The Trap (Agent Dallas 3) (3 page)

“I hoped you’d see it that way.”

Her thoughts came back to the murder. “When did Bidwell die? Maddox was in Utah with me yesterday.”

“A parking attendant found his body this morning, and they think he died in the middle of the night.

Luke could have done it. “I made it back by three this morning, even with a delayed flight, so in a private plane, Maddox probably arrived before midnight.”

“Or one of his activists could have carried out the murder, while Maddox went to Utah for an alibi.” Drager’s mouth tightened. “But a beating like that is personal, and I’d bet a month’s pay Maddox is guilty.”

But the murder seemed like it could be a setback to Luke’s primary cause. Dallas kept the thought to herself.

Drager mistook her silence. “Maddox is dangerous, and you can back out if you want.”

Would he have said that to a male operative?
“I told you, I’m in.”

“Good.” Drager put a hand in his pocket, then slipped her a tiny device. “GPS. I want you to keep it with you. The inner circle seems pretty mobile, and I need to know where you are at all times.”

As much as she wanted the security of that level of backup, it was risky. “What if they scan me before letting me into their base camp?”

“You think they’re that sophisticated? Or paranoid?”

“Yes. Cree is a hacker, and I’ve heard them talk about someone named Aaron who’s a tech whiz. I don’t want to take the risk.”

“It’s your call.”

“Besides, I bought a smartphone in Tara’s name.” The bureau hadn’t approved the expense, but she couldn’t stand the cheap phones for personal use. Dallas wrote down the number and slid it over to him. “I know you’ll never call me on this one, but you can track my location.” They would only talk on burner phones that had no names or personal information associated with them. It was the only way to protect her cover.

Drager’s eyes contracted until he was squinting. “Have you thought about what you’ll do if they ask you to help them commit an act of sabotage?”

Her jaw tightened. This came up often in undercover work, especially for agents who went deep into biker and drug gangs. She’d faced it before too, but snorting cocaine to keep her cover had been no real sacrifice. “It depends on what they have planned and how close we are to making an arrest.”

“It’s your choice, but you may have to defend it in court.” Drager reached into his briefcase and handed her a small prescription bottle. “This is Rohypnol. If you get into a jam, you can use it to put someone else under. Or make yourself pass out, if you need to get left behind. But you didn’t get it from me.”

Relieved, she pocketed the bottle. “Thanks.” Where was their food? She was starving.

Drager drained his coffee cup. “If you have intel and can’t contact me directly, post a comment on the Real Food blog, and I’ll start an online chat with you. I’ll send a list of code words tonight.”

“Okay. But I should be able to text or call on my case phone with specific details of their plans.”

The old guy brought their sandwiches, set them down with a bottle of mustard, and walked away. Drager pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “We want to know the source of their funding too.”

“Cree Songchild’s family has money.”

“That’s an alias. The plane he flies is owned by the American Tradition Foundation, which is funded mostly by the Morrison family.” Drager rubbed his eyes, as if they hurt. “And they aren’t liberal. Whoever is bankrolling the inner circle knows what they’re up to and may even be orchestrating it. I want to track the cash.”

“You think Maddox is taking orders from someone?”

“Maybe. Get in there and find out. If we don’t cut off the money, the donor will just find another foot soldier to do the dirty work.”

“Consider it done.”

Thursday, Oct. 2, 3:55 p.m.

Back in the DC field office, Drager entered the conference room and found Agent Wunn seated on the right side of the electronic case board.
Damn.
Why did she have to be so early? He needed to sit in that spot to compensate for the blind spot in his left eye. No one in the bureau knew about the tumor causing the damage, and he didn’t intend to let anyone find out. At least not until he could retire with full benefits.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Wunn didn’t believe in smiling. Still, she was competent, dedicated, and easy to get along with. Nice to look at too, but that wasn’t why he wanted her on his team. It was just a bonus.

Drager raised his hand in greeting. “Hey. Would you mind moving? I prefer to sit there.”

“No problem.” Wunn gathered her things, including coffee, and scooted over.

“Thanks.” Drager took a seat, wishing he’d brought his thermos of decaf. It still had caffeine, but nowhere near as much as the regular stuff, which gave him dehydration headaches and interfered with his sleep. But so did being an agent. He’d rest when he retired.

“I heard about Judge Bidwell’s death,” Wunn said. “Are we going to be involved in the investigation?”

“It’s a cooperative effort with me sitting on their task force. That’s why—”

Rick Manning strode in, looking self-satisfied. Agent Two. The name popped into his head every time the little troublemaker and Agent Wunn were in the same room. Drager had sent Manning to the judge’s crime scene as soon as he’d heard about the murder. He’d wanted to see it for himself, but he had to stay focused on their UC agent.

“I saw the body right before the medical examiner hauled it way,” Manning said, still standing. “Brutal. I have a lot to report, but none of it is particularly helpful.” He glanced back and forth between Drager and Wunn. “Do we know where Luke was last night or this morning?”

“Yesterday morning, he was in Utah, rock-swinging with our UC agent and most of the inner circle.” Drager motioned for Manning to sit. This was his task force meeting. “Maddox was there until about two, along with Abby Gleeson and Cree Songchild. They flew back in a private plane, which stopped at a small airport outside of Emporia, Virginia around nine thirty last night, then landed at Centreville right after ten.” Drager had spent the last hour tracking down Songchild’s flight details.

“That leaves Maddox plenty of time to get to the parking garage,” Wunn said.

Manning’s smugness faded. “There are no prints on the tire iron and no security cameras in that area of the garage. MPD has its work cut out on this one.”

Drager asked, “When are they doing the autopsy?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Manning sipped his bottled water, then commented, “There are hundreds of defendants who had motive, and they all need to be checked out. MPD isn’t even focused on Maddox because he has no history of violence.”

“Maybe our UC can get Maddox to talk about it,” Wunn suggested.

“Not likely, but I’ll ask her to try.” Drager needed to update them on their progress. “Dallas has been invited to a meeting of the inner circle tomorrow around five. She knows it’s a house south of Fairfax Station, and that’s all.”

“A breakthrough!” Manning would have high-fived him if he’d been sitting closer.

Drager grabbed the keyboard in the middle of the table and tapped the space bar. The case board with their notes lit up. “We’ll soon know the names of everyone in the inner circle. Dallas thinks there’s only one or two more she hasn’t met.” He keyed in the Virginia location and meeting time. It wasn’t enough.

“Will she have a GPS?” Wunn asked, echoing his concern.

“I gave her a device, but she thinks they’ll scan her and doesn’t want to risk it.” Drager had to let it be her call. “She has a smartphone though, so we should be able to track her.”

“Once she’s inside, we’ll know what they’re plotting.” Manning rubbed his hands together in classic eagerness.

The door opened and Special Agent Garrick stepped in. “I just heard about Judge Bidwell’s murder.” Their boss didn’t sit down. “Was Luke Maddox sentenced in his court in Virginia?”

“Yes, he’s our primary suspect. MPD doesn’t see it that way though.”

“You have to nail him.” Agent Garrick’s downturned mouth twisted in frustration. “We can’t let ex-cons take out judges. We need to send a very public message that we won’t tolerate it.”

“Our UC agent is about to join the inner circle and find out what they’re plotting.” So far, the inner circle had only flooded certain politicians with emails, taken down websites, and sent out phony emails to constituents. But he and Dallas both thought the group had serious sabotage planned.

Special Agent Garrick crossed his arms. “Don’t be passive about this investigation or let it drag on. Let’s get ahead of it.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“We need to lead the group where we want them to go. Let’s set them up for a takedown that will send them to prison for a long time.”

Whoa.
Was he talking about entrapment? “I want to put them away too,” Drager said. “But maybe we should see what they have planned. As long as we have advance warning from our UC, we can step in and arrest them in the act of whatever it is.”

The boss shook his head and damn-near shouted, “I don’t want them on hacking or vandalism or some petty bullshit! I want justice for Judge Bidwell. I want them incarcerated for life, so other activists think twice about joining their cause. Get creative and set them up for a big fall.” The boss turned and strode out.

Friday, Oct. 3, 10:00 a.m.

To kill time and blow off tension, Dallas spent the morning windsurfing on the river, enjoying the last of the bright summer days. After July in Phoenix, she’d been happy to move to Maryland for the fall, and the weather had been great. But she was restless now and hated the traffic.

She went home for lunch, then logged onto the Justice Reform Now website and checked their calendar. The national group had a demonstration planned in front of the White House next week. She wondered if the inner circle would be there. They were probably too high-profile now and not willing to risk even a minor arrest. A new blog had been posted on the site so she read it, stunned by the case it outlined. A mother of four in Florida had been sentenced to eight years for selling pot, a charge she claimed was trumped up. The JRN blog called for supporters to donate money to the mother’s defense fund. Dallas hoped for the sake of her children that the organization was successful in getting the woman a new trial. Sending her to rehab made much more sense than putting four kids in foster care for nearly a decade.

Yet some parents, like her own, never got it together. Hers had snorted meth and drank themselves into stupidity during her entire childhood. She’d been passed from relative to relative, living out of an overnight bag, and her Aunt Lynn had paid for dozens of activities to keep her busy. Her parents had finally given up the meth, but not in time for her father’s liver to recover. Mostly, Dallas chose not to think about them.

She clicked through to another blog. As part of her cover, she’d written a few opinion pieces and submitted them to the JRN website. They’d uploaded one, and she clicked on it just for fun. Writing was a decent pastime, but she could never make a real career of it. Sitting in front of a computer made her crazy after about two hours. She looked at the clock. It wasn’t time yet. What kind of meeting would it be, and what did the activists have in mind?

Dallas got up and paced her little apartment, playing out possibilities in her mind. In the best-case scenario, the inner circle would ask her to join their cause and move into their house or complex. That level of trust and accessibility would allow her to gather intel quickly and wrap up the assignment. She was eager to complete this assignment. She hated living in DC. Once she’d seen all the historical points of interest, it was just a busy, touristy city. She’d kept sane by running along the river and learning how to windsurf. But she’d already been here for six weeks, and she missed Cameron. She’d flown to Flagstaff three weeks ago to see him, and it had been great—but also a little reckless. Once she was inside the group, she would have to break all contact with him. Her background profile for this case included a brother in Flagstaff, so she was covered for the trip she’d already made, but she couldn’t go again. The inner circle might scrutinize her more closely for a while to make sure they could trust her.

Potentially, this was the most dangerous group she’d investigated. If they were willing to kill a judge just to stimulate public and Congressional dialogue on the subject of prison reform, they might well kill her if they discovered she was a federal agent. Dallas headed into the bedroom and pulled a small safe from under the bed. Inside, she kept two burner phones, one for contacting Agent Drager and one for contacting her friends and family. She let out a rueful laugh. That meant three people. Stacie, her best friend, had inspired her to choose Phoenix as her bureau location. Aunt Lynn, who lived in Flagstaff, where Dallas had grown up. Her mother was there too, but Dallas never contacted her. And Cameron, another old friend from high school, who was also her current lover.

She remembered that her therapist’s number was in her phone too, but they typically conducted sessions through Skype. Dallas hadn’t contacted Dr. Harper since she’d started seeing Cameron. Was she worried the shrink would disapprove? Or would Harper encourage her to get serious about Cameron? That might put an end to her undercover career. Dallas grabbed the phone and called Cameron, hoping it would go to voicemail, because that would be easier.

“Jamie. So good to hear from you.” His deep voice dropped to a soft whisper. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine, but I’m probably going deep undercover soon, so you won’t hear from me until the case is over.”

“How long?

“My best guess is a month or so, but it could take up to a year.” She knew of a UC agent who’d spent three years working a money-laundering case in Florida. He’d ended up divorced, of course.

“A year? Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not likely.”

A pause. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

She almost laughed, but he was so serious. “Of course I will.”
Liar!

“I have an offer on the brewery. We’re meeting tomorrow.” He was trying to sell his business so he could move to Phoenix to be with her.