The St. Paul Conspiracy (33 page)

Alt, Bouchard, and a few others knew select people with serious money who would jump at the chance to acquire the surplus material. Why? Because these were groups that the Unites States government did not want to have U.S. military weaponry and equipment. Some were arms dealers. Others were labeled terrorist groups. Still others were in the drug trade, particularly in Columbia. And still others were simply viewed as unfriendly to the U.S. government. They couldn’t come to the states and purchase this equipment. However, if the powers that be at PTA were willing to do a little under-the-table dealing, these people would overpay to get their hands on the arms, explosives, and communications gear collecting dust in a remote Cross, West Virginia, warehouse

Alt and Stephens projected what the take might be. Lindsay said go ahead, “As long as I always get a third,” and none of the records included his name.

Alt and Bouchard arranged for the sale and transport of the surplus equipment. They always mixed it up, careful not to get into a pattern for shipment. Sometimes ships were used. A little money to the right stevedore and shipline assured that the goods reached their destination. Other times, the PTA jet had been used, as it had been traveling the globe for legitimate business. A few extra crates in the cargo hold wouldn’t raise suspicion. On other occasions small boats had been used, either out of Chesapeake Bay or down on the Gulf Coast.

And while PTA was making millions selling electronic and surveillance equipment to the CIA, Alt, Bouchard, and others made sure the electronic and surveillance equipment didn’t trip up the Cross operation.

With the CIA having moved mostly to electronic and satellite surveillance, the agency didn’t have the troops on the ground that they used to. Alt and company took advantage of that weakness. The equipment was always transported in small quantities. Contact was made with the groups through intermediaries. There was no paper or electronic communication ever. Only face-to-face meetings and only cash was exchanged for the equipment. There were no records, except for those kept by Stephens, who moved the money around to prevent its detection, setting up overseas accounts for all involved, under assumed names.

While the original surplus had been older military equipment, as time went on, more current and advanced arms, weaponry, and communications equipment found its way to Cross. While the previous surplus had been accidental, more intentional surplus was created and sent to Cross, where Alt would arrange for its sale. While this made Lindsay, Alt, and Bouchard a little uncomfortable, the money made it worth the risk. And Lindsay, always one to cover all the bases, had a few contacts at CIA who liked a little side cash, especially when placed in an account somewhere overseas. They would let Lindsay know if the sales were detected. They never had been. For five years, it had been a sweet little operation.

Then, in August of 2001, Lindsay’s CIA contacts informed him that some of their arms dealer contacts had found new buyers, including Middle East terrorist organizations Hamas, Hezbollah, and, worst of all, Al Qaeda. These buyers were more dangerous. Lindsay, Alt, and Bouchard decided the risk was getting too great, but it was too late.

The planes went into the towers.

The War on Terror had started.

Lindsay and Alt worried that as the War on Terror progressed, and more intelligence attention was paid to terrorist groups—where their money came from, where they got their weapons—Cross could come to light. If the Cross operation was discovered, charges of espionage and treason wouldn’t be far behind.

They shut it down. The Cross facility was shut down all together. The remaining surplus was destroyed. Dummy records were created. Alt and Bouchard hunted down their contacts who had dealt the arms, weapons, and communications equipment to the problem groups and eliminated them. Stephens was ordered to destroy all records. Everyone was ordered not to spend money, but rather to leave it overseas and spread it out as much as possible.

Stephens, having kept all the records and never having had any real operations experience at the CIA, was nervous. Alt wanted to take him out. Lindsay put him off and took a trip with Stephens and his wife, Yolanda, down to the Caymans. On a fishing boat, in the middle of the ocean, Lindsay discussed Stephens’s concerns and determined that he had put them to rest. Stephens was on board, although he always made Alt nervous. After all, he’d kept the paper trail. While his accidental death this past March had been tragic, Stephens was the one person who could have reconstructed that paper trail. They didn’t have that to worry about that anymore. Everyone else involved was a hardened intelligence officer who knew to keep his mouth shut.

Cross was in the past. Dead, buried and gone. Alt quietly watched his millions in Swiss and Cayman bank accounts grow and grow. In five years, he would retire to the Cayman’s, buy a house on a beach, an eighty-foot yacht, play lots of golf and live the good life. Nobody would be the wiser.

Then six weeks ago, Cross rudely came back to life.

Jamie Jones walked into Lindsay’s office with a banker’s box, labeled C
ROSS
. Where the heck did this come from? Jones wouldn’t say. The box contained detailed information regarding Cross. Lindsay’s name was nowhere to be found in the papers, per his original instructions. Jones assumed it had all gone on without his knowledge. While Lindsay’s name was absent, Stephens’, Alt’s and Bouchard’s names, among others, were all over the documents. But the kicker was when Jones’ said that what she was giving Lindsay was a copy. She kept an original, and she wanted to know what Lindsay would do.

Lindsay filibustered, saying he’d look into it. He looked into Jones instead. Alt and Bouchard started tracking Jones’s every move. Her office and home were bugged. E-mail, phone, and cell phone were monitored. She was put under twenty-four/seven surveillance. They needed to find the original Cross documents. They believed she had the originals, since her copier use records revealed 437 unaccounted for copies, the exact number of documents in the box.

Apparently Jones recognized Lindsay’s response for what it was and had ideas of her own. She met for coffee with Claire Daniels at Starbucks on Grand Avenue, a few blocks from Daniels’s place. From a van in the parking lot, Alt and Bouchard conducted audio surveillance of the meeting and listened as Jones spilled the beans to Daniels, claiming she had documented proof. That set off the alarm bells. Daniels, in addition to Jones, was monitored and followed. Claire Daniels had proven that she was one reporter you didn’t want digging around.

Alt and Bouchard quickly realized two things. They had to get the original documents and take care of Jones and Daniels. Making matters worse, Jones and Daniels were childhood friends from a small town in Ohio. When taking them out, the key would be to do it so that nobody made the connection between the two. Making it all the harder was the fact they had to act fast, something that made Bouchard and Alt nervous. They had spent their careers doing this sort of thing—tailing their targets for months, knowing their every move and striking at the perfect moment and leaving without a trace. Setting up one killing in a few days was one thing. Setting up two? How to pull that off without anyone making the connection was the million-dollar question.

Then the solution presented itself.

Tailing Daniels revealed her relationship with Senator Johnson. The serial killer was making headlines daily. Daniels was killed by Alt, and they fingered the senator. On the same night, Bouchard made Jones’s death look like the work of the serial killer. Their contact with the investigation had provided all the details to make it look like one of the serial-killer murders. With a special detail investigating the serial killer, the same people would not be investigating the Daniels murder. Nobody would make the personal connection between Jones and Daniels. That eliminated the problem of linking Daniels and Jones. They could now spend their time looking for the original Cross documents.

But they couldn’t find the documents. It was the last thing out there that could hang them.

Then McRyan came along and made the connection between Daniels and Jones. They hadn’t foreseen Knapp keeping his clippings and that Jones wouldn’t be included. That was enough to make someone look, and McRyan started, meeting with Lyman Hisle and talking about PTA with Kennedy. He and his little group of friends were on the hunt. They just didn’t know for what.

Alt took a sip of his beer. They had to find the Cross documents before McRyan and company did. Their advantage was that they knew what they were looking for, and McRyan didn’t. How long would that last?

Alt finished his beer. He pushed himself up out of his chair, walked back to the kitchen and grabbed another Heineken. He popped the top off and took a long drink, snorted lightly and shook his head. McRyan. Before he went to bed, Alt would go to his office, check on his money and move some of it. Twenty-four hours ago, he thought he was done. Now, more than ever, he realized he might have to run.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Cut him loose a little early, I guess.”

Mac put the key into the deadbolt and pushed in the front door to Claire Daniels’ place. It felt like an eternity since he’d been here last, although it had only been five weeks. The condo was cold and musty, a product of vacancy. He noticed a thin coating of dust on the once shiny coffee table. Claire would have disapproved. All the furniture and other furnishings remained in place, white sheets draped over most of them. There was a for sale sign out front, and the realtor told Mac a sale was imminent.

Lich, Rock, and Riley followed him in, all clapping their hands or making some other movement to shake off the cold outside air. “So, what are we looking for Sherlock?” Rock asked.

“Don’t know exactly,” Mac replied. “Let’s go through the place, see what we find.”

They didn’t really know what they were looking for, although Mac had outlined his thoughts at breakfast. Going at PTA at the moment didn’t make sense, even if the chief would have allowed it. They didn’t know what they were looking for, and PTA most likely would have eliminated any trace of anything that was within their control. What wasn’t in their control was whatever Jones and Daniels might have been talking about. They might have left something behind. Mac figured they had to find that, and then they would have something to go after PTA with. Problem was, they had no idea what Jones and Daniels shared. Mac and the others agreed that it was likely Jones found something she wasn’t supposed to and told Daniels about it. It might have been something financial, since Jones was the CFO, but they really didn’t know. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but not having any idea what the needle looked like. But they were all at the window, ready to place their bets.

Everyone took their coats off and threw them over the railing to the staircase and headed in different directions.

* * * * *

“Surprised they went back to Daniels’ place?” Bouchard asked.

“Nope. Nothing there though. We went through that place, what, four times?” Alt replied. They were sitting on Summit Avenue, looking from the north down St. Albans at the front of Daniels’ condo. Another van was parked on Grand to the south.

“Yeah.”

“And
we
knew what we were looking for,” Alt added.

“Pointless exercise in other words?”

“That’s my thought.”

“They don’t know that.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re cops. Pretty smart ones from what I’ve seen.”

“I’m not suggesting they aren’t. We’re here watching them after all,” Alt replied. “I just don’t think those documents are at Daniels’ place.”

“Where are they?”

“Heck if I know. We’ve looked everyplace I can think of. Hell, we’re still looking.”

“My worry is somebody’s going to stumble onto them,” Bouchard said, frowning.

“I have the same worry. So does Lindsay,” Alt replied. “You ready to bail on a moment’s notice?”

“Everything’s in place. You?”

“Definitely.”

They sat in silence, the wind gusts lightly rocking the van and MPR softly coming through the radio.

Bouchard sighed. “Going to be a long day watching these guys.”

* * * * *

Mac and Lich searched the upstairs while Riley and Rock took the main level, basement, and garage. They all pulled out drawers, sifted through papers, looked at pictures, went through boxes, searched closets and cabinets, pulled plates and dishes out of cupboards, looking for anything about Jones or PTA.

Mac found nothing. He went through every file on her computer. Nothing about PTA. He went through all of her filing cabinets, checked the hallway buffet cabinet, sifted through her closet, pulled clothes out of drawers and off shelves, went through all of her personal belongings. He even looked under her bed. Nothing about PTA. Nothing about Jones. He pulled a chair up in front of the cabinet that held the television. He stared at the columns of DVDs. He’d remembered her voluminous collection. There had to be over one hundred movies including lots of romantic comedies, but some steamy movies as well.
Basic Instinct, 9½ Weeks, Body Heat
, even some of those steamy B-movies that found their way to Skinamax late at night. There were videos and DVDs of her news reporting. He remembered the sports reporter at Channel 6, Joe Elliott, talking about Daniels’s perfectionism. She even videotaped her golf lessons, he said. She was a total perfectionist. While an interesting little side note, the perfectionism didn’t seem to help here.

Everyone else crapped out as well. “Mac, we’ve been through the whole downstairs, storage, garage, everything,” Riley said. Nothing had been found.

Mac looked at his watch—12:30 p.m. “Let’s get some lunch.”

They went to Bobby’s Bar, along Grand Avenue, six blocks to the west of Daniels’s place. On the way, Mac took another look at the Daniels file. Over burgers, they discussed the case.

“So what’s next?” Lich asked.

“We go back and re-interview people in the neighborhood,” Mac answered. “I called Paul Blomberg, that guy who saw someone in the alley. Lich and I are going to talk to him again, run through what he saw. Maybe talking through it again will bring something.” Then to Riley and Rock, “I want you guys to go back and talk to her neighbors. In particular, talk to John Chase. He was next door and saw the senator leaving Claire’s place one night. Also, go across the street. Talk to this guy.”