Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (11 page)

“All right, just be ready.”

The crewman retreated back into the plane and pulled the pin out of the door handle before working the two-step lever to open the door. The seal cracked with a pop and the warm humid Florida air quickly sucked what remained of the air conditioning out the open door and into the night. The crewman sat on the door step and adjusted his surgical mask. He couldn’t help scanning the area for approaching DEA officers, but soon shook himself out of it and focused on the presentation he was trying to project.

“Ready for what?” the pilot wondered out loud to his partner in the cockpit. “We’re bingo on fuel. We can’t just hop over to the runway and fly away. They’d be all over us before we got to the first taxiway. This is all on him. We’ve got nowhere to run. Either this works or we’re screwed, that’s all there is to it.”

The copilot just offered a loud sigh for a reply. Their job right now was to just keep the cockpit lights on so the customs man could see them when he approached. That was all for right now. He was aware of the dangers, and bitching about it wouldn’t help.

The crewman tried to be casual and do some paperwork while also keeping an eye on the customs station door. It soon opened, and an overweight, tired looking agent emerged and started their way. As the crews were not allowed to exit their planes until they had been inspected, the agent had no choice but to go to them. So he covered the distance with long strides, looking to get the inspection over with quickly so he could get back to the movie they had playing in the office.

“Come on, you fat idiot, just look over here,” the crewman muttered as he watched him approach.

Eventually the agent did just that. Cautiously he slowed his pace and changed directions in order to better see the men in the cockpit. What he could make out stopped him in his tracks.

The plane’s crewmembers were all wearing surgical masks on their faces. Something he dreaded seeing as it seemed to be happening more and more lately. He circled to the right and held up his clipboard to shield the airport lights from his eyes. There was a crewman sitting in the door wearing one, too. That usually meant that the patient they had on board had some kind of nasty disease. Something he wanted no part of. He stopped and filled out the form on his board without getting closer. After that he pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

“Atta boy, you dumbass.” The crewman grinned behind his mask.

The customs man was angling for the front of the plane where a small pop-out window was used by the pilots. He silently took the forms the pilot offered, and with barely a glance copied down some numbers before quickly handing his own form back. With the noise on the apron as loud as it was, he would have had to get close to the window to converse with the pilot. Obviously that was not going to happen tonight.

The customs man finished their silent transaction, and with a salute of his clipboard waved them on, heading back to the office to find a bottle of hand sanitizer. The crewman wasted no time in closing the door to the aircraft as the pilot slipped the brakes and headed for the fuel point. They all shed their masks as soon as they were clear of the customs ramp.

Another load of drugs and organs had just entered the United States.

•      •      •

“That’s him.”

Jimmy took a good look at the man crossing the street toward the parking ramp and compared it to the picture in his hand.

“I think you’re right. Say hello to Lenny.”

Jimmy squirmed in his seat to get the blood flowing back into his sore ass. After the long drive up from Florida, he and Manuel had found a decent hotel for the night and caught up on their sleep. The envelope with the picture and a short file on the man had been waiting for them at the front desk when they had checked out. He didn’t know who had sent it, or where it had come from, and he really didn’t wish to. The information had always been accurate in the past and that was all he needed to know. Manuel had filled him in on the rest in the car on the way here. His ass was still complaining about the drive, but they’d really had no choice. It was not like they could get on a plane with the items they had in the trunk.

Jimmy looked up at the hospital as Manuel started the car. If they moved, they would be out of the dead space between the security cameras, and he wished to delay that for as long as possible. They had spent the morning both walking and driving around the hospital and its surrounding neighborhood. They made notes of exits and fire escapes, loading docks and parking ramps, security guards, and cameras. Only after they had compared notes and made a detailed map over the one conveniently offered by the hospital’s website, did they pick their spot to wait.

Jimmy went over the printout again while they waited for the man to emerge. Oscar was on the fourth floor, and he had already ruled out any chance of springing him. Besides, that wasn’t the mission he had been tasked with. He just knew he would be asked sooner or later.

“We follow for no more than a mile or two, depending on where he goes.”

“I got it,” Manuel replied, his eyes never leaving the entrance of the ramp.

Jimmy set down the printout and palmed the digital camera in his lap. It was already on and ready to go. The picture was necessary, after that they could go to work.

The first and second cars were driven by an elderly woman and a hospital employee still wearing his scrubs. The third car was new but very plain. It screamed government ownership.

“There he is.”

“Give him a few.”

They watched Lenny turn toward them and pull up to the corner light. After a slight pause, he turned again and drove away from them toward the highway. Manuel let a car pass before pulling out to follow. The Mercedes didn’t fit the neighborhood they were in, but coming from the hospital they weren’t too out of place.

Jimmy reviewed the pictures he had snapped as the car pulled away. He had managed four as the car turned the corner.

“Pictures are good. Let’s see where he goes.”

They followed from a distance until traffic picked up, forcing them to move in closer. They almost lost him at a red light, but skinned through just as it turned. Manuel braced for the rebuke, but Jimmy held his tongue. Soon they were in moderate traffic heading west on Lombard. Jimmy pulled out a street map and consulted it.

“What do you think, boss?”

“He’s heading toward the convention center or the ball parks. Both of them are next to the business loop that takes you to I-95. There’s also a bunch of hotels. I like this traffic. Let’s stay with him a little longer.”

“You got it.”

They followed the car for another few blocks until it turned left on South Eutaw Street and pulled into the parking garage of the Marriott Hotel. Manuel drove past the hotel and continued on down the street till he hit the red light at the corner.

“I’m out here. Circle around and meet me right here in six minutes.”

“Six,” Manuel echoed, checking his watch.

Jimmy grabbed a small bag from under the seat and opened the door. Stepping out on the curb, he made a show of waving to his partner for appearance’s sake before turning and striding toward the hotel. Bypassing the front entrance, he walked at a normal pace toward the parking garage and entered the dark interior. Scanning the cars behind his sunglasses, he walked the ramp, looking for the plain car with the license tag he had memorized only minutes ago. Level two proved to be the charm and he found the car parked close to the entrance to the stairwell and elevator—a high traffic area. He looked for cameras as he approached and seeing none, made his decision. Lenny was nowhere to be seen, and the car’s engine creaked as it cooled.

Reaching in the bag as he approached, he pulled the device free, knelt down, and fixed it to the frame of the car under the rear seat. He was back on his feet without seeming to break stride and made for the stair entrance. Two minutes later, he was back on the street and managed to make it to the curb just as the car pulled up to the light. He made a subtle hand gesture that moved Manuel on and continued on across the street and down another block. Finally satisfied that he wasn’t seen and followed, he stopped and bought a newspaper from a box on the next corner. He stood and gazed over the top of it until he saw Manuel approach again. This time he quickly folded the paper and walked to the curb. He was back in the car with the smallest of stops, and they were soon moving down Eutaw once again.

“What now?”

“Well. I’m wondering where he’ll go next?”

“I can find a place to park and we can fire up the laptop?”

“Somewhere between the hotel and 95.”

“I don’t think there’s anything except the two stadiums and the Federal Reserve Bank. You don’t want to park there, do you?”

“No, probably not a good idea.” Jimmy checked the map and saw that the kid was right. His protégé had done his homework.

“How about this bar right here?”

“The Pratt Street Alehouse?”

“Why not?”

“Think they got beer?”

“Aren’t you funny today?”

The kid just smiled as he pulled the car in.

The three-story building had one Baltimore Oriole blue wall that stuck out from a distance. The inside boasted brick walls with arches dividing the room, and a long bar down one side. More Baltimore team colors were predominant in the decor, and multiple flat-screen TVs occupied most of the wall space.

It was slow and early for lunch, but they managed to find a corner table where they could view the laptop without anyone looking over their shoulder. It only took Jimmy a couple of minutes to pull up the software and find the signal. Despite the car being in the garage and surrounded by concrete, the signal was strong. It held agreeably still as they gazed at it.

“So what do you think?”

“He could leave in ten minutes or ten hours. Who knows?”

“So what do we do?”

Jimmy looked up and eyeballed the many taps behind the bar. He was somewhat of an expert. He consulted the beer list before he signaled the waitress.

“I think I’ll try the Ironman Pale Ale. What are you gonna have?”

Manuel just shook his head and smiled as he watched the young waitress approach. He preferred other indulgences over beer.

Fifteen minutes later, the dot on the screen began to move.

“There’s our boy. What do you want to do?”

Jimmy chewed slowly and watched the dot move toward the business loop. The range of the tracker covered most of North America, so he wasn’t worried about losing him. After a few minutes, his suspicions were confirmed.

“He’s heading south toward DC. Let’s just watch him and see where he goes. If he stays in DC today, we’ll move down there, too. I want to track every address he goes to for more than twenty minutes. One of them should have our target.”

Manuel nodded in agreement. Jimmy had taught him to work smarter, not harder, and this was another lesson. This way they could track the Interpol agent right to the target without the risk of being seen. It was so simple it was stupid, as Jimmy liked to say.

Jimmy pulled his eyes from the screen and drained his beer. Since it looked like they were staying for awhile, Manuel signaled the waitress for another round.

“Thirsty work?” the waitress asked.

“Yes, it is.” Jimmy smiled.

The waitress saved her smile for Manuel before she turned and walked toward the bar. Manuel enjoyed the view while Jimmy’s eyes returned to the screen.

•      •      •

The target they spoke of was being treated to a fast food meal at a small row house in suburban DC. It was one of many since his late night trip to the house, and he was far from happy about it.

Angel sat at the table and ignored the bag of cold tacos that had been dropped in front of him and instead contemplated the two Marshals sitting across from him. The younger, muscular one, Jake, added hot sauce to his pile before crossing the room and flopping into an old recliner in front of the TV. The older and fatter one was Charlie, and he ignored Angel’s stare while he ate. He had been paired with these two for the last few days, ever since his midnight flight into Andrew’s Air Force base. A half dozen vans had all departed the base at once, heading in all different directions. The one carrying him had been cleared of tails and after a two-hour wandering trip around the DC area, it had deposited him in this row house. He had been remotely visited by several agents who questioned him for hours in the basement in front of a camera. The video feed had landed him in front of a grand jury for another few hours, and he had been led through the questions by the federal prosecutor. It had just gotten worse every day. He was ready for it to be over so he could get away from his handlers, especially when they insisted on feeding him this slop.

“Enjoying this are you? Think this is funny?”

The old Marshal chewed slowly and contemplated Angel from the other end of the table before replying. “Yeah, I do.”

Angel sneered and shook his head.

“How long you been a Marshal?”

“Eight years. Twenty years in the army before that.”

Angel looked to the younger one sitting in the chair.

“How about you, kid?”

“What?”

“How long you been a Marshal?”

“Four years.”

“And how much you make a year?”

“Sixty k.”

Angel shook his head again. The older Marshal put down his taco and glared at him. He had made it clear to Angel from the start of all this that he didn’t like him, and he wasn’t in the mood for his condescending questions.

“So go ahead and tell us how stupid we are, asshole.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just thinking that since we’re both working for the same people, I sure got the better end of the deal.”

“I don’t work for any drug dealer, and I sure as hell don’t work with you.”

“I didn’t say you worked with me. I said we both work for the same people.”

The younger one didn’t take his eyes off the football game on the screen, but he couldn’t resist taking the bait. “How you figure that?”

Angel was genuinely shocked. He looked from one to the other in disbelief until the young one turned to see what had silenced him.