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Chapter 2
June 2, 2006
4:50 P.M.
Interstate 15, Cajon
Pass
"The West Coast has the sunshine, and the girls all get so tan…"
Don impatiently snapped off the radio. "And they're all on the freeway in front of us," he muttered, settling back to glare at the traffic in front of the Suburban.
In the driver's seat, Colby chuckled. "That's what the siren's for, boss. We can be around all of these cars if you just say the word."
He shook his head. "Not going up the pass like this. With my luck, there'd be a semi stalled on the shoulder somewhere. Besides, we're meeting with the local field officer, not en route to a crime scene."
The FBI's Los Angeles field office had a relatively large number of branch offices because of the size of the population in the jurisdiction. When the call had come in that morning about a possible kidnapping across state lines, the caller had been rerouted to the field office in Victorville, located halfway between Barstow and greater L.A. But some detail of the case had led the Victorville agent to call on his colleagues downtown, and so Don was on his way with the only member of his team who hadn't already left for the weekend.
"Where are all of these people going, anyway?" Colby eased on the brakes as a host of red taillights blossomed in front of them. "I didn't think there was anything north of San Bernardino except a few small towns."
"More like a few medium towns. And anyway, most of these people are going out for the weekend. It's Friday night; they're all hoping to get lucky in Vegas."
"One way or another," Colby murmured under his breath.
The corner of Don's mouth quirked up, but he didn't make a reply. Instead he reached for his cell phone and checked again to see if there were any messages from Charlie. His brother had left a message with him earlier in the day about possibly needing his help with something, but he had been very vague about precisely what it was. Don had returned the call as soon as he got it, but he still hadn't heard back, three hours later. He shrugged and returned the phone to his pocket. He'd hear from Charlie sooner or later.
Half an hour later, they pulled off the freeway and onto the dusty suburban streets of Victorville. Up in the high desert, it was rapidly becoming a bedroom community for Greater Los Angeles, and the familiar set of big box stores and fast-food restaurants greeted them as they drove along. They rolled into the parking lot only half an hour behind schedule, and though they'd called the agent on duty to let them know, Don was still annoyed. Besides the fact that he hated being late as a matter of professional responsibility, he estimated that now they wouldn't be back to L.A. until at least 7 P.M. And every minute past six was a minute he was supposed to be spending with Robin Brooks, at dinner and whatever came after. He sighed as he shut the door to the SUV. Even if he followed his father's suggestion and really tried to make it work with her, his schedule would inevitably screw it up.
So it was with a more brusque manner than usual that Don introduced himself and Colby to the local agent, a Hispanic man named Roger Castillo. "Thanks for coming all the way out here at this time of day," Roger said after shaking their hands and ushering them to a pair of olive-colored vinyl chairs in his tiny particle-board-paneled office. "Let me get you up to speed, and then you can talk to Ms. Zadera before we give her a ride home."
"That's our victim, right?" Don asked.
"That's right." Roger nodded towards the glass panel on one side of his office, through which they saw a young woman with long, dark blond hair sitting on a cracked leather sofa and reading a magazine. She was wearing a tight, low-cut black dress that accentuated a fine figure. Colby let out a low whistle, and Don shot him a quick look. Colby held up a hand apologetically, and Don nodded to Castillo to continue.
"She's damn lucky to be alive, considering the condition the car was in. I find it really hard to believe two people walked away from this, but the Highway Patrol guys who were on the scene swear it's true." He handed over a photo of the car wreck, and Don and Colby both winced. "It's a Lotus Exige, a high-performance sports car, and that's the only thing that saved them. It's built to racecar standards, so even when the car split in two after hitting the exit sign, both passengers walked away. Or ran away, as the case may be with our suspect."
"How fast was it going?" Don asked, staring at the picture of the mangled vehicle.
"The speedometer's stuck at 160, but it might have been going even faster." Colby whistled again, and this time Don nodded in agreement.
"So, that sounds like just a bizarre traffic accident, right?" When the two L.A. agents nodded, he went on, "But then there's Ms. Zadera. I faxed part of her statement to you, but here's the rest of it." He held up a small tape recorder. "Our transcriptionist had to go home at noon, so we only got the first hour printed out. But it's definitely something bigger than what we usually deal with out here."
"What makes you say that?" said Colby. "An alleged kidnapping sounds pretty straightforward."
Castillo shook his head. "Not when the purported kidnapper has diplomatic immunity." Don grimaced, and the other man nodded. "Makes it a little trickier, yes?"
"How do you know?" Don asked. "Did she give you a name?"
"That, and the gun we found in the car had fingerprints matching the same name." Castillo handed a file over his desk with the air of someone glad to be rid of a difficult problem. "He's a Czech national; his father is based out of the consulate here in L.A., so he's got immunity by virtue of being a family member. Name's Dominic Koristet."
The file folder only had two pieces of paper in it: one, a copy of Mr. Koristet's official paperwork from the Department of State, and two, his current address and contact information, along with a list of a few other people's addresses and phone numbers. "He lives in Vegas?"
"That's what the information says, though I imagine a jet-setter like that lives all over the place." Seeing Don's puzzled look, he went on, "I made a few inquiries. His dad's not the ambassador or anything, just a consular official, but he's got quite the network of connections, both here and back home. He's a pretty rich industrialist who helped fund the Velvet Revolution that split Czechoslovakia in two. Not sure that all the money is from regular business transactions, if you know what I mean. Sounds like the son gets to play around with Dad's money in lieu of going to college like anyone else his age."
"Uh huh." Don studied the photograph, seeing a young man with short, dark hair and a proud way of carrying himself. "And who's Ms. Zadera?"
He reached for another piece of paper in the file. "Michelle Zadera is twenty-three years old, lives in Alhambra, and works for something called the Crescenta Valley Transit Authority as a security officer."
"A transit cop?" Colby's gaze wandered over to the woman as he spoke in a disbelieving tone.
"That's what she says, but I've never heard of this transit authority. So that's kind of odd. And then there's the DHS guys who were at the scene before I got there. No one seems to know who they are or what they wanted, and I can't seem to get a hold of them."
"Wait, Homeland Security is part of this?" Don's brow creased. "Why?"
"That would be reason number two I gave you a call." Castillo spread his hands wide. "When I say 'we' in this office, I mean me and the secretary who works 30 hours a week. Something bigger than a local inquiry comes up, I gotta hand it off to an office with more manpower. And this is not a local inquiry."
"Yeah, I can see that," Don muttered, looking back at the photo of the smashed Lotus. "How much of this has made it into the press?"
Castillo leaned back in his chair as it creaked under the strain. "So far, only the high-speed car crash on I-15. Kind of a wacky-but-true story, a 160-mile-an-hour crash with only minor injuries. Anything beyond that, me and the CHP have kept to ourselves."
"Good," Don replied. "We're gonna try and keep it that way, right?"
"No problem." Castillo spread his hands again. "I'd like to transfer out of this office someday, you know?"
"Yeah, I hear you." Don nodded towards Michelle Zadera. "We'd like to ask her a few questions."
"You can head out if you want," Colby interjected. "Alhambra's on our way back into town; we can make sure she gets home okay."
Castillo's glance flicked to the young woman, and Don had to bite back a smile. Looks like Colby wasn't the only one to appreciate her appearance. "Does that mean you're not going to take a look at the scene or talk to the CHP guys who are conducting the search?" the other agent asked. "It's only another hour up the road, now that you're here. Beats making the trip again."
Colby's face fell, and Don felt his own spirits dropping. Looked like he was going to be placing a call to a certain district attorney to cancel some dinner plans. "He's right, Colby. I'm not any more keen on taking on that traffic than you are, but since we're here…"
"Traffic won't be as bad once you're through the valley here. Then it's just the folks headed to Vegas, not the ones heading home from work." Castillo rose from his seat. "I really appreciate this, agents. I know you guys must have dozens of cases you're working on at a time, but this is really out of my league."
"Hey, no problem. Like you said, there's more to this than meets the eye." He hefted the file in his hand. "I assume the CHP officers' names are in here?"
"Them and the truck driver who stopped to assist at the scene." Castillo ushered them out of his office and said in a low tone, "Whatever that guy was expecting to see at a horrific crash site, she wasn't it."
As they approached, Michelle Zadera looked up and gave them a warm smile, rising gracefully and extending her hand. "You're the agents from the Los Angeles office that Roger was telling me would come?"
"That's right," Don said, shaking her hand firmly. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was stronger than he would have expected for someone who appeared so delicate. "I'm Don Eppes, and this is Colby Granger."
"Ma'am," Colby said in a low voice, leaning forward to shake her hand. Don swore that if Colby had been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it as if he was in a Western.
A faint blush stained Michelle's cheeks, contrasting with her ivory skin. Don successfully kept from rolling his eyes, although it took some effort. Attractive as this woman was, the only one he wanted to be looking at right now was taller and with darker hair, and it was increasingly less and less likely that was going to happen tonight. "I know you already gave Agent Castillo your statement, but we'd like to ask you a couple of more questions, if that's all right."
She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes wide. "Of course. Anything to help you catch that awful man. It's just—" she hesitated and leaned slightly forward. "This won't take long, will it? I've been wearing the same clothing for a day and a half now, and I'd really appreciate the chance to go home and clean up. I'm sure I must look a fright."
"Ms. Zadera, I wouldn't worry about that." Colby's admiring tone caused her to look down demurely.
"Please, call me Michelle," she said, giving him the same coquettish look she had just tried on Don. On Colby, it seemed to be more effective.
So Don let his junior agent take the lead, and he was pleased that Colby did ask nearly all of the questions he would have himself, if with more warm smiles and a gentler tone of voice. Then again, this woman had been through a traumatic experience and was actually pretty lucky to be alive. Treating her gently was not at all out of line.
After about twenty minutes, Colby said, "Well, that's all for now, Ms. Zadera." She raised an eyebrow, and Colby corrected himself. "Michelle. Agent Castillo will be taking you home, but we'll be in touch if we have any more questions."
"Of course," she replied, leaning forward and laying a hand on his arm. "As I told you before, anything I can do to help. Anything."
The two agents walked back out to the Suburban, Don having gotten directions from Castillo as to exactly where to go on I-15. He had said the wreck was still on the side of the road, though you wouldn't see it from the way they would be approaching until they'd already passed it. They'd have to get off at the Zzyzx Road exit, ten miles short of the small town of Baker, and cross the freeway there.
"So," Don said once they were in the Suburban and headed back towards the interstate. He was driving, and he was relieved to see that traffic was, in fact, much better than it had been. His tone was deliberately light as he asked, "Were you interviewing our witness or trying to get a date with her?"
"Come on, Don, don't tell me you've never done that." Colby's tone was slightly disbelieving.
"Hit on a kidnapping victim? No, I can't say that I have." Now, hitting on a U.S Attorney was a different story, but Colby didn't need to hear the details of that.
"No, not that." Colby shifted in his seat so he was partially facing him. "Didn't you notice how thick she was laying it on? I mean, I'd like to think that I'm irresistible to a gorgeous woman like that, but the cynical side of me knows better."
"What do you mean?" Don maneuvered the vehicle around a slow-moving motor home and returned to the right-hand lane.
"She wasn't really answering our questions. She didn't tell us anything that wasn't already in the report, even when I asked something new." Colby gave a shrug. "I thought that playing along with the flirting thing would get us somewhere, but it looks like that was her deflection strategy instead."
Don looked at him for a second before returning his eyes to the road. "They don't teach you that in the Army, do they?"
He gave a small chuckle. "No, Megan told me about it. It's an interrogation method that takes advantage of the gender differences between the interviewer and interviewee. It could go the other way, too, if you had a female doing the questioning and a male subject."
"I thought you told me you didn't go for that psycho-babble stuff, as you put it."
"Aw, that was last year, Don." He gave another small shrug and looked out the window. "A guy can change his mind when he sees something that works on occasion, can't he?"
Don tried a slightly more probing tone. "So, you and Megan were discussing flirting?"
He couldn't quite see Colby's eyes behind his sunglasses, but he could imagine the glare they were emitting. "As an interrogation technique, yeah," came the measured response.
Biting back a grin, he decided to let the other agent off the hook. For now. "So tell me again what you think you learned by doing that with Ms. Zadera?"
"Well, nothing concrete, but…" Colby's voice trailed off, and when Don shot him a glance, he saw the other man's brow deeply furrowed. "She's hiding something. This transit agency, even if it's not made up, is kind of weird, and she totally dodged any questions I asked about it."
"No, we definitely have to explore that connection more." The phone in Don's pocket began to ring, and he fished it out and flipped it open. "Eppes."
"Hey, Don, it's me," came Robin's voice.
He grimaced. He had intended to call her before he and Colby got in the car, but it was obviously too late for that. "Uh, hi," he said.
"Listen, I really hate to do this, but I'm going to have to cancel dinner. I just got word that a case might be moving forward next week, and I'm going to have to put in a lot of work this weekend in case that happens. Such is the state of my life."
He gave a soft laugh. "As it turns out, I was just about to cancel on you." He looked sideways at Colby, who was doing his best to stare out the side window and ignore the conversation. "I got called away to something that's got me driving out to the middle of nowhere." 'When I'd rather be with you,' he added in his head, but didn't dare say out loud.
"Well, at least that makes me feel better," came her reply, and he smiled. "Can we try again next Friday?"
"That long?" he asked before he could help himself.
Her quiet chuckle echoed through the phone. "Not if this case comes through, but I'll keep you updated."
"I suppose that's all I can ask for. So, uh, good luck, and I'll talk to you later."
"Same with your case, Don. And I'm really sorry tonight didn't work out."
"Me too," he replied, unable to keep a little huskiness from his voice. "Talk to you later."
He flipped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket, half holding his breath while waiting for the inevitable question.
Instead, Colby's response was to read the road sign they were passing. "Ninety-five miles to Baker. Just my idea of a good time on a Friday night."
Don made no reply, but cast his eyes across the desert landscape around them as he reached to crank up the a/c, thinking that if Ms. Zoristet's kidnapper really had been wandering around here all day, they were more likely to find his remains than anything else.
