we betting he shows?” Lee asked.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning if he gets the scent of this,” Lee said, waving an arm toward the cops crowding the hallway, “he is long gone.”
“I agree. Now that we know we have the right guy, we are setting up a three-mile containment, which is under way right now, and some of us are headed over to Adams's apartment.”
“I'll stay back, but I want to follow. I need to know that we have this guy.”
“Fair enough. Let's go.”
Timmons and Barnes led Lee and four other agents out to cars scattered around Maggie's, and they pulled out of the lot and raced down the street. Lee followed the last of the three FBI cars as they hurled through traffic, making a sudden left and then two consecutive rights, almost without slowing down. They skidded to a halt double-parked in front of an apartment building, and the officers raced inside. Lee walked around the outside, getting his bearings and looking for anything unusual. Two minutes later, Timmons emerged and said, “The unit is empty. Clothing and bathroom stuff is gone. My guess is that the son of a bitch caught wind of us and ran. Now we just have to figure out which way he went.”
Lee ran his hands through his hair. “Dammit,” he said, “we have to be right behind him. We have to figure out which way he went in case your containment measures weren't in place before he ran for it. He could have an hour jump on us. An hour and a half if he was already packed when he went to work today and left right from Maggie's.”
Timmons nodded. “That is actually quite possible. The maintenance manager said that he came by three times this afternoon to pick up his check. It arrived, and he grabbed it at 4:30 p.m. Could be that he planned on exiting as soon as the paycheck hit.”
“So what now?”
“Now we notify police agencies in all directions within five hundred miles that Adams could be coming their way. We know who he is, but we don't know what he's driving. I have people checking all area rental car outlets and car lots to see if Adams rented or bought something in the past two months. We are also checking stolen vehicle reports to see what has disappeared in the last few days. I've also got teams knocking on the doors of neighbors to see when they last saw Adams.”
Lee nodded, feeling frustrated. The son of a bitch did it again. He's got the road just before the net came down. Lee said to Timmons, “I suggest you find out whether he cashed the check yet. If so, where and what time so that we know exactly how much of a lead he has on us.”
Timmons nodded and reached for his phone.
Agent Barnes approached them. She was talking on the phone. “Yes, in the same radius. Get the picture of Anders and the name Frank Adams out to every gas station, minimarket, and coffee shop. He's likely to stop at one of them.” She hangs up and looks at me. “You did some nice work here, Mr. Henry. I understand you are a friend of the victims' parents.”
“Yes, they are good people.”
She nods. “And they've got a good friend. We'll do everything we can to see that this guy doesn't get past us.”
* * *
Jerry stopped for gas for the car. He walked into the minimart and picked up a bag of chips and a soda. Then he went to the register and paid for the food and the gas. The car was from one of those rent-a-wreck places and looked it. Ten years old and full of dings, but the small gray Ford ran well enough. Jerry rented it for the entire week, so he had six more days before they expected it to be returned. Ample time to dump it along the way and get something else.
He made his way back to Interstate 40 and continued eastbound. He would find a hotel in Kingman, Arizona for the night and continue on toward Charlotte in the morning. No one would even know he was gone until he didn't show up for work tomorrow morning, and he was contemplating calling Maggie's Casino and telling his boss that he would be out sick for another day. He felt the relief of the road to some new beginning. Jerry felt good until the moment he saw the red flashing lights behind him. His heart sank. For a moment he thought about making a run for it, but he knew that never worked out. Slowly, he moved to the side of the highway and stopped. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins as the officer appeared at the passenger side window with his hand over the gun in his holster.
“Evening, sir,” the officer said politely. “Let me see your driver's license and registration.”
Jerry handed him his Frank Adams Idaho driver's license. “This is a rental car, but I'm sure they must have something about its registration in the glove box.” Jerry found and handed him the document.
“Just a moment, sir,” the officer said and made his way back to his car. Jerry sat, his heart pounding, for three minutes. As the officer returned he could feel himself sweating.
The officer handed him the documents. “You have a rear taillight that is out, Mr. Adams.
Seeing as this is a rental car, I'm going to let you go with a warning. Make sure you tell the rental car company to get it fixed, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for your courtesy.”
The officer said, “Drive safely,” and walked from the window.
Jerry took off slowly and carefully. As he drove away, he saw the Nevada Highway Patrol officer who had stopped him make a U-turn across the grass median and head back in the other direction.
* * *
The police checkpoints reported in every fifteen minutes. The police captain provided updates to the FBI every time these reports were received. Four reports from each of twelve checkpoints around the city, and nothing on Frank Adams. Lee sat in an FBI conference room listening to the last report. It had been over an hour, and it seemed more and more likely that he had made it through the police dragnet and was safely on the other side. But where? Lee stared at an area map that consumed most of one wall in the conference room. Without knowing where Anders was headed, there were just too many alternatives.
“I hear that you figured out that Adams was really Jerry Anders,” agent Barnes said. “Nice piece of work.”
“Thanks,” Lee said, “But not too damned helpful if he manages to disappear and become someone else before we can track him.”
“Want some coffee?”
Lee nodded. “Yeah, make it a double.”
She laughed. “So what do you do when you're not chasing Jerry Anders across the country?”
“I chase other people.” He poured coffee and then sat down beside her. “What do you do when you're not working, Margo?” He paused. “Can I call you Margo?”
“If I can call you Lee.” He nodded, and she continued, “I like hiking, tennis, reading books, and I'd go to the beach if Nevada wasn't landlocked. I grew up in Lincoln City, Oregon, and I love the coast.”
“Been there, and I agree. Great spot. So how did you wind up in Vegas?”
“Joined the FBI, and there wasn't enough federal crime on the Oregon coast to keep me there.”
Timmons walked into the room. “We got something. A Nevada Highway Patrolman stopped Anders an hour ago for a busted tail. He let Anders go with a warning. Then fifteen minutes ago he saw the all-points on Anders and recognized him. He says Anders is driving a ten-year-old Ford and gave us the tags.”
“Where did he stop Anders?” Lee asked.
“That's the good news. He was stopped eastbound on Interstate 40, so now we know which way he's going. My guess is that he stays in Kingman, Arizona for the night.” He grinned. “You people ready to go?”
“I hope you're right,” Lee said. “Just in case you're not, we should have air support to see if he's headed forever east on 40 or diverting through Needles and into California.”
“We're on the same wavelength, Lee. I just arranged for two choppers to conduct a search. With night gear, they will be able to spot the car if it's still rolling.”
Six agents and Lee raced out to the parking lot and ran toward different vehicles. Timmons told Lee, “I'm sorry, man, but I'm not allowed to let you ride along. I would if I could.”
“No problem,” Lee said. “I have a car. I'll follow as long as we go fast enough.”
* * *
Jerry saw the signs for available hotels coming up as he approached Kingman. He followed the sign, turning right from Interstate 40 onto Historic Route 66. The gold half-sun on the sign was illuminated, and the Day's Inn looked like a safe haven. He pulled up in front of the hotel office and went in to register.
“Yes, sir,” a man in his sixties said, “need a room?”
“I do. A comfortable one where I can get some rest. I'm a little road weary.”
“You're in luck. Take number 8. Nice queen-size bed, and a little away from the street. Make you a deal on it tonight for fifty-two dollars.”
“That will be fine,” Jerry said, handing the man three twenties. The man gave him change and a key, and then said, “Enjoy your stay with us.”
Jerry said, “Thanks,” and moved out of the lobby as quickly as possible.
Jerry parked in front of Room 8 and then put his suitcase and his duffle inside the room. He was exhausted, but he was also starving. He remembered seeing a Denny's as he exited Interstate 40. It was close enough to walk back to without difficulty. After making sure the door was securely fastened, he looked around him and saw that surrounding businesses were closed, and the area was quiet. He took a deep breath as he looked up at the stars that filled the night sky.
When he arrived at the Denny's, Jerry grabbed a seat and positioned himself so that he looked toward the door. A little caution was always in order. There was an old couple in the corner and an obese teenager on a stool at the counter. The place was otherwise empty.
“Evenin',” a woman in her twenties said. She wore a long pink flowered apron and her hair was up in a bun. “What's it gonna be?”
Jerry smiled and said, “I'll have a beer and a patty melt,” he said.
“What kind of beer?”
“Got a Corona?”
“Yep.”
“I'll take that.”
“Okay, right back,” the woman said and walked away.
Jerry saw a jukebox across the room. He went over to it and read the music menu. He dropped a dollar in the jukebox and pushed letters and numbers to play some Beatles and “Hotel California” from the Eagles. He sat down and felt relaxed for the first time in as long as he could remember. Life was definitely getting better already. He thought about becoming someone else in Charlotte, so that anyone who connected the dots between Jerry Anders and Frank Adams wouldn't find him. He would have to make a new connection in Charlotte—someone who could build him a new ID for a fair price.
The Beatles sang about “sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.” The lyrics were drug-induced and nonsensical, but “I Am the Walrus” was somehow still a great song. There was something about the originality of so many of the great Beatle songs. They were all compelling and often unusual, but Lennon and McCartney could write music like no others.
Jerry picked up a local newspaper and read about a council meeting that got out of control, the new homes that were being built in the area, and the cost of living raise for city employees. His patty melt was greasy but good. He ate his way through it as he read about the local water shortage the community experienced. Imagine that, Jerry thought to himself, a water shortage in the desert. Who'd have guessed it? Don Henley and the Eagles sang about “stabbing it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast,” and Jerry ordered a second beer and finished it along with his sandwich as he read the sports page.
The waitress returned, snapping her gum before she spoke, “Anything else?”
“No, that's it.”
“Okay, here's the check. You pay at the register.”
Jerry read the classifieds. He wasn't going to stay here, but it was interesting to see what kind of work was available. A couple of banks needed tellers, a restaurant needed a cook, a couple of retail stores wanted part-time salespeople, and a repair shop needed a mechanic.
As he paid the check and left a tip, the Eagles sang “You can check out anytime you choose, but you can never leave.” The words struck him as ominous, and the nervousness he carried with him was instantly back.
* * *
The four cars flew along Interstate 40 at almost a hundred miles per hour. Timmons and Barnes led the parade with a red light atop their unmarked car. Two other FBI cars followed, and Lee rode sweep. They moved around cars on the road like they were standing still. About forty-five minutes into the journey, Lee's phone rang.
“Yeah.”
“Lee, it's Margo Barnes.”
“I recognize the voice,” he said, thinking that he sounded rather obviously flirtatious.
“We just got word that the choppers found his car. He's in Kingman at the Day's Inn.”
“That is great,” Lee said.
“We're about twenty minutes
out. We turn left from 40 onto Route 66, and the hotel is about a block down. Our man is parked in front of Room 8.”
“Thanks for the update,” Lee said. “I appreciate you keeping me in the loop.”
“We're going to push it a little harder. I wanted you to know where we're headed in case your rental car can't keep up.”
“I'll be there as quickly as I can. Thanks.”
“Good-bye, Lee.” With that, he watched as the three cars in front of him accelerated to 120 miles per hour. He pushed the rental Toyota hard, but slowly the distance between him and the FBI cars ahead increased. The road was flat and straight, so he kept them in view even when they were two and three miles ahead. They just kept getting smaller. Soon they would disappear entirely.
Twenty minutes later, Lee turned off Interstate 40 and flew down Route 66. He could see the Day's Inn, and the FBI cars all surrounding Room 8. A couple of the officers were walking around the hotel. He could see a couple of others knocking on other doors. He knew in an instant that they had missed Anders.
* * *
Jerry stepped out of the diner and looked toward the Day's Inn. He froze in his tracks. There were three cars parked all around his and blocking his movement. The place was abuzz with activity as people he was sure were plainclothes cops moved around the building. How in the world did they find him? Maybe it was the Highway Patrol cop that had stopped him.
He couldn't go back to his room. His clothes and most of his remaining money had to be left behind. He was glad he put about fifteen hundred in cash in his wallet. In a few minutes they would be over at the diner as they expanded their search. Thinking of nothing else he could do, Jerry walked the opposite direction along Route 66. He had no idea where to go, but he knew he needed to get as far away as he could as fast as he could.
Jerry decided it would be too risky to hitchhike on Interstate 40. There was Highway Patrol as well as the group back at the Day's Inn, who would know that he was on foot and probably looking for a ride out of town. Jerry stayed on Route 66, walking for about an hour and a half. He tried to get a ride, but the few cars on the road didn't stop.
[2017] The Whistleblower Onslaught Page 34
