He didn’t have to finish that thought, they both knew what would happen if something like this leaked. He continued, “Put together a package of all the facts that you have. I’ll need to know the information sources, the databases, and every tool that you’ve used so far. We don’t have time to be duplicating effort here. If what you told me is true, we’re going to have to move fast on this one. When can you have the information for me?”
“In a few hours. I’ll have to bring in the agents that were doing the work.”
“Excellent. I’m going to send my Tiger Team up to Boston. They’ll be at your disposal but reporting back to me. They’ll be in your office in a couple hours. And, you need to put additional resources on this until we know if it’s real or not.”
“Thanks, Arthur. I will,” Carl said as he jotted something down. “When you say that they’ll be reporting back to you, what do you mean?”
He understood where Carl was going, and he couldn’t blame him. This could be a huge case, and Carl wanted to keep it under his control. Giving him the illusion of control would be okay for now. If things blew up, Carl would take the fall. Political astuteness was like a gift and Arthur was one of the best. “Don’t worry, Carl. They will be keeping me informed, but they’ll be under you.”
“Great. I could use the manpower.”
“Okay. Then I’ll expect to see that report by the end of the day today. We’ll talk after I analyze it.”
7:24 pm PDT Eureka, California
Chris was getting tired. He had been following Albert for almost ten hours. At first it had been exciting – tailing another vehicle, keeping out of sight but after doing it for most of a day, he found that it wasn’t exciting at all – it was tedious. He needed to stretch his legs, not to mention get some food. The only stop had been at a massive truck stop four hours earlier. The place was big enough that he had filled up on the other side of the station without Albert seeing him.
They had driven north from Malibu, past San Francisco, and now were in the northern part of the state. Albert drove at an irritatingly slow sixty-two miles an hour, and Chris found himself creeping up behind him frequently. He was certain that Albert was clueless about the tail as they drove into a small town, Fresh Water.
Albert pulled into a strip mall and Chris took the opportunity to stop at a gas station across the street. He filled his tank as he watched Albert fiddling with his phone. They must be getting close. His tank was almost full when Albert suddenly started to drive away.
Chris yanked the nozzle, spilling gas down the side of the rental car and ran to the small kiosk. A trashy looking girl and the cashier were arguing over a problem with her credit card. He leaned around her, flicked a couple twenties through the slot at the bottom of the window, and said, “Keep the change.”
Credit-card girl said something to him that he didn’t catch as he sprinted back to his car. Albert took a right at the next lights as Chris pulled out and raced after him. After taking the same turn he spotted the SUV about a quarter mile in front of him. Not so bad. He eased off the accelerator.
Soon they were off the main road and driving down a rural street. Albert pulled over again, this time into a little country store. Chris was forced to drive by. As he passed, he could see Albert talking to the clerk inside the small, wood-framed building. He continued down the street, watching the rearview mirror to see if Albert got back on the road.
A truck’s horn blared into his consciousness. He snapped back to the road. An enormous, fully loaded lumber truck barreled toward him. He had drifted into the oncoming lane of traffic.
He cursed as he cut the wheel sharply to the right. The truck careened by him with its horn blasting. It missed slamming head-on into his car by inches. He skidded toward the ditch and cut the wheel in the opposite direction. Again he went over the centerline and into the other lane. After several more barely controlled weaves, he managed to pull over. Heart pounding furiously, he turned around and looked back down the road. Black skid marks sliced across the tar leading to swaths of disturbed dirt along the narrow, ditch-lined shoulder. Jesus Christ!
If he didn’t start paying attention he was going to end up dead. Albert would drive by any second now. He whipped a U-turn and headed back toward the store. As he passed it he saw the store was now empty. No-one was around.
“What the…?” He muttered as he stepped down on the accelerator. Albert must have reversed direction. As he raced along, he noticed several dirt roads off to the sides. He could have gone down any one of those. Around the next turn was a lengthy stretch of empty blacktop. Albert must have pulled off the road back there someplace.
He turned around and counted the number of dirt roads until he got back to the store. Three. He decided to take the one that looked most traveled. It would be dark soon. The bloated sun hung low on the horizon just above the tree line looking eager to go down – as if it had some better place to be. The easterly sky was starting to glow. After driving for twenty minutes, he realized exactly what he was up against – dozens of splits and side roads. It was a maze. Just finding his way back to the main street was going to be difficult.
Maine was full of lumber roads just like this one. From the air, they would look like the veins on a drunkard’s face – no particular reasoning behind their placement; they just were.
“Damn,” he muttered as he pulled onto a smaller road that bore off at a ninety-degree angle. Dusk had solidly settled in and he clicked on his headlights.
After another half an hour, he concluded that it was useless. He came to a stop and stared into the darkness. What now? His options were limited. Driving around out here in this wilderness was pointless. None of the roads were marked, and even if they were, he had no idea where he was going. Maybe the time had come to call Carl Moscovitz back in Boston and dump this whole thing in his lap.
“That’s it,” he said as he spun the car around. “I’m done with this.”
The dust from the spinning tires on the dirt road clouded his vision briefly, and then it cleared again as he accelerated down the road. Maybe after giving this back to the FBI, where it belonged, he’d take a week or so and drive up to Seattle. A little time alone, not playing 007, would do him some good. He kept envisioning the look on Karen’s face as he burst into their bedroom – the instantaneous change from passion, to fear, and then to realization. It was so vivid. Let it go. Let it out. Move on. He tried to refocus on the present and future but it was pointless. Karen’s face, her laugh, their dreams, shared memories, good times – it all swirled together in his mind threatening to break him down, to shatter his mind into a million pieces.
He recalled one Christmas when he was seven, he had played with an antique ceramic Santa Claus statue, one of his mother’s few prize possessions. “Leave it alone,” she had said repeatedly but he couldn’t. Something about the shiny little figurine with its white beard, rosy cheeks and little bag of presents caught his fancy until one day it slipped from his hands. When the yelling was over, he had fished the shattered remains out of the trash and attempted to glue it back together. It had been futile – sometimes things can’t be fixed.