“We have to find Moroconi before midnight,” Travis said. “Otherwise—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but Kramer knew what he meant. He knew all about Staci’s midnight deadline—since he’d created it himself and leaked it to his pigeon at the paper.
Byrne was holding the gun Curran had knocked out of Kramer’s hand. He was obviously uncertain what to do with it.
“If it makes you more comfortable,” Kramer bluffed, “you keep the gun.”
“No,” Travis said. “You’re going to need it.” He returned the pistol.
Kramer had to exert extreme control, but he managed to suppress his strong desire to laugh.
Thanks for the murder weapon, Byrne. Yours.
68
7:10 P.M.
IN A SMALL OFFICE ON the penthouse floor of a high-rise in downtown Dallas, the real Special Agent Henderson stormed into Agent Simpson’s office. He was behind Simpson’s desk before the man had a chance to blink.
“Mr. Henderson!” Simpson cried, startled.
“Don’t bother getting up,” Henderson growled.
“Oh no,” Simpson said, pushing himself out of his chair. I wouldn’t dream—”
Henderson shoved him back down. “I want to know what’s really going on, Simpson. And you’re going to tell me.”
“I don’t know what you mean—”
“Bureau 99 is going to hell in a handbasket, that’s what I mean. I had a clean, perfectly functioning little team here, and suddenly it’s all gone to shit. I think we have a mole.”
“A mole?” Simpson did his best to feign surprise. “Surely not.”
“Spare me the crap. I’m onto you.”
“Don’t tell me you suspect that I—”
“No, I don’t. You haven’t the imagination.” He hovered over Simpson’s chair; Simpson could feel his hot breath on his face. “But I think you know who it is.”
“Why me?”
“You’ve always been a mindless little toady. Anything anyone wanted you to do, no matter how dirty, you were ready to do it.”
Simpson tried to squirm out of his chair, but Henderson didn’t give him an opening. “But, sir—”
“Mind you, I’m not complaining. There’s a place for mindless toadies in every operation, as long as you know who they are and who they’re working for. So that’s my question, Simpson. Who are you working for?”
“You, sir!” Beads of sweat trickled down his brow. “I only take orders from you.”
“Is that right? I just had some phone records pulled up from the central database in Quantico. Maybe you didn’t know we had a double check on the phone monitor?”
Simpson’s befuddled expression showed that Henderson had guessed correctly. “I didn’t—”
“Funny thing. I found several unauthorized, unrecorded phone calls to Mr. Janicek’s extension. And they all occurred while either you or the late Agent Mooney were supposed to be monitoring the phones.”
Simpson desperately wanted to loosen his collar but feared it would be a dead giveaway. “You know, sometimes the switchboard gets so busy, it’s possible I might miss a call—”
Henderson grabbed him by his shirt. “What really happened at that shopping mall, Simpson? I never believed for a minute that Travis Byrne killed Mooney.”
“B-but—he did, sir. It was just like—”
“Bull. Makes no sense. And if he wasn’t killed by Byrne; that means it was either you or Janicek.”
He tightened his grip on Simpson’s shirt, lifting him out of his chair. “One of you is going up the river, Simpson. Who’s it going to be?”
69
8:12 P.M.
TRAVIS AND CAVANAUGH HID in a grove of trees north of the large ranch-style home they had determined was the elusive Jack’s current residence. It was a lovely, secluded area not far from Mountain Creek Lake. Curran had volunteered to make a preliminary sweep of the grounds. Although Travis had a hard time believing Henderson could be much help to him, for some reason, Curran had insisted on dragging the man along with him.
Travis tried to keep them in sight, using Curran’s high-powered infrared glasses, but the slope of the hill obscured his view before they had traveled two hundred feet.
“How long have they been gone?” Cavanaugh whispered.
“Only about twenty minutes. Not long, really.”
“Curran said he’d be back in ten.”
“He was estimating.”
“What if he’s been caught?”
Travis tried to comfort her, even though her words only echoed his own thoughts. “Henderson is probably slowing him down.”
“Henderson should know his way around the block if he’s such a big FBI hotshot.”
“Maybe he’s been behind a desk too long.”
“I suppose.” She shuddered involuntarily. “Eerie-looking guy, though. Did you see that scar on his face? Gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah. Well, you can’t judge a book by its cover.” Travis was about to spin off a few more reassuring platitudes when he heard the barely discernible sound of approaching footsteps—a tiny crunching of leaves, an almost inaudible rush of air. It was coming from behind him, away from the house.
Travis’s hand involuntarily went to his gun. He cursed himself bitterly. And just what did you think you might do with that gun, Byrne?
To his relief, he saw Curran trudging up the hill, Henderson a few steps in front of him. “How’d you get behind me?” Travis asked.
“Years of practice,” Curran replied. “So how’s it look? Did you see any security?” Curran and Henderson exchanged a meaningful look. “You could say that.”
“A burglar alarm system?”
“True, they do have that. An electric touch-and-sound-sensitive system wired to every door and window in the house. Very sophisticated. Noise detectors, motion detectors. The works.”
Travis swung his fist in the air. “Damn.”
“Don’t sweat it. The flaw with any system that big is that it requires a lot of power. I found the power source and cut it off. It’s useless.”
“So they’re all in the house without power now?”
“What do you take me for? I didn’t shut off all the power. I just cut the line feeding the security system. They’ll never know the difference.”
Travis’s eyes brightened. “That’s great. So we can just waltz on in.”
“We can, assuming you can avoid the guardpost, the security cameras, the magnetic card gate, and the bodyguards.”
Travis’s chin fell. “Oh. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Moroconi’s here. Henderson ID’d his silhouette in an upstairs window.”
“Then I was right!” Travis thought for a moment. “If we can’t get in, how did Moroconi?”
“My guess would be that he was admitted voluntarily. He seemed to be chatting with someone. And by the way, I never said we couldn’t get in.”
“Then you think we can?”
“I think it’s possible.”
“Okay,” Cavanaugh asked, “how do we get past the security guards?”
“There are only two of them.”
“I’m not that handy in a fistfight,” Travis hedged.
“That’s not the critical issue,” Curran replied. “Frankly, I could take them both down myself. The issue is time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I could take them both out, but not before one of them triggered an alarm. Or called for help. That’s why I need you.”
“Wait a minute,” Cavanaugh said. “If you can take out the burglar alarm, why can’t you take out the phones?”
“I could, but the security guards might notice and they’d know something was up. I’ll take the phones out once we’ve taken care of the guards.”
“Why don’t we just sneak past them?” Henderson asked. “You and I did it when we scouted the grounds. All those bozos are watching is the road in and out of the house.”