The Assassin's Trail (16 page)

Washington, D.C.

Saturday morning

Director Wagner sat behind his desk, arms flat on the surface and hands clasped with fingers intertwined. As a practiced politician, his face was a mask of neutrality. He listened quietly as Seltzer summarized the evidence discovered in Ortega’s hotel room and through Charlie Craft’s computer forensics. Kruger watched the director closely, noting a tiny sheen of perspiration developing on Wagner’s upper lip and an increased respiration rate.

Seltzer paused at the end of his presentation. Wagner did not comment, so Seltzer continued, “Last night, military police arrested two individuals, each at separate bases. Preliminary audits of those facilities indicate inventory discrepancies with specific weapons and ordinances mentioned in the Ortega notebook.”

Wagner stared at a spot on his desk. When he raised his head, he stared at Seltzer.

“I was under the impression Agent Kruger was no longer involved with this case,” he finally said. “Why are we discussing his involvement, and why is this agency still investigating a closed case?”

“Director,” Seltzer said, “Agent Kruger was doing a follow-up investigation on what was originally thought to be an unrelated case. This investigation led Agent Kruger to the suspect in St. Louis. Agent Kruger was unaware of the suspect’s involvement with Cooper until specific evidence was discovered during the lawful search of the suspect’s hotel room.”

Smiling, Wagner shook his head.

“Mr. Seltzer, I’ve been a politician for over two decades and my built-in BS meter is finely tuned. It just pinged. Please do not insult my intelligence with this fictitious account. You were specifically instructed to remove Agent Kruger from this investigation. Now I find these instructions were not carried out.”

Seltzer stared at the director, not believing what he was hearing. Before he could comment, Kruger said, “Alan, I'll answer this. Director Wagner, you were misled with unsubstantiated information about this case. Agent Dollar has a history of declaring cases prematurely closed, he ignores facts, and he refuses to listen when evidence is presented that contradicts his conclusions. He’s a lazy, undisciplined FBI agent and totally unfit to be in charge of a major investigation.”

The director stared at Kruger and cleared his throat.

“Agent Dollar made that announcement after consulting with me,” he said.

Kruger shook his head and chuckled. “Then you are the bigger fool for following the fool.”

Wagner jumped from his chair, leaned forward and slapped his palms on his desk. His face had turned a bright crimson. He stared at Kruger.

“How dare you accuse me of collusion? Consider yourself suspended, pending an internal investigation. And you, Mr. Seltzer, will consider yourself suspended for disobeying a direct order from the director. Do I make myself clear?”

Kruger started to say something when the director’s intercom interrupted him. “Excuse me, Director, line one. It's the President.”

Wagner's face turned ashen. He sat back down, snatched the handset from the phone, hesitated briefly, took a deep breath, and said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

He was quiet as he listened. “Yes, sir, they’re sitting here in my office.”

Another pause.

“Yes sir, I have been briefed.”

Wagner closed his eyes and covered them with his free hand.

“Yes, sir, I will inform them after our conversation.”

He listened for more than a minute, the perspiration above his lips more pronounced. Even though he was sitting across the desk from the director, Kruger could hear the angry garbled voice on the other end of the call.

“I understand, sir… My apologies… Yes, I understand.”

Wagner stared at the top of his desk for several more moments as he listened to the President.

Finally, he said, “I will have it on your desk within the hour.”

Wagner returned the handset to the phone’s cradle. He looked at Seltzer and Kruger, and placed his arms once again on the desk with his fingers intertwined.

“It appears you two have a guardian angel watching over you. I apparently resigned ten minutes ago. You are to report immediately to Acting Director Stumpf. Meanwhile, I have a letter to write.”

Wagner turned his back to them, opened the laptop on the credenza behind him and started typing. Seltzer stood and motioned for Kruger to follow. The two left the ex-director’s office and hurried down the hall to Stumpf's office. His assistant smiled and motioned for them to go in immediately.

Stumpf was listening on the phone. He smiled as he pointed at two chairs in front of his desk. After a minute, Stumpf said, “Yes, sir, I will handle it immediately. I appreciate your confidence.”

He returned the handset to the phone and said, “I wish I could have been there to see Wagner's reaction. How was it?”

Seltzer said, “Interesting. One second he’s suspending Kruger and me, and the next, he was apologizing to the President. What did you do?”

“I merely presented Kruger's evidence to the Attorney General at breakfast yesterday. He presented it to the President this morning, who promptly fired Wagner. The President just informed me you two did him a huge favor. Wagner was a holdover from the previous administration and the President didn’t like him or trust him. But, he didn't have a solid reason to fire him—until today.”

Kruger said, “Excuse me, Paul, but it wasn’t my evidence; it was the team's evidence. I didn't do it alone.”

Smiling, Stumpf said, “I know, Sean, it's just a figure of speech. Your team did an excellent job on this. We already have the supply chain shut down. I’m told those individuals are cooperating and giving us details on how the C4 was obtained by Cooper.”

“How do you want us to move forward?” Seltzer asked.

“First, as of now, Kruger is totally in charge of the investigation. Franklin Dollar, even though he is currently unaware of it, has been demoted and transferred to the branch office in Fargo, North Dakota. Sorry about the BS we put you through, Sean. You officially have FBI resources at your disposal as of this moment.”

“Thank you, Paul,” said Kruger. “I'm sorry if I don't jump up and down with excitement. Ortega’s in the wind and two additional conspirators are currently unidentified.”

Stumpf nodded. “Understood. I have one more point to discuss, your pending retirement. With Wagner gone, the President has authorized changes around here, good changes. The agency will be stronger and more responsive. I need people like you and our new Deputy Director, Alan Seltzer here, working with me to make those changes.”

Seltzer apparently had not been informed of his promotion. He said, “Thank you, Paul. Are you sure I'm the best candidate?”

Smiling, Stumpf nodded. “Yes, Alan, you are. The President agreed with my recommendations this morning. I've been working behind the scenes preparing for this change of administration for several months.” He turned to Kruger and continued, “Sean, I know you want to stop traveling, and I don't blame you. My plans call for naming you the new Special Agent in Charge of our Kansas City office.”

Kruger eyes grew wide. For the first time this morning, he did not possess any idea how to respond. Finally after what seemed like hours, he said, “Thank you, sir, I appreciate your confidence. But this is a decision I need to discuss with Stephanie. Besides, I have an investigation that needs to be resolved. Afterwards we can discuss it.”

Stumpf said, “That's the reason I need you on my team Sean, good decision-making skills. I can wait.”

“Good. In the meantime,” Kruger said, “I need to keep my team together. They’re familiar with the case, plus we’re making progress. While Charlie’s here in Washington, he needs to brief a local team before flying back. They can start accessing his information and searching for the shooter located in this area.”

“You two handle the details. Alan, you have the authority to use whatever resources are necessary. Meanwhile, if you will excuse me, I have to undo a lot of damage caused by my predecessor.”

Seltzer and Kruger left the office and found Charlie Craft and Ryan Clark waiting in the hall outside Stumpf's office. Charlie said, “Rumors are flying around here. Is Wagner out?”

Seltzer nodded and said, “Let's find a conference room, and we’ll bring you both up to speed.”

The next two hours were spent organizing how the investigation would move forward. Charlie was assigned to Kruger until further notice and relieved of all other duties. Later in the afternoon, a new task force would be assigned to the East Coast search and Charlie would review the evidence with them. Clark was given the option of staying on the team, or going back to the Alexandria Police Department. He chose to stay on the team.

Once the meeting broke up, Clark and Charlie left, leaving Seltzer and Kruger alone for the first time.

“I told you Paul had a plan, Sean. I didn't know all the details, but he hinted it would be big.”

Kruger nodded. “First positive change around here for a long time.”

“I know your plans are to retire after this is over. But Paul wanted me to assure you the traveling would be minimal if you accept the Kansas City position. Besides, you’ve spent your entire career in the field. It’s time you take a promotion.”

Kruger looked out one of the windows in the conference room as Seltzer spoke. He was silent for several moments.

“The offer is tempting, Alan. I have to discuss it with Stephanie before I can give you an answer. There was a reason I didn’t return immediately to Washington.”

Seltzer nodded. “Paul told me you had something on your mind, but wouldn’t tell him.”

“Stephanie and I had a meeting with an adoption agency yesterday morning. There’s a good chance they’ve found a child for us. Looks like it could be as early as late summer. Stephanie wants this and so do I. She deserves the opportunity to experience the joys and heartbreak of being a mother.”

“Congratulations to you both. I’m happy for you, Sean. But that doesn’t keep you from taking the new position. In fact, it’s a great opportunity for you.”

“I know, but I missed a lot when Brian was growing up. I don't want to repeat that mistake. Besides, it may be time for me to hang it up any way. Clark and I had Ortega.” He made a fist as he spoke. “We had him in our hands, Alan. All we had to do was arrest him, but I made the wrong call and he got away. Not sure that’s Special Agent in Charge material.”

“Nonsense. You're still one of the best Sean. You deserve this promotion, more than anyone I know. It'll keep you in Kansas City where you can focus on local issues. You’ll have less travelling and time for your new family. It’s perfect for you.”

Kruger was silent as he nodded. Finally he said, “Yes it is perfect, but I’m still not sure. I really need to discuss it with Stephanie.” A grim smile appeared as he stood up to leave the conference room.

Western United States

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon as he left Topeka, Kansas driving west. By 1 p.m., Ortega was parked outside a warehouse next to the railroad yards in Denver. The building was on the outer rim of a large industrial park, surrounded by old abandoned structures. After checking to make sure the CZ’s safety was on and there was a bullet in the chamber, he tucked it in his belt and pulled his sweatshirt down to cover the gun. The KA-BAR was strapped to his right calf, covered by his pant leg. Stepping out of the car, he scanned the dock area. Except for an old red Toyota pickup, the place was deserted. Satisfied no one else was around, he entered the warehouse through a side door next to the loading dock.

Except for rows of shelving stacked with crates along the far back wall, the interior was empty. His contact was in a glassed-in office area located on the west wall approximately fifteen feet from the door he had entered. The man sitting at the desk was in his mid-50s, unnaturally skinny, with wispy salt and pepper hair. His eyes squinted behind thick black-rimmed glasses and it appeared he hadn’t shaved in a week. When he saw Ortega, he frowned and stood up. He walked to the office door, unlocked it and waved Ortega in. “You’re late.”

“Traffic,” replied Ortega.

“Yeah, whatever. You mentioned on the phone something about new IDs. What do you need exactly?”

“A driver’s license and passport.”

“Any credit cards?”

“Maybe an American Express. How much?”

“I don't know, man. You're a hot commodity right now.”

Ortega frowned. “What do you mean, hot commodity?”

“You been sleeping under a rock, man? Your military ID picture’s all over the news. FBI's calling you a person of interest in two murders in New York.”

Ortega was silent. Finally he said, “How much for the stuff?”

“Fifty thousand, half up front, and you can have them in the morning.”

“Seventy if you can have them in an hour.”

The man took his glasses off and wiped the lenses with the tail of his untucked shirt. He stared at Ortega and smiled. “My, my, my... You are in a hurry, aren't you? Make it a hundred and you can come back in an hour.”

Tilting his head, Ortega paused and narrowed his eyes. “No, I’ll wait.”

The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. What state?”

“Utah… Yeah, make it Utah.”

The man started spreading the legs of a heavy duty tri-pod. He reached for a camera on his cluttered desk and secured it to the top. A wooden straight-back chair sat in front of a blank wall painted an off-white. Pointing to the chair, he said, “Sit there, I need a picture.”

Before Ortega sat down, he handed the man an envelope with cash. The man fanned the bills in the envelope and nodded. After the picture was taken, the man disappeared into another room behind the office.

Exactly ninety minutes later, Ortega was presented with a new Utah driver’s license, passport and a Gold American Express card in the name of Duane Horton. Ortega examined them and said, “Nice work. I'll get you the balance.”

He reached around, pulled the CZ from his belt, pointed it at his contact’s head and said as he pulled the trigger, “Sorry, man. Can't let you talk to the Feds.” The shot reverberated in the empty warehouse.

Ortega retrieved his initial deposit and found an additional sixty thousand dollars in another desk drawer. He smiled and glanced at the dead body. “Don’t think you’ll be needing this—man.”

After wiping down all the surfaces he might have touched, he spent another ten minutes searching for the ejected casing from the CZ. He found it lodged behind a filing cabinet and placed it in his jean pocket. Finally he stepped into the room where the man had been for an hour and a half.

The computer was still on. He searched for any files containing information he didn't want the FBI to know. Not knowing where to look didn't help. After several minutes of searching he gave up and deleted the entire My Document file on the computer. It was getting late and he needed to get on the road toward Utah. After looking around the rooms one last time, he exited the warehouse and made sure both the office and outside warehouse doors were locked.

Sitting behind the wheel of his car, he examined Duane Horton’s new driver’s license and passport. The man did excellent work. Too bad he was collateral damage. He drove out of the parking lot and started the long drive to Provo, Utah.

The next morning, shortly after eleven, Ortega pulled into the Discount Sporting Goods and Gun Shop's parking lot in southern Provo. The place was busy, which was good. With a lot of customers in the shop, there was less possibility someone would remember him if the FBI showed up and started asking questions.

Once inside the store, he was pleased to see every salesperson occupied. A rack of long guns was behind the counter on the right side of the store. It extended the entire length of the wall. In the middle he found a Remington 700 SPS Tactical. Combined with the Bushnell Elite Scope laying on a glassed-in shelf beneath the counter, he would have a formidable combination for the task ahead.

It took fifteen minutes before a busy salesperson walked over and said, “Did you find anything you need?”

“Yeah, let me see the Remington 700 SPS.”

The salesperson handed it to him and said, “Great rifle, last one in the store, too.”

“I'll take it and the Bushnell Elite,” he said, pointing at the scope on the shelf.

The salesman nodded and said, “Great combination. Goin' for elk?”

Ortega nodded and said, “Yeah. I need to sight it in; do you know of any local ranges?”

The salesperson said, “Sure do, I'll give you one of their cards. It has directions. If you’ll follow me, I need you to fill out some paperwork.”

Thirty minutes later, Ortega walked out of the gun shop with the Remington 700 SPS, Scope and 400 rounds of ammo legally purchased under the name of Duane Horton.

In the afternoon, he paid cash for a 2007 Jeep Wrangler with 81,112 miles. Thirty minutes after walking onto the car lot, Ortega had paperwork showing Duane Horton as the new owner. He drove back to the hotel, removed the license plates from his car and placed them on the Jeep. Next he drove the car to a local Walmart Supercenter and parked it among the employee’s cars on the west side of the store. He locked the car, threw the keys into a trash receptacle and walked into the store.

It took forty-five minutes to find everything he needed: a suitcase, underwear, socks, jeans, shirts, hooded sweatshirt, hiking boots, toothpaste, deodorant, shaving cream, razors, a cell phone with two hours of prepaid time, and a small electric screwdriver. After paying cash for his purchases, he used the new cell phone to call a taxi for a ride back to his hotel.

Sunday was spent at a rifle range in the foothills east of town zeroing in the Remington 700 SPS and Bushnell scope. It took 150 rounds of ammunition, but Ortega was centering shots at 500 yards with regularity. Pleased with the rifle and scope combination, he felt ready to get back to his mission.

Early Monday morning, after loading the Jeep, he drove north toward Salt Lake City and I-80 west. Before heading west on the highway, he cruised through one of the long term parking lots at Salt Lake City International Airport, searching for a similar color and model year Jeep. Locating several was not difficult in this part of the country. One in particular met his needs. It was in the most isolated section of the lot and was next to a large van. Parking his own Jeep several rows away, he checked to make sure he knew where all the security cameras were located. Satisfied he could accomplish his goal without being recorded, he walked to the target Jeep and using his newly purchased electric screwdriver, removed the license plates. He returned to his Jeep and left the parking lot.

Once outside the airport complex, he stopped, changed the license plates, and then followed his GPS to I-80 West. San Francisco was now only twelve hours away to the west.

***

Houston, TX

Abbas stood on a wooden deck outside of a popular night spot on the northern side of the Port of Houston. He leaned forward against the handrails. His gaze was on the tranquil water of the harbor, but his thoughts were on the coming two weeks.

He sensed rather than saw someone walk up next to him and lean against the handrail.

“The lights are pleasing to view, yes?”

Abbas nodded. “Yes, they are pleasing. How are you, my brother?”

The newcomer stared out over the harbor. “I am well.”

“Thank you for avoiding our traditional greeting. It might draw unwanted attention.”

The man next to Abbas chuckled. “I have been in this country too long, Aazim, I know what to say and what not to say.”

“Soon, my brother, we will go home. The Americans will then know jihad has reached their land.”

“How is your diversion going?”

“I did not choose wisely, Naadir. It was discovered too early.”

“The Americans are undisciplined. They are distracted by too many electronic toys.”

Abbas nodded. “Yes, this is true. But the one I chose is not. I am not sure how he was discovered, but he was. There is one more task he must accomplish, then he will be useless to us.”

“Have you changed our plan?”

Silence was Naadir’s answer.

The two brothers did not say anything for several minutes. Finally Aazim stood up straight. “We have been blessed by Allah to bring this upon the infidels. Our plans have to be flexible, to follow his will. My ultimate goal has not changed. The path however, is subject to change.”

Naadir nodded.

“I need you to arrange for the containers to be delivered to the warehouse in Tulsa.” Aazim looked at his brother. “Have them picked up on Tuesday and delivered on Wednesday. You will need to meet them and make sure they are secure. I will correct my mistake when I meet Ortega there. Until then, secure the containers. We will have help arriving by the end of the week.”

Smiling, Naadir stood straight and glanced at his brother. He nodded and walked quickly to the interior of the restaurant. Aazim watched him exit the building, get into a Ford pickup and drive away. He turned and leaned against the railing again. A slight grin came to his face as he watched the lights of the harbor.