In Transit to Toledo, Ohio
Half-way through the three-hour flight to Toledo, secret service agent Ron Hammer leaned across the jet’s narrow aisle toward Stony. She held up a hand to stop him while she finished an email from Akina—John was in transit to Toledo and would probably arrive by five a.m., weather permitting. Akina was instructing Stony to proceed with her plans to capture Wells without waiting for him, but delay interrogation until his arrival.
I’m not going to dawdle while John finds his way to northern Ohio.
They’d lose any momentum they gained from the capture. Wells would have time to calm down, think, and lawyer up.
He’ll just have to catch up.
She looked up and found Ron waiting patiently for her to finish the email. “Sorry.”
“Anything important?”
“Nope. Benoit will be joining us later. What’s up?”
“The tactical team that was going to join us at the Toledo airport is delayed for a few hours. FAA has issued ground stops up and down the East Coast. Bad weather.”
Shit. Who knows when the federal cavalry will actually make it? Wells seems to be able to stay a step in front of us and waiting will raise that risk.
She checked the time. They would touch down around two a.m. local. “When does the gear we need for the takedown get to the airport?”
“Already there, courtesy of the Cleveland office of the FBI. Two cars, vests, infra-red goggles. Pretty much the works.”
“Local law enforcement been notified?”
“Yeah. They’ll meet us at the gate.”
“We’ve got more than enough firepower to bring this bastard down without your tactical team,” Stony said. “I don’t want Wells to slip away from us again.”
Hammer stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Our SOP is to use two teams for high-value targets involving hostages.”
“We are using two teams. Us and the local LEOs.”
“Bullshit. Local LEOs don’t count and you know it. Small city police can’t find their ass with both hands. Just the thought of depending on those guys makes my skin crawl. They’re more likely to shoot one of us than a bad guy.”
You’re an elitist, Agent Hammer.
“It’s not like we’re going to ask them to do anything heavy. They just need to throw up a perimeter and make sure Wells doesn’t get past it.”
“We’re not going in with one team,” Ron declared. “That’s final.”
Stony leaned into the aisle, nose to nose with the scowling secret service agent. “I’m lead, it’s my call. Deal with it.”
She watched him consider appealing to Washington. A minute later his face settled into an angry mask and he leaned back into his seat.
She smiled to herself. The Secret Service was a paramilitary organization. Its agents were trained to follow orders and her right to issue those orders had been made crystal clear by Hammer's boss’s boss.
24
Toledo, Ohio
“Where’re you taking me now?” GT asked. Robert Lee had ordered him out of the bunker and into the car five minutes after Willard had gotten a tip that the police were on their way. They were bouncing down the dirt road that led away from Willard’s and away from the highway.
“This comes out a couple miles ahead on state 288. We’ll do some weaving and dodging until we can head south.”
“I meant ‘where are we going,’ not what roads you’re taking.”
“You’ re a goddamn smart ass,” Robert Lee said. “I ever tell you that?”
“Yeah. A couple of times.” The car’s bouncing over the ruts in the road was so bad that GT quit talking so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue. Apparently Robert Lee had decided to do the same.
A half-hour later they pulled onto the smooth asphalt of route 288.
“We’re headed to Toledo, Ohio. We’ll hunker down with the sister of a guy I knew in prison.”
“The guy in prison was your buddy?” GT asked.
Robert Lee laughed. “You were paying attention, huh. The guy’s name is Lobster. He got burned bad when he was a kid. His sister is expecting us.”
“Why’re we going south if Toledo is up north?”
“Quit asking so many questions. You might as well relax. We have seventeen hours of hard driving in front of us.”
The secret service is after Asshole. He’s going to wish he’d never been born.
His hope burned like a hot coal for a few seconds before it wavered and cooled.
Willard doesn’t know where we’re headed. There’s no way for the secret service to find me.
Robert Lee glanced in GT’s direction. “Open the glove box.”
GT shrugged and did as commanded. A pair of shiny steel handcuffs fell onto the floor. He stared at them, surprised.
“This road trip can go easy or hard,” Robert Lee said. “It’s up to you. The first hinky thing you do and I’ll put those cuffs on you and lock you in the trunk. We clear?”
GT picked up the cuffs and bounced them in his hands. They were a lot heavier than he expected and the edges were sharp.
GT put the cuffs back in the glove box and slammed it shut. “Yeah, we’re clear.”
An hour and a half later, Robert Lee turned from Texas Trail Road onto North Airfield Drive near the Dallas-Ft. Worth Airport. For the last fifteen minutes, GT had watched him follow the signs that pointed to airport long-term parking. A half mile east on Airfield Drive brought them to Remote Parking North. Robert Lee took a ticket at the unattended gate, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and began touring up and down the rows of cars and trucks.
Ten rows later, Asshole nodded at a candy apple red, two-door Mustang. “Could be wrong, but I think that’s from 1988. Doesn’t matter, it’s old enough to work for us.” He kept going, past the Mustang, finally parking three rows over, between a massive Ford pickup and a Prius.
There must be five thousand cars in this place.
GT had been stubbornly silent for the duration of the ride from Denton, but his curiosity got the better of him. “I thought you said we were going to drive to Toledo. What are we doing here?”
“Getting some gas.” Robert Lee smirked, like he’d told a joke. “Get your gear and stick to me like glue. If I hear so much as a squeak, I’ll knock you senseless.” He reached over and took the cuffs from the glove box and shoved them into his back pocket.
GT dragged his duffle from the back seat, got out of the car, and scrambled around to the back end, where Robert Lee was lifting a duffle and a smaller, cloth bundle from the trunk. He stood, looked around, and strolled back toward the Mustang. GT hesitated, but followed him after a thunderous glance.
Robert Lee walked up to the driver’s door and scanned the lot a second time. “Man, no wonder parking out here is so cheap. You’ve got to cool your heels for a long damn time before you can get a ride to the terminal.”
He dropped the duffle and the grease-stained, dark blue bundle on the ground. The bundle was held together by two thin cloth straps tied in a bow. He pulled the bow loose, opened the bundle, and picked up a flat, thin crowbar that was about two feet long. This he slid between the car window and the side of the door, pulling and jerking for about ten seconds until the door unlocked. He swung the door open. “Get in and buckle up.”
GT turned to walk around to the passenger side, but Robert Lee grabbed him sharply by the shoulder. “No.” He pushed him into the driver’s seat. “Scoot across.”
GT threw his duffle into the back and crawled across the transmission to the passenger seat. It was a tight fit—a big metal bar labeled The Club was clamped onto the steering wheel. By the time he settled, Robert Lee had tossed his duffle into the back and popped the hood. The car roared to life in less than a minute. He slammed the hood shut and climbed into the driver’s seat, bringing the tool bundle with him.
“Sweet.” He tapped The Club. “I love it when a car I want has one of these.”
He’s nuts. How’s he going to brea
k…
Robert Lee took a small hacksaw from the toolkit and sawed through the plastic steering wheel in less time than it had taken him to start the car. He twisted the cut ends apart and slipped The Club through the break. Then he used the thick metal bar to jerk the steering wheel back and forth until the lock on the column broke.
“Could be days or weeks before some poor sucker finds out his vintage ride has been stolen.” He folded up the toolkit, shoved it under the seat, tossed The Club out the window and slipped the car into gear. “Toledo or bust.”
Robert Lee and the fat woman were locked in a sloppy kiss. GT wanted to spew all over the gravel parking lot.
Asshole and the woman had talked by cell every couple of hours during the unimaginably long ride from Texas. Their conversations started out lovey-dovey but had changed into hard core sex talk before the Mustang had left Oklahoma. They’d also talked about GT, about how he could do magic and how Robert Lee had big plans that would rock the world. Thinking about what he might have in mind had been worse than the sex talk.
The three were standing in front of the woman’s double-wide trailer, about a mile north of Toledo. It was close to midnight. As soon as the car crunched into the gravel pull-off, the door to the trailer had swung open, framing the silhouette of a woman with a tiny head perched on a five-foot-tall, three-foot-wide body. She’d squealed and thundered down the aluminum steps, shuffled to the car, and pretty much yanked Robert Lee out of his seat.
Robert Lee came up for air and took a step back. “Lobster sends his love, Tessie.”
Like the sea monster?
“Don’t bullshit me, Robert Lee. The only things Lobster loves are his dick and his right hand.” She looked at GT. “So this is the boy who can do black magic. Those eyes are the goddamnest things.”
“That they are,” Robert Lee said. “GT, meet the love of my life, Miss Tessie Blankenship.”
GT turned away, afraid that if he said what he felt, Asshole would beat him senseless.
“Turn around, boy, and say hello. Sorry, Tessie. The kid has an attitude and I’ve been too busy to beat it out of him.”
“I can help you with that, Robert Lee. Yes, indeed. Don’t you worry about it.”
GT turned back around and faced the two. “You can both go fuck yourselves.”
Tessie laughed. “That’s exactly what we intend to do, you little shit. As soon as we get you locked in the back room.”
She turned and headed back to the trailer, shuffling from side to side like a pregnant cat.
“You can park your car at the Gas n Go, Robert Lee." She pointed toward the glow of light above the thicket of trees that bordered the gravel surrounding the trailer. "I have an arrangement with the owner. I'll entertain GT until you get back. Hustle your ass—it’s time to party.”
“Leave all your gear in the car,” Robert Lee said to GT, “and go on inside.”
25
Toledo, Ohio
At two a.m. the Gulfstream pulled to a bobbing stop at a general aviation gate at the Toledo Express Airport. Stony and the rest of the team piled down the gangway. The buildings near them were dark and the only light came from the dim, green-yellow glare of a distant streetlamp.
Stony stretched, pulled her jacket around her, and looked around. The temperature was unnaturally cool and a swirling fog conspired with the rain to limit visibility. A black Suburban and what appeared to be an armored van were parked nose-to butt about thirty feet from the plane. Four people wearing glistening, ankle-length slickers were gathered at the side of the van.
The Toledo police welcome wagon, I presume.
One of the figures separated itself from the group and approached. She looked from Stony to Hammer and back again. “Who’s the one keeping me up past my bedtime?” The hood on her slicker was pushed back, revealing a Medusian tangle of dark hair that appeared green in the ghostly light.
She’s either a redhead or she follows the same fashion trends that I do.
Stony extended her hand. “Agent Hill with the DTS and this is Senior Special Agent Hammer with the Secret Service.”
“I’m Captain Jennings. We could chit-chat or cut to the chase.”
Jennings didn’t wait for Stony to express a preference.
“I’ve been given a suspect’s name, a background file with his photo, and a probable location where we can find him, along with the boy he is traveling with. My orders are to render assistance with the apprehension of this suspect, under your command.” She looked at the three secret service men standing to the side of the gangway. “I was told there would be more of you.”
“Delayed due to weather,” Stony said. “We’ll proceed without them.” She shot a glance at Hammer, who gave no indication that he’d disagreed.
“You want me to roust the Chief out of bed and get some more members of our SWAT unit out here?”
“No,” Stony said. “We don’t want to give this guy time to slip away.”
“No biggie. We’re ready to rock. I’ve got a map in the van. You can tell me how you want to handle this.”
Jennings led Stony and Hammer to the armored truck. The interior was tight, or would be tight when loaded with officers. Bench seats lined both sides and the walls were festooned with weapons and other tools of the trade. A dull red glow cast just enough light that you could find your way around.
Jennings took a seat, unclipped a hinged board from the wall next to her, and dropped the panel down to form a small table. She reached to her side and flipped a switch that bathed the table in a soft yellow glow. “Kills your night vision, but you can’t read shit in the red light.”
She pulled a folded map from her pocket and spread it on the table. “How sure are you that your suspect is in Toledo?”
“Our information that he’s on his way here is solid,” Hammer said. “He’s had enough time to drive straight through from Texas, but we have no idea if that was his plan.”
“You must really want him.”
Stony ignored the SWAT leader’s not-so-subtle invitation to talk about why they were after Wells. “If he’s here, we’ll take him into custody. If he’s not, we’ll stake out the Toledo address while we keep looking.”
Jennings shrugged and tapped a spot on the map. “I had an undercover car cruise the location you gave us. A Tess Blankenship lives there in a double-wide trailer parked on a quarter-acre of gravel. There’s a dense thicket of trees and underbrush next to the property, to the east. On the other side of the woods is an all-night cheapo gas station. To the west and across the street from the trailer is a run-down commercial district.”
“I didn’t find anything about Blankenship in the Federal databases,” Hammer said. “You got anything local? Anything to indicate she could be violent?”
“Nah. A pot possession and a couple of parking tickets. She trades sex for gas and groceries, but she’s harmless.”
"When did you do your drive by?"
"About midnight. One light was on in the front of the trailer, no sign of any cars. You guys have a no-knock warrant or do we have to ring the bell and ask if he’d like to come out and play?”
“Got the warrant while we were en route,” Stony said. She showed it to Jennings, who copied the warrant number into a steno notebook.
Stony looked at the secret service agent. “You guys do this stuff all the time. How do you want to handle it?”
Hammer examined the map and looked up at Jennings. “There are lots of possible hidey holes where Wells could disappear if he gets out of the trailer, so we’ll use your crew to establish a perimeter. Park your SWAT vehicle here.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and marked a spot on the map a couple blocks from the trailer.
“Uh huh.” Jennings used two fingers to pull a wisp of red hair back behind her right ear.
“I don’t want your van to telegraph our presence,” Hammer said. “Post your men here, here, and here.” He put dots on the map in a rough circle about one-hundred yards from the trailer.
“We’ll park our SUV here, in this alley.” He tapped the map again. “I’ll leave one of my guys with it in case we need it in a hurry and post another one twenty feet behind Tessie’s trailer. That’ll leave one to come with us and bring the ram.” He paused. “Just so everyone is on the same page here: trailer doors open out. If the front door is locked, we’ll have to beat it open. That’ll take a few seconds and we’ll be making a hell of a lot of racket.”
No one said anything.
“When the door is open, my guy will toss in a flash bang to stun anyone inside. He’ll go in first, then me, then Stony, then you.” He was staring at Jennings, searching for any objection.
“Questions?” Hammer asked.
“There’s not much light on the street in front of the trailer,” Jennings said. She took the pen and redrew two of the dots representing her team so that they were a dozen yards closer to the trailer. “This will give us a little better line of sight.”
“Works for me,” Hammer said. “Stony?”
“I’m good.”
Hammer studied the map for a moment and looked up at Stony. “I gotta tell you, I still think we don’t have enough people. We might be okay if we had daylight, but in this shitty rain and fog…” His voice trailed off, his face expressionless.
Stony drew a deep breath and looked at Jennings. “What do you think?”
The captain shrugged. “This is your party, but this already seems like a lot of people to take down one guy. Unless you know something you haven’t told me, like he’s got some fucking IED’s or some shit, let’s get it over with.”
Stony looked at the secret service agent. “We’re not thin. We’ll have a decent perimeter. We’re going in fast and hard and we’ll get the guy.”
She looked at her watch. It was two-twenty. “How far from here to the trailer?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Time to roll.”
26
The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller Page 17
