The Adamas Blueprint (15 page)

She turned and felt her stomach somersault. Behind them were the flashing lights of a state police car.

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CHAPTER 20

Kevin clenched the steering wheel tightly, feeling as if he were going to hyperventilate.

“Do you think it’s them?” Erica said.

“I don’t see how it could be. Why would they find us on the outskirts of Dallas? No, it’s got to be the real police.”

“Thank God.”

A short siren sounded behind them.

“I didn’t say that was necessarily a good thing. Remember, I don’t have my license with me.”

Kevin began to slow down.

“Were you speeding?”

“I don’t know. I did speed up to pass a semi a few miles back.”

“They won’t take us in just because you don’t have your license with you.”

It sounded as if Erica was trying to reassure herself, but Kevin was thinking the same thing. If they were forced to go down to the station with the officer, it would be possible for their pursuers to learn their location.

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The Honda rolled to a stop along the freeway shoulder. They waited for the officer to approach the car, but no one got out. A minute later, a second patrol car came to a stop behind the first. A female trooper wearing the standard wide-brimmed hat climbed out of the second patrol car and walked up to the first, leaning into the driver’s window. Several times she looked in the direction of the Honda.

“What the hell is going on?” Kevin said, puzzled.

Erica shrugged and shook her head.

The door of the first patrol car opened, and a male officer got out, placing his baton through a belt loop. Kevin unrolled the window as both police officers walked towards him.

Both officers wore dark aviator sunglasses, giving them a menacing appearance. The male officer’s expression seemed to be practiced indifference, but Kevin noticed the officer’s right hand was not far from his pistol. He leaned forward to look into the car. When he spoke, a monotone issued from smoke-stained teeth.

“Sir, may I see your driver’s license? And ma’am, I’d like to see some identification from you as well.”

The female officer stood on the passenger side of the Honda.

“I’m sorry, officer,” Kevin said as he handed her Erica’s license, “I don’t have my license with me.” There was no reason to tell him why he didn’t have it. He sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the license with Ward’s name on it, which was still in Kevin’s pocket.

The officer took Erica’s license. “Then may I see some other form of identification?”

He shook his head, embarrassed. “I don’t have my wallet.”

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The officer looked up at the other officer and then back at Kevin. His expression never wavered. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Kevin Hamilton.”

“Mr. Hamilton, Miss Jensen, could you please step out of the vehicle?”

Kevin got out thinking that he and Erica would follow them back to one of the patrol cars, but what the officer said next shocked him.

“Now face the vehicle and put your hands on the hood.”

“Are you serious?” Erica’s eyes widened.

“On the hood, sir. You too, miss.” His voice continued in the polite monotone, but Kevin saw the serious look on his face. His hand was now hovering over the pistol.

Kevin did as he was told and faced Erica, who was leaning on the other side of the car’s hood.

The officer patted his back and chest and then ran his hands up and down his legs. He tried not to squirm at the uncomfortable personal nature of the search, focusing on Erica’s face. He knew that her shocked expression must have mirrored his own.

The officer reached into Kevin’s pocket and pulled out the driver’s license with Ward’s name on it.

“What’s this?” the officer said. “This says your name is Michael Ward.”

“I can explain that,” Kevin said.

“I’m sure you can.”

Kevin heard a click from behind and felt the cool metal of handcuffs encircle his wrists.

“What the hell is this is all about?” Kevin said as his hands were shackled.

“Mr. Ward, I stopped you for exceeding the speed limit...”

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“I’ve been stopped for speeding before and I’ve never been searched! And my name is Hamilton, not Ward.”

Erica made a face for him to be quiet.

“You are under arrest for grand theft auto,” the officer continued calmly. “This vehicle has been reported stolen.”

“What?” Kevin said. “That’s impossible!”

“Officer,” Erica said, “it can’t be stolen. This is my car.”

“It was also reported that one of the occupants may be impersonating the owner of the car.

The only identification Mr. Hamilton”--the officer sarcastically drawled the name--”has been able to produce is one for someone named Michael Ward. I’d say that’s sufficient evidence to make you suspects. You have the right to remain silent...”

Kevin listened to the litany of rights he had so often heard on hundreds of TV shows, almost unable to comprehend that they were now applying to him. He didn’t respond when the officer seemed to be asking him a question.

“What?” he said.

“I said, do you understand these rights?”

They both answered yes.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin said. “How can we be under arrest for stealing her car? It’s her car!”

“Sir, please calm down.”

“How can I be calm? I’m under arrest!”

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“Officer,” Erica said, “there’s obviously some sort of mistake. All of my identification is in my purse. If you’ll just check it, you’ll see...”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll take your purse with us, but this isn’t something we’ll be able to investigate here.”

Kevin remembered the backpack with the notebook and videotape.

“I need my backpack too,” he said. “I can’t leave it in the car.”

“What’s in it?” the officer asked.

“Some very important papers of mine and a videotape. It’ll be ruined if it stays out in this heat.”

The officer looked at Kevin for a few seconds. Kevin was about to say something else when the officer opened the Honda and retrieved the purse and the backpack.

“Where are we going?” Erica said.

“The local state police headquarters.”

“What about my car?”

“I’ll call for a tow truck and have the vehicle taken to the impound lot,” the female officer said. Kevin noticed that she didn’t say “your vehicle.”

Thirty minutes later they entered the state police barracks at Hutchins, Texas.

* * *

After three hours of bureaucratic forms, backtalk, and fact checking, the state police were finally convinced that Erica Jensen was, in fact, who she said she was. Relieved about the error being resolved, she gladly took back her belongings from Officer Brady, the patrolman who had MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT

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stopped them. She looked at her watch. It was already 5:20. They had less than an hour before the warehouse closed.

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding, Miss Jensen,” Brady said. “You can be sure that we will be looking into this matter to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.”

“Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“You are, Miss Jensen. But I checked the identification with Michael Ward’s name on it.”

He jerked a thumb at Kevin, who was sitting at the desk of Officer Anson, the patrolwoman assisting Brady. “There is someone with that name and social security number, but the license number is for someone named Maria Gonzalez. Therefore, it’s a fake, not stolen. He claims he had it made as a joke. I’d be willing to let it go at that, but I still don’t have any identification for him.”

Erica sighed with relief when she realized they hadn’t made a connection to Ward’s death.

“He was only speeding. That shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“He was also driving without a license and in possession of a fake driver’s license. Until I can confirm his true identity, he will have to remain here.” He must have seen her about to object again. “Under these odd circumstances, I have to be sure that there are no outstanding warrants for Mr. Hamilton’s arrest.” He said Kevin’s name with a slight, but detectable air of skepticism.

“Then, if he shows you some ID, he can go, too?”

“A picture ID is necessary. If he can produce that, then yes, he will be free to go.”

“OK. Where can I pick up my Honda?”

At the mention of her car, an embarrassed look crossed Brady’s face and he seemed reluctant to continue.

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“It was taken to the stolen vehicle impound lot,” he said after a pause.

“So?”

“There’s a problem.”

“Of course there is,” Erica said, exasperated.

“I just talked to the lot. You can’t retrieve the car until tomorrow morning.”

“What!”

“I’m sorry, but with the state budget cuts, the lot’s only open until five o’clock. I tried to get them to make an exception, but they wouldn’t.”

Erica stood up without saying a word and walked to Officer Anson’s desk with Brady. Kevin looked as mad as she felt.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I’m not a criminal?” said Kevin, directing the question to both Anson and Brady.

“As I was telling Miss Jensen,” Brady said, “all we need is a picture ID. A copy can be faxed to us if it’s verified by another police authority.”

“And if I don’t produce one?”

“We can keep you here up to 24 hours for a misdemeanor. After that, we have to release you.”

Kevin looked at Erica, who knew what he was thinking. Every minute in the police station was dangerous. If the men after them could tap into police databases, they’d know where to find them. Not to mention that in half an hour, they’d lose the chance at getting a laser for the next several weeks.

“Erica can go, can’t she?”

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“Of course,” Brady said. “She’s been cleared...”

Erica interrupted. “No, I can’t.” She told Kevin about the car.

Kevin fiddled with a paper clip from Officer Anson’s desk, staring at it as he did so with a look of desperation. Erica wanted to pluck the paper clip from his hand and make him look at her, but she knew it was his way of occupying his hands while he thought.

Just as Brady seemed to get tired of waiting, Kevin said, “All right.”

“What?” Erica said.

“There’s only one thing I can think of.”

“What?”

“Something I’d really rather not do.”

“Will you stop that and say something meaningful?” Erica said, irritated with his obtuseness.

“I have a passport at home. I got it about six years ago, but I never used it.”

“At home? You mean, in Houston.”

“No, my home here, in Dallas. I forgot to bring it with me to South Texas. I know exactly where it is. The top drawer in my old desk, unless my father threw it out.”

“You still have a house in Dallas?” This didn’t make any sense. Kevin’s parents were dead.

Why would he still have a house here?

“Yes. It’s about twenty minutes from here.”

She didn’t have time to probe him about it. “We only have 30 minutes. How do I get there and get your passport?”

“You don’t have to. It’ll be faster if my father brings it.”

* * *

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It was a flimsy profile of Murray Hamilton, but it was all Mitch Hornung could do on such short notice. David Lobec looked up from the file and buzzed the Gulfstream’s cockpit.

“What is our ETA?” he asked above the jet engine’s drone.

The intercom came to life. “It’s supposed to be thirty-three minutes until we touchdown, Mr.

Lobec, but we may be delayed by a thunderstorm moving through the area.”

“Get us down as soon as you can. Make sure the car is ready for us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lobec had chosen Love Field because it was fifteen minutes closer to Murray Hamilton’s home in eastern Dallas than DFW was. An inconspicuous Taurus would be waiting for them on the tarmac.

The closer proximity, however, was no longer a factor. Hank Vincent, the local contractor Lobec had hired to track Murray Hamilton, called 20 minutes ago to tell them that Hamilton had left his house and was heading toward southern Dallas. Lobec had instructed Vincent to follow at a discreet distance and to report back when Hamilton had reached his destination.

“Do you really think Hamilton’s father is going to know where he is?” Richard Bern said. “I mean, the guy has him listed as dead in his grad school records.” He sat across from Lobec, facing the other way. His feet were propped up on the leather upholstery, and he had the seat fully reclined. Besides them and the two crewmembers in the cockpit, the ten passenger jet was empty.

“I don’t know the reason for the Hamiltons’ estrangement, but I have learned that the first place people in trouble turn is to their families. Mr. Hamilton may believe we would not find out that his father is still alive.”

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“Hamilton and his girlfriend could be in Guatemala for all we know. This is a shot in the dark.”

What Bern said was true. Lobec thought reporting the girl’s car as stolen might prove useful, but so far the car had not been found.

“If you have a better suggestion as to how we could use our time to search for Mr. Hamilton and Miss Jensen, I would appreciate enlightenment.”

Bern furrowed his brow, and Lobec could see him desperately trying to elicit a monumental plan. There would be none. Bern was a fairly capable assistant, but he would never command his own operations.

“In that case, Mr. Bern, we will continue with our present objective.” Lobec handed him the file. “You will see that the elder Hamilton is a member of the NRA and a card-carrying Republican. He is licensed by the state to carry a concealed weapon and regularly hunts deer and quail. What does this suggest to you regarding our approach to Mr. Hamilton?”

Bern skimmed the three page file and then held a picture of the subject up to the light. It was a driver’s license photo showing a man in his late fifties who did not carry his years well. Decades of smoking and drinking had left his cheeks and jowls sagging and wrinkled. Although he was not bald, the hair he did have was thinning, limp, and stringy. Nothing in the photo revealed that the man was actually 6’2” and weighed close to 230 pounds, which indicated to Lobec that most of the weight was muscle developed during his years as a construction worker.