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

by J. C. Fields

  “You told me you didn’t vote for him. Sour grapes?”

  Shaking his head, Kruger put his coffee mug down after a sip. “No, nothing like that. I’ve seen the pattern before. He exhibits all the traits of a narcissist. While a president needs to have a strong ego, they also need some humility. He doesn’t, his ego will get him in trouble and possibly the country. I have a bad feeling he thinks he can do no wrong. Dangerous for a President of the United States. Did you vote for him?”

  “I didn’t vote. I don’t exist, remember?”

  Kruger smiled. “Got it. So, what do you want to do?”

  “If you go back to teaching, we won’t be running around the country chasing bad guys anymore. Right?”

  Kruger nodded. “No, we won’t. I don’t want to stick my head in the ground, but Stephanie wants me to go back to the university. She’s never mentioned it, but I can tell it’s the direction she would prefer.”

  “Yeah, Mia’s making noise about me following your lead. The baby is due in a month, and she thinks I need to be around to help.” He paused briefly. “I tend to agree with her.”

  “Did you tell Mia everything?”

  JR shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I told her most of it, but left out the part about who fired the shot. I just told her he was no longer a problem.”

  “It’ll be our secret.”

  “So, what are we going to do?” JR sipped on his coffee again.

  Silence was his answer as Kruger stared out the windows of the conference room. After taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “I’m going back to the university for the spring semester. Stephanie is right; I need to concentrate on our family.”

  “You’ll be bored.”

  “Probably. What about you?”

  “Like I told you earlier, I won’t work for anyone but you. Guess that means I get to concentrate on my family and company again.”

  “So, you’ll be bored as well.”

  JR nodded.

  ***

  Stephanie glanced out the breakfast nook window and saw her husband sitting in a chair on the back deck. It was after nine and dark with a cold wind blowing in from the northwest. She opened the door and stepped out. “Aren’t you getting cold?”

  The light from the kitchen window barely illuminated his frame. Kruger shook his head without saying anything.

  She walked up behind him and put her arms around him. He did not respond.

  “What’s wrong, Sean?”

  He shook his head, again.

  Stephanie frowned and sat down in the chair beside him. “Something is up. Tell me.”

  He handed her his cell phone. “I received a call from Allen Boone a few minutes ago. He sent that after we finished talking.”

  She looked at the phone. On the screen was a picture and an obituary. “Did you know her?”

  “No, the only time I saw her was after Randolph Bishop invaded her home and assaulted her. Her name was Rosie Singleton. She was unconscious when we found her.”

  Stephanie handed the phone back to him. He took it and stared at the screen for a few moments. “Allen told me she passed away in a skilled nursing facility two days ago. She was sent there due to being in a catatonic state from the time the EMT’s got her to the hospital until she died.”

  Stephanie remained quiet and started to shiver.

  He looked over at her. “You’re cold, go on in. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’m fine. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’ll be fine, too.” He stared out into the darkness of the back yard. “She was married twice and divorced twice. The Boone County Sheriff’s department told Allen there are records of domestic violence against her by the two ex-husbands.”

  Stephanie remained still and let him talk.

  “Apparently, she got rid of the husbands and was getting her life together. Then Bishop followed her home.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We found a plane ticket in her house. She was supposed to leave for a week long cruise. Friends told the sheriff’s department she had been saving several years for it.”

  The cold wind ruffled his hair as he continued to stare into the night sky.

  “Bishop followed her home the night before she was to leave.”

  With the dim light from the kitchen window Stephanie wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw moisture in the corner of her husband’s eye. She remained silent.

  Kruger shook his head slightly. “I thought we were in time to rescue one of Bishop’s victims.” He sighed and returned his attention back to her. “Guess I was wrong.”

  Epilogue

  Bangkok, Thailand

  Two days before the Inauguration of a new United States President

  He was a small framed man, skinny, and barely five feet tall. Originally from the southern part of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, Trinh Huy was an important man in this isolated neighborhood of Bangkok. Known for giving money to the poor and homeless children who occupied the back alleys, he commanded respect from everyone who dealt with him. If anyone showed disrespect, they simply vanished. Officially an exporter of silk, his real money was earned from the illicit sex and drug trade of Thailand. In addition to giving to the poor, he was an enormous financial supporter of Islamic militants in Malaysia. He also retained a fifty-year loathing of the United States.

  The identification of Huy as Randolph Bishop’s contact was made by JR from his computer tap of the NSA computer servers. Huy used only one cell phone to conduct his regular business. It was registered to a shell company in Bangkok, and Huy’s name was not associated with the phone or the company. By monitoring the cell number and the use of well-placed resources in Bangkok, JR and Joseph had narrowed the possible suspects to two individuals.

  With this information, Knoll’s team was dispatched to Bangkok to place both suspects under observation. The identification of Bishop’s contact was soon confirmed, and afterwards, placed under constant surveillance by the team.

  Huy’s moves and activities were monitored. While the team already knew his cell phone protocol was sloppy, they discovered he frequented the same restaurants on a routine basis. By the third week, the team had a plan.

  ***

  In a sixth-floor room of an older hotel several blocks from one of the cafés frequented by Huy, a large man with closely cropped blond hair stood at the left side of a triple wide window, a pair of binoculars in front of his eyes.

  “You smell like garlic and cloves.” Sandy Knoll did not divert his eyes from the binoculars as he spoke.

  Jimmy Gibbs was prone behind the scope of a Remington MSR sniper rifle. He smiled but did not remove his eye from the scope. “I like Thai food. You should try it sometimes, Major.”

  “Gives me gas.”

  Gibbs wore baggy cargo pants and an ivory linen shirt. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail and secured with an elastic hair tie. “Any sign of him yet?”

  “No. Is there a back entrance?”

  “Yeah, but the owner keeps it locked because beggars wander in from the alley.”

  “Good.” Knoll kept his eyes on the restaurant.

  Silence filled the room as both men waited for their target to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, their patience was rewarded. “Got him. One hundred meters to your right, heading toward the café.”

  Gibbs moved the aim of the suppressed rifle to his right and found Huy walking with two bodyguards, one in front and the other behind. He was surrounded by little kids, their hands out begging for money. Frowning, Gibbs took his eye off the scope. “Don’t like it. What do you think?”

  “I don’t either. Too many kids.” Knoll was quiet for a few moments as he thought. “If he follows his habit, he’ll pause after he walks out of the restaurant to light a cigarette.”

  Nodding, Gibbs remained quiet.

  After Huy entered the café, Knoll lowered the binoculars. “Stand down for a few. He’ll be in there for at least an hour.”

  “I’m good. Don’t want
to miss him.”

  After a few quiet moments, Knoll shook his head. “I don’t understand. There are jihadists in the mountains of Afghanistan who practice better phone security than this clown. When they use cell phones, they use burners, but this moron has used the same phone for a year. He doesn’t even rotate where he eats or sleeps.”

  “Guess he feels safe,” Gibbs replied. “Who knows? Makes our job easier.” His right eye was still behind the scope of the rifle. “Tell me the distance again.”

  “Five hundred and eleven meters.”

  Nodding, Gibbs looked at the dials on the scope. Satisfied they were set correctly, he settled back behind it to wait.

  The hour passed slowly. Knoll kept his binoculars on a beggar with long stringy hair and soiled clothing sitting next to the window of the café. The beggar stood, started to shuffle away and nodded once.

  Knoll stiffened. “Show time. Bobby just signaled Huy is coming out. Get ready.”

  “Got him. Bodyguards are behind him.”

  “Sloppy. They should be in front.”

  Gibbs did not comment. His concentration was total as he fell into his zone. His breathing slowed and became rhythmic.

  “He’s walking out.”

  Taking an easy breath, his finger moved to the trigger of the MSR and he started to squeeze. When Huy stopped to light a cigarette, his forehead was in the crosshairs as the trigger broke. The .338 Lapua 250 grain round left the rifle with a velocity of 2,970 feet per second and a sound no louder than a book falling on a desk. The din of street traffic below masked the sound as the bullet struck its target half a second later.

  Huy stumbled backward from the force of the bullet as blood and brain tissue sprayed the men behind. The body crumpled to the sidewalk as surprised diners watched him fall.

  Knoll kept his eyes on the man until he was on the ground and the astonished body guards started looking for the source of the shot. A broad smile appeared. “Bingo, target down.”

  Gibbs’ latex gloved hand patted the MSR as he stood. “I’ll miss this one. Too bad we have to leave it.”

  Minutes later, both men were seated in a rental car heading east toward the airport.

  About the Author

  J.C. Fields is an award winning writer living in Battlefield, MO. He enjoys creating short stories and novels in the mystery/thriller genre, with an occasional foray into science fiction. He is member of the Springfield Writers’ Guild and Missouri Writer’s Guild. He has written and published numerous short stories and three full length novels: The Fugitive’s Trail, published in 2015, The Assassin’s Trail released summer of 2016, and his third novel, The Impostor’s Trail, in July 2017.

  All three are available on Amazon.com, with audio versions available on Audible.com.

  Visit his website at www.jcfieldsbooks.com. Follow him on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jcfieldsbooks/