There really wasn't much to distinguish between the two sites: both were check cashing businesses with plenty of small bills on hand, both had minimal clerks handling the customer service, and both admitted that Wednesdays were not usually a heavy traffic type of day. What was significant, however, was that both usually received large quantities of cash in the early afternoon in preparation for Thursday, a common payday for people in the area.
And both belonged to the same guy, a sleaze with too much money on his hands and too much oil in his hair. But he was more than happy to encourage the FBI to help out. "Prevent me from gettin' robbed? Hell, yes! Put in all the people you want, Special Agent Eppes. I got another couple places north of town. You wanna stake them out, too? Just in case?"
Which was how Don Eppes ended up inside a truck outside the site he considered the more likely of the two to be hit. He couldn't see any difference between them, just a funny little feeling that he'd learned not to ignore. Learned it through plenty of painful lessons. Megan was with him, as a compromise. Light duty didn't include participating in a stakeout, but after extracting a promise to remain within the safe confines of the truck, he allowed her to be in on what he privately hoped would be a swift finale to this case. Don't jinx it by saying anything out loud, Eppes. Not that I'm superstitious, mind you…
David and Colby were acting as the clerks inside. They'd gotten a swift course in how to handle checks from the real clerks, and were busily engaged in what the real clerks would have been doing if they were there: watching the small TV in the back.
"Let's not get into the role too much," Don warned them over the wire. "Stay alert."
"Really good soccer game," was Colby's response. "No football on at this hour, but San Diego is whupping D.C. United. That fifteen year old kid D.C.'s got is pretty good."
"It's a re-run, Colby. San Diego wins, three to one."
"You spoiled the ending, boss."
"Keep your mind on the job," David reminded him. "Oops, got a customer." He went through the motions of cashing the check, coached by the clerk acting as his 'mentor.'
Don checked on the other location, but no action there, either. When it went down, he knew, there would be no time to do anything but trust in the people he had stationed there. They were good people, experienced and ready for anything. He had to trust them, just as he had to trust David and Colby inside. Let it be this place.
And Charlie. He had to trust that Charlie's equation was right, that this would be the place that would be the next target. He had had his office phone forwarded to this truck—he'd left his Suburban with its little GPS bug in the parking lot back at headquarters—so that he could interact with the woman masterminding this job without her suspecting, but the tension was still rising. Was Charlie's equation right? Would this be the time that his brother failed him?
As you failed him, sauntered uneasily through Don's mind. Why didn't you check for a bomb next door? As silly as that statement was, Don couldn't help the little niggling feeling of guilt. No one blamed him except himself. No one would have looked next door. No one would have expected it. Just like no one would have expected their mastermind to be a woman.
Mind on the job, Eppes. He turned back to the screens slaved to the security cameras inside the store. There were a couple more screens as well; he wouldn't put it past the suspects to take out the security cameras as soon as they entered, and Don wanted that footage for a premiere showing in front of a judge. The FBI had installed their own hidden cameras for just that occasion.
Customers number one and two had left clutching their greenbacks. What would get paid next by that pair, he wondered: the bills, the bartender, or the bookie looking to break a couple of legs? How about child support? Don sighed. Not part of the job. He needed to concentrate on the big picture, not the little street scum that went on all over the world.
"Don?"
"Just wishing I could solve a few more problems, Megan."
"I know what you mean. We can't solve all the problems in the world—"
"—so let's concentrate on solving this one. Yeah, I know. I went through the same course at Quantico. Wonder whatever happened to that instructor? I heard that he retired early."
"I think he became a social worker. Worked on the child abuse division somewhere."
"Figures." And, "hope these guys show soon. I hate waiting."
When it happened, it happened very quickly. A car pulled up directly in front of the store, big and black with a powerful engine inside to carry the suspects away with all haste. Don could see it all on the security cameras mounted outside the truck and could see it in living color if he cared to go up front to the driver's seat. Three men dressed in black with ski masks piled out.
"Heads up!" Megan barely had time to get out the warning to the agents inside. "Charlie was right on the money. Literally."
The regular clerk, fortunately, was already in the back room and didn't need to be told to stay there, quiet and hidden. The three suspects wrenched open the door to the check cashing store and stormed in, guns waving.
"Wh—what do you want?" David stammered, raising his hands into the air, Colby behind him. The first man in didn't bother to answer, just whirled and took out the three visible security cameras with three well-placed shots. David screeched artistically with fear.
Another of the men thrust a bag at him. "Fill this up, quick!"
"Don't shoot! I'll do whatever you say," David cried out, playing the terrified clerk to the hilt. "Don't shoot!" Who was play-acting? he would say later. I really was terrified. He started ramming bills into the bag, Colby beside him.
The man looked at his watch, motioned to the other two. "We got three more minutes. You heard from her yet?"
"Not yet. We gonna wait?"
"Might as well. She's been right so far, even if she's looney-toons." The man dug into his pocket. Colby tensed, fearing the worst. He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dive to the floor and pull out his own pistol.
But the man only dragged out small white card: a small white card the size of a business card. He handed it to David. "You give this to the cops."
"What is it?" It's okay to bust in any time now, Don. This bullet proof vest is feeling awfully thin at the moment.
"You don't need to know that. The FBI will."
"The FBI? You guys terrorists, or something, to rate the feds—"
It was enormously satisfying to a) kick open the door, b) point his gun and c) yell, "FBI! Drop your weapons. Hands in the air!" Don decided. The capstone to the gratifying moment was the look of utter astonishment that shone forth even from underneath three black ski masks. David and Colby went from terrified clerks to pulling their own weapons out from under their vests and aiming them at the suspects. It was only a matter of seconds before they had the three men down on the dirty floor, handcuffs in place, ripping the ski masks off.
Don recognized none of them but from the grunt from the LAPD detective beside him, that man did. "Been after this clown for two years," the detective told him. "Up to now, he's been too smart to leave a trail."
"This is better," Don allowed. "Hard to squirm out of muck when you've been caught in the act." He nudged the man with his toe, careful not to get in the way of the guns still trained on the three. "Hear that, slime? Start thinking about rolling over on your boss."
"What boss?"
"You know. The one who gave you this." Don held the small white business card with the words EMIT TXEN on it in front of the man's nose.
"I never saw that before in my life."
"Yes, you did. You saw it when you pulled it out of your back pocket," David said.
"Not me, man."
"We have it down on video tape." Damn, it felt good to say that! "Oh, you didn't notice the hidden cameras we installed? We were waiting for you, guy. We knew you were coming. And we had a feeling that you'd shoot out the cameras, so we added a few of our own. Clever, eh?"Don started to tick off on his fingers. "Armed robbery, five to ten. Assault on a federal officer, another fifteen, minimum. Attempted murder—well, I wouldn't count on coming to a parole hearing any time soon."
"Attempted murder!" the man squawked. "I didn't murder anyone!"
"No? I suppose you had nothing to do with the bombing over at CalSci."
"What bombing?" Either the guy was going for an Oscar, or…
"Hm." Don rubbed his chin. Thought poured artistically out of every pore. "It sounds like somebody's been using you. Is that what it sounds like to you, Agent Sinclair?"
"I don't know, Special Agent Eppes." David was working on his own Oscar. "This swamp rat was waving a gun in my face. Tends to make me a bit cranky, don't you know. Not always willing to listen to what he has to say about the person masterminding these capers. No, I think he's going to go down on attempted murder charges."
"Of course, we have proof linking the bombing and these crimes together, don't we, Agent Sinclair?"
"Yes, Special Agent Eppes, we do. Premeditation, attempted murder; why, that's enough to make the D.A's office consider asking for the death penalty. Especially since one of those attempts was on a Federal agent. Judges get very impressed by that."
Don leaned over, got into the suspect's face. He spoke quietly, all false humor put aside. "I'm going to be asking each one of you the same questions. Only one of you is going to get a plea-bargaining offer, and it's going to be the one who cooperates first and best. That going to be you? Or is it going to be one of your friends who have been listening to this conversation very closely?"
The man's cell phone rang, interrupting them. Don pulled it out of the suspect's pocket. "Hope you don't mind if I answer this for you. You seem to be a little tied up at the moment. Handcuffs tend to do that." He flipped open the phone. The caller ID was unhelpful, simply acknowledging that the caller was a known quantity. Don kept it short. "Yeah?" He hoped it sounded close enough to the suspect's own voice that whoever was on the other end would cooperate.
She did. "I'm not getting any movement, and I don't like it. Move out of there now."
"Okay." Don kept it to a single word.
But: "Who is this?" Then a sudden bout of dead air told him that she'd hung up. Don hung onto the cell. She'd clearly suspected something, but now they had more to go on. They had a cell phone number to track down. They could get a name. He looked around at his team, his and LAPD's. "Good work, people. Read 'em their rights, and take 'em on in. We'll be down to question them shortly." He pocketed the cell, waited for LAPD to remove the suspects. He gathered up his team; they'd done well. The case was coming together, and it felt good. The only thing left was to wait for one of the suspects to roll on his boss and gather her up. The end was so close he could taste it.
Megan was waiting for him inside the truck. She'd listened to his orders and stayed inside, watching the scene unfold on three cameras. "Think they'll crack, Don?"
"You're the profiler. What do you think?"
Megan snorted. "How often do I say to trust the instincts of the agent on the scene? How did they respond?"
Don couldn't help the smirk that insisted on easing itself onto his features. "I gave Colby odds that at least one would be begging for a chance to sing before they reached precinct. I had LAPD split them up into separate cars, just to help with the personal tension. You want a piece of the action? I'm offering three to one."
"Special Agent Eppes! Betting on the job! Besides, I wouldn't take any odds on any of them." Megan gestured to the phone. "You want to call Charlie? He'll be relieved to hear that his equation worked."
"Yeah, it did predict the next location," Don acknowledged. "And, with any luck, we'll be able to haul in the woman behind all of this as soon as we pull a name and an address from the cell phone number. That should wrap everything up. Even though she didn't call to taunt us this time. I'm almost disappointed."
"No need. She thought that Charlie wasn't helping us, so there wasn't any point in sending a code. Call Charlie. He'll be pleased to hear from you."
Don pulled out his cell, hitting speed dial.
"Hi, you've reached the Eppes residence. Please leave a message."
"Dad? Charlie? I know you guys are there. Pick up."
Silence.
"Pick up. Taylor, Garibaldi? Anybody? Pick up. This is Don."
Beep. The timer cut him off. It felt odd. His father, at least, ought to have gotten to the phone.
He tried again. This time when no one picked up, he got worried.