Chapter 23: Best Laid Plans
Cho, Abbott's House, Austin
Cho braked sharply, pulled over and parked. He strode to the scene, ducking under the police tape after showing his badge. Cruiser lights flashed with a strobe effect, red-blue-red-blue. He caught sight of ambulances and tensed.
One cop kept press and gawkers away. Another searched the yard. Two others talked with a man while EMT's tended the figures on stretchers. Abbott was strapped to one, no surprise after Lisbon's message. Relief surged then guilt when he realized the woman was Kim Fischer, not Lisbon. Where the hell are they? The first ambulance pulled away.
"How bad?" he asked an EMT.
Hurriedly while loading Abbott's stretcher, "This guy, head grazed by a bullet. Concussion at least." He hopped up next to the stretcher as the driver ran to the front. "Woman, abdominal GSW. Critical."
"Where?"
"Brackenridge." He slammed the rear door. In no time the ambulance was speeding away, lights flashing and siren wailing.
Cho looked around. The cruiser's headlights showed a large pool of blood and a smaller red stain several feet away. A long smear suggested someone – Kim? - was dragged from the pool to the SUV. Who? Why? Open handcuffs lay next to the smaller stain. Bullet holes in the SUV, an abandoned Glock, and chipped concrete screamed firefight. A matte handprint of dried blood stood out on the shiny SUV.
He turned to the cops – nametags Miller and Davidson – who were questioning a victim and showed his badge. Miller nodded and continued getting a statement. Red seeped through the white gauze taped to the victim's head. The Austin PD forensics van pulled up and techs began working the scene.
"...leaving the Iron Works BBQ. A man came up behind us with a gun. Cuffed Dennis behind his back. Kim drove. When we got here, a man and woman arrived in a blue car – some foreign job." Cho frowned. "Kim and Dennis knew them!"
"Names?"
"'Teresa Lincoln,' something like that. The guy's name was odd – 'Jane.' My daughter worked with those bastards!" Cho's jaw clenched, biting back the words calling him on it. Davidson fiddled with his smart phone.
"What happened? Exactly."
He drew a deep breath, looked down then up. "I grabbed for the gun, got slammed in the head – knocked out." He touched the bandage. "They were gone when I woke up. Dennis was wounded and unconscious. My daughter, my God, my daughter is shot in the stomach! – I – I need to get to the hospital. Please."
"Description?" Davidson showed Miller a picture on his cell, hiding it from the victim.
He closed his eyes to remember. "All three of 'em white. Kidnapper had a nylon stocking mask. Average height, middle age, brown hair, navy suit. The man from the blue car was about five-ten, late 30's maybe, curly blonde hair, three piece gray suit. Woman's five-four in, uh, boots with heels, 35-to-40. Tiny with long dark hair, wearing a black pantsuit." The cops exchanged glances and Davidson stepped over to the cruiser. Probably to put out a BOLO, thought Cho.
"What did they want? Did anyone say anything?"
He shook his head. "They tried to kill us."
Cho spoke for the first time, "Officer Miller, a word." They stepped to the side, out of earshot of Kim's father.
"Teresa Lisbon and Patrick Jane work for the FBI. I'm certain they didn't do this. He's lying."
Miller frowned. "Gotta follow procedure till this is cleared up."
Cho waved at the scene, "Look for yourself. Bullet holes in the SUV, woman dragged to cover. Someone was shooting from a distance – not close up like he says."
Miller's forehead creased. "We'll detain him. If you know the others they need to come forward." Apologetically, "I can't involve you now that the FBI is implicated."
Cho nodded. "That works. The FBI will want this case."
Still frowning, "Your director needs to contact Chief Daniels."
"Fine. Just don't cut him loose."
Cho called the FBI and told the watch officer about Abbott and Fischer, Lisbon and Jane. That agent would contact Abbott's back-up, and then Schultz.
Cho started for Brackenridge hospital. Someone almost killed Abbott. Better make sure he doesn't try again. He couldn't do anything about the investigation. Hell, who's even in charge? And where–" A text came in: 'Call me.' Unknown number. He pressed callback but the phone was out of service. No matter. He knew who called. A few minutes later Director Schultz called, suspended him, and ordered him to report to Abbott's office. Once there, Agent Pike relieved him of his service piece and badge. Cho expected this since his team was implicated but it still felt like a punch in the gut. Pike explained an acting supervising agent would be appointed from another field office until Abbott returned.
Cho stopped by his apartment for the burner phone and another gun. Guards would automatically be posted for Abbott. Can they be trusted?
Cho, Brackenridge Hospital, Austin
Once at the hospital Cho hid his gun in a restroom and then headed for Abbott's room.
A man in a black suit straightened as Cho approached, an agent Cho didn't know. A nurse entered the room and Cho glimpsed Abbott, sleeping or unconscious. His head sported a bulky white bandage.
"Got business here?"
"He's my boss. I'm concerned." Cho's regular cell vibrated. He ignored it.
"Your team is accused of this."
"They'll be cleared. I want to be sure Abbott's okay."
The agent thought a moment. Cho had a good reputation in the Austin bureau. "Turn around, feet back, hands to the wall." Visitors and hospital staff goggled and drew back as the agent patted Cho down. "Keep 20 feet away." Cho moved 20 feet down the corridor with a clear line of sight to Abbott's door. He'd retrieve his gun when the agent was distracted. Cho grabbed a chair, settled in, and checked his cell but ignored Rigsby's call. Rigsby would have used the burner if it involved Blake. Wylie called next.
"Cho. ... Private room, don't know how bad. Don't know about Fischer. ... Didn't do it. ... At Brackenridge. Guarding. ... Making sure. ... Appreciate the help. We'll alternate." Wylie arrived soon after, relieving Cho. Need to find out what's going on. He used the burner phone in his car.
Grand Junction, Iowa
Van Pelt stopped dead when she saw Lisbon and Jane on screen. Her dad pressed 'play.'
'...resa Lisbon and Patrick Jane are being sought in connection with a shooting involving three people. Two agents from the Austin FBI office were injured with one in critical condition. The third victim, a retired government employee, claims it was attempted murder. Another man was involved in the attack but no details are available. The alleged shooters are considered armed and dangerous. Call the number at the bottom of the screen if you see them. Do not approach them. Stay tuned for breaking news as we follow this troubling story. We will now resume our regularly schedu–'
Her dad clicked the TV off. "Gracie, know anything about this? Aren't they your former-"
She put up a hand. "–Hang on, Dad, gotta take this," she interrupted as her cell chimed with a call from her husband.
"Wayne, are you all right? ... Haven't you seen the news?! Lisbon and Jane are accused of shooting two agents. ... Just landed? Where - here? ... " She sighed. "No surprise Cho's ignoring your calls with what happened in Austin. ... Yeah, I can ping it. Give me a minute. ..." Suddenly worried, she muted her phone and stepped outside. "Ben, dinnertime. Grandma's got spaghetti with cookies for dessert." Ben ran into the house with the mastiffs on his heels. Van Pelt launched the GPS tracking software. "Babe, got it. He's at Brackenridge hospital. ... At 601 east 15th, in Austin. ... Call and let me know what's going on. And – be safe. ... Love you, too."
She exhaled long and slow. It's sure hit the fan now. Hope they've got a plan.
Lisbon and Jane, Heading North
The only sounds were the engine's purr and hiss of tires. After thirty minutes large raindrops spattered the windshield then combined into steady rain. She glanced at Jane who remained silent and huddled against the passenger door. Whatever's wrong will have to wait. Lisbon exited the interstate, pulled into a shopping center and parked away from other cars. She rummaged in her suitcase then replaced suit jacket and boots with a hooded nylon jacket and flip flops, casual clothes unremarkable in the summer rain.
She slid back into the driver's seat. "Jane." He dully looked her way. "I need to buy some things. You okay here a few minutes?" He nodded. She unfurled a light blanket over him, explaining, "So no one sees the blood." She pulled her hood up to hide her hair and dashed into the big box store, praying Jane would stay put.
Lisbon soon returned with a new burner phone, man's shirt, wet wipes, snacks, bottled drinks and an umbrella. Thanks to self-checkout and the hood, she attracted no attention and her face was hidden from security cameras. She propped the open umbrella between the car roof and open passenger door.
"Give me your jacket and shirt." He barely reacted. She nudged him forward and helped him strip. Several wet wipes later, most of the gore was off his hands and stomach where it had soaked through. Least he's not hurt, pretty sure despite the lack of light. She slipped the new shirt on him, glad she got a button-up. Blood stains on the knees of his pants, black in the dim light, couldn't be helped. She bagged the fouled clothes, drove behind the store and tossed the bag into a dumpster. Cops might check the trash at gas stations and rest stops; unlikely for store trash.
She texted 'Call me' to Cho's work cell then removed the battery so it couldn't be traced. He'd have gone to Abbott's house, seen the carnage, known they hadn't done it. They desperately needed to coordinate. Did Abbott die? Kim? Who was the second shooter? Does Cho realize Fischer's dad is Blake? If he's still alive, Abbott has to be protected. Jane and I need to see Cooper, find out how Blake got control of Visualize. And more important, what to do about it. She let herself hope they'd see a way to flush out the Blake leaders. Lisbon glanced at Jane again. He's gotta snap out of it, she thought anxiously.
They drove another hour before Cho called her on her other burner cell. She switched to speaker.
"You two okay?"
"Yeah. What's going on?"
"Bureau head's unconscious. Other one's in surgery, critical. Her dad's in custody, claims you did this. No sign of the other perp. You're wanted and they've mobilized a dragnet. I'm suspended."
She swallowed. "Didn't wanna run but I–"
"Right move, you're being framed. Got a plan?"
"Road trip to find out how the conspiracy got control of the cult."
"Where's our psychic?" noticing Jane hadn't said anything.
"He's a little dazed." Resolutely, "He'll be okay."
Suddenly worried, "Better be or we're toast. I'll push to clear you two. Tough till the wounded agents can give statements."
"Yeah." Grimly, "I did something stupid. I emptied my clip and grabbed the gun that was there. Forensics will find my prints on it. -Keep them from smearing you."
"Working on it. Call when you have a plan."
"'Night. Thanks."
He nodded, then remembered to speak, "Always, Boss."
Cho, Austin
Cho went home for a few hours' sleep before relieving Wylie. Unfortunately, Wylie soon called to say he'd been ordered to work the dragnet. Wylie dashed off when Cho arrived to resume his vigil, a careful 20 feet away. The FBI agent expressionlessly noticed it all.
A half hour later Wayne Rigsby appeared and leaned against the wall on the other side of Abbott's room. Rigsby gave Cho a small nod.
Cho phoned Rigsby with the burner cell, hoping he had his with him. "Why're you here?"
Rigsby walked down the hall to be less obvious. "Figured you could use a hand. Who you guarding?"
"My boss. He's on our side now, was almost killed. Don't know who to trust."
"Our friends okay? They're on the news. Someone's framing them."
"Yeah. We need him–" Cho nodded toward Abbott's room, "to clear them when he wakes up. One perp's in custody, other's at large."
"How can I help?"
"Help guard. You armed?"
"Yeah."
"Relieve me at four."
"Will do. I'm gonna nap till then."
"Hey – thanks."
"Back at four."
Cho put the phone away and settled back in the chair. Abbott's odds had just improved. And theirs.
Chain Motel, North Texas
Lisbon wearily set one suitcase on a luggage rack, the other on a dresser, and the fast food on the tiny table. She stepped back to their car parked right outside their ground-floor motel room.
She caught herself before calling him by name. 'Jane' was way too memorable for a man's name if overheard. "We're here. C'mon." Jane obediently followed and waited as she closed and bolted the door. She slumped against the door and rotated her head to relieve tension in her neck and shoulders. It was over three hours since they left – escaped – and Jane was still out of it. Where's his head at? She hoped tea and food might help but couldn't stomach the thought eating before cleaning up. She shed jacket and flip flops then dug a nail brush out of her toiletry kit and led him into the bathroom.
Lisbon faced him squarely in too-bright fluorescent light that leached pink from their skin and highlighted blue-black smudges under their eyes. With false heartiness, "Let me help you clean up."
She might say Jane needed help stripping to his boxers, but really meant she had to do it for him. He had that thousand-yard stare that had always scared the hell out of her when his family's memory or Red John surfaced in the past. Confoundingly, he simply stared at his open hands. It took the brush and soapy water to scrub the rust colored ... matter from his fingernails and creases in his hands. She used a washcloth to clean off smears of blood on his stomach and knees.
Fischer's blood, she thought, suddenly nauseated. Kim Fischer was an antagonist who had hurt Jane, but - Jane desperately pressed into the gore, trying to stem the bleeding, blood leaking between his fingers - She shook the image from her head. Fischer didn't deserve to be shot. Like Bosco... She turned away, closing her eyes till she regained her composure. Grabbing a towel she dried his hands. She looked up and caught Jane's gaze but he instantly looked away. Still she glimpsed grief. Hatred. Shame. Grief from remembering his family's murder - okay. Shame? Hatred? For what? Finished she nudged him toward the little table so they could eat. Wordlessly he pulled free to lie on the bed on his stomach, facing away. He heaved a huge sigh and covered his head with a pillow. Can't get clearer than that. Maybe sleep was the best thing for him. She threw the comforter over him against the chill conditioned air and turned down the lights.
Lisbon clicked the TV on while she ate, using captioning with the audio muted. She and Jane were in the local news about the attack on Abbott and Fischer. No announcement Kim died. She fingered her cross and sent a prayer. On the way to Abbott's Jane said Kim's dad was Blake, but there was nothing about him or the shooter in the news. The story was filmed with long lines at checkpoints serving as a backdrop. Lisbon knew the dragnet would be based on how far they might have traveled. By stopping early, the net would have moved beyond them. So long as no one had sighted them, so long as no one knew where they headed, the cops' task was gargantuan soon to be impossible. In two hours they could have traveled 140 miles. The circumference of their dragnet would be almost 900 miles surrounding an area over 61,000 miles. The search would be scaled back to checkpoints on the interstate and major highways. Avoid those, avoid being "made," and their chances of getting to South Dakota were good. They would alter clothes and appearance before moving on in the morning.