Deadly Stillwater (43 page)

Flanagan smiled wryly and shook his head. “They’ll cap us all right. Right during the rockets’ red glare. The sound of the gun firing will sound like fireworks.”

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, feeling the acceleration of the boat into open water.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Hisle muttered sadly.

“We’re not dead yet.”

“I don’t sense the cavalry charge coming,” Lyman replied. “Face it, Charlie. Your boys know who these guys are, but they have no idea where we are.”

37

“
It’s that simple.”

8:22 PM

“You’re sure about this connection?” Burton asked Peters as they made their way down the steps to the basement of the Department of Public Safety.

“Yes,” Peters replied. “McRyan has been working this today. Frankly, I thought he was crazy, but that’s Mac. He gets going on something and he can’t be stopped. It reminds me of that PTA case. The guy simply won’t take no for an answer. Anyway, he unearthed this connection between Brown and Mueller and thinks it’s worth pursuing. I want you to take a look at it, but with the chief and Lyman missing, we need to move fast.”

“Sounds pretty thin,” Burton replied as Peters stopped at a metal door and took his keys out of his pocket. “I mean, this Brown name comes up on a criminal case and this Mueller is what, a fellow inmate? That’s pretty weak.” Burton followed Peters into the conference room.

“IT AIN’T WEAK, IT’S DEAD FUCKIN’ ON!” Riley roared as he threw Burton into the cement wall. Rock moved in with a knee to the gut and then threw Burton back across the metal interview table, where the agent slid across, into and then over two folding chairs, and smashed hard against the far wall. Riley picked a dazed Burton up, slammed him into the chair, and emptied the agent’s pockets of cuffs, keys, weapon, wallet, two cell phones, and a hotel key card.

“Better talk now, John,” Peters said casually, sitting on the corner of the table as Burton tried to catch his breath. “Or I’m going to let these two animals see if they can put you through these cement walls. And,” Peters added, crossing his arms and looking around the room, “nobody’s going to hear you down here. The room is soundproofed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Burton spat. “I’m gonna have all of you….”

Riley backhanded Burton out of the chair to the floor. “If you ever want to breathe free air….”

“Fuck that!” Rock yelled, grabbing Burton by his shirt. His bright white eyes bulging in his dark black face. “If he ever wants to get out of this room alive he better talk.”

“I’m an FBI agent….”

“Do I look like I give a shit!” Rockford yelled and threw the agent against the wall. He punched Burton in the belly again and then tossed him back over the table. Burton pushed himself up to his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“John, John, John…” Peters said shaking his head, a smile on his face. He crouched down to Burton. “How much longer you want this tune-up to last? I mean, these two live for this shit.”

“Where’s Duffy? I want you to get Duffy in here,” Burton demanded, gasping for breath.

“Duffy isn’t interested,” Peters said. In fact, Duffy had considered the evidence and made himself conveniently scarce. “I’m not getting anyone for you,” Peters continued. “We have you cold.”

“With what? You ain’t got shit on me,” Burton panted.

“
Ohhhh yes we do
,” came another voice. “How was the Ranger up in Forest Lake last night?” Mac asked, his voice booming over the speaker on Peters’ cell phone.

The look on Burton’s face spoke volumes. “How?”

“We’re just that good,” Mac answered in a mocking tone. “At the Ranger you met up with Smith Brown. The man who you partnered with to sell drugs sixteen years ago. The man who, because he never rolled over on you, forced you to help him with this. The man who has the chief and Hisle. The man you’re going to give us and I mean right fuckin’ now.”

“Or what?”

“Or you never leave that room alive,” Mac replied flatly. “It’s that simple.”

Burton looked up at Peters, “You wouldn’t….”

“It’s no big thing,” Peters said conversationally. “You simply go missing. A little cement around your ankles and we dump you in the Mississippi. The only way you leave the room alive,” Peters stated, “is if you tell us where Brown has Flanagan and Hisle.”

“Maybe we can make a deal,” Burton replied, on all fours on the floor, trying to play his last card. “I can help you find the girls. I don’t know where they are, but I can….”

“We have the girls,” Mac answered.

Burton’s jaw hit the floor. “How? How is that possible?”

“We’ve known since the safe house yesterday that someone was working this from the inside, you piece of shit,” Riley growled. “You have no leverage to deal.” Riley picked Burton up and threw him over to Rock.

“WHERE ARE THEY? TELL US NOW!” Rockford yelled. He grabbed the back of Burton’s pants and ran him into the adjoining bathroom. He stuffed Burton’s head in the grimy toilet. “Tell us where they are, or so help me God….” Rock pulled Burton’s head back.

“But I don’t know anything….”

“The hell you don’t,” Rock growled pushing Burton’s head back down into the water. After twenty seconds, he pulled his head up. “WHAT’S IT GONNA BE?”

“Okay! Okay! Okay!” Burton yelped.

Rockford picked him up and put him into a folding chair at the interview table. “Where? Where are they?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Burton answered. Rockford raised his hand. “I don’t know!” the agent yelped, cowering. Almost whimpering, he repeated, “I don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you know?” Rock demanded, grabbing Burton’s shirt and pulling the man’s face close to his.

“That Brown was going to drive them out to the St. Croix River, to some channel between Bayport and Stillwater he said.”

“Then what?”

“They have a boat, a big boat. They’re going to go somewhere up the river.”

“Where?” Riles demanded, leaning on the table.

“I don’t know,” Burton answered. Rock released him, and Burton buried his face in his hands. “I just don’t know. Other than north, I don’t know. Brown had a spot that mattered to him, but I don’t know where. He didn’t tell me that part.”

“Were they planning to go ashore somewhere?” Mac asked.

“I think so. He said there was a spot important to him. A place he used to go. I can only assume that meant going ashore.”

Peters stood on the other side of the metal table, flipping through the contents from Burton’s pockets. He held a cell phone in each hand. “Odd to have two cell phones, isn’t it?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “One of these used to contact Brown?”

“Yes,” Burton replied, nodding.

“Will it be on?”

Burton nodded. “I’m not supposed to call him unless it’s an emergency, If I call him with an emergency now, he’ll likely….”

“Kill the chief and Hisle,” Riles finished for him.

“But….”

“But what?” Peters asked.

“He’s supposed to call me in about fifteen minutes.”

“We could get a fix on that phone then.” Riles said hopefully.

“I don’t think you can,” Burton answered. “He won’t call me on the phone number I have for him. I have that one for an emergency, if I needed to contact him. Otherwise, he’s contacting me with disposable cell phones. It’s a different one every time. He’s been using a phone once and then dumping it.”

“A different phone everytime?” Rock asked.

“That’s right,” Burton answered. “I don’t see how you could get a real fix on it. At least not in the timeframe you need.”

“Well then,” Mac started, still listening in, “You best get him to explain to you where he is on the river, in as much detail as possible so that we can find him.”

“I’ll try.”

“You better do more than that,” Riles responded. “Do you have any idea what this boat looks like?”

Burton shook his head. “I really don’t other than it’s a pleasure boat, good size, it would have to be.”

“Why’s that?” Rock asked.

“Because he can’t have the chief and Hisle up on deck,” Mac answered. “He’ll have them down below and will only bring them up when he comes ashore. Until then, he’ll have them stuffed down below. Riles?”

“Yeah.”

“Get on a chopper and get out there,” Mac ordered. “I’m on my way.”

“To where?” Riles asked. “Here?”

“The river,” Mac answered. “My boat is docked just north of Stillwater. I’ll be on it in less than ten minutes. We need to find that boat. And Burton, you better come through if you want to get out of that room.”

38

“
That’s our boat, Mac.”

8:42 PM

Brown stood to the left of Dean and admired the flotilla that was now gathering around them, awaiting the start of Stillwater’s massive Fourth of July fireworks display. By the time the show started, sometime between 9:30 and 10:00 PM, there would be hundreds of boats running from a half mile south of the famous lift bridge to another quarter-to-half a mile north of the town.

The mass of boats included a variety of sizes, from the Showboat Paddle Boats to yachts, sixty-foot cabin cruisers, houseboats, cigarette boats, speedboats, pontoons, and even a boat made out of a tiny sports car. All were full of revelers, the music roaring and alcohol flowing. In addition to the boats, the decks of the bars and restaurants that lined the river were packed to the rooftops with partiers ready for the show. The city riverfront park was covered with lawn chairs and blankets, not a patch of green to be seen.

It was a festive atmosphere and also a good one to get lost in, the congestion increasing by the minute. Most drivers were smart enough to float on either the east or west sides of the river, leaving something of a lane up the middle of the river to allow traffic to move in either direction. But it was closing, the clumps of vessels metastasizing on the north and south sides of the bridge. While it made maneuvering through the channel a slow and tedious process, it also provided camouflage as they moved north.

They approached the historic lift bridge. During some summers, a cruiser of their size might have had to wait for the lift section to open. However, the past winter as well as the summer had been unseasonably dry. Consequently, the water level was down, and Smith cruised easily underneath the steel bridge. Five minutes later, they were able to slowly accelerate as the traffic thinned.

Clear of town, Smith left Dean at the wheel and went back down the companionway to the cabin beneath. Flanagan and Hisle were locked in the bathroom. Monica sat at the small table, counting the bricks of money.

“How does it look?”

“Good,” Monica replied, thumbing through the stacks. “The bills are non-sequential, and it’s all there.” David was taking the bricks and stuffing them into separate smaller nylon shoulder bags.

They had their running money. In a little over an hour they would all be making their way to the Canadian border and toward a new life, leaving Minnesota behind forever.

Smith checked his watch and then took a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed Burton. Burton answered on the fourth ring. “How are we doing?” the kidnapper asked.

“Fine,” the FBI agent answered quietly. “The police are running around with their heads cut off, frantic that they can’t find their chief and Hisle. It’s almost comical, really. They’re quite sheepish that you made Flanagan and Hisle disappear under their noses as you did.”

“Good,” Smith replied.

“Where are you at?”

“We’ve moved through Stillwater and past most of the traffic clogging that area. We’re clear now heading north to where the St. Croix starts to narrow.”

“How long until you get to your spot?”

“We have about fifteen to twenty minutes before we get there. It’s pretty far north. We have to get past all the campers.”

“And your cargo?”

“Hisle and Flanagan are locked up for now. We had a little fun with them already with more to come soon enough. What of you?”

“I don’t have a fan club, that’s for sure,” Burton answered. “No chief, no Hisle and now, no girls.” Burton replied flatly. “But this was to be expected.”

“You have more than held up your end. I will send you a package in a month or so.” Smith hung up.

* * * * *

“Does that give you an idea of where they are at?” Duffy asked over the radio. He stood next to Burton, who was now cuffed to the metal table in the basement interview room, under the watchful eyes of Double Frank and Paddy.

“Shit. They’re well north of us already,” Mac answered on his radio as he revved the engines on his boat and quickly backed out of his slip from Charlie’s Marina. He pulled out into the sea of boats congregating just north of the Stillwater lift bridge.

“Pat, what’s your position,” Mac asked into the radio.