No Good Options
Page 6
Devlin gripped his jacket’s lapels and shoved him toward the officer. “He’s all yours.”
The agent took Crane into custody and ushered him away from the scene.
The deputy director cranked his head toward Devlin. “I have many, many connections. I’m confident we’ll see each other again.”
“All right.” One hand on a hip, Randall rubbed the back of his neck. “Assuming he did kidnap your sister, why would he do that? What was his end game?”
“My best guess...leverage. Use Faith to get to me.” Devlin whipped out her phone. “Then—”
“Use you to somehow get him his freedom.”
“That’s my theory. I have to contact Thorn. If this is true, then we’ve been looking in the wrong place for our man in black. Instead of criminal databases,” she put her mobile to her ear, “we should be scouring our own agency database for possible matches.”
*******
Following a short conversation with Thorn, Devlin ended the call. Her phone in hand, her concentration centered on the device, “There—” she faltered as a tingling mass filled her stomach and inched northward. “There are...No Good Options here, Noah.”
“What do you mean?”
“If Crane has kidnapped Faith, and we continue searching for her, we risk letting him get away. Then, when he feels he’s safe, he could just order her to be killed, anyway.” Devlin spied Randall. “And, if we go after Crane, we’re further away from locating those who have my sister. We can’t be in two places at once.”
He half shut an eye at her. “Or can we?”
She frowned. “What are you talk—” she looked away then came back to him in the next instant. “We split up.”
He nodded. “You stay here, and I’ll head back to Virginia and pick up Crane’s trail.”
“We work this from both ends.”
“And meet in the middle.”
“I like it, but,” Devlin chewed her lower lip while pondering for a moment, “as much as I want to be here...closer to Faith, I have more contacts in Virginia than you do. It makes more sense for me to fly back.”
“It’s your call. I can continue,” he threw a finger around while observing apartment doors, “talking to people here. And if we get a hit on the man in black, through facial recognition, I can then pursue that lead.”
“Crane is toxic right now. He’ll be looking to get out of the country. He may have connections, but many of them won’t be willing to stick out their necks for him at this point.”
“That’ll narrow the search a bit.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” She jammed her cell into a pocket. “I’m going to go grab my stuff and get to the airport.” She cranked her head around to stare at Faith’s apartment door. Her mind showed her the mess inside while adding disturbing images of her sister’s current situation. “Hey Noah.” She turned toward him. “Please...”
Noticing the pained expression on her face, he took her by the upper arms. “I’ll find her, Jessica. Believe me. You’ve only seen a hint of what I’m capable of. I’m not afraid to crack skulls to get what I want. And right now, I want what you want...to find your sister.”
“I know. I know. Thank you. It just feels like I’m,” Devlin wavered, “like I’m abandoning her, you know?”
“You’re not. You’re leaving her with me. And I hope by now you know...you can trust me.”
“I do.” She nodded. “I do trust you, Noah.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Good. Call me when you know something, and I’ll do the same from here.”
“I will.” She trotted toward the elevator before doing a one-eighty and walking backwards. “Can you get me a ride to the airport?”
Randall took out his cell phone. “On it.”
“I need to contact Thorn and,” she banged the ‘down’ arrow next to the steel doors, “have her find me a jet that’s heading to Virginia.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 11
That’s What I’ve Heard
1:41 P.M. (LOCAL TIME)
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
Standing at the back door of a dilapidated building in a run-down section of Richmond, Devlin pressed a button, looked up and to her right, and zeroed in on a dime-sized hole, a hole that she knew acted as a window for a small camera.
Fifteen seconds later, a voice from a hidden speaker: “It seems I’m quite popular today.”
A buzzer sounded, and a latch released.
“You know the way.”
Having been here before, Devlin entered the structure and took a set of stairs to the basement.
Back in Seattle, with no government planes available, Deputy Director Thorn had worked her contacts and gotten her agent on a private jet, a Cessna Citation X+.
Its twin Rolls Royce AE3007 C1 turbofan engines providing 6764 pounds of thrust each, the Cessna had zipped across the country at 700 miles per hour, shaving an hour off her return trip to Virginia.
During the flight, Devlin had placed a half a dozen calls to former contacts, but none had produced credible results on where Crane might seek help. Thirty minutes out from the airport, she had been informed that a Toyota had been stolen near where the SUV with the dead deputy marshals had been abandoned. That Toyota had then been spotted at a gas station in Ashland, Virginia a short time later.
Following her target’s path from Alexandria to Fredericksburg to Ashland, Devlin had studied a map of the state on her phone. Knowing Crane would be looking to get out of the country, she had examined cities further south before she had wagged her finger at Richmond.
Landing at Richmond International Airport, the marshal had hopped into a Chevy Tahoe, that her boss had waiting for her, and driven to this part of Richmond to see a man she had crossed paths with earlier in her career.
Devlin negotiated a dark hallway, parted a wall of hanging beads, and stepped into a wide-open, dimly lit room.
Surrounded by computer equipment and seated at a large rectangular table with more devices on it, a man rose from his perch and limped away from the stool to greet his guest. “It’s been a while, Deputy Marshal Devlin.”
Deciding not to correct him on her new title, she approached his workstation and spied a pristine computer, monitor, printer, and scanner. “I see the fake identity business has been good to you, Sasha.”
The man who had been forced to flee Russia for double-crossing the Russian Mafia, but not before taking a bullet in his left leg, held a shrug. “Who knew there were so many people seeking to disappear these days?”
“Is Michael Crane one of those people?”
Rubbing a spot on his left thigh, the source of his limp, the man dialed up a faint grin. “A man in my profession takes confidentiality very seriously.”
Devlin drew her Colt and let the weapon hang loosely at her side.
Sasha pumped hands her way. “What is it with you people and your guns?”
“I’m on a tight schedule. Don’t screw with me, Sasha. Has Crane been by to see you?”
His crooked spine not allowing him to reach his full five-six height, the man looked up at Devlin, glimpsed her firearm, and eyed her again. “He has.”
“For a new identity?”
“Yes.”
“What is it...the new ID?”
“The deputy director and I had an agreement...he allowed me to operate my business in exchange for me providing useful information on certain high-value criminals that may one day seek my services.”
She huffed and shook her head at the floor. No wonder I was told to back off.
A few years ago, poised to arrest Sasha for beating up a high-priced call girl, Devlin had received orders from her boss instructing her to stand down. Her superior had gotten the directive from then Deputy Director Crane.
“May I assume that agreement will be honored by whoever takes over for him?”
Squinting at the squirrelly man, she envisioned herself slapping a pair of handcuffs on hi
m, bending his frame further in half, and shoving him into the back of her Tahoe. She sighed. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for that. “Sure. Whatever. Tell me everything you know about Crane, and I’ll see what I can do.”
*******
10:56 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Having spent the last four hours talking with residents of Faith’s apartment building and not getting any closer to finding the missing woman, Randall met Detective Harker in the lobby. “Any luck?”
Harker shook his head. “No one remembers seeing the man in the black suit. And still no hits on facial recognition either.”
Noticing the coffee machine that he had seen yesterday, Randall dug out a handful of change from a pants pocket and plucked a couple quarters from his palm. “Coffee?”
“No. Thanks. I’ve already had three cups.”
Randall inserted two coins into the machine’s slot.
His phone buzzed.
He eyed the screen before taking the call. “Deputy Director Thorn...any news?”
His phone vibrated again.
“My techs got a hit through face rec. I just sent you a file.”
Randall opened the communique, scanned the information, and put the cell back to his cheek. “So he is a deputy marshal.”
“And it appears Deputy Marshal Mason has close ties with the former DD. You have his last known address. Go check it out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I have people working on known associates in the Marshals Service as well as other properties Mason may own...or people he knows may own. If his home turns out to be a dead end, I’ll have other places for you soon. Get going, Randall.”
“One question.”
“What is it?”
“I realize Mason is law enforcement, so,” he paused, “what are the rules of engagement here?”
“Jessica has told me you have terrific...instincts shall we say. So, regardless of his title, if you suspect he has anything to do with her sister’s abduction,” the line went silent for a few seconds, “then you put those instincts to good use.”
“That’s all I needed to hear, ma’am.” Randall clicked off, retrieved his coins from the machine, and jogged over to Harker. “I need your car keys.”
Sitting, the detective stood. “What? Why? Where are you going? Have you found something?”
Recalling Thorn’s words...you put those instincts to good use, Randall stared Harker square in the eye. “I think it’s best if I go it alone from here.”
“What are you talking about? If you know something, I need to know. This is my city. I’m—”
“That’s right. You’re a cop here, and that’s exactly why you need to let me handle this...my way.”
“What the hell does that mean? What is your way?”
“Let’s just say that before I became a deputy marshal, I...I handled delicate situations for my country—our country—in places you probably never knew existed.”
Harker slowly nodded at the other man. Delicate situations. “Special Forces? Black ops?”
“I can’t say. But I can tell you this. My main objective here is getting Faith back to those who love her.” His mind recalling the photo he had viewed on his phone, the picture of Deputy Marshal Mason, Randall flexed his jaw muscles. “Making an arrest...is not.”
After a few moments of reflection, catching the other man’s violent hidden meaning, Harker handed over the keys to his Dodge Charger. “As far as I know, you just asked to borrow my car? You never told me where you were going.”
Randall smiled. “Thank you, Detective.”
“She doesn’t deserve any of this. Faith’s a good person. Everyone at the precinct likes her, respects her.”
Trotting toward the front doors, Randall remembered the people he had met. From Detective Harker to Officer Duncan—the female cop on the elevator, to the tenants he had interviewed, all of them had good things to say about Faith Mahoney. He turned back to acknowledge the detective. “That’s what I’ve heard, too.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 12
I Have a Lead
2:07 P.M. (LOCAL TIME)
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
Her fingers thumping her mobile phone, Devlin scrambled into the Chevy Tahoe. She banged the ‘speakerphone’ icon, tossed the cell onto the passenger seat, fired up the engine, and peeled out while reaching to close her door.
Randall’s voice: “I was just getting ready to—”
“I have a lead on Crane.” She jerked the steering wheel left and right a block later to zip around a car entering traffic on her right.
A horn honked.
“That’s great.”
“He’s got a new name, and,” she stretched her seatbelt across her body and jammed the tongue into the latch, “he’s changed his appearance.”
“That’s not so great.”
“Don’t worry.” She settled into her seat. “I have both his new name and look. He’s chartered a jet that’s taking off from a private airstrip. I’m on my way there now.”
“Where’s he heading to?”
“My informant arranged a few destinations for him. But that won’t matter if I can cut Crane off at the airstrip. How are you coming along?”
Randall updated his partner, relaying what Thorn had told him and that he was driving to Deputy Marshal Mason’s place.
“I really do wish I was there with you, Noah.”
“Sounds like you have your hands full where you are.”
“You have no idea how much this is tearing me up inside. Please let me know the minute you have her.”
“You know I will. Be safe.”
“You too.” She disconnected the call and smacked her palm on the steering wheel before gripping it tighter and letting her foot get heavier on the accelerator. Zipping in and out of traffic, she recalled the last time she had seen Faith. The two were waving goodbye to each other while the younger woman drove away from Devlin’s house. A minute later, Devlin’s thoughts turned to the Divine.
Oh, God...I haven’t called on You very much, lately. I’m sorry. I’m trying to change that. But right now, I need You. Faith needs You. Please help Noah get to her in time. And help me catch the son-of-a-bit— she stopped herself and shot a look toward the ceiling. Sorry. She quickly touched her forehead, heart, left and right shoulder, making the sign of the cross. Have patience with me, Lord. I’m just getting back into this prayer thing again.
*******
11:24 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
Randall parked Harker’s Charger a few houses down from Deputy Marshal Mason’s small, single-story home that was located on a quiet street. He strolled by the target house while using his peripheral vision to scan for signs of life inside. He saw none.
After rounding the next street corner, he jogged a block over, hopped a fence, and slipped into Mason’s backyard. After peeking through a garage window, and not seeing a vehicle, he tried the back door. It was locked.
He hurried down an empty driveway on the north side of the dwelling, the side that faced away from the nearest neighbor, the side that gave him the most concealment. Glimpsing the other homes, searching for anyone taking extra interest in him—and spotting no one—he crept onto the front porch.
Randall swung out a screen door, held it open with the toe of his shoe, gripped the main door’s knob, and applied pressure.
The knob never moved.
Knowing his lock picks were back in New Orleans, he spied the doorbell. If he has Faith in there, he won’t be too receptive to visitors.
His gaze shifted to a glass pane halfway up the door. Go in hard and fast and, he peeled back the right half of his suit coat, exposing a Walther PPQ45 in a hip holster, take him by surprise. He freed the 45 ACP. Then again...if he’s innocent, he won’t appreciate the rude interruption. Randall half shrugged. I’ll ask for forgiveness.
He smashed the window
with his left elbow, quickly undid a deadbolt, pushed open the door, and charged into a tidy living room while swinging the Walther left and right. His nose picked up a hint of potpourri coming from somewhere. His eyes adjusted to the low light, and he saw an empty kitchen on the opposite side of the dwelling.
After a speedy search of two bedrooms and a bathroom, he searched for a basement door. Finding none, he holstered his weapon and began a thorough inspection of the whole place, beginning with the bedrooms.
Coming to the kitchen, he peeked inside cupboards, drawers, and a trash can before spotting black flakes in the sink. He touched one, and the speck disintegrated. Spreading apart the garbage disposer’s rubber flaps, he saw more flakes.
Snatching a small pair of tongs, he worked carefully to remove all the scraps he could see and place them on the kitchen table.
Ten minutes into putting his puzzle together, he growled under his breath and made a call, connecting with another party on the third ring.
“Deputy Director Thorn speaking.”
“It’s Randall, ma’am. I’m at Mason’s, and I’ve found something. It looks like burned pieces of paper.” He shook his head. “But I can’t make heads or tails of what’s written on them. You’ll have to get the lab people out here to work their magic on this. It’s beyond my capabilities.” He looked up from the table. “Do you have the next property for me to check out?”
“It turns out there are several people in the Marshals Service with ties to Mason...as well as many, many properties. We’re going to have to enlist the aid of local police.”
“Understood, ma’am. Just,” he rotated a white shred with irregularly shaped, charred edges, “give me,” before squinting at some numbers. “Ma’am, do you have a list of addresses for these properties in front of you?”
“I do.”
“Do any of them start with the numbers one-one-zero-one?”
“Hold on.”
Swaying to the left to view the white snippet without the sun glaring off it, he tried to make out a letter to the right of the numbers.