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Chapter Nineteen
"The Search"
Paul was on a secure line with his contact, and not liking what he was hearing one bit.
"So, you've got a two-fold problem, Falcon. One, the money transfers to a Swiss account two weeks ago undoubtedly reflects the money paid to the hit men. No measly sum by any standard. And two, there was a transfer to a local account during the same time period that probably belongs to your mole.
"I checked into the identity of the person named on the account, but it was all dummied, quite a professional job actually. I would guess they work in one of your city's governmental agencies, probably someone working in City Hall, and that person has access to confidential files. I narrowed it down that far, but couldn't nab the little blighter. It might be a judge, a clerk, a secretary, or the blooming District Attorney himself."
"Well, I believe I can vouch for the DA, but the rest of the staff is free game for my people to research. Thanks, I owe you."
"Hell, I owe you for my life. I think the balances are still tipped in my direction. I've already taken the liberty of having copies of my research dropped off at your desk within the hour."
"Roger that, Falcon out."
"Falcon, be careful. Whoever is on this guy's payroll has been clever enough to hide in the midst of three witness murders. They might be dangerous themselves."
"Understood."
"Over and out."
Paul set down the phone and called Jody and Skalany. "I want you wake up the city's head of personnel and meet him at his office in thirty minutes!"
"But Captain, it's the Sunday night before Christmas and at midnight at that."
"I don't care how you do it, but I've just had confirmation that there's a mole in City Hall. It's up to you two to find who it is and stop them. There will be a manila envelop sitting on my desk. It won't have a name on it or any mailing stamps. It should be there by the time you get to the precinct. Read that file and follow the trail until you find the mole and throw him or her into a cell until I get back to town. Take the information with you to the meeting, but by no means do you leave it with them. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Paul hung up, realizing he had just asked for the impossible. Then again, finding Peter and Tommy alive after what Kermit had described sounded just as impossible. Paul usually dealt with tangibles, but tonight as they traveled on the busy Interstate with the rest of their rescue team, he was depending upon the impossible.
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Apparently, Ansel had managed to catch up with Celeste, because Kermit could see her riding in the front seat of Ansel's truck when they returned. Ansel stopped a short distance from Kermit and got out, but Celeste stayed where she was, looking like she was about to explode with rage.
Kermit had finished his business with Blaisdell and the kit was packed up, ready for travel.
As Ansel limped over to him, Kermit said sympathetically, "I see you still have your scalp."
The old man grunted. "Yeah, but I ain't got no ass any more. She chewed it up one side and down the other. Man, she's fighting this like a momma bear separated from her cub."
"I don't blame her. Where's the nearest place we can go to? And I don't mean Clarion."
Ansel rubbed his face. "Flying Eagle's place is the closest, but he's not home right now. He doesn't like our cold winters, but I know where he keeps the key. Come on, let's get you off that snow and pack up your gear."
Kermit flinched a bit as he started to move. "Not sure I can walk after lying here."
"Hold on, I'll pull up closer."
"Good idea."
As Ansel got into the truck, Kermit could see the firm line of Celeste's mouth. 'Oh yeah, she's pissed all right.'
A short time later, they were at Flying Eagle's place and Ansel had retrieved the key to the front door, gesturing for the rest of them to enter. Kermit didn't waste any time setting up the satellite relay again. Soon, he had Paul back on the line, describing their
location and how to find it.
"Any word on Peter or the boy?" Paul asked.
"Not yet. You bring in the Marines to keep these hit teams off our ass and we'll find them safe and sound."
"We're on our way, old friend."
"Roger. Next check in will be at 19:00 hours."
"Got it. Over and out."
Kermit packed up the kit and glanced over at Ansel tending to Celeste. She was beside herself with worry, hanging onto Ansel's shoulder as she wept. Ansel handed her another whiskey shot, keeping at it until she refused any more.
The old man handed Kermit the bottle of whiskey and nodded for him to leave them alone. His nonverbal gesture indicated he'd take the first watch, especially with Celeste in the state she was in. So, Kermit limped to the bathroom to see how bad his leg wound was.
Once he'd cut into his pants leg, and wiped away the still flowing blood, Kermit eyed the wound with a knowing look. He shrugged. "I've had worse," he muttered to himself.
Kermit paused for closer examination, holding the lamp closer to the wound. "Not many in the leg, but I've had worse."
He took several sips from the fifth of Flying Eagles' whiskey, bracing himself for what was ahead. Inhaling quickly, he poured the alcohol over the wound, hissing as he pounded on the counter top beside him.
Eventually, the burning pain subsided and he took another long swallow from the bottle before he began to bandage the still aching leg. He tied the bandage in place, but he was acting automatically from years of dressing field bandages. Instead of worrying about his leg wound, all he could think of was Peter and Tommy, and the bigger hole it would leave in his gut if they were found dead.
Now cleaned up, he took the oil burning lamp that was currently the only type of illumination in the house. Ansel said he'd fire up the generator once he had Celeste asleep or at least calmed down.
Kermit headed for one of the bedrooms. He gave a sideways glance down the hallway to see the old man holding Celeste as she sobbed in his arms. Knowing his physical pain was nothing compared to her emotional angst, Kermit turned away and allowed her cry without witnesses.
He collapsed on the bed and didn't move for a long minute when he remembered something he'd read once. "'No one can see how deep the abyss calling to them in the middle of the night is...if it is inches deep or a mile-long cavern, it remains a mystery until the morning light casts itself out to reveal the true nature of such danger.'"
He hoped with morning's light, they'd find Peter and Tommy safely hidden away. Nothing would console Celeste until she had Tommy back in her arms. Paul and the troops would be there by morning. The more, the better. He closed his eyes for just a moment and in that moment, he began snoring.
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"How long...have you...been awake?" Peter asked as he opened his eyes to see Tommy munching on some of the supplies in the shelter and had the flashlight on as he silently looked through his favorite book.
Tommy shrugged, offering Peter some of what he was eating. Peter shook his head. Food was the last thing he wanted.
"Early riser," Peter muttered with a wink for Tommy after he squinted at his watch and saw the ungodly hour.
His head dropped back to the padded floor of the shelter. The beating he'd taken the previous day had added new pains to the old ones. There was hardly a position he could find that would allow him some comfort.
Plus Peter was trying to ignore the fact that he was so cold he was shaking. Yet, his skin was hot to the touch. He was running a fever again. That was something he didn't need. Something Tommy didn't need, if Peter was to save his life.
Then he realized his hearing wasn't completely gone anymore. Now, instead of dead silence, now there was an incessant ringing in his ears, a high pitched whine that was almost worse than the silence, because its distracting hum distorted anything else he might have heard. Peter shook his head and made it to a sitting position. Enough bemoaning of physical ailments. That wasn't going to save Tommy or himself.
"Time to move," Peter said slowly as he ruffled Tommy's hair. "Gotta get...my lazy butt moving. It won't be fun...for either one of us. How big are...your muscles?"
Tommy held out his arms to the sides in his best bodybuilding pose. Peter suppressed a chuckle as he squeezed the miniature-sized biceps. He was surprised by Tommy's sinewy strength.
"Wow...Maybe you are strong enough...to get me...out of here."
Tommy nodded enthusiastically, holding up Ansel's cane, but then he frowned, touching Peter's forehead. His frown deepened as his hand made contact with Peter's skin. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek and sighed. There wasn't much he could sneak past this kid. Tommy placed his hand over Peter's heart. Sadness came into Tommy's eyes and Peter reached down, pulling Tommy's hand away.
"Okay, I'm sick...but we've...gotta get away from here."
Tommy shook his head. He placed his own sleeping bag over Peter and handed him a water bottle. Peter sighed again. This kid was headstrong, then again so was he, but he was thirsty, so he drank the water. It did help to soothe his dry throat.
"Any noises...above us?" Peter asked as he wiped the lingering drops of water from his lips.
The boy shook his head.
Peter closed his eyes for a moment. It was a tough choice. To open the hatch to the shelter and expose their presence to a hostile force. Or take a chance that they could make it down to the creek unimpeded.
Peter laid back and curled on his good side as he shivered. Tommy followed his motion and snuggled up to him, lending Peter his own body heat. Peter's trembling carried into his voice. "Look, I'm the one...saving your butt...not the reverse, sport."
He felt the boy chuckle as he pressed against him. The shivers slowly passed and Peter fell into another deep sleep without meaning to.
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