The Imposter's Trail (The Sean Kruger Series Book 3)

by J. C. Fields

  Kruger was quiet for a long time. “Did you get a picture of him?”

  “No, but we can tomorrow.”

  “Get one tomorrow and run it through your facial recognition routine.”

  “Who should I compare it to?”

  “FBI facial database. You have access.”

  “Okay, who do you think he is?”

  “I’ll tell you after you run the comparison. I hope I’m wrong.”

  Chapter 23

  Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino, Las Vegas, NV

  JR did not want to spook the man calling himself Stephen Blair, so Mia was the one who followed him around during the lunch break taking clandestine pictures. Pretending to check her cell phone, she was able to obtain a number of profile and full frontal pictures. JR stayed in the background, noting the man’s mannerisms and the amount of time spent talking to conference attendees.

  It took thirty minutes for her to feel comfortable she possessed a good picture. She returned to JR. “I believe I’ve got a few good ones. But you better check to make sure,”

  He took her cell phone and started paging through the various pictures. She watched him as he studied each picture. “He’s up to thirty investors, JR. I heard him bragging to a group of men from India.”

  JR looked up from the phone. “At three mil each, that’s ninety million dollars.”

  She nodded.

  JR stared off into the distance and whistled softly. “What does he need ninety million for? He got eight figures for the stock in Blair’s company.”

  Mia didn’t answer. She knew JR was thinking out loud and did not expect a response.

  Returning his attention to the cell phone, he paused on several pictures and stared at each for several moments. “You’ve got more than a few good pictures. I can use any of them. Let’s get back to the room, and I’ll send them to my system at the office.”

  ***

  Two hours later, JR was on the phone again with Kruger. “There’s a seventy-nine percent match. Petty strong, Sean.”

  “It’s not a hundred.”

  “The points not matching could be plastic surgery. Basic skull structure and eye width match perfectly. You can’t change those indices.”

  Kruger sighed. “So your assessment is it’s him?”

  “The program says so. I can tell you he’s not Stephen Blair. I ran the comparison to Stephen, and it only produced a thirty-five percent match.”

  “Damn.”

  “Is it who you suspected?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Blair’s alibi in Florida?”

  “You can drive from Atlanta to South Beach in the time gap. It also explains why Thomas Zimmerman and Judith Day were killed. They knew or at least suspected Blair was an impostor.”

  “Now what?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Kruger was silent for several minutes. “Can you keep an eye on him? I’ll fly to Vegas for the arrest. The Vegas field office can send a few agents as well. Hopefully, they won’t spook him until I can get there.”

  “Why not let them arrest him?”

  “I want to make sure it’s him. The only way to do that is stare him in the eyes.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  ***

  As JR and Mia watched from a distance, the Las Vegas FBI agents arrived with the subtly of British fans at a Manchester United game. When JR saw who was leading the three-man team, he turned to Mia. “Sean is not going to be happy.”

  “Why, JR?”

  JR pointed to the agent demanding to see the hotel manager. “An old nemesis of Sean’s. Last I heard, he was transferred to the field office in Fargo, North Dakota. That’s Franklin Dollar.”

  ***

  Kruger stood on the tarmac outside the Springfield-Branson airport’s General Aviation building. He was dressed in Docker khaki’s, a light blue polo shirt with an FBI emblem on the left breast, and a navy blazer, his ever-present computer backpack slung over his right shoulder, and his FBI credentials attached to a lanyard hanging from his neck. He watched behind dark aviator sunglasses as the Gulfstream G280 taxied toward his position.

  As the plane approached, he saw the front cabin door start to lower. As soon as the plane stopped and the door was down, he climbed the few steps up into the cabin. The co-pilot of the plane nodded as Kruger passed and raised the door.

  Turning to his right and entering the cabin, he saw FBI Director Paul Stumpf sitting in the first seat on the right side of the cabin. An open file was in his lap. Stumpf nodded to the seat across from him, and Kruger sat down.

  Paul Stumpf was in his mid-50s. At one time a dedicated marathon runner, he still maintained a lean body. But after having both knees replaced, he was starting to add a few pounds to his five-eleven frame. His hair was dark brown, perfectly styled, with no noticeable gray. Rimless glasses sat on an unremarkable nose in front of arctic blue eyes. Kruger knew Stumpf from his early career; he considered him a friend and was glad he helped propel the man into the directorship of the FBI.

  Before Kruger could sit down, he felt the G280 start to taxi back to the runway. “Thanks for the ride, Paul.”

  “Are you sure it’s him?”

  After placing his backpack on the floor next to him and buckling his seatbelt, Kruger turned to look at the director. “Ninety-nine point nine percent sure.”

  Stumpf smiled. “You always leave room for an escape, don’t you?”

  Kruger returned the smile, but said nothing.

  “Glad I was in St. Louis. We should have you on the ground in two and a half hours.”

  As the plane screamed down the runway, Kruger felt it lift and slide into the bright afternoon sky. “I called the Vegas field office. We should have several agents at Mandalay Bay by now. Hopefully, they can keep an eye on Bishop until we get there.”

  Looking up from the file, Stumpf removed his glasses and turned his attention to Kruger. “We might have a problem.”

  Kruger frowned and stared at his old friend. “How so?”

  “For some reason, I haven’t been able to find out why at this point, Franklin Dollar was transferred to the Vegas field office three months ago.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger put a hand over his now-closed eyes. “Don’t tell me they sent him to the hotel.”

  “Wish I could.”

  “Shit.”

  “I would call that an accurate assessment.”

  “Thought you transferred him to the Fargo office?”

  “I did. But since then I haven’t been keeping tabs on him. Guess I should have. All I know is for some reason, Personnel approved his request to be transferred out of Fargo. The Vegas office needed more agents and…”

  Kruger finished the sentence. “He received the transfer. Hope he learned his lesson after the fiasco in Kansas City.”

  Stumpf was quiet for several moments. He put his glasses back on and returned his attention to the open file.

  “We’ll see.”

  ***

  With Las Vegas in the Pacific Time Zone, the G280 landed thirty minutes later than their departure time from Springfield in the Central Time Zone. An agency car met them on the tarmac and shuttled them to a back entrance of the Mandalay Bay complex.

  They were met by Special Agent Franklin Dollar. He opened the door for Director Stumpf. “Glad you’re here, sir. We have the suspect under surveillance.”

  Franklin “Mint” Dollar was slender and five-foot-ten inches tall, with close-cropped coal-black hair. Kruger considered the man an incompetent, uninspiring, lazy ass-kisser. The last time he and Kruger worked together, Dollar declared a case closed—a habit of his—before a proper investigation could be completed. He complained to Paul Stumpf’s predecessor that Kruger was interfering with the investigation, resulting in Kruger being taken off the case, a case he solved not too long after Dollar was demoted and sent to Fargo.

  Stumpf did not shake Dollar’s proffered hand and instead stared him in the eyes.

  “
I hope you haven’t compromised this investigation agent. Randolph Bishop has been on the agency’s ten most wanted list for over six years. My sources tell me you haven’t seen him in thirty minutes.”

  “He’s behind closed doors in a meeting. We have the entrance secured waiting for your arrival.”

  Leaning closer to Dollar’s ear, Stumpf lowered his voice so no one else could hear. “So help me Franklin, if you’ve mucked this up, it will be your last act as an agent with the FBI.”

  Standing straight, he walked toward the door leading into the Casino.

  Dollar stood still, his eyes wide as he stared into the distance at nothing. Kruger passed him heading toward the door and just shook his head.

  ***

  JR and Mia sat at a wine bar across from the meeting rooms where Bishop was supposedly meeting with more investors. When Kruger walked up he gave Mia a hug and shook JR’s hand. He sat in the only empty chair left at the small bistro table and stared at the door to the meeting room. “How long has he been in there?”

  JR looked at his cell phone. “About forty-five minutes. He followed several men into the room and closed the door.”

  “Any other way in or out?”

  “Don’t know. Your buddy Dollar hasn’t been the most discreet observer I’ve ever witnessed.”

  Kruger turned his attention to JR. “He’s not my buddy. Tell me what happened.”

  “When Dollar arrived, he immediately went to the check-in counter demanding to see the hotel manager. He was flashing his credentials to anyone who would look at them. The other agents were rolling their eyes and staying as far away from him as possible. You could tell they weren’t proud to be associated with him.”

  Kruger once again stared at the door to the room across from the wine bar. “Wonderful. Do you think Bishop saw him arrive?”

  “Don’t know,” JR shook his head. “No way of telling. Everyone in the lobby and the casino area knew there were FBI agents looking for someone. If he was anywhere around…”

  Nodding, Kruger closed his eyes. “Our surveillance is blown.”

  “Probably a good assumption.”

  After several moments of silence, Kruger changed the subject. “The director wants to meet you while he’s here.”

  JR stiffened and sat straighter. “Why?”

  “Because he’s the Director of the FBI and wants to meet you.”

  “Again, why?”

  Kruger smiled. “Don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

  Several men and Paul Stumpf approached the meeting room door. JR nodded in their direction. “Looks like they’re going to force the issue.”

  Kruger stood and quickly walked toward the five men gathered at the door. One was the hotel manager, and the other three beside Stumpf were agents from the Las Vegas field office. Kruger did not know any of them. He pulled his lanyard with his credentials out of the inside breast pocket of his sport coat and hung it around his neck.

  Stumpf acknowledged Kruger’s arrival with a nod. “Glad you could join us, Agent Kruger.” He glanced toward the hotel manager. “Please open the door, Mr. Mathews.”

  Using his pass card, the man unlocked the door and stood aside. One of the local agents, gun drawn, pushed the door open and the director of the FBI, along with two other agents, stormed into the room.

  ***

  Paul Stumpf was furious. Kruger had known the man for twenty years and could not remember seeing him this agitated. The only occupants of the meeting room were three men from Dubai, waiting for the man they knew as Stephen Blair to return from the restroom.

  Stumpf turned to Kruger and growled, “Find Franklin Dollar and get his butt in here.”

  Suppressing a smile, Kruger nodded and left the room. Stumpf pointed at the tallest of the local agents. “Find out what you can from these gentlemen.” To the other agent, “Bishop can’t be too far. Find him.”

  The agent rushed out the door at the back of the meeting room just as Kruger followed Franklin Dollar through the front entrance.

  Stumpf glared at Dollar. “Did you bother to check to see if the room contained a second exit?”

  Dollar shook his head slightly.

  Taking a deep breath, Stumpf let it out slowly. “My next question should seem obvious, but with your performance over the past couple of years, it might not. Why?”

  Dollar stood straight, his shoulders back slightly. “The other agents should have checked. I was busy establishing rapport with hotel management.”

  Once again, Kruger suppressed a laugh, barely able to keep a smile off his face.

  Leaning in, Stumpf was inches from Dollar’s nose. “You were establishing rapport with hotel management? I’ve been told you were harassing them, flashing your credentials at anyone who would look your way. We’ve now lost track of a known serial killer because of your incompetence.”

  Dollar started to protest, but Stumpf cut him off. “You would be wise to keep quiet and seek counsel.”

  Now staring at his shoes, Dollar said nothing.

  Stumpf stood straight and took a calming breath. He turned to Kruger. “Agent Kruger, please relieve Mr. Dollar of his credentials and weapon. As of this moment he is suspended, pending a review by the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility.”

  Chapter 24

  Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino, Las Vegas, NV

  As the elevator door opened, Randolph Bishop observed the commotion at the casino check-in area. At the front desk, a man was berating a young woman and demanding to see someone from hotel management. When he started flashing his FBI credentials, Bishop bowed his head and hurried away from the bank of elevators in the opposite direction of the ruckus. Once he was at a safe distance he secured himself out of sight and watched the confrontation.

  The realization hit him that his masquerade as Stephen Blair was probably at an end. Frowning and taking a deep breath, his thoughts turned to escape. He had achieved the commitment of more gullible millionaires than he originally anticipated. In fact, before coming down the elevator for his next meeting, a message from one of his banks in Zurich confirmed twenty of the thirty investors already transferred money to his account. He didn’t realize how susceptible these individuals were to the prospects of doubling or tripling their initial investment. It had been child’s play. Checking the time on his cell phone, he realized he was a few minutes late for his next meeting with several princes from Dubai. Once this meeting was concluded, he would leave the hotel and execute his escape plan. He smiled, turned, and walked toward their prearranged meeting location.

  ***

  Forty minutes into his meeting with the Dubaian princes, Bishop struggled to mask his frustration and anger. The three men kept talking among themselves in Arabic. Their questions were becoming more technical as the meeting progressed. Questions he was finding more and more difficult to answer. Finally, Bishop excused himself to use the restroom and left through a rear entrance.

  With the FBI in the building and lack of progress in his meeting, he decided it was time to return to his room, pack, and leave. Taking the back way toward the bank of elevators he stopped and from a distance, saw a familiar face walking across a common area of the hotel. FBI Agent Sean Kruger.

  Bishop stopped and realized Kruger was joining a group of men preparing to enter the meeting room where the Dubai princes waited his return. Without hesitation and without waiting to see them enter the room, he hurried through the crowd near the check-in and casino area toward the front of the building. Once outside, he made a right turn and headed toward the parking valet for the hotel. Reaching into the front pocket of his suit pants, he made sure the flash drive with his files was there. His fingers felt the object. Satisfied, he withdrew his claim ticket from his suit coat breast pocket and handed it to a young male valet, who hurried off to retrieve his car.

  ***

  JR and Mia watched as Kruger exited the room and hurried toward the two FBI agents posted near the lobby of the hotel. One of them was Franklin
Dollar. Kruger pointed his finger at the man and motioned for him to return to the meeting room.

  “Uh oh,” JR sat straighter in his chair. “Something’s wrong.”

  As Kruger walked behind Dollar, he glanced across toward JR and Mia still sitting in the wine bar. He frowned and shook his head slowly.

  Mia looked over at JR. “Sean looks concerned and frustrated.”

  JR didn’t respond immediately. “Something tells me Bishop wasn’t in the room.”

  Five minutes after Dollar and Kruger disappeared into the room, Kruger was back out and motioned for the other FBI agent to join them in the room. The man hurried to where Kruger stood and listened for a few moments. Kruger handed him something, which the young agent slipped into his suitcoat breast pocket before sprinting toward the elevators.

  “He’s gone.”

  Mia looked at her husband. “What?”

  “Bishop wasn’t in the room. They’ve no idea where he is. This is going to get intense real fast.”

  ***

  Tim Gonzales, a recent graduate of the FBI Academy in his first assignment, barely made the height requirement. He made up for it with his strength. Broad shouldered with a thin waist, he could bench press three hundred pounds without straining. Born in Fort Worth, Texas, his proud parents were new citizens of the United States, having taken their oath the day after Tim’s graduation. Clean shaven, with short, coal-black hair, his face was tanned and male model handsome. He spoke English like a Texan and Spanish like a native of Mexico City, one of the reasons his first posting was in Vegas.