Secession: The Storm (41 page)

He continued his trek out of the park, still on edge, but enjoying a good laugh at his own expense. Six blocks later, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end, his sixth sense fully engaged. The black SUV was back, trailing behind him.

Somehow, he’d missed the other car. It was an old surveillance trick, employing more than one vehicle, each taking turns in close proximity to the suspect. He should have been more careful – if the tail were Perkin’s Feds, they would be pros.

Zach dropped out of his running stride, thinking he should conserve energy and take a little time to think. He wasn’t doing anything illegal, and while he’d been bluffing in the hotel’s bar, any headline involving the delegation from Texas was bound to stir a reaction neither side wanted. Still, it bothered the Texan that someone would put a team on him.

The more he walked, the greater the resentment grew. Perkins was an ass, no doubt about it. Guys like that gave law enforcement a bad name. Zach decided to have a little fun.

The first step was to identify the second vehicle. There might be three, but that was unlikely given how fast the SUV had returned to the close-in position.

Zach decided to make his followers nervous. Stopping mid-stride, he spun quickly and stared hard at the SUV. Again, the vehicle passed him by, the windows too dark to see who or how many were inside.

He started walking again, paying particular attention to the cars behind him. At the next intersection, he took a quick right, moving quickly down a quiet side street and then ducking into the doorway of a closed shop.

A dark green sedan passed, followed by a red sports car and finally a smaller SUV. Zach pivoted, intent on reversing course and continuing toward the Mall.

The brick next to the Texan’s head exploded with the impact of a bullet, shards of mortar and stone stinging Zach’s face as he ducked away.

He heard two more bullets crack through the air as he scrambled for the corner, barely catching a glimpse of the green sedan racing in his direction. The window was down, a hand holding a noise-canceled pistol protruding from the opening.

Zach sprinted like the wind, praying the busier street and presence of so many pedestrians would keep the shooter from sending more lead his way.

He dashed at full speed, trying to look more like a serious runner than a guy fleeing for his life. Another turn and he was on the Mall, the area inaccessible by automobiles.

The Washington landmark was already busy with pedestrian traffic, hundreds of people hustling here and there, most probably on their way to government offices. Zach spotted an old oak and put his back against it, casually scanning while he pretended to adjust his shoe. Bending low, ready to either go prone or flee, the hammerless Smith and Wesson revolver felt reassuring in the ranger’s hand. He stayed right there, waiting for his new friends to show themselves.

They didn’t.

Time to draw them out
, he thought, again performing a very public stretching routine like he was going to start running again. It worked.

He saw two men glance in his direction, then turn away quickly, making for a nearby parking lot. Zach could see the black SUV occupying a handicap spot.

The ranger charged directly at the two fellows, racing as fast as his legs would pump. He was twenty feet away, and they still had their backs to him, stepping briskly toward their ride.
Most suspects wanted to get away from shooters – not attack them
, Zach mused.
Makes me think I should have stayed at the hotel for the continental breakfast.

Ten feet and one of them began to turn, probably alerted by Zach’s pounding sneakers.

Five feet and the Texan was flying through the air, nearly horizontal when his shoulder slammed into the closest man, driving his victim into his own partner. It was a spine-crushing tackle that would have made any NFL safety proud.

Surprise was always the worst enemy, and Zach leveraged his advantage. In less than a second, three powerful jabs jolted his adversary’s face, each impact rocking the man’s head backwards. A shower of blood was spewing from his crushed nose, his eyes closed before his head bounced off the sidewalk.

Before the second tail could make his feet, the ranger was on him, raining blows and kicks. The brawl was over quickly.

Well, this doesn’t happen every day. What is my next best move?
Zach thought, weighing his options. He scanned the area, noting several people with frightened looks raising their cell phones to their ears. Now was not the time for an arrest or even an extended visit with the Capital Police. Any delay would cause Alcorn’s already short-handed security detail to work additional shifts and overtime hours. Plus, he had gotten what he wanted – to get a look at the men who had been shadowing him. After all, it wasn’t like he could really file charges against them for spying on his marathon training. The man with the pistol had been in the sedan, not the SUV, and the ranger had no evidence tying the two together.

Headlines were another good reason to avoid the local authorities. The country was on edge, tempers near the surface. No, it wasn’t a good time to hang around and explain it all.

He patted down the man at his feet quickly, fully expecting to find an FBI service weapon and ID. He found nothing.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see cops running his way, still a football field’s distance from the scene of the crime. Giving the antagonist one last kick to the ribs, Zach trotted off, throwing his sweat jacket into a trash barrel to confuse any witness’s description. He chose a zigzagging route back to the hotel to avoid being linked to the brawl.

Fifteen minutes later, he passed through the lobby, opening his room with the magnetic card. Before jumping into the shower, Zach paused, his mind racing with possibilities.

A million questions surfaced in Zach’s brain, demanding to be processed and assimilated, but all of them began with the sure knowledge that someone was plotting his demise.

Was Aaron Miller behind all this?
The man was certainly powerful enough to control local muscle. But a public hit on a visiting dignitary’s security detail was risky, and Zach believed most politicians to be risk-adverse individuals. No way would the man in the White House open himself up for the exposure if things went wrong.

Agent Perkins is no fan of mine either
, the Texas Ranger considered. Again, the FBI agent had a lot of influence locally. If there had been a single shooter, that scenario might have been more believable. But, like Aaron Miller, it didn’t make sense. One rogue agent or thug that owed Perkins a favor might be trustworthy enough to pull off a public killing – but not three. Three men constituted a conspiracy. Three men were a cell. Three men tripled the odds that someone would talk, get drunk and brag, or come back later and ask uncomfortable favors in exchange for silence.

Before he knew it, there wasn’t any more time to ponder the episode. Simmons’s flight was scheduled to leave in 45 minutes, and he needed to be in the parking garage and ready to go. He would file a report with Alcorn as soon as the plane was in the air. Other than that, any additional crime solving would have to wait.

Zach found his boss at the rear of the aircraft, checking a laptop computer in the small cubbyhole that served as Alcorn’s office. “Sir, there was an incident in DC that I need to report,” the ranger began.

The major didn’t even bother to look up from his spreadsheet, no doubt absorbed in the security arrangements for the next leg of Simmons’s trip – the Big Apple. “Go ahead, Ranger Bass,” Alcorn mumbled, clearly in a tense mood.

“Perhaps later would be a better time,” Zach offered, not entirely pleased his boss wasn’t giving his full attention.

Alcorn seemed to sense Zach’s frustration, finally looking his subordinate in the eye. ”Now is as good a time as any; go ahead.”

Zach made his report, providing the major with all of the critical details regarding the incident in the nation’s capital, careful not to disclose any possible connection to Abe Hendricks. Alcorn, for his part, sat calmly and listened without comment.

When Zach had finished, the major shook his head. “Interesting. We had no threat analysis from the Secret Service for the governor, nor did they indicate there was any issue with the security detail. Are you positive this wasn’t just a random robbery attempt?”

“They seemed reasonably skilled in surveillance, sir. They also used a noise-canceled weapon and knew the area quite well. Until they started shooting, I thought it was Agent Perkins just trying to harass me for old time’s sake.”

Alcorn grunted, “No matter where you go, Ranger Bass, you seem to drum up trouble. Have you been sampling any married women since we’ve been in Washington?”

Laughing, Zach replied sarcastically, “Sure. Dozens of them, Major. What else would I be doing with all of the free time your scheduling has blessed us with?”

“Well, somebody sure-as-shit doesn’t like you,” came Alcorn’s reply. “I don’t know what we can do about it right at this moment. Give me a full, written report, and I’ll send it to the Secret Service and FBI as soon as we land in New York.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zach was happy to see Texas again, his first trip to New York and Washington lacking both in entertainment value and rest.

After sleeping 20 hours and consuming an entire pot of coffee, he felt enough relief from the jet lag to get back at it. His first stop was the Texas Ranger’s Austin headquarters.

While the computer had never been one of the lawman’s primary crime fighting tools, Zach fully understood the capabilities of the digital world.

It didn’t take long to find out who was the top dog, hotshot reporter in Dallas. Zach had decided on a change of venue for disclosing the Hendricks documents, his reasoning based on an in-depth understanding of the human animal. He surmised that the newshounds in Houston might not be enthusiastic when it came to undertaking a secret, high-level investigation of federal officials, especially after one of their own had recently been drawn and quartered with an F150.

A note from Major Alcorn reminded the ranger that he hadn’t completed his annual firearms qualification. A crack shot, he supposed turning lead and paper into fire and smoke would improve his mood. After a quick trip to the range, he’d make up some excuse to head for Dallas. Once there, he would drop the bomb.

His drive to the qualification range was interrupted by a call. Zach hadn’t seen Cheyenne’s number appear on his phone in weeks. For a moment, he considered letting it roll to voicemail, but then changed his mind. It never hurt to mend fences with a pretty gal.

“Hey there, stranger, not heard from you for a while. How are you?”

Every muscle in the Texan’s frame tensed when a mechanical-sounding voice responded. “We have the girl. We want those papers. Listen closely if you ever want to see her again.”

“Come alone. We’re not stupid, and we have ears everywhere your voice can be heard. By yourself, bring the papers, and we’ll let the girl go.”

Zach couldn’t help himself, “You are stupid. First of all, the girl means nothing to me. She left me weeks ago. Secondly, what if I’ve made copies of the papers? You’re not exactly impressing me with your well-conceived plan. Let her go now, and maybe I won’t bother to hunt you down and kick your ass.”

The clearly altered voice smirked. “No one said we weren’t going to kill you, Ranger. Time to make a trade - you and the papers for the girl. We’ll take our chances on any copies.”

“Where?” Zach asked.

“Here are the coordinates,” and then the voice read off a series of numbers, the cross hairs of longitude and latitude. “When you arrive at that point, we’ll provide additional instructions. Be there by midnight, or we will kill the girl and start working on your family.” And then the call ended.

Zach entered the coordinates in his GPS, not surprised to see a remote location display on the map. It was across the border in Louisiana, smack dab in the middle of swamp country.

“Should have figured,” he mumbled, “easiest place there is to get rid of a body or two.”

Midnight. That was 11 hours from now… with a nine-hour drive. Not good.

His first call was to Major Alcorn. “Sir, I’m going to call it quits early today. I think the blue-plate special down at Carlos’s Diner didn’t agree with me,” he informed the major’s voice mail.

He was dialing Detective Temple’s cell phone while entering the combination to his gun safe’s lock, stuffing Abe Hendricks’s papers into his briefcase.

“Why did I answer this call?” her voice sounded. “I should know better.”

“I have a lead in the Ross Garcia case,” he said. “I thought you might want to be involved in the take-down.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Really. Do you want to help or not?”

“The last time I helped you, Ranger Bass, I arrived late to work the next morning, was left with a huge-ass mess in my apartment, and worried for a week that my career would be over if that bank manager ever mentioned my badge number. That’s not even taking into consideration having a role in splitting apart the good, ol’ U.S. of A., or a man being drawn and quartered. You can surely understand my hesitation to partake in your little adventures.”

“But the Chinese food was tasty, and we both expanded our investigational skill sets. Besides, I really need your help.”

Something in Zach’s voice told Sam that there was more to the story. “Okay, what’s wrong, Zach?”

Driving east at a breakneck speed, he told Detective Temple about the phone call, including a short back-story on Cheyenne.

“So let me get this straight. You want me to be involved in what could be a violent incident outside my jurisdiction, illegally crossing the state line while acting as a law enforcement officer. I would be risking my own hide – all to save your ex-squeeze? Tell me, what is wrong with that logic?”

“Oh, come on,” he chided. “It’ll be fun. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

There was a long pause on the other end, Zach not sure if the detective was going to make up some excuse, or just straight up tell him to go to hell.

“Okay,” she finally answered. “I’m in. But you owe me a better dinner than take-out Chinese, Ranger. Go ahead and tell me this harebrained scheme of yours right now. That way, I’ll have time to fill in all the gaps and miscalculations - and maybe save all three of our lives.”

Zach’s 4x4 was caked in muck, the results of having to cross into Louisiana using a logging road that was more liquid dirt than anything else. They had decided to sneak into Cajun country and avoid the main thoroughfares – Zach still concerned about a possible association with the NOPD or other local law enforcement.

It was an hour after dark when they finally managed to negotiate the great Piney Woods, emerging on a two-lane Louisiana state highway, both officers now officially out of their jurisdictions - nothing more than tourists.

Upon crossing the state line, Sam insisted they both wrap their cell phones in tin foil. After a few rounds of relentless teasing, the ranger finally conceded it was a good idea. Many models had non-removable batteries, and both had witnessed the FBI inexplicably acquire some amazing evidence on past cases.

“You think this is all Perkins’s doing; don’t you Zach?”

“Yes, he’s the only person I know that has access, means, and motive.”

“What motive?”

“He has got to somehow be connected to Aaron Miller. He was involved in Abe Hendricks’s assassination. You said yourself that afterwards, he got a promotion, and poof, he was gone.”

Sam grunted, “That’s not motive; that’s pure speculation. Besides, I knew Sal pretty well, and he always seemed like a straight shooter - probably too much so for his own good. My money is on the NOPD guys that were involved in the Hendricks incident. They’re still trying to cover their asses.”

The Texan shook his head, “I was headed that way, but that scenario doesn’t logic check. How would they have known I was going to be in Washington? It’s Perkins, has to be. He’s the only guy with enough resources to assign that much manpower, and he would be able to process fingerprints.”

They continued driving toward the coordinates displayed on the pickup’s GPS system, Sam cross-referencing satellite maps printed from the Internet. “From what I can tell, the first stop is a roadside picnic area, just on the edge of the bayou. We can count on them having eyes on that area, just to make sure you come alone.”

“I’ll stop about 10 miles away… that should be far enough. You can hop in the back and hide until we know what the next play is. I hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

The detective half turned, glancing out the back window of the truck. A hard top, lifted via hydraulic struts, enclosed the pickup’s bed. “It’s called a Tonneau cover,” he’d informed her earlier.

“As long as it’s not airtight back there, I’ll be fine.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence, each law officer using the time to prepare mentally. Zach, as promised, pulled to the side of the road 10 miles away from the picnic area. “You don’t have any cameras in the bed do you?” Sam asked, gathering her things to transfer to the back.

Zach laughed, “No. Why?”

“Because I’m going to change while I’m back there, and I don’t want any video showing up on the Internet. I’m just not that type of girl,” she teased.

It was a well-timed joke, serving to break some of the stress that was already building.

“If such a video were ever to come into my possession, you have my word as a Texas Ranger that I wouldn’t post it on the Internet,” he grinned.

“You pervert,” she chuckled. “You’d keep it for yourself!”

And with that, she was out of the truck, lifting the cover and disappearing into the bed.

Zach approached the roadside picnic area slowly, letting his headlights do their work. The crawling speed also allowed him to scan the surrounding countryside with his night vision, but he could detect nothing.

The headlights illuminated the shiny frame of a cell phone, the unit left resting on top of one of the picnic tables. It was ringing before he exited the cab.

“Yeah,” Zach answered.

“Open up all four doors on your truck and move away,” came a robotic sounding voice.

Zach did as instructed, unable to resist scanning the area for the spotter as he moved to the back of the truck, sure Sam would be able to hear his voice. While he couldn’t see anyone, it wasn’t hard to imagine someone with a powerful pair of binoculars checking to make sure he hadn’t stuffed a SWAT team in his backseat.

“You’re a smart man,” sounded the voice, obviously pleased to see the truck was empty. “Get back in and drive two more miles east. You’ll spot a farm lane on the right. Turn in. We’ll let the girl drive your truck out after we have you and the documents.”

“Okay, a farm lane two miles to the east. I pull in, and you’ll release the girl.” Zach repeated for Sam’s sake. The call was terminated.

Climbing in behind the wheel, Zach waited until he was back on the main road and then yelled to the back. “Ready?”

“Ready,” the voice behind him responded.

Zach found the lane, cautiously turning in. He saw the reflection of several vehicles parked 50 yards away, two men with rifles standing on each side of a tall woman. The prisoner was Cheyenne.

He stopped the truck and dowsed the lights. Reaching for the folder of papers next to him on the console, he opened the door and stepped out into the humid Louisiana night.

He sauntered thirty feet toward the gathered kidnappers and stopped, holding up a folder in the bright moonlight. “What now?”

“Bring it over here,” commanded a distant voice.

“Let the girl go. I’ll meet her in the middle. I need to make sure it’s her,” the Texan answered.

Two of the vehicles facing the ranger turned on their headlights, the sudden glare temporarily blinding Zach. Squinting and partially turning away, he could identify movement ahead of the bright beams – the motion of someone walking toward him.