Deliverer (11 page)

Chapter 20

The phone rang between the two beds. Truman leaned across the pillow and answered it, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Yes?"

"Your taxi's waiting."

"Thank you."

Truman stood and tucked several files back into his suitcase. Something flashed in the street below, and Truman leaned his forehead closer to the window, narrowing his eyes. A glint of metal on the driver's side window in the Firebird. A reflection of the door frame?

He recognized the sniper gun a split second before the wall next to his head exploded. He threw himself facedown on the floor seconds before another bullet punctured the window and buried itself in the hotel door.

His heart thudded in his chest and he frisked his hands down his body. No sign of injury. Somehow, he had to get out of here and into the taxi without being shot. He lifted to his elbows and pulled himself away from the window. "Probably a man in the hallway," he breathed to himself. His mind felt sharp and alert, adrenaline enhancing the details of the room. He yanked his phone out of his pocket and called 911. Getting the police out here wasn't good for him, but it might scare McAllister off as well.

He could punch through the plaster wall to the next room. And then what? Just keep punching through walls until he got outside?

He gave the information to the dispatcher and snapped his phone shut. More bullets pinged around his room and he flinched, smashing his face into the ground. He couldn't reach the motel phone, but surely they heard the noise. Not that they were likely to send any heroic person up to save him.

He reached a hand up onto the bed and felt the folder that had held the documents. Information was more valuable than lives and he couldn't lose all this. His fingers closed around the folder and what was left of its contents. It only held half a dozen sheets. He cursed at them and lifted his hand to get more of the documents. Another bullet pierced the window and flew over the bed. Papers flew everywhere and he ducked as he was showered in glass and a small barrage of office supplies. His fist closed over a handful of papers and he shoved them up his shirt.

Truman slipped his pistol from his pants and slithered to the door. There couldn't have been more than four people smashed into that Firebird. At least one was down there shooting. Which meant there were, at most, three inside the motel, waiting to take him out. Taking a risk, he stood and pressed his eye to the peephole.

A man stood outside the door, leveling a gun at the card swipe.

Truman swore and jumped out of the way just as the bullet blew a hole in the door. Not wasting a moment, Truman stuck his gun through the newly formed opening and fired. A cry and a thump let him know he'd hit his target. Swinging the door wide open, he hurried from his room, stepping over the body.

Stairs or elevator? Stairs were bad for getting trapped. Elevator was bad if McAllister's men were in there. Truman hit the elevator button and leveled his gun at it. He kept his body angled so he could survey the hallway, eyes sweeping the corridor.

The elevator opened, revealing a security officer. This was the motel's offering? One man, and probably unarmed? Truman let out a sigh and lowered his weapon. Good thing he planned for himself. "There." He pointed to the fallen gunman. "He tried to kill me."

The security guard's eyes took in Truman's weapon. "Give me that gun.”

Truman wanted to argue the point, but didn’t really have time. He slapped the weapon into the man’s hand, hoping his bank account had enough for him to buy another.

“Don't go anywhere," the guard commanded, and hurried to the dead man.

Whatever
,
Truman thought. He stepped into the elevator and pushed for the lobby. The door slid shut. "Plan, Truman," he whispered. "What's the plan?"

Get out. That was the only plan. McAllister still had two or three men running around the motel, trying to find him.
He straightened his meager pile of pages into the folder, hoping to look business like.

The elevator came to a halt, and Truman flinched, gun held to the ready. Someone had to be waiting here.

Then he heard the sirens and shoved his gun away. McAllister wouldn't risk a gun fight with police outside. He hoped the taxi hadn’t left.

Then again, he didn't know how long McAllister had been trailing him. He might know everything.

No, he couldn't know about Cincinnati. That had been decided only minutes ago.

Anxious patrons filled the lobby, being comforted and consoled by the motel staff. Outside, the police were busy setting up a perimeter around the hotel, and Truman realized a taxi wouldn't be able to get in. He stepped around the distressed guests and searched the buildings across the street. A man stood outside a yellow cab in front of Pizza Hut, shielding his eyes with one hand and looked toward the motel.

That had to be his taxi. The police probably made him move.

The front doors were guarded, keeping anyone from going in or out. Truman slipped around the corner to the side exit. No one stood by it. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped outside.

His foot barely graced the sidewalk before someone grabbed his arms and shoved his face against the brick building. He tensed as hands slid down his body, frisking him. And then he was spun around.

“What are you doing?” a police officer barked. “Everyone is to remain inside.”

Truman’s heart pounded frantically. How would he get out of this? He scanned the officers, looking for a familiar face. He’d been here a year ago with one of his agents, and he’d met several officers under the guise of a foreign doctor.

Behind the man who detained him, Truman spotted an officer he'd met. Hopefully he remembered him. Truman waved his arms. "Sergeant Chrisler!"

The policeman looked over and focused on Truman. "Yes?"

Truman jogged toward him, keeping his facial expression stiff. "You probably don't remember me. Officer Kim introduced us, just over a year ago. I'm Dr. King?"

"Oh, yes." The sergeant nodded vaguely, and Truman doubted he actually remembered. But using Kim's name earned his trust. "Are there any injured inside? How fortunate that you were here."

Not really
. "I haven’t heard of anyone yet. But I received a call on my pager, and I'm needed at the hospital." He pointed across the street. "I have a taxi waiting for me. Can I go?

"Of course." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Truman.

Too easy. Truman hurried over to the taxi.

"Are you Alex King?" The driver looked him over.

"Yes." For a panicked moment Truman thought he'd left everything in the motel room; a quick pat-down assured him that he still had his passport and wallet, along with the cell phone and gun. Everything else, all his files, his luggage—he gritted his teeth. He could only hope the maid cleaned out his room and tossed the info, or every agent he had would soon be receiving an unwelcome visit.

And since it was a crime scene, chances were good that the police would get to it before she did.

For a brief moment he entertained the idea of rushing back inside to grab his files. It wasn't worth his life, though.

"So glad you made it out," the cab driver said.

With an effort, Truman forced a smile. "Crazy. I had to leave all my stuff behind." He climbed into the cab, his body stiff.
Truman considered again what he'd left in the room.
It doesn't matter,
he told himself. He was retiring. The whole network could dissolve.

Still, he
would have to warn his agents about what was coming.

He thumbed through his phone, making sure he still had all his contacts.

"What's going on?" the driver asked, gesturing at the police cars and arriving ambulance as they drove away.

"No idea. Airport, please." How on earth had McAllister tracked him to California?

Had McAllister somehow figured out his American name?

My ears are stopped, and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath possessed them.

The Two Gentleman of Verona
had so much depth for a comedy. Truman
clenched his jaw and dug his fingernails into his hands. He couldn't catch a plane here. "If you can skip the international airport and take me to a regional one, I'll just charter a jet. Here." Truman handed him a wad of cash. "This should cover any extra expense."

The man glanced at the money and his eyes widened. "Right away."

Truman settled back and closed his eyes, fighting a migraine. That was all the cash he had left.

#

"Here's what I've got." Grey glanced up over the sheet of names in front of him, meeting Truman's eyes across the table. "These are all the agents employed in Ohio."

Truman took the sheet of paper and scanned the names. None of them meant anything,
and only six had more than a name and phone number. He was just glad to be alive and out of California. McAllister wouldn't be able to trace him here. Derek had procured a motel room in Cleveland using his name, which would be unknown to McAllister. "What are these highlighted names?"

"These are the agents who have been reassigned in the past week. All of them are in Cincinnati."

Truman nodded. "Then whatever’s going on isn’t here in Cleveland. We're in the wrong city. How did you get this information?" It would take weeks of stake outs for him to know which agent had been reassigned.

"From the FBI database. This was all I could get, though. The security encryption for any other information was too high. I have no idea where these agents are going or what they'll be doing. I only know they were taken from their current assignments to different ones."

Derek Bennett leaned over as well. Truman couldn't think of him without thinking of his dead brother, Danny. Derek's eyes had a muted desperate wildness to them, but the rest of his expression was serious and professional. Truman had his concerns about Derek's mental stability, but he kept them to himself.

Derek cleared his throat. "So we need to get to Cincinnati and find the girls. Can Grey get into the computer system again?"

At least he sounded sane.

Grey shook his head. "All I could get into was the employee roster. I can't access anything else. You'd need a much better hacker than me."

"This is enough to start. You did good. Looks like we're going to Cincinnati." Truman ran his finger down the names, mouthing them to himself. "Rodriguez."

The short Hispanic man pulled himself away from the wall. The veins on his overworked biceps stood out under his white tank top. "Boss?"

"You and Grey get all the information on these names as you can. I'm looking for someone  we can threaten. There has to be more at stake than their own lives, or they won't care. Someone with a child, a family.”

Grey nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Let's go, then. Derek, you're with me. Rodriguez and Grey, you're in the other car." It was time to switch rental cars, anyway. He had to keep things new all the time.

Cincinnati was a four-hour drive from Cleveland. By the time they got there, Grey had worked his networking magic over the phone. He explained what he'd found as they hunched over the small table in a Motel 6.

"Most of these agents are single, but I found several with families. Some have teenage kids, which we could kidnap and hold as collateral..."

Truman zoned out for a moment. More kidnappings? The nervous sense of panic he'd felt the day McAllister attacked fluttered in his throat again. This wasn't what he wanted.
I'm retiring
, he reminded himself.
I have to do this so I can get out.

“I especially paid attention to the female agents. They’re usually easier to intimidate.
Here are a few possibilities." He circled the names "Crystal Florence,"“Abigail Belsun,” and “Sonja Andreasen” with his blue pen.

"Crystal’s single,” Grey continued. “No immediate support group, and she has a little girl.
Abigail is also single, has a preteen son, and lives in an apartment building in the center of town. Sonja is married, but her husband is currently out of the country. If we tell her we have agents on him as well, she’ll do anything to protect her two beautiful babies."

“
Babies!” Derek yelled “I am not taking care of babies.”

Grey rolled his eyes. “Toddlers, children, whatever. They’re three and four.”

Truman narrowed his eyes and considered the women. A smile crept to his lips. “Good work, Grey. We'll keep an eye on all three, but Crystal is our focus.”

Grey nodded and took a long sip from his giant cup of soda. "
She was an easy one to track down from the start. Her answering machine says, 'You've reached Crystal and Rachel! Leave a message!" He imitated the high-pitched tones of a woman.

"Rachel could be a sister," Rodriguez pointed out. "Or a roommate."

Grey's lip curled up in contempt. "Only if said roommate squeals like a two-year-old."

"Easy way to find out," Truman said. "You have the address?" A
nxiety bubbled in his chest but he kept his voice calm. He reached toward the floor to pet Barley and paused mid air. He kept forgetting that the dog was gone. Rerouting the movement, Truman brushed at a non-existent piece of lint on his pants.