I was now on Route 28. I saw a sign for Hopeville, only five miles away. It seemed like I was making good time. The Beast was holding up. Virgil had come through for me, which was amazing, considering I’d pulled a gun on the guy. I’d come to the conclusion that there were people in this world who really cared about others. They tried to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t popular with the locals—or, as was the case with Nick, Alex, and their team, even if they weren’t following strict FBI protocol. How could I ever repay them? If we got Mackenzie back, I’d figure out something.
“I’m here. How can I help?”
It was a female voice. Actually, it sounded like a chirping bird.
“That’s Gretchen,” Nick said. “Welcome, Gretchen.”
“Thanks. I know the routine. I’m sitting at my workstation right now. I don’t know much about what’s going on, but just tell me what you need done. I can get the details later.”
“Hey, Gretchen,” Brad said, and then I heard what sounded like a car door shutting. “Let’s split up the tasks. We need the birthplace of Eldridge Kaufman.”
“If memory serves me correctly, he’d done a pretty decent job of covering his past,” Gretchen said. “But it’s got to be attached to his court case through the US Attorney’s Office, if nothing else. Let me see what I can do.”
Brad said he was jumping on his phone to make sure this Kaufman guy was still in prison.
Stan and Brook said they’d continue brainstorming on ideas for solving the riddle. “I know this might sound stupid,” Brook said, “But Stan and I are here in Texas. Actually, he’s in San Antonio, and I’m in Austin. Anything you guys think we need to follow up on here?”
“I actually grew up there,” Alex said.
Well, that was a surprise. “Small world and all, I guess,” I said. “What part?”
“Along the coast, little town called Port Isabel. Haven’t been back since my dad died.”
I thought more about Alex’s mom and how she’d been held by this lunatic for three decades. I was curious, and I wanted to ask more questions. Later, maybe.
“Wow,” Brook said, “I guess all roads really do lead to Texas.”
Alex didn’t say anything, which told me there was still some pain related to her dad’s death or just her upbringing, not having a mom around. Again, I’d been lucky to have been adopted by my family. Dysfunctional, for certain, but somewhere at least close to the normal zone, comparatively speaking.
“Ozzie,” Alex finally said, “I know this might be painful, but tell me more about what you found at Camp Israel.”
I exhaled and tried to distance myself from the emotion. I described the eeriness of the hushed compound and then the Jeep that I saw drive off into the woods.
“Gretchen, I know you’re hunting for Kaufman’s birthplace, but mark that down about the Jeep. Might need to cross-reference that against another data point.”
“Got it.”
“Continue, Ozzie,” Alex said.
I recounted the whole story, the sheets of plastic, the wind blowing, and then finding Denise with her eyes open. As much as I tried not to go there, tears welled in my eyes. “Guys, is there any way we can get her body out of there and give her a proper burial? I mean, she’s just lying there under a sheet I found.”
“Of course. Nick, can you try to figure out how to get that done?”
“I’m on it.”
Stan said, “Tell Alex about the video you saw, Oz.”
“I know it’s painful, but it might be helpful,” Brook said.
“What video? No one told me about any video.” Alex’s intensity had gone up a notch, I could tell.
I wasn’t happy at having to relive that moment again, but I sucked it up and described every detail I’d watched and heard on the video.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Nick said in a hushed tone.
“Thank you, Ozzie,” Alex said. “Nick, is there any way we can call up Vandiver in the nearby FBI office? Maybe he can help get the body out of there without too much attention. But what I really want is the video. Ozzie said there might have been a frame or two that picked up the face of one of these Neanderthals.”
I put a hand in my pocket. “Guys, I have the video card with me right here.”
“No shit?” Brook blurted out. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Forgot about it. And on top of that, what good is it? I can’t slide it in my phone and email the video.”
And that was when our small team took it to a completely different level.
35
The rumble of the airplane engines, seemingly almost on top of me, momentarily rattled the ancient dashboard inside the Beast. I could also feel it in my chest, which made my heart skip a beat.
Damn, my nerves were fried.
I zoomed into Dulles Airport, on the west side of DC, the road and surrounding sea of concrete bathed in light—the exact opposite of ninety percent of my trip coming in from Elkins, West Virginia. My eyes were on constant alert, even though I knew there was a plan. I’d caught the name of the street I was driving on—Autopilot Drive. I wasn’t sure if that was some type of pathetic attempt at irony; of course, logically, I knew the sign hadn’t been erected just in the last few hours to play with my mind.
I pushed out a deep breath. The world was not out to get me. Just some unknown group of people had made it their mission to murder my girlfriend from ten years ago and steal away a daughter I never knew I had.
Based on my last call with the team, we’d all but ruled out the yakuza. Nothing was certain, Alex had said. So, she put the likelihood of yakuza involvement at around thirty percent, although she couldn’t explain the series of events at the front end of this nightmarish debacle. It was difficult to connect what had happened in Hawaii with what was happening now.
Even after being on the phone for most of the last two hours with Alex, Nick, Brad, Gretchen, Stan, and Brook, questions still peppered my mind. Most could be rolled up into two words: Who? Why?
I’d ponder those once I boarded the plane that was due to take off in approximately thirty-five minutes. Traffic slowed near the terminals. I picked up an old magazine from the floorboard, wrapped my pistol in it, and stuffed it behind the bench seat.
I pulled up to the valet station at the main terminal, swapped my keys for a paper card, and hoped that someday soon I’d be able to return the pickup to Virgil. It had served its purpose. Before I made it to the door, I felt crystals of freezing rain dropping on my head. It only added to my anxiety of making it to my destination on time.
In the terminal, I found an open station at the United Airlines counter. I told the agent I was running behind to make my departure time. The ticket had already been purchased by Alex’s team, and within three minutes, I was headed toward the security line. Once there, I veered toward the frequent-traveler line. As expected, it was much shorter, and people were moving through at record speed. Somehow, Gretchen had put me on the list. I didn’t ask how. I was just thankful. The process went smoothly, and I hustled toward Concourse C. But I didn’t go straight there. Even though I was worried they wouldn’t let me on the flight, I stayed on task, in accordance with our plan.
I found the Dunkin’ Donuts in Concourse A, purchased a small cup of ice—yes, they made me pay a dollar for it—and walked over to a water fountain. I popped the lid off the top, tilted my head back, chewed on some ice, and nonchalantly dumped the rest of the ice in the water fountain. As I fit the lid back on, I slipped the video card inside the cup. I pretended to take a pull from the straw, then left the cup on a table next to the first chair nearest the walkway at gate A21.
As much as I wanted to glance around and look for this Brad person, I kept my eyes straight ahead and made a beeline toward Concourse C. I hustled up to gate C14 as the last-call announcement was being made over the speaker system. The agent scanned my ticket, and I ambled down the ramp. I squeezed my body into seat 22B—a middle seat, which for someone of my height and girth, was cr
uel. Glancing up, I watched as more passengers followed behind me. Four men, two kids, and three women. Which one was Brad?
It was better I didn’t know, I was told. If someone was watching, we couldn’t let them know that the FBI was now involved. Heavily.
I looked around the person to my right and glanced outside the tiny window. The glow of a spotlight illuminated a light sheet of precipitation, probably frozen. I took out my phone and checked the timer. If the plane was forced to go through a de-icing process, I’d be screwed. There would be no way for me to get to my destination, pick up my rental, and drive the hour and nine minutes.
Looking toward the front of the plane, I could see a mom holding her child in one arm and trying to put a carry-on bag in the overhead. The kid, who looked to be about two, was red-faced, kicking and bucking. It made sense—it was after nine o’clock at night. He was probably tired and wanted no part of this trip.
The woman struggled for a good twenty seconds. No one stepped in to help her. Everyone had their heads buried in some device, many of them wearing earbuds, lost in their own worlds.
“Excuse me.” I pushed up, banged my head off the low ceiling, and looked at the person to my left. The girl slouched in her chair, earbuds in, eyes closed, smacking her gum. She had two red dreadlocks tied behind her head. She kind of reminded me of my friend Poppy back in Austin.
I tapped her knee. “Excuse me,” I said again. She moved her legs, although she acted like I’d asked her to skydive out of a plane at forty thousand feet without a parachute.
I scooted into the aisle and quickly made my way to the woman and child. “Here, let me get that for you.”
“Oh…” She seemed surprised but relieved. She picked up her boy, who immediately hushed and put his face against her shoulder.
I placed her carry-on in the bin and shut it.
“Rodney, can you tell the man ‘thank you’?” she said to the boy.
I saw his green eyes peek out from his mom’s chest. He almost smiled and then quickly turned away.
“He’s just shy.”
“And tired maybe.”
“Yes,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Do you have little kids you’re going home to?” She was looking at my left hand.
My jaw opened, but no words came out. I didn’t know what to say, exactly. Thoughts of Denise came to mind, Mackenzie, and then they circled back to Nicole—my wife, who was living in what I used to call our home.
Home. I wasn’t sure I could pinpoint my home. Not just in terms of an address, either.
“Sorry if I hit a sore subject.”
“No, I’m just tired. Ready to get…home.”
I made it back into my seat, and within seconds, the captain told us he was preparing for liftoff before the weather took a turn for the worse. I unlocked my phone and found Mackenzie’s picture, the one Denise had sent me when we were speaking with Hulama. Her mischievous smile with a missing tooth made me shake my head. There were familiar things about her too. It was surreal to look at someone and see part of yourself.
“Is that your daughter?”
I turned to my left as the girl sat up in her seat, pulled out her earbuds.
I paused a second, glanced back at Mackenzie’s picture, then looked at the girl. “Yeah, that’s my daughter.”
“That’s cool.”
It was indeed.
36
The plane bounced onto the runway at Logan Airport, and after a brief ride, we pulled up to the gate. The captain spoke as passengers scurried about in the aisles: “Welcome to the home of Paul Revere.” He said if anyone was just visiting the city of Boston, he highly recommended going on the Freedom Trail.
Freedom. That was exactly why I was here—to secure Mackenzie’s freedom. I glanced at the timer on my phone. The plane had arrived four minutes early. But I had no more than fifteen minutes to depart the plane, rent my car, and head south out of Boston.
My destination was a small, foreclosed home in the southern part of Plymouth. Yes, home of Plymouth Rock. The key to figuring out the riddle went back to Camp Israel and this Malachi person who had led the religious cult. Alex had quickly taken us down the correct path.
I learned that Eldridge Kaufman was considered a prophet by those in his brainwashed clan. Then Gretchen dug up information on his first home; it was near the intersection of Old Sandwich and State in Plymouth. From there, it made sense that Boston, or Plymouth specifically, could be referenced as the place where the nation was first formed.
I was damn lucky to have Alex and her small team on my side. My stubbornness could have…
I stopped my thought before I got there and eyed the organized chaos of people departing the plane. A man in a suit helped the woman I’d met earlier pull down her carry-on bag. Her little boy, Rodney, had his head once again on her shoulder. He was fast asleep, which I found astonishing. Kids. There was so much I didn’t know.
I scooted into the aisle, but, similar to the flight from LAX into DC, I had to wait on folks in the front as they lazily got their stuff together. The crush of people behind me apparently didn’t see the foot traffic slow down, and I was sandwiched.
“Dude, give me some space please,” I said to the guy who’d gone well inside my personal space.
“Sorry,” he said, finally backing up a step.
With my frustration nearing the red zone, I looked toward the exit. I was almost ready to start shoving people aside when a flight attendant jumped into action and ushered people off with surprising efficiency.
I marched up the ramp, spotted an arrow to the car-rental area, and headed in that direction. I raced up to the company with the green sign and gave them my name. Again, a reservation was waiting for me, and the typically long checkout process was completed in mere seconds. I walked out the door and was met with a blast of cold wind that made my eyes water. A blue shuttle was at the curb. I got on the bus and was delivered to the parking lot. Three minutes later, I jumped into the black Buick and screeched out of the lot. Once I was out of the airport, I dialed the secure line.
“Ozzie, is that you?” It was Brook.
“I’m here, in my car, about ready to get onto I-90.”
Brook said, “Hallelujah. You made it.”
“He still has a ways to go.”
That was Alex. Apparently, optimism wasn’t in her DNA.
“Brook, I should be okay, right? My timer says we have an hour and ten minutes. I’m five minutes ahead of that pace.”
“You don’t know Boston traffic.”
“Is that Nick?”
“Who else do you think it is?”
“Your cousin maybe.”
“Oh, Stan had to drop out for now. His kid had an episode.”
More kid stuff. I wondered if there was an online guide on how to proactively deal with these so-called “episodes,” as it were. Later, I’d research it, once I had Mackenzie.
I saw the road dip down toward a tunnel.
“By the way, you might lose us when you…”
The line went dead as I powered the Buick into the tunnel. I was crossing the Boston Harbor. I smelled car exhaust, but I also picked up the scent of the ocean. I came out on the south side. The largest part of the skyline was on my right. I saw signs for Beacon Hill, Back Bay, the Boston Opera House, and even the Freedom Trail. The road turned into I-93. I dialed back into the line and heard Nick’s voice.
“I want to raid the house right now, even before Ozzie gets there. He could be walking into a trap.”
“No way,” I said.
“Didn’t hear you rejoin the call,” Alex said.
“If you guys do that, they might see you coming. They could kill Mackenzie.”
“They could kill you. In fact, I think they will try to kill you, Ozzie,” Nick said. “What other reason could they have for luring you to that place? I want to be wrong. But nothing else would make sense.”
I wiped a hand across my face, trying to take in everything he’d just relayed. Confusi
on and doubt began to take hold of my thoughts. “Dammit, Alex, I thought we were clear.”
“Look, Ozzie, we all bring something to the table. It’s not personal.”
“Do you believe your partner?”
A hesitation. “It’s very possible, yes. As you know, I have kids. They mean the world to me. I’d do anything for them, even if I had to cross the line of the law.”
“Hell, you have done it,” Nick chimed in.
“Anyway, the risk of something bad happening if we raid the house is real. But there’s also a risk if we don’t. You’ve got to know that.”
My whole body broke out in a sweat. It was up to me to make the call. I just wanted Mackenzie back…safely. I punched the window button, and it slid down a few inches until the chilled air swept across my face.
“Are you and Nick already there?”
“We’re about ten minutes out. But if I call this in to my SSA, then I’m sure I can have at least a couple other agents meet us there within thirty minutes. Maybe more than two.”
“What’s an SSA?”
“It’s just my boss, Jerry. He’s cool.”
I weaved through a bit of traffic, trying to take everything in. “So, if we don’t call in the cavalry, you and Nick would be positioned close by, right? Like you said earlier?”
“Yep. There’s a tiny little road just south of the home. It’s a dead-end street just off State Road. Quiet and dark. By car, it’s maybe thirty seconds away from where you’ll be.”
I considered that. “Okay, let’s stick with the original plan. It just seems right. I can keep the line open on my cell phone. It might be muffled, but I could yell out something if things go bad.”
“You think they’re going to announce it?” Nick said. “Sheesh, Ozzie. You don’t even have a weapon on you. You could be lights out before you take one step into the house.”
Game ON (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 2) (Redemption Thriller Series 14) Page 15
