Title: Dangling Participles; Part II of the Mistaken Identity Series

Chapter 21: Convergence

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

12:20 PM CS

Lydia rose from the sofa on wobbly legs, and peeked out of her door into the outer office. Gretchen was gone – she could go. She grabbed her purse, and dabbed at her eyes, remembering at the last minute to leave her cell phone. She stepped out of her office, dropped a note on Gretchen's desk, and walked out, smoothing her hair with a shaking hand, trying to look normal, confident, as she strode down the hallway. She took the steps down to the first floor instead of the elevator – she didn't trust herself to face anyone. She was afraid the terror she felt inside was somehow visible – leaking out around the edges of the outwardly calm mask that was her face. Her heart thumping, she pushed open the door to the parking garage, made it to her Dodge Caravan, and got in and started the engine, as instructed. As she waited, visions of Gaby, her baby, played through her head. 'God, please let her be okay, please let her be okay…'

She jerked a little as she picked up the prison van coming down the ramp from the third floor, and put the Caravan in reverse, backing out, following the van out of the garage, and trailing it to the entrance ramp for U.S. 73 North.

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Macedo looked with satisfaction in the rearview mirror; the woman was following them just as planned. He could hear Penfield moving about in the rear of the van, changing into the clothes Macedo had brought. Macedo had his bags back there as well, which he had transferred from his car, and the duffle from the parking garage trash can. He would need a change of clothes himself before going to the airport. Penfield, apparently finished, called up to him through the small window in the metal wall that separated the back of the van from the driver. "So what's the plan?"

"We will drive to an empty warehouse and leave the van. The woman will transport us to her house – it is a secluded farmhouse in a remote rural area. You will watch her and the child, while I go to pick up Eppes. In a few hours, it will be done."

Penfield looked at the back of Macedo's head, and frowned. "And why are you doing this?"

Macedo's face darkened, his eyes cold. "I cannot begin to regain my status in the drug world without showing them that I account for my enemies. It is a question of credibility. To the police, Eppes' death will appear to be something else – a lover's quarrel, but through the drug circles, the word will spread that I am back, and I have dealt with those who crossed me."

Penfield felt a little shudder run down his spine, and he shot an uncertain glance at the guard's body, next to him in the back. "So how do I factor into this? Apart from helping you with the Eppes thing?" His face brightened. "I could help you set up your money laundering programming – a new program, designed from scratch that can defeat the DEA's tracking.

Macedo smiled. "We think alike, my friend." The truth was; he had no intention of working with Penfield, beyond the current afternoon. He had needed him to lure Eppes away, and he needed him to watch the woman while he picked up Eppes. He also needed it to be known that Penfield had escaped and was on the loose, because he would be framed for the murders of Doctors Eppes and Campbell. After that, the escapee would be extraneous, a liability. Macedo had plans for him, too, that would culminate with sinking him in the Missouri River, many miles from Leavenworth. He could let the man have his fun first. It would amuse him to watch Penfield deal with Eppes.

Several minutes later, they had reached the junction of 59, and pulled off behind the warehouse. Before entering the van, Macedo had donned latex gloves. The authorities would find no fingerprints in the vehicle other than the guard's and Penfield's. He instructed Penfield to grab his bag, and strode around to the back to let him out. Lydia had left the Caravan running, but had begun to step out, uncertain of what happened next. Macedo barked at her to get back in, and she scurried back into the driver's seat like a scared rabbit.

Macedo handed Penfield the small-caliber back-up piece he had removed from the guard's ankle holster, and he got in the back seat, as Macedo climbed in the front, on the passenger side. He too, was holding a pistol, the guard's Glock service revolver, and he pointed it toward Lydia. "You will drive to the farmhouse."

She stared at him in shock – he'd lost his American accent, and she realized that the guard and the man who had talked to her on the phone were the same man. Her throat clutching with fear, she threw the Caravan into gear, and left the warehouse lot, headed back toward Kerrville, and the farmhouse.

12:45 PM CST

Douglas and Rutherford waited impatiently in an outer room at the United States Penitentiary at Leavenworth. They'd been called back in on the search for Macedo a few days ago. When Eppes had run his search programming, he'd found the last resting place for the missing Macedo money in an account registered to a businessman in Rio, named Jorge Caleña. Last week, their CIA brothers had found that nearly a month ago, Jorge Caleña had booked a flight to Los Angeles. During the course of the week, additional digging had come up with the fact that he had rented several cars while in L.A., and then, yesterday, they'd found that about one week after he'd gotten there, he'd flown to Kansas City, and hadn't been heard from since.

The NSA had already sent men out to the prison to talk to Penfield, but the guy at the top wasn't taking any chances. Tompkins had sent them out on an early flight, to question Penfield again and see if he was involved somehow. It was hard to conceive how he might be, but it seemed too much of a coincidence, that a man they suspected of being Macedo would travel to the one part of the country where one of his known acquaintances was a prisoner. So Douglas and Rutherford were here, waiting for a guard to come and take them back to an interview room.

Douglas cast a sharp eye toward the man behind the window of the area, as a guard stepped into the room with him, and spoke, his brow knitted. He walked over to the window, Rutherford trailing. "What's the deal? Don't tell us Penfield is eating lunch – if he is, pull him out."

The guard stationed at the window was reaching for a phone with a frown. "Penfield was out for a doctor's appointment – he goes to a shrink every Tuesday. He was supposed to be back by now, but he's not here yet. I'm calling the guard assigned to his transport."

He paused, waiting with the phone to his ear, and after a moment, hung up and dialed again. He looked up at the NSA agents with the beginnings of alarm on his face, the receiver still to his ear. "He's not picking up. This is very irregular." He hung up and dialed again. "I'm calling the Leavenworth PD – I'll have them dispatch a car over to the doctor's office, just in case."

Douglas shot a look at Rutherford. "Where is this place?"

"Hold on, I'll tell you," the man said. They waited until he got off the phone with the police, and a few moments later, they were on their way to the office of Dr. Lydia Campbell.

It was around 1:15 when they got there. Two officers had already arrived and were questioning the doctor's secretary, a woman named Gretchen. Douglas and Rutherford showed their IDs, and the officers' eyebrows went up as they took in the fact that the men were NSA. They didn't remark on it, however, instead one of them said, "The secretary said the prisoner left at his usual time. We just checked back with the prison again; they still haven't gotten back."

Rutherford looked at Gretchen. "Did you notice anything unusual about the appointment?"

Gretchen twisted her hands a little nervously. The police were bad enough, but the government agents were really upping her anxiety level – especially the gruff one named Douglas. "Actually, there were a few things that were different. Usually the patient's guard stays here in the outer office with me during the appointment. Today, he got a phone call during the appointment, and left. He never came back. Instead, another guard came to pick up the patient – he said the first guard got called away on a family emergency."

The law enforcement officers exchanged a glance. Douglas turned to Gretchen. "Can you describe the second guard?"

"He was tall, maybe a little over six foot, olive complected, dark hair and eyes. Not bad-looking, really."

"Did he have an accent that you noticed?"

Her brow furrowed. "It's funny you should mention that. He sounded American, but something about it was a little off. I couldn't place it. I just figured he was from some other part of the country, maybe the East Coast."

Douglas looked at the officers. "Did you talk to the doctor yet – Dr. ?"

"Doctor Campbell," supplied Gretchen, helpfully. "That's the other odd thing – when I came back from lunch she was gone. She never goes out to lunch on Tuesdays – she usually takes a short lunch in the office and leaves just a little earlier than normal. To top it off, she left a note asking me to cancel her afternoon appointments."

Douglas frowned. "But she was still here when the guard and the prisoner left – she didn't go with them?"

Gretchen stared at him. "No – why would she do that? She went back in her office, and they left. A few minutes later, I left for lunch."

Douglas didn't answer the question. Instead he gave the others a nod, and pulled them aside, saying quietly, "If this is what it appears to be, an escape, and they didn't force her to go with them, there's a chance she's part of the escape plan. I'd say she's our best lead right now." He looked at the officers. "I suggest you guys call this in as an escape, and get your department involved. We'll work with you, but we need to get moving on this. We're going to start with Dr. Campbell, and find out where she lives. Have your chief send some investigators out there to meet us."

He stepped back over to Gretchen. "Did you try to call Dr. Campbell?"

"Yes," she said. "It went to voice mail."

Douglas nodded. "We need an address for her."

Gretchen pulled up a file on her computer, and jotted down the address. "This is right here in town. I put down her phone numbers, too, home and cell. Do you want me to keep trying her on the phone?"

Douglas shook his head. "No – but if she calls you, try to find out where she is, then call me at this number." He handed her a card, and took the information from her, looking up at Rutherford. "Let's go pay the doctor a visit."

1:15 PM CST

Lydia stopped the Caravan in front of the farmhouse, and got out with shaking legs. The dark-haired man motioned with the gun, and she preceded them into the house; then turned to face them. "Why are you doing this?" she asked in a trembling voice. "Where is my daughter?"

Macedo eyed her frostily, than jerked his head toward the adjacent living room. Lydia entered, and a cry broke from her at the sight of Gaby, lying motionless on the sofa. The duct tape on her face and binding her wrists and ankles was even more shocking in person, and Lydia began to strip it off, without even consciously thinking about it, and tears ran down her face. Her baby was so pale, so still…

Macedo let her remove the bindings. The child wasn't going anywhere; it was unlikely she would even survive. He watched, without emotion, as the woman gathered the child in her arms, rocking her, tears streaming down her face. "That is enough, woman," he said sharply. "Let her rest, and make us some lunch."

Penfield rubbed the back of his head, with an uncomfortable glance at the child as he followed Dr. Campbell and Macedo into the kitchen, holding his own pistol awkwardly. He wondered what was in store for her and the child; he sincerely hoped Macedo would let them go when he was done. He wouldn't mind inflicting pain on Eppes, but he drew the line at women and children.

Macedo spoke. "Where is your home computer?"

Lydia paused, wiping at her eyes with a badly shaking hand as she pulled bread from the pantry. She pointed through a second doorway. "In there."

Macedo turned to Penfield. "Watch her." Turning, he headed into a small back room that had been set up as an office, and turned on the computer. He found Lydia's file storage, and set up a folder, naming it simply "C." Then he inserted a jump drive, and loaded several files into it the new file – all of them steamy love letters with various dates, all of them signed 'Charlie.' He would load others onto Eppes' computer later, signed 'Lydia.' To anyone investigating, it would appear that the two had carried on a clandestine long-distance affair for months. Finally, using a handkerchief, he drew two more folded love letters addressed to Lydia from his coat pocket, written on paper that he'd bummed from a prison guard at the visitor's entrance, signed with Penfield's name. Using his elbow to open the computer desk drawer, he slid them inside. When the police found Eppes and Dr. Campbell, it would appear that the escapee, Penfield, had surprised them together and killed them both in a fit of jealousy, then fled the scene. With a soft grunt of satisfaction, he turned off the computer, wiped the keyboard and switch, and headed back toward the kitchen. He had time for lunch and to change into a suit before he headed for the airport.

1:30 PM CST

Bob Tompkins frowned and rubbed his forehead as he hung up the phone. His man Douglas had just reported in. Instead of interviewing Penfield, they were now tracking him, and a man fitting Macedo's general physical description was involved in what appeared to be an escape plot. As he pondered the implications of that, the phone rang again, and he answered to find one of his other men, Bill Peterson, on the line. Peterson had been in charge of following up the details on the trail that Jorge Caleña had left in L.A. – he'd been assigned to look for DNA in hotel rooms, and the five rental vehicles that Caleña had gone through.

"Yes, Bill, tell me you've got something."

Bill sounded discouraged. "Not a lot, I'm afraid. Apparently, the man was intent on hiding his tracks. The three hotel rooms he used had been cleaned several times before we got to them, and cars didn't give us much either. One of them had only been rented once since Caleña left L.A., but it only yielded fingerprints from the woman who rented it and the rental people. I think Caleña must have cleaned and wiped down each vehicle before he turned it in. We did find one thing, though."

"What was that?"

"We'd gotten Caleña's visa picture from the guys at immigrations, and we showed it at several car rentals in the area, just to be sure he wasn't using another alias. We got a hit at one of them. The owner remembered him, because Caleña rented the car and never returned it. He reported it to the police, but of course they couldn't track him down – the information he gave was false. Here's what's interesting. They recovered the car, and it had a dent in the left front fender. It also matched the description of the car that hit Dr. Eppes."

Tompkins swore; a muffled oath, and then fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Okay, look, Bill, get some surveillance set up again on Eppes. I know we think that Caleña's in Kansas City, but I don't want to take any chances. Just get the detail set up – I'll call Dr. Eppes myself."

Peterson signed off with a brisk affirmative, and Tompkins hung up the phone, referred to his programmed directory, and hit the number for 'Eppes, Charles, mobile.' He tapped the desk, listening with just bit of impatience, as the phone went to voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message, and next tried Charlie's office. The voice mail message there told him, in Charlie's voice; that he would be out of the office for two days. Tompkins paused for a moment, considering. Did that mean Charlie was home or traveling? He dialed Charlie's home number, with same result – voice mail. If he was traveling, then where? He knew one person who could probably answer that question.

He dialed Don at his office, and the call went directly through to a receptionist. "I'm sorry, sir, Agent Eppes is out of the office for two days."

'Two days, again,' thought Tompkins. So it was likely the Eppes brothers were together. "Do you know how he can be reached?"

"Probably his cell phone, but I can check with Agent Reeves. Hold on, sir."

There was brief delay, and then Megan Reeves came on the line. "Yes, sir, how can I help you?"

"I'm trying to find out where Dr. Eppes is, and I'm getting messages that both he and Agent Eppes are out for two days. Do you have any idea where either of them might be?"

"Yes, sir. Don told me he was traveling with Charlie to a math conference."

Tompkins breathed a small sigh of relief. So Dr. Eppes was at least accompanied by his brother – and it was probably a good thing they were out of town. The answer to his next question quickly changed his opinion, and brought his surge of relief to an abrupt, heart-lurching halt. "Do you know where the conference is?"

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Kansas City." She heard a muffled exclamation, and a click. "Mr. Tompkins? Sir?" The silence turned into a dial tone, and she frowned in confusion at the receiver, and then hung up the phone, shaking her head.

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End, Chapter 21