Deliverer (10 page)

Chapter 18

Truman stood on the paved circle drive, reviewing the raid briefly with Grey to make sure he and his team felt prepared and competent. Grey and team climbed into the black cargo van and headed down the mountain.

Truman waited until they were gone before making his own exit. He paused next to his yellow Camaro. Better take a car that wasn't so flashy. He backed one of the old black cars out of the garage. It clunked all the way down the gravel drive, and Truman hoped fervently it wouldn’t die on the way to the highway.

Claber called just as Truman reached the bottom. "Jefferson says the girls are in custody in Rome, New York. The police are following orders to the T, and Jefferson expects to have them before nightfall."

Truman gnawed on his lip. "I won't get there in time. I'm on my way to the airport now. Can you meet him?"

"I'm on the eastern side of the state. I'll head that way, but the girls will beat me."

Jefferson would hate this. "Have him hold them somewhere for a few hours. One of us will be there shortly."

"I'll call him."

#

An hour and a half later, Truman checked into the Quebec International airport terminal as Alex King. His phone rang while Truman handed his matching credit card over to the attendant. He missed the call, but before he could grab it to check the caller, it began ringing again.

Thanking the attendant and securing his passport and tickets, Truman backed into a corner and answered. "Hello."

"Boss." Claber's voice hissed through the receiver. "The brats got away again."

What Claber was saying was absolutely impossible, and it took Truman several seconds to find his voice. "That can't be."

"It is. Remember those two boys? They followed the police cruiser and caused an accident. They've all vanished."

Truman couldn't breathe. Here he was with a plane ticket in hand, ready to have the girls in his possession. And once again, they had evaded him. "Find them," he said, and his voice shook. "Find them, or it's your head!"

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stared at the boarding pass. He didn't need to go right now, not if the girls had vanished again. M
cAllister's timeline was about up and he still needed to finish planning his escape route.

He stepped back in line at the terminal. He had no power here, and he hoped they wouldn't have a problem changing his departure date by four days.

#

Alone again in the big house, Truman double-checked his luggage, making sure he had the essentials. Then he went through the jewels in the safe, counting and adding. All accounted for. And he'd make several million off them, as soon as he found a buyer.

He ignored the crushing anxiety that built in his head. These things took time. A trinket in this city, another in a different city. Selling the jewelery couldn't be rushed, not if he wanted to get the best price.

There was always Ebay.

The thought drew up the corners of his mouth, but just as quickly, he sighed. Too easy to track.

The early morning hours crept on, and Truman
spent the majority of them tracking western routes in Alaska and comparing them with the ability to fly out to several different island groupings. His escape had to be remote, invisible, and perfect. His lids began to close around two a.m. He stretched out on the couch and fell asleep.

He didn't wake until noon
when Barley licked him right across his nose. Bright midday sunlight streamed through the windows on the second floor. Barley sat back in the middle of his stacks of papers.

“
Thanks, boy,” he said with only a hint of sarcasm as he gathered maps and google printouts from under Barley’s large paws. Truman blinked at the bright sunlight that was flooding the corner of the room where the couch sat nestled against a wall. He glanced at his phone, surprised no one had tried to contact him.

He wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He tried Jefferson first. After a few rings, a mechanical voice said, "The mailbox is full. Please try again later."

Not a good sign. Pausing before he poured the milk, Truman called Claber. "Any news from our contact?"

"No. I did hear from Alfred; he believes he found a flight itinerary for Gregorio Rivera. It has contact information we don't have. Could be fake, but it's something to explore."

"Yeah, do that. He'll make a mistake soon. His daughter’s life is at risk. Were the girls found?"

"I haven't heard anything."

"I'll try Jefferson's office number." An idea popped into Truman's head. "Claber, put Sanders in charge. I need you here."

"There?" Claber sounded
a little ticked off. "But the girls are here."

"You're the only one who's ever accompanied me to sell the goods. You're the only one I trust. I need to set up a plan with you to sell these jewels. They do me no good sitting in a safe in the closet. Leave the van with Sanders and get up here."

Appealing to Claber's vanity worked. “I'll drive up in the Bennett brothers’ car,” he said. “I'll be there in a few days."

"Hurry. I'm flying out in three."

Truman hesitated before calling Jefferson's business line. For some reason, the man wasn't answering his phone. Truman hoped he wouldn’t have to remind him about his loyalties.

#

Truman scanned the online newspaper one more time.

A car pulled into the garage. His phone buzzed on the table. But none of these things pulled him away from the headline on his tablet.

"Pennsylvania Cop Kills Himself."

The front door opened, but still Truman didn't stir.

"I'm here," Claber said, entering the room. "Didn't you see my text?"

"I ignored it," Truman answered, reading the article again. "Jefferson's dead."

"Who killed him?"

"He did." No other policemen were thus far indicated in the coup. Several unknowingly aided him, assuming his orders came from his superiors. "They raided his office,” Truman said. “Confiscated his computer."

Claber gave a low whistle. "Will it point back to us?"

"No. The man was too smart for that. He wouldn't leave anything that would incriminate him." But a trickle of worry crept down Truman’s spine. Jefferson might have left a trace somewhere. A notepad. A phone number. Something. He shrugged it off. "At any rate, he's dead now. Worse, the FBI probably have the girls."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and then Claber said, "So that's it, then. We're through? The little sluts win?"

Truman shook his head. "We can't quit, man. We can't! We have too much at stake.
The girls are our only option. We carry on. Pack a bag and load up the car. Tomorrow we'll head out, you to sell those jewels and me for the States. Tonight we rest."

"There's one other thing," Claber said. "I left Derek Bennett with Sanders, but he's a mess. I don't think he'll be much help to the mission."

Truman felt bad that they'd lost Danny. He tried not to think about the Rivera girl, though he couldn’t help regarding her with a mixture of fascination and curiosity. "I'll call him tomorrow and bring him home for a bit. Let him relax."

#

The sound of heavy vehicles driving across the gravel woke Truman. He lay face down on his king-sized bed, the blue sheet damp under his mouth. He stumbled out of bed and peered out the sliding glass door. Bright morning sunshine danced across the wooden slats of the balcony, and he squinted, trying to see who was arriving at this time of day. Grey and his team weren't expected back until tomorrow.

He jerked back from the window so quickly that he stubbed his toe on the end table. Wincing and swearing, he found his pants and yanked them on.

"Claber!" he yelled, throwing the door of his room open and running into the hallway. "Claber!"

Another door opened and his second-in-command stumbled out, wearing only boxers and the beginnings of a beard. "What is it, Boss?" he grunted.

"McAllister."

That was all he needed to say. Claber was awake in an instant, running back in to grab a shirt and a gun. It appeared McAllister's patience had run out.

Truman ran a hand through his hair, mind blanking. It was only him and Claber here. The others were out on assignments. His suitcase and the jewels were in the car, ready for departure. He ran into his office and grabbed the file folders with all of his contacts' information.

There was a loud banging on the front door. Truman could hear it three stories up.

"Let's go!" Truman hollered at Claber. "To the garage!"

"Truman!" The voice roared as though from a speaker.

Barley began barking. Truman looked back but couldn't see the dog. He risked a glance out the nearest window and quickly ducked. Four black GMCs surrounded the front of the house, blocking the front door. Several men had machine guns trained at the building. Truman looked at his pistol.  A lot of help this would be.

"Time's up, Truman! We're coming in!"

Truman streaked past Claber, his face flushed. "Go go go. Down. Barley! Come! Get everything out of the car and into a van. Our only choice is to push past their blockade. Barley!"

They ran down the stairs, Claber stopping to grab various valuable art pieces. Truman ignored them all. Suddenly he hated this house, hated his father, hated this life of subterfuge and deception. Grinding his jaws together, he hurtled into the garage
, Barley barking behind him. The metal door of the garage began to ping as the men outside opened fire. Truman popped the trunk to the car and together they hauled their suitcases out and threw them into the van. Claber jumped into the driver's seat and Truman sank into the passenger seat. He looked out the door, but Barley wasn’t in sight. “Barley!”

“We can’t wait,” Claber snapped, the van engine sputtering to life.

“Barley!” No sign of him. Why hadn’t he followed Truman into the garage?

“Close the door!” Claber ordered. “I’m opening the garage!”

“Not yet—” Truman started, but Claber had already hit the control. Truman swore, slamming the door and sliding low into the seat.

Bullets began pinging against the bumper before the door was halfway up. Claber hit the gas. The top of the van screeched as it skimmed under the door. Claber drove in a crazy motion, avoiding vehicles and knocking over men. A bullet shattered the windshield, and Truman threw his arms up instinctively. Then they were jolting down the gravel hill.

"Don't look back," Truman grunted. "Just get them off our tail. Head for the airport."
Sorry, Barley.
He felt guilty for putting so much value on an animal’s life, but he hoped the dog could save himself.

In the back of the van he had about four million dollars worth of jewels. It wouldn't pay off the ten million on his head. "We need those girls. We've got to find them before I have no chance of paying off my debt."

Claber didn’t respond.

A million for the necklace, a million for the redhead, and maybe two million for the
Carnicero
's
daughter. Someone with a vendetta against the
Carnicero
might even pay more for her. On the other hand, the
Carnicero
could afford a hefty ransom. Either way, with eight million and the money from his accounts, he might be able to buy back his freedom. Might.

Chapter 19

"Excellent work, Alfred." Truman paced around the dim motel room in Sleazeville, California, restless with nervous energy. Alfred’s sleuthing into the
Carnicero
was paying off. Now they had contact info to go with the name. Truman pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Even if the email we have for the
Carnicero
doesn't work, I'm sure his employers have a way of contacting him.

"Not only that," Alfred said, "but if they know we’ve tracked them down, they'll pressure him to accept our offer."

Either that, or they'll make silencing us a priority.
The grim thought crept into Truman's mind uninvited. He made a conscious effort to loosen his jaw, rubbing at the sore muscle by his ear. "Right. I have another assignment for you."

"Yes?"

"Go back to Idaho. I want surveillance on the girls' houses. If you see police coming or going, make note. Check their mail every day, even if you have to sneak into the mail truck to get it before they do. Anything from the girls or the FBI, grab it."

"Yes, sir. I'll head that way now. I should get there tonight, if I hurry. But just me, for all four houses?"

Truman considered the question. "I know it seems like a lot, but you won't have anything else to do. This will keep you vigilant. I'll send Sanders out to join you."

"I'll let you know what we find out."

Truman hung up the phone and called Claber. "What time's your meeting with the dealer?"

"In about two hours."

Truman could practically hear the sunshine of Panama pouring through the phone. At least Claber had safely made it to South America. With any luck, McAllister had no idea where they were now. "Call me as soon as the deal's done."

"Right."

Sanders was next. Truman thumbed through his contacts and pressed the name. "Sanders, it's Truman. I need you to assist Alfred in Idaho. Call him and meet up with him."

"Sir?" Sanders said. "I'm with Derek. Bennett," he added, as if Truman didn't know. "Do you want him to come with me?"

Translation: the man wasn't ready to handle anything on his own.

"No," Truman said. This might work out really well, after all. "Tell him to stay in New York. Lay low in a motel. I'll be heading east soon."

"Got it. I'll get in touch with Alfred."

Truman put the phone down and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. California was the other side of the continent from Victoriaville; also from where he wanted to be. He hoped it would throw McAllister even further off his trail. If his contacts were extensive, and Truman suspected they were, he probably had people monitoring the arrivals at airports on the east coast.

Truman risked a quick glance through the blinds, checking out the dingy street below. Vacant. He drew back, hoping no one had spotted him. How good was McAllister? Did he have Truman's American alias? If so, it wouldn't take him long to hunt down Alex King.

The dismal thoughts were easier to entertain than the optimist ones. He tried to picture finding the girls, selling two of them for ridiculous amounts of money, and keeping Sara with him. He couldn't keep her safe unless she was with him. There were bad men out there, monsters. Criminals.

He wasn't one of them. He supported more than a dozen men and families. He worked hard to make sure he wasn't hurting anyone personally. Sara had to see that.

By lunchtime the next day, Truman felt like an imprisoned man. He couldn't stay here much longer.

His phone rang. Alfred. He turned the speaker on and leaned over his phone. "Yes?"

"I got a letter here from one of the girls."

Truman could hardly believe it. He'd known it was only a matter of time before something broke through, but he'd started to feel like he'd been locked up forever. "Read it to me."

Alfred read the brief letter. Truman knew even before Alfred reached the end that the letter was from Sara. He could tell from the way she wrote.

The letter gave nothing away. Sara mentioned only that they had been found by the FBI and they were safe. "What do you think?" he asked Alfred.

"Well... she doesn't say much. Do you think it will lead us to her?"

"Best to have all our bases covered. What's the postmark on the letter?"

"Four days ago."

"What city?"

"Cleveland, Ohio."

Truman pulled up another website. "That's good enough for now. Let me know of any other developments." He studied the locations of FBI offices in Ohio. They had field offices in Cincinnati and Cleveland. But the girls wouldn't be at offices. They would be sequestered away in a private location, unknown to the rest of the world.

What he needed was an inside man.

He got on the phone again, grateful at least for this piece of useful technology. He had spoken to Grey briefly after McAllister's attack on the house, telling him to get to a different state than the one they'd just raided and wait for his call. Now, at least, he knew where he wanted to send that team. "Grey, I want you, Rodriguez, and Christof to go to Ohio. I need an employee roster for all the FBI agents there. You'll probably have to get one of our police officers on the job."

"I don't have a list," Grey said. "Do we have anyone in Ohio?"

Truman sat on the motel bed and startling rifling through his papers. What used to be organized files in a cabinet was now a mess of papers tossed about on the unused second bed. At least he'd managed to grab this stuff before fleeing the house. "Yes. Adam Dunn. I'll text you his number. Be careful with him; he's an informant only. Don't push him too far or he'll back out."

"Won't the police know where the girls are?"

"No." Truman shook his head. "They won't even know the girls are found, if the FBI are keeping it quiet. Just tell him you need a roster with all the agents in all the offices, big and small, across the state. I'll start narrowing it down from there."

"Okay."

Invigorated, Truman hung up the phone and began packing. Game plan. Finally. He'd start in Cleveland, where Sara had mailed the letter. At least he knew she'd been there. Time to catch a flight.

He made a call to the front desk. "Taxi, please. To the airport. Charge the card on file. I'll sign when I get down."

Truman walked again to the tinted window of the hotel room. He peered through the blinds, staring out at the flat, brown landscape. A few planted trees dotted a park across from the motel. Children piled out of a red Hyundai, heading for the playground. He picked up his cell phone and dialed Sid.

"Hello?"

The sleaze practically oozed through the phone. Truman suppressed a grimace. "Sid. I want to continue our negotiations."

He could imagine Sid sitting up, raising one black eyebrow. "Oh? Are we still on? It's been weeks since I've heard from you."

Truman gritted his teeth. "I'm re-acquiring the girls as we speak."

"Fantastic," Sid purred. "Where can I meet you? I have a very wealthy client with an insatiable appetite."

A blue Firebird pulled up behind the red Hyundai. Nice car. "I'm flying to Ohio. Prep your passport. I'll call you when I get there."

"Do you have passports for the girls?"

Truman paused. He had not, of course, thought of this. He'd never dealt in this business before. "No."

"Text their pictures to me and I'll take care of it. Make sure you change their appearances before you take the pictures."

Where was Sid planning on taking them? Out of the U.S., naturally. But then, where?

Truman pushed the thoughts from his mind. Didn't matter. Once he sold the girls to Sid, they were no longer Truman's concern. It was Sid's responsibility to get them out of the country unnoticed.

He'd probably go through Mexico. The authorities were pretty lax on those leaving the States. "I’ll get it done." He hung up the phone, not wanting to hear any more comments from Sid. He couldn't shake the repulsive feeling that clung to his skin after speaking with Sid. Made him want to take a shower.

He didn't want this life. He never had. As soon as he got Sara back, he was retiring. Somewhere quiet, remote, and warm.