SAVING VIN by AJB
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"The brief version," Barnette started, hugging a thin file to his chest. He stood center stage to an arc of openly wary A.T.F. agents in the reservation's barn, where Josiah had delivered him less than an hour before. "A little over two years ago I noticed that some evidence was missing from one of my cases. It was a small amount of Oxycodone, but traceable because it had unique packaging. I'd seen it before in other cases. When I tried to find it, there was absolutely no trace of the items; like it never existed. Someone knew how to make it disappear."
Chris shifted silently, already not liking the direction this story appeared to be taking.
"When I tried to follow through, I was blocked and contradicted at every turn. I was even accused of bribery and misappropriation of property. When it came to the point of pushing the issue and getting a formal investigation or just dropping it, I dropped it. But I didn't forget. Clearly, to me, at least, something wasn't right. I started my own, personal investigation under the radar and found a link - medical grade pharmaceuticals and one Dr. Sean Griffin."
At this point, Barnette dug into the front pocket of his pants and then held up a flash drive. "I have here all I could find on Dr. Griffin. It's taken me nearly two years to compile. I've found my home and phone bugged, my car GPS tagged and files wiped from my computer. I even found things planted in my office and on my hard drive that would make it look like I was on the take. I stopped digging. I can't trust anyone in my agency. I didn't know where else to turn."
"So, what brought you to us?" Ezra asked in that deceptively light tone of his. Josiah then took a small, sideways step away from the arm that housed his teammate's hidden derringer.
"This." Barnette dropped the file on the bale of hay acting as a table between them. Ezra picked it up and Buck read it over his shoulder. "Motor vehicle registrations." The dry rustle of paper was loud in the momentary silence before Barnette cleared his throat and then clarified, "I have one contact who I trust in the state registration division and I had her flag all vehicles belonging to Dr. Griffin. When you initiated your search for the Cobra, she traced the security release code to Denver P.D. and the fax number to the main office. I immediately came in and spoke to Captain Niley. I figured that anyone doing a blind search like that had to be looking for clues, just like I did."
Chris and his team members quickly shared a glance. "Did you know about this car in particular?" Buck asked.
"No. I flagged all his cars. He is a collector, it seems."
"Say again how you found Griffin, exactly?" Buck's tone was still suspicious.
"I heard the name once from a snitch my old partner used a lot." Barnette snorted and shook his head. "A partner that fell into some money and suddenly left the Agency. The snitch disappeared just prior to his leaving."
Chris gave Travis a knowing look.
"The name stuck in my head but I could never connect him with anything after that first bust where my Oxy went missing. My partner and I got that tip from the now missing snitch. It was a complete hunch, but I did find that the deeper I dug into the man's background, the more things happened to threaten my career and my life. My brake lines were cut twice and the gas in my house sprung a convenient leak once. After that, I dropped all inquiries while at work and laid low. I know all about this guy and suspect he moves an enormous amount of Oxy and probably other drugs, but I can't pin down a distribution network, how he gets the stuff or what, other than the Oxy, he distributes. The medical board started an investigation on him about nine years ago but he was exonerated – and interestingly, the lead investigator in that case committed suicide less than a year later. I can't trust anyone in my Agency and everything is a dead end."
"That's because every weak link is snuffed. Like the snitch and the investigator." Buck pulled a paper from his back pocket and unfolded it. "This him?" He held up a photo, taken from a webpage, that Josiah had printed out at the police station. It was of a red-haired man standing next to a green Shelby Cobra.
Chris' heart raced – Vin was right in every detail. If this man was one source of Faraday's riches it was no wonder he wanted the boy dead; the things Vin had seen while at the house must be damning. He was, possibly, the only connection between Faraday and Griffin and probably the only one, aside from Grace, who had ever seen them together. An icy chill shivered down Chris' spine at the implications.
"I believe so. Photos of the man are difficult to come by. And don't fool yourselves," Barnette added. "If I found you, so have they, who ever 'they' are. You can't go back to the P.D."
"Where's Nathan?" Chris snapped, looking to Josiah.
"Home. Niley erased any written log of his time in the station, but I'll call him and advise him to make himself scarce, just to be on the safe side." Josiah got one of the cells from their dwindling stash and stepped aside to make the call.
Ezra quietly studied Barnette's file as the others talked. "Mr. Larabee," he called at the first lull, getting both Chris' and Buck's attention. "I think there is a connection worth examining. If memory serves, Faraday originated from Ohio?"
"That's where Grace was from," Buck said. "We assume the man we know as Faraday came from there, too. He took Grace's brother's name, but we don't know who he really is."
"Dr. Griffin also hails from Ohio - Gallipolis, to be exact. That was the city on the Ohio driver's license photo of Faraday we showed master Tanner, was it not?"
"Can we get the internet out here?" Barnette asked. "I looked at Griffin's high school yearbook online once. Maybe your man is in there, too? Who is he?"
"Griffin's distribution network, probably," Buck said. "It's worth a shot to look. We ain't got much now."
Chris stopped everyone in their tracks with a raised arm and a stern look. "We need to take advantage of this advanced warning," he started. "Before we can go balls to the wall after Faraday and Griffin, we need to stop being on the defensive and turn this around. End the hunt for Vin and get your wife to safety first." He glared at Casselman.
"And how do you propose we do that?" Travis asked.
Chris' grin looked like a wolf's snarl and his eyes were hard, green emeralds as he scanned the group of men. "Simple. Just let 'em come," he said dangerously.
M7/ATF/LB
Ted Casselman felt like vomiting. His hand shook and sweat tickled the nape of his neck as he turned off the car motor. Grasping the steering wheel for support, he took two deep breaths and mentally went over the plan once again. With his rebelling stomach eventually under control, he kicked the car door open and exited the vehicle to stand on shaky legs.
Forcing his limbs to move, he schooled his expression to look casual as he started up the path leading to a nondescript little house on a quiet street lined by similar little houses. It wasn't a place where conflict would go unnoticed; even now, a window curtain fluttered across the street where a silhouette peered out for a moment.
Casselman rapped on the door and the shade on the adjacent window flickered. A lock clicked loudly and the door opened a crack, allowing Ted to slip through the narrow opening. He blinked in the dimness while the door was secured behind him, the heavy, pungent air within threatening to lure his stomach from its settled state. A strong hand clamped on his elbow and propelled the agent forward into an empty living room where two shadow-darkened figures waited.
"Where is he?" the taller of the two figures snapped.
As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Casselman recognized A.D. Fitzsimmons. The other two men – one at his side and one next to Fitzsimmons – were strangers.
"Where's my wife?" Ted demanded in return. "I need to know she's all right."
Fitzsimmons held Ted's angry glare as he tipped his head slightly to the man next to him. "Get her," he ordered darkly.
The man disappeared down the hall and Ted heard muffled noises that hinted of a struggle. After a moment, the henchman returned, dragging Becky Casselman in his wake. Her wrists, ankles and mouth were duct taped, and the whites of her wide, fear-laced eyes stood out in the shadowy light. Ted broke his glare with a pained groan and took a step toward her. The other goon clamped onto his arm in an immobilizing grip that sent an electrical zing down Ted's spine and legs. Tears glittered on the silver tape across Becky's mouth.
"Now tell me," Fitzsimmons said flatly.
Ted's stomach lurched again. "The woods. They escaped your lapdogs here," he indicated the other two men, "and headed to the woods. The GPS in Wilmington's truck is at the trail head. I can lead you in from another direction."
"Show me." Fitzsimmons shoved Ted across the room to a dark, wooden table that showed its age with its sturdiness and stains. A county map covered the tabletop.
Casselman managed to tear his eyes from the sight of his weeping wife hanging in the grip of Fitzsimmons' henchman and focus on the map. He pointed to the edge of the reservation. "H . . . here's Wilmington's truck. The cabin is in this area." He waved his finger in a wide circle, north of the GPS location. "It's easy to get lost. I'll have to lead you in. Straight trade, the boy for my wife."
Fitzsimmons frowned and then nodded once as if in thought. Faster than he ever expected, Ted's throat was seized in the A.D.'s strong hand and Casselman was slammed against the wall.
"I don't like this," Fitzsimmons growled. "I don't like getting summoned to a state I despise by a crazy man. I don't like working with low-class criminals like dumb and dumber, here. I don't like to have to clean up after the fucking mess these two geniuses made at Larabee's ranch. I . . . don't . . . like . . . getting my . . . hands . . . DIRTY!" The enraged Director slammed Ted's skull into the wall with each clearly enunciated word. "And I really, REALLY despise answering to the likes of YOU, Agent Casselman!" The last words, delivered less than an inch away, scorched Ted's cheek. He hung in the A.D's grip for a few seconds before Fitzsimmons leaned back and released him. Ted coughed. The A.D. prowled a few steps away and then turned. "Take these fools and get the kid. Bring his dead body to me and you'll get your wife."
"I'm not dragging a dead kid around with me!" Casselman argued. "That's too risky! I'll bring him to you breathing. Once Becky's safe, I'll . . . do what's needed." Ted swallowed hard through a suddenly dry throat. He hoped the terror he felt didn't show in his eyes as he held Fitzsimmons' glare.
Ted felt his heart pound several beats before the A.D. flicked his eyes toward the hallway and Ted's wife. The man holding her dragged her to the table. The other goon and Fitzsimmons stepped in between Ted and the woman, blocking any advance.
"I need insurance," the A.D. said softly, demanding Ted's full attention. Then, louder, ordered, "Do it."
Ted Casselman could only watch in horror as his wife's bound hands were slammed onto the table, held still by the man controlling her. With a crazy grin, the thug next to Fitzsimmons drew out a folding blade from his inner pocket and pulled it open.
"No!" Ted choked through rising bile. "Don't!"
Becky Casselman's scream, largely muffled by the silver bonds, still pierced deeply into Ted's heart as her little finger was severed from her hand with one clean slash.
"Her throat is next if you don't deliver."
M7/ATF/LB
"I don't like having to trust that worm," Buck muttered. "This don't feel right, Chris."
"I know, but it's the only way. I don't like it either."
Evening fell silently around them. Vin lay at his side, tucked in close, with JD snuggled on the other side. Buck sat next to his boy, the adults acting like bookends to the smaller pair. Vin and JD were looking at a picture book of American Indian stories in the dancing, round glow of their small flashlights. They whispered excitedly to each other. JD seemed totally absorbed in this adventure, but every once in a while Vin would turn his worried eyes to Chris in a silent question. All Chris could do to ease his son's worries was to murmur that everything would work out and rub the boy's back reassuringly.
It had been full dark for over an hour when Chris noticed the sudden silence outside their camouflaged hiding place. The absence of the crickets' song made the shrubs' rustle unnaturally loud – someone was out there.
Buck quietly shushed the boys and the flashlights winked out. Chris released his sidearm from his holster and strained to hear from which direction the noise had originated. Seconds dragged into an unimaginably long minute.
"Chris?" Even in a whisper, Josiah's voice was recognizable.
The four of them let out a long breath and Chris holstered his gun. "Here," the team leader said aloud. He winked and grinned at Vin as Buck slithered from their hidey hole.
"There you are," Josiah chuckled as JD clambered out next. "It's over. We're ready for the next step. Give us fifteen minutes and you can return to the cabin."
Vin crawled out next, closely followed by Chris. "Everyone alright?" Chris asked as he brushed the dirt from his jeans.
"Went down just like we planned." Josiah removed the wrist radio, which had been part of the surveillance equipment confiscated from Casselman's car and let it dangle from his fingers as he held it up. "Kojay wants to know if they can keep the equipment. I think he was joking."
"I hope he was joking," Buck laughed. "Sometimes he's as tough to read as Ezra."
"I tell ya, Chris, Kojay's team was impressive," Josiah reported. "Silent as shadows. Those guys were overpowered before they even knew anyone was around."
Chris grinned and wrapped an arm around Vin's shoulders, hugging the boy to his side. Vin smiled up at him, relieved. "We c'n go back to the cabin now?"
"Yup. Grandma and Grandpa should be on their way from Kojay's as we speak."
When a quarter of an hour had passed, Josiah clicked on his large flashlight and led the way, forming a tight line with Chris bringing up the rear. Their plan to have Casselman bring in Fitzsimmons' goons had its risks – discovery of the cabin's location being one of them. There was no way any of them trusted the wayward A.T.F. agent, so he was supplied with directions to another area of the reservation, the path lined with reservation dwellers from start to end. The trio had been under surveillance from the moment they had crossed on to reservation land, thanks to A.T.F. equipment and fast-learning tribesmen. Once everyone was satisfied the intruders were alone, they were surrounded and "taken into custody," Indian-style.
"Those people sure know some interesting knots,"Josiah said, garnering soft chuckles from Buck and Chris.
As an extra layer of safety, Vin, JD, Matt and Claire were secured far away from the cabin. Once the boys and grandparents were reunited, the rest of them would proceed to the next stage.
They reached the cabin minutes ahead of Matt and Claire and there was a happy reunion without the underlying tension of before. Josiah suggested that it was time to move and when Chris and Buck finally joined him, he could see reluctance in their eyes.
"Leaving the boys must be difficult," Josiah said quietly.
"You have no idea," Buck breathed. Chris remained silent, his lips a tight line.
"Then let us go, Brothers. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return."
Josiah and Buck waved a final farewell and headed over to the saddled horses. Once mounted, Josiah and Buck headed out but Chris stood rooted in place, his arm raised in a reluctant wave. Vin was on the porch, his eyes locked with his father's. They stood like that, exchanging a bonded gaze for nearly a minute before Claire leaned down and whispered something in Vin's ear. He blinked, and the spell was broken. He glanced at his Grandma, allowing her to turn him toward the womb of the cabin. Chris then ducked his head and joined his teammates on the trail to the barn.
When they arrived, Ezra and Patterson were waiting for them in the aged building. Ted Casselman, looking a bit ruffled and dirty, glared at them from his position, cuffed around a support pole. The two assassins, gagged and secured back to back, sat on the dirt floor in the middle of the barn. Two rather buff Indians guarded them silently.
"Our two guests have agreed to take the deal Mr. Patterson offered," Ezra said, sounding a bit smug. "I must say, I did not know the District Attorney's office retained such devious employees."
Patterson laughed. "Hey, remember that we're attorneys. We're naturally devious."
The men took the time to decompress and re-check the bonds of their captives. In that time, Travis had joined them, along with Kojay and a sharply dressed tribesman toting a thin, carved leather briefcase. His shiny black hair, pulled back into a neat, single braid, made a perfect line down the middle of his back. Ezra seemed to be jealously eyeing the man's suit.
"This is Freddy Blackhawk," Kojay said in introduction. "He is our tribe's lawyer and spokesman."
Chris took the man's hand, impressed with the firm grip. "You ready for this?"
Freddy smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. "More than ready. Have you made the calls?"
"Done and done," Travis replied. "Mary's on the way and," he tilted his head and glanced to the door, "I think I hear Captain Niley's men." The eerie wail of sirens was soft at the moment, but grew louder with every second.
Ezra withdrew a small bottle from his jacket pocket and Josiah picked up a canteen slung over a hook. Then, they walked over to the prisoners. Josiah uncuffed them and allowed them to remove the gags.
"Showtime, boys," the profiler said as Ezra shook some pills from the bottle.
The bigger of the two goons eyed the pills when they tumbled into his palm. "You'll protect us, right? That's the deal?"
"That's the deal," Patterson reaffirmed. "Time to play dead, boys. It's the only way to keep Faraday from killing you and you know it."
The two men quickly downed the pills, gulped water from the canteen and then laid down on clean saddle blankets.
"It's time for Mr. Casselman to depart," Ezra informed Chris. The sirens were almost on them as Ezra waved a couple of women over. Between them hung an effigy of Vin, the resemblance uncanny. From a little distance in the dark, it was easy to mistake the 'body' as real. It gave Chris a chill. Buck released Ted and he came over, rubbing his wrists.
"Your escorts are waiting behind the barn," Kojay said.
Ted gathered up the blindfolded, gagged Vin figure. "This had better work," the agent grumbled. Chanu appeared at the back door and they disappeared into the darkness outside.
Ezra squatted next to the remaining captives and checked their pulses. "They will be out soon. Gentlemen, we need to depart now if we are to oversee the next chapter of the plan."
Chris glanced at the prisoners and then turned to Freddy and Kojay. "You okay here?"
Kojay nodded slightly. Several men came in and surrounded the drowsy men on the floor. "We have our story and will stick to it," the elder said, smiling deviously.
Chris shook Freddy's hand. "I have no doubt you'll sell this," he said. "Faraday has to believe those men are dead."
Freddy's grin was made-for-television perfect. "The unfortunate shoot out will be well documented," he said.
Buck laughed and slapped a hand on Chris' shoulder. "Let's go, pard. We got us a crooked A.D. to round up."
M7/ATF/LB
"The shootout occurred deep in the woods on tribal land," the serious looking blonde reporter said on the television. She stood in front of an old barn in the wash of floodlights. Uniformed people milled behind her. "Tribal spokesman Fred Blackhawk has told me that there were two casualties."
The camera swung around, showing two gurneys topped by two black body bags stopped behind the open doors of the Coroner's van. The woman's voice continued off-screen. "Although Mr. Blackhawk stated that poachers are common on their land, he stopped short of the accusation. The incident is under investigation. I will keep you updated as information comes forth. This is Mary Travis, reporting live from the Kiowa Reservation."
Fitzsimmons swore softly as he slapped the television into silence. He furiously paced the small living room as his patience ebbed away. When his pre-paid cell phone rang, he angrily flipped it open. "What happened?" he snapped.
"Casselman? The Tanner kid better be in one of those body bags I saw on television!"
"I have the boy. Just remember our deal. If I have to off the kid, I'm not doing it in that house – the entire neighborhood will hear! Meet me at the abandoned warehouse south of the airstrip. Off Kennedy Road."
"Who are you to dictate terms to me?"
"The one with the kid that Faraday wants so badly. Maybe I'll go directly to him instead."
"Do that, and your wife is dead," Fitzsimmons snarled.
"I figure she's dead already. Prove otherwise and meet me at the warehouse in a half hour."
The phone went dead and Fitzsimmons roared, throwing the phone at the wall where it shattered into pieces. He stormed down the hall and dragged the crying woman to her feet. There was a bloody towel wrapped around her bound hands and she was pale with shock. He dragged her down the hall, through the kitchen where he wrenched open the door to the garage. By the time he shoved her into the trunk of his car, the woman was semi conscious.
"At least you'll be quiet."
Fitzsimmons slammed the trunk closed and slipped in behind the steering wheel. Taking a deep breath to calm his raging temper, he punched a button to open the garage door and started the car. As he backed out, the A.D. tucked his gun into the holster under his jacket and looked like any other neighborhood resident. Once in the street, he closed the garage door and headed south.
"You're a dead man, Casselman," he growled.
It took forty minutes to get to the warehouse. The dilapidated building stood alone near the end of an old, unused runway. In the weak moonlight, the window remains looked like broken teeth. One of the massive sliding doors was partially open and Fitzsimmons could see the flickering brightness of a flashlight inside. He drove inside and the headlights of his car swept over the figure of Ted Casselman, hunched over a body on the floor. The agent threw his arm up to cover his eyes and rose. Fitzsimmons smirked at his advantage.
"Turn off the fucking lights!" Casselman yelled.
The A.D. put his car into park and stepped out, leaving the door partially open when he walked around it and leaned against the warm front fender. "I rather like the light," he said with a laugh.
Casselman stood with his foot on the boy's neck, keeping him down. The long, wavy hair was exactly what Fitzsimmons remembered about the picture he has seen of Larabee's kid. He looked up to see Casselman's gun pointed at his chest.
"Where's Becky?" Ted growled.
"In the trunk. She's alive - for the moment, anyway. Now, do the kid and let's get on our way."
"Call Faraday. Tell him you have the kid."
Fitzsimmons blinked, surprised. "What?"
"You heard me. Call him."
The A.D. paused. "Why?"
"Because neither one of us is hauling this body out of here, and I need to be satisfied that Faraday knows I got the kid. I want to hear it with my own ears. We can even send a picture. Now do it."
Fitzsimmons shrugged, pulled out his phone and dialed. It really didn't matter to him, but he did have to agree that the sooner Faraday was happy, the sooner he could get back to his Santa Monica beach house. Actually, doing the kid here and leaving the body behind was a pretty good idea. He wasn't about to tell Ted that, however. Neither was he going to tell Ted that he and his wife would be joining the kid in the warehouse.
The call was answered with a soft "hello".
"Got the kid. I'll send conformation." He flipped the phone closed. "He knows. Now do the kid."
"Get my wife out of the trunk."
Fitzsimmons' easy mood slipped away once again. With a disgruntled glare, he strode to the back of the car and right into the muzzle of what seemed to be the biggest gun he'd ever seen.
"Let me help ya there, sir," Buck Wilmington offered, pushing the gun a little closer. "Keys?"
Fitzsimmons hesitated, his hand hovering near his open coat and gun.
Buck smiled widely and solidified the grip on his gun by adding his other hand. "Oh, please go ahead, Assistant Director. It would really make my day."
Behind Buck, Josiah snorted. "Dirty Harry you are not." He held out one big hand, palm up, as he used the other to remove the A.D.'s gun. "Keys."
Once disarmed, Fitzsimmons seemed to shrink in size before their eyes. As Josiah opened the trunk and easily lifted out the stunned woman, Chris Larabee and Orrin Travis emerged from the darkness. Larabee didn't utter a word as he cuffed their man, spun him around and patted him down, but Buck recognized the barely restrained fury that boiled behind those dusty green eyes.
"Looks like housecleaning has just begun, boys," Travis said as he studied the prisoner with disgust. Fitzsimmons opened his mouth but Travis stopped him with a glare. "Save it, Bob. You're done." He nodded his head sharply and Larabee handed the cuffed man off to Ezra.
An ambulance rolled into the building and Josiah carried Becky Casselman to them. Buck cuffed an anxious looking Ted, who craned his neck in an effort to see his wife. Buck took a firm grip on Ted's elbow and pushed the captured agent toward the ambulance.
Chris glanced to the Vin doll on the dirty floor before turning back to Travis, who spoke first. "I have Bob's phone. I'll take care of the proof-of-death picture he said he'd send."
"Thanks," Chris muttered, giving his son's eerie doppelganger another sidelong glance. "It's a bit too realistic for me."
"I figured. You go on with part two of this plan, Chris. I'll finish up here."
With a silent, tired nod, Chris walked outside to join his teammates.
TBC
8/3/09