Crown's Law (49 page)

Bo gave Sam a précis of what she had found
out.

“Well, at least something is finally
happening,” he conceded.

“Thanks to you and Becky. Come on, Sam, the
FBI is the greatest law enforcement agency in the world. No one can
match their resources,” she pointed out as she buttered her English
muffin. “We’re on the home stretch.”

Sam shrugged and ate a piece of
cantaloupe.

“We still go with our plan. You and Becky to
Oceanside, my parents back to wherever they want to go. I’ll work
the streets. If the FBI gets them first, good. After breakfast, I’m
going to talk to some people—widen the net. Then we’ll go pick up
Mom, Dad, and Becky and tell them the score.”

While Bo showered, Sam called Danny, told him
what was happening, then faxed him the pictures.

“Tell your guys to be very careful. The FBI
is everywhere. I just want your street dealers to keep an eye
peeled for these assholes. Then give me a call. Don’t—I
repeat—don’t try and do me a favor by taking them out.”

“Whatever you say, Bro. The word will go out
as soon as we hang up. Sam, you should have let me handle this
earlier.”

“I know. But now the rules have changed. Be
careful.”

Next, Sam called a realtor friend who owed
him a favor and told him what he needed: Search all real estate
transactions and see who had moved into a building recently. He
knew it was a long shot, but he had to try. They could have leased
or bought a back-up building months ago. Or, they may be using a
house or an apartment. But there would be records. They only had to
be found. Quickly.

***

Sam got all of the Crowns back to the beach
house by 5:15. He and Bo had briefed them on the situation on the
drive from the airport. They had taken the Lincoln Town Car so
there would be enough room for all of them and the luggage.

John Crown grasped the predicament
immediately, but Becky wasn’t too happy about going off to a motel
and leaving Sam by himself.

“Why should you face the danger alone, Sam?”
she asked. “We should all stick together.”

Later, Sam would curse himself for not taking
her advice.

“Too dangerous, Beck,” he replied. “I want
all of you guys off to some safe places. I don’t want them to be
able to snatch anyone to put pressure on me.”

John Crown said, “I agree with Sam. How about
I call a couple of ‘security specialists’ to watch your back,
Sam?”

Sam knew that the kind of ‘security
specialists’ his father was referring to were probably ex-CIA
assassins, trained in invisibility and lethal force.

“No thanks, Dad. I’ll be fine once I don’t
have to worry about all of you. If I need backup, I’ll get
some.”

***

The next morning—Tuesday, July 10—a limo
arrived at 11 A.M. to take John and Helena to the airport. The
driver was an old buddy of John’s and was armed. John wanted to be
sure that he and Helena got out of there safely. When they were
gone, it was time for Bo and Becky to head to the motel in
Oceanside.

Bo said, “You be careful, Sam. Becky and I
will be fine. Call us every chance you get. Keep us posted.”

He hugged and kissed her. “I will. You can
walk to the beach from the motel. But keep your nine close by.”

Then he hugged Becky. “Stick with Bo, kiddo.
This will be over soon. Teach her some calculus or something.”

“Sure, Sam. Whatever you say. I’ll look after
her for you.”

Becky wiped a tear from the corner of her
eye. She didn’t like this plan at all. They took the bags through
the kitchen into the garage and loaded them into Becky’s VW.
Another round of hugs and they were gone. Sam got into his Camaro
and headed north on the I-5, one eye on the rearview mirror—hoping
for a tail. Someone to hurt.

Tuesday, July 10, 2001

San Clemente, CA

By 11:20, Becky was driving her white VW
south on I-5. She was just leaving San Clemente and heading into
the 17-mile stretch that skirted Camp Pendleton when she saw the
CHP cruiser in her rearview mirror. She checked her speed, which
was right on 65, then mentioned to Bo, “We’ve got a Chips on our
six, but my speed’s OK, so we should be all right.”

Bo smiled. “Wow! Real
NYPD Blue
talk. Let’s hope he stays
close till we get to Oceanside.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t hurt. Keep the bad guys
away if they’re watching.”

The black-and-white was closing quickly and
after a minute was right on Becky’s bumper.

“Shit! He’s tailgating me! Why doesn’t he go
around? The fast lane is open.”

Then the light bar started flashing. Becky
checked her right mirror, saw that there were no cars, turned on
her turn signal, and moved into the slow lane. The cop followed
her.

She exclaimed, “Crapola! He’s still there! I
guess I’d better stop. I thought he just wanted me to get out of
his way.”

Bo looked back over her left shoulder and saw
that the patrol car had two cops in it. “Maybe it’s a broken
taillight or something, Beck.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Sam’ll kill me if I
get a ticket! I hope I know them so I can talk my way out of
this.”

She eased to a stop on the right shoulder and
the cops stopped behind her. They both got out and approached the
car, one on each side. Bo thought that was unusual. Becky lowered
her window and looked back at the cop on her side.

“I don’t know him. Shit! I thought I knew all
the guys on this run. I grew up hanging out with these guys.”

From behind his mirrored sunglasses, the cop
said to Becky, “Step out of the car, Miss.”

The other cop was next to Bo’s window now.
She didn’t like this. Becky spoke up. “What’s wrong, Officer?”

He repeated, “Step out of the car, please.
You do the same.”

He pointed at Bo. She started to reach in her
purse to retrieve her FBI ID wallet. The cop next to Becky drew his
service revolver and pointed it in the car.

“Keep your hands in sight! Step out of the
vehicle! Now!”

Becky looked at Bo.

“Shit, Bo! These guys aren’t cops!”

They took Bo’s gun and handcuffed both women,
then put them in the backseat of the black-and-white. They zoomed
down to Las Pulgas and exited. Two minutes later, they were
speeding north on I-5.

About 45 minutes later, a real CHP officer
pulled up behind Becky’s parked car. He checked it out, noticed the
keys were still in the ignition. He called in the plates.

The dispatcher called back. “That’s Becky
Crown’s car. What’s going on?”

“Shit! I thought it looked familiar. Lot’s of
these white bugs around. No signs of foul play. Maybe she ran out
of gas. See if you can track down Sam Crown. Maybe she called him.
I’ll stay here until you get back to me.”

***

Sam was at his realtor friend’s office in
Dana Point when his cell phone rang.

“Crown.”

“Sam Crown? This is Amy Townsend, CHP
dispatcher. Remember me?”

“Oh. Hi, Amy. What’s up?”

“Becky’s car was found abandoned on the I-5
just south of the San Clemente line. Did she call you?”

Sam’s blood turned to ice. He couldn’t
speak.

“Sam? You still there?”

Finally he croaked, “You’re sure it’s
hers?”

“We ran the plates. It’s hers. Stan’s with it
now. Keys still in it. He thought she might have run out of gas and
called you.”

“No. I haven’t heard from her. Tell Stan I’ll
be there in 15 minutes.”

He hung up and told the realtor he would be
back later and dashed to his Camaro.

CHP Officer Stan Wilson and Sam looked the
car over inch by inch. No blood. No clues. Nothing.

“Well, Stan, this stumps me. The gas tank’s
full. I’ll call someone to come drive it home. I don’t want to
leave it here.”

“You want me to put out an APB? See if we can
find her?”

“No. Not yet.” He knew it would do no good.
Somehow D’Orr had gotten them. Both of them. How? He figured it
wouldn’t be long before he got a call. He was scared for the first
time in his life. Scared shitless!

“
Courage is almost a contradiction in
terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a
readiness to die.”

G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, 1908

“
I’ve got to, that’s the whole
story.”

Sheriff Will Kane, High Noon, 1952 movie

Tuesday, July 10, 2001

Capistrano Beach, CA

Sam called the auto club and had Becky’s car
transported on a flatbed to the beach house where he put it in its
usual spot in the garage. He called Boomer, and then Danny—updated
them both on the disappearance of Bo and Becky. Neither man had any
good news, though large sections of the county had been ruled out
as possible hiding places. They would pass the word to their teams
to keep an eye out for the two women as well.

At 3 P.M., Sam drove back to the realtor’s
office in Dana Point and reviewed the list of “possibles” prepared
by his friend.

“This is just Irvine and South County. I’m
still working the rest. Lot’s to do,” said the realtor.

“Christ! We’ll never find them this way! Look
at this list!” exclaimed Sam. “But keep at it. I have to try.”

He divided the list into two parts; he
faxed one stack to Danny and the other to Boomer at
Sparky’s
. Their teams would check
out all addresses to determine if they were possibles.

“I’ll call you as soon as I have some more,
Sam.”

“Thanks, Ken.”

Sam made the rounds of several of his
snitches—gave them copies of the pictures, including ones of Becky.
He realized that he didn’t have one of Bo. That saddened him. He
told each of them he would give them a good reward if they found
them and called him.

***

Back at the beach house at 6 o’clock, Sam
went to the bar on the deck and fixed a Cutty and water to calm his
nerves. He sat at a table and stared out to sea, contemplating his
failure to protect Becky and Bo. In retrospect, he wished he had
let Danny take care of the problem when he had offered. At the
time, he couldn’t see himself being a party to something
illegal—like murder. Now he could. He would kill them with his bare
hands if he could find them!

His cell phone rang.

He froze.

When he looked at the Caller ID, it displayed
“Unknown Caller.” It was them!

He answered, “Crown.”

“Ah, Mr. Crown. You’ve been quite a pest,”
said the man on the other end of the call. “And, I will add, quite
a formidable opponent. But that is over.”

Sam yelled, “You bastard! You’re that asshole
D’Orr, aren’t you? If you touch one hair on . . .”

D’Orr interrupted. “Quiet! If you want to see
your daughter alive again, shut up and listen! I see you’ve figured
out who I am. That confirms that you have what I want. The tapes
from those bugs your daughter planted.”

Sam was panicking! D’Orr hadn’t mentioned Bo.
Had he already killed her? Sam wanted to climb through the phone
and throttle him! He took a gulp of his drink and tried to calm
himself.

D’Orr continued, “And Ms. Special Agent Trout
will also be killed. First, I think I’ll turn them over to our
horny Mr. Chase. You know about him, too, don’t you? He has weird
sexual practices, but . . .”

“Damn you, D’Orr! What do you want?” screamed
Sam. He was having trouble controlling his rage. He knew he had to
suppress it or Becky and Bo would be even more endangered.

D’Orr replied, “Calm down, Crown. It’s very
simple. You bring us the tapes from those bugs and everyone will be
happy. Your FBI girlfriend here has assured me that the FBI knows
nothing about any bugs or tapes. Is she right, or blowing
smoke?”

“Unfortunately, yes, she’s right. They’re
useless in our legal system. You should know that.”

“They could lead somewhere. I want all loose
ends tied off. Go get the tapes and make sure there are no copies
anywhere! I’ll call you in the morning and give you instructions.
Do not call the police or FBI or your women will suffer a horrible
death. Their health is in your hands, Crown.”

The connection was broken. Sam drained his
drink and threw the glass at the bar. Luckily, it didn’t shatter.
Since they might be watching—they certainly had been watching to be
able to snatch Becky and Bo—Sam decided to drive to the Mickey
office and go through the motions of retrieving the tapes they
wanted. At least it would keep him busy while he decided what his
options were.

Once he was in the offie, he went to his desk
and called the security firm that was watching the office and told
them he was there, but would be leaving in 30 minutes or less. He
grabbed two audio tapes that were being recycled by Pearl, having
transferred all the data to other storage media. It didn’t matter
what was on the tapes. He just needed tapes.

He was now in a dilemma: a crime had been
committed—kidnapping—and he knew he should involve the authorities.
But he also knew he had to keep them out of this—at arms
length—until he rescued Becky and Bo.

He called Carl Fenster’s office. He had gone
home. Sam had his home phone number from a previous collaboration
so he dialed it. Carl answered.

“Hello.”

“Carl. Sam Crown. Hate to bother you at
home.”

“No problem, Sam. Dinner’s not till eight.
What’s up?”

“I hate to say it on the phone. Could we
meet?”

“That bad?”

“Yes.”

Silence for a beat.

“OK. Where are you?” asked Fenster.

“My office. You live in Tustin, right?”

“Yeah.”