Whirlwind (26 page)

60

Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

F
rom their desks in the FBI’s Dallas Division on Justice Way, Agents Grogan and Quinn could see the Stemmons Freeway.

Cars passed by like time ticking down on the case, Grogan thought, as he worked at his terminal while Quinn worked the phone. Grogan clicked on the sketches of their suspects, the man and woman.

We’re gaining on you.

Waves of information were rolling in on the double in Fate. Pieces were coming together fast. The victims were tentatively identified as Arlen and Brice Gribbley of Mesquite, Texas. They were brothers. Arlen had a criminal record. The motel towel found in the Fate residence was being analyzed. The details Kate Page had provided at the scene were good: the information from the dying man, naming DOA as a link near Lubbock, was a solid lead.

Page had also reported hearing a baby.

Grogan and Quinn interviewed the neighbor Hazel Hill for her account of seeing a woman and a baby, stressing that the woman had short dark hair under a wig. Rockwall County’s canvass of the neighborhood had yielded reports of muffled sounds of firecrackers, then a Ford pickup racing down Briscoe Street—that description fit with the vehicle description the manager of the Tumbleweed motel had given on the couple with a baby who’d stayed in Unit 21.

Then there was the discovery of the laptop belonging to Lamont Harley Faulk on the road a few doors away, as if it had been lost or discarded.

Fate PD had confirmed Faulk owned the home where the Gribbleys were killed. The Dallas PD had tentatively ID’d Faulk as the male found murdered in the garage he’d managed, Ray’s Right Fix Auto Repair. Faulk was found with his head in a vise—the violence suggested outlaw motorcycle gang, but no assumptions should be made.

Using all of the new information, and assistance from the DEA and Texas Department of Criminal Justice, the FBI had established a link to DOA’s network and an address near Lubbock. Everything pointed to the baby being in the Lubbock area.

And now Quinn was confirming details for a warrant.

She finished her call and stood. “Our information from the RA in Lubbock and the DEA is good, Phil.”

“Yup,” he said, looking at a new text from the Assistant Special Agent in Charge. “And the ASAC already cleared SWAT for immediate deployment. We’re going with them. Let’s get moving.”

* * *

Grogan drove.

They took the Stemmons Freeway south and within twenty minutes they were at Dallas Executive Airport, previously known as Redbird Airport. Flashing their credentials at the security gate, they drove directly to the hangar and the waiting jet.

It was a Gulfstream the Dallas Division had on a standby lease. The FBI’s Dallas SWAT team was already aboard with equipment.

As Grogan and Quinn climbed in, the pilot’s voice crackled through his headset over the intercom. “Got some rough weather in front of us—this could get bumpy, folks.”

Once Grogan and Quinn had buckled up, the jet lifted off.

The skyline unfurled and the Metroplex shrank under them.

During the one-hour flight, the jet shuddered several times as Grogan and Quinn reviewed with SWAT commander Steve Elling more details and the context of their target address for this arrest-and-rescue operation.

Two of the murdered men, Arlen Gribbley and Lamont Faulk, did time in Hightower Unit. According to the TDCJ and the DEA, both had dealings with Jesus Ramos Ramirez, aka DOA, a drug dealer and ex-member of an outlaw motorcycle gang. Ramirez had an affiliate with a meth lab in a place called Vickson’s Farm in Anton, just northwest of Lubbock.

“It all fits with Kate Page’s information from Brice Gribbley, the connection to DOA, to Vickson’s farm outside of Anton.”

After they’d briefed the SWAT commander, the captain announced that they’d be beginning their descent into Lubbock. The sky had darkened with broiling clouds. The SWAT team began pulling on their gear, and Quinn reviewed the supplementary information that had come in from TDCJ on Lamont Faulk, concerning other prisoners he was known to associate with. Among the list of those recently released was Mason Varno. But he’d had no ties to Lubbock, so they’d given him a lower priority.

Still, that name.

Mason
.

Quinn blinked thoughtfully, flipping through her notes from Kate Page on the dying man’s words.
“One of the things he said sounded like
(and here Quinn spelled everything phonetically)
May-SOO.”

Her notes indicated they’d taken May-SOO to mean “Ray’s Shop.”

Could it actually be Mason? Mason Varno?

She’d tell Grogan that after this operation she’d run Varno down, too.

At that instant, the jet yanked from under her, her seat belt cut into her thighs and several SWAT members crashed to the floor.

“Sorry, guys,” the captain said once the plane leveled. “Everybody stay in your seats and buckle up. The NWS just issued a tornado watch for the region and that could be upgraded to a tornado warning.”

Without warning, the jet was shoved up then down and up again. Then Quinn heard the staccato of stones hitting the fuselage as her window began blossoming with shattering ice balls.

Hail!

She saw lightning and rain before the nose of the jet dropped to an unbelievable angle. Her stomach churned as it rocketed down.

61

West of the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

J
enna and Blake’s SUV was driving westbound on the I-30 over Lake Ray Hubbard when Kate got a call from Dorothea Pick.

“Where are you?” The news editor’s tone barely restrained her anger.

“Heading to Lubbock—following the story there.”

“Mandy said you left the scene with Jenna and Blake Cooper after Chuck gave you instructions to return to the bureau.”

“Yes.”

“You disobeyed your supervisor.”

“I felt it was the right thing to do under the circumstances.”

“I’ll give you the circumstances—you went to a residence while not officially on shift and without authorization from a supervisor.”

“I thought Chuck already clarified procedure about following breaking news when off shift.”

“Kate, your actions clearly demonstrate your insubordination.”

“You’re criticizing me for breaking a story
and
being a crime victim?”

“You heard me, Kate.”

“I hear you, but I don’t understand you, Dorothea.”

“And you failed to pass on contact information, as I’d specifically requested. You’ve also demonstrated that you cannot take direction.”

“I don’t believe this. Ever since I broke this story you’ve tried to push me off of it. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m doing what any good reporter would do—I’m following the story I broke.”

“I’m sorry, Kate, but as of this moment you are no longer an interning employee with Newslead. You’re terminated and no longer have any association with our organization.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. Please return to the bureau and turn in your ID.”

“Only Chuck, the bureau chief, can dismiss staff, Dorothea.”

“He’s no longer chief of the Dallas Bureau. I am.”

The line went dead.

Numb with disbelief, Kate stared into the freeway traffic moving across the Metroplex, scarcely mindful of Blake, who’d cranked the volume on radio news stations. Jenna had her phone pressed to her ear and was getting updates from her sister, Holly, who was back in their hotel room watching TV news reports. Holly’s husband, Garrett, had taken Jenna’s daughter, Cassie, to the park.

“We need your help here, Kate!” Blake raised his voice as he keyed coordinates into the SUV’s GPS. “You said Anton, northwest of Lubbock?”

“Right. That’s what the wounded man said...Anton.”

“Where in Anton, Kate? Dyson’s Farm, was it?”

“No, I told the FBI it sounded like Vickson’s.”

Kate’s phone rang again, this time with a Canton, Ohio, number.

“Hang on. I have to take this.”

“Hi, Mom.”

Kate’s heart swelled with the sound of her daughter’s voice.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“Good. My teacher told me that you wanted me to call you. I had to go to the office. Why did you need me to call you?”

“Because I miss you so much, honey. I just wanted to let you know that if you hear from your friends, or anyone, about a story in Texas with people getting hurt, that I’m okay.”

“You mean the tornado stuff?”

“No, it’ll be a new story from Dallas. I’m all right, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry. I miss you tons, and I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Then can we go to the petting zoo for a pony ride?”

“You bet. So, everything’s good with you?”

“Oh yes, but—” Grace dropped her voice to a whisper “—my friend Ashley likes a boy, Tyler, but that’s a big secret.”

“Okay, I won’t tell. I’ll let you get back to class. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Bye, Mom.”

Kate stared at Grace’s face, blurring on her phone’s screen, and brushed her tears. As the freeway droned under them and the city vanished behind them, Kate tried to come to terms with all the surreal turns her life had taken. Despite all of her problems with Dorothea and Mandy, she’d desperately wanted to be a reporter with Newslead. Reporting was in her blood, and she’d dreamed of one day working in Newslead’s bureau in New York or Washington, of building a new life with Grace. But that dream was gone, and while she was bolstered by the fact she’d see Grace soon, she was pulled down by the reality that bills and unemployment also awaited her in Canton.

Kate forced herself to get a grip on what was real right now.

She shoved all of her concerns aside and focused on helping Jenna and Blake find Caleb.

As the miles and hours passed, Kate used her phone to search for leads and updates, while Jenna and Blake did what they could to keep on top of developments.

But there weren’t any.

All Kate had was a wisp of a location in Anton, this “Vickson’s Farm.” Kate was fairly certain that’s what the dying man had told her. She’d gone over it a thousand times in her mind. But when she called a cab company in Anton their response was odd. They said they’d heard of Vickson’s but didn’t know where it was. The same happened when Kate called a gas station and a corner store. When she tried a county office, she was told the clerk with access to Anton property records would not be back. When she called a post office, utilities office and the library, she got recorded messages with prompts. It was a little strange because Anton was not that big of a town, Kate was confident someone would know of this address.

So far no one did.

Now she searched for it on her phone again, to no avail.

Kate’s challenge was made more difficult because she couldn’t use the resources of the newswire service. She couldn’t go to Tommy Koop for help, and she couldn’t call the FBI agents directly.

As time passed, the backseat where she sat had become overgrown with drive-through food wrappers, her notebooks and the old fanfold map of Texas she’d studied repeatedly every few miles. They were less than fifty miles from Lubbock when Blake slammed his palms on the wheel in anger.

“So, just where in hell are we supposed to go in Anton, Kate?”

She didn’t know.

Again, she scrutinized her map, scouring the counties, the cities, towns, hamlets, villages, every dot until her eyes glazed and memory propelled her back to the gurgling utterances of the man who’d died only hours before.

Kate reached into her pocket for a pen and suddenly remembered something critical that would help.

62

Near Lubbock, Texas

T
he cabin stood empty, sheltered by the cottonwood trees.

But the shade provided little relief from the heat, Remy thought when they stepped inside. The air was musty.

No air-conditioning. Cripes. My head’s pounding.

Holding the baby, Remy was hot, sweaty and her nerves were fraying as she struggled to keep herself together after their long drive to escape the horror behind them.

After fixing a spot for the baby, she opened every window to capture the soothing breezes that were kicking up under the clouding sky. Radio reports had said conditions were ripe for a tornado in the region.

“My buddy uses this property for hunting,” Mason said, going room to room inspecting the place. It had three good-sized bedrooms, a full bathroom and a huge kitchen that opened to a spacious living room. The plumbing and electricity worked. So did the fridge and stove.

“There’s no TV but the cell signal’s good,” he added.

While Mason brought in their groceries and luggage, Remy took a cold shower, then made baloney sandwiches. They ate them with nacho chips before she gave the baby a bottle. Remy and Mason said little to each other as the tension between them thickened. Mason had put them in a situation where people had wanted to kill them. Remy couldn’t get that out of her mind.

It gnawed at her.

Later, when she was cleaning their plates, she’d noticed Mason checking his pockets for his crack supply. Just as she was going to demand that he stop taking drugs, his phone rang.

“Yeah, go,” he said. “Yeah...good...yeah...tell us then, okay.”

The call ended.

Mason slid his phone into his pocket while grinning triumphantly.

“That was Hedda. She’s boarding her flight with her assistant in Chicago now. She’ll be in Dallas this evening, get the cash in the morning then fly to Lubbock, where we’ll meet her and do the deal.”

Remy could feel her heart begin to beat faster.

“This is gonna happen, darlin’,” Mason said. “In twenty-four hours, the baby will be gone, our troubles will be gone, and we’ll be gone, with one hundred thousand dollars to start new lives. All the bad will be behind us.”

Remy said nothing as Mason got himself a cold beer from the fridge. The can whooshed as he opened it and guzzled.

“Fix up the big bedroom for us.” He belched while checking one of his guns. “I gotta go outside and take care of some business.”

Remy welcomed the time alone to think.

As she looked for fresh linen for the king-size bed in the larger bedroom, she saw Mason through the window. He was in the back on a large porch swing that creaked as he swayed.

She watched him reach into his pocket for a square of tinfoil. He unfolded it and heated the underside with his lighter while inhaling the rising smoke through a glass tube. He dropped his head back and rocked in bliss.

Remy’s eyes narrowed.

Mason’s addiction not only troubled and disgusted her, it reinforced all of his broken promises to change...and drove home the truth: she didn’t really know him. She didn’t know what was going on in his head beyond the facts.

He’s good at killing people and the world is looking for us.

All of it made things very dangerous because they were coming to a point of no return in their lives, and she was afraid of Mason, of everything.

It’s so messed up,
she thought.

The baby’s cries came from the living room, where he’d been napping.

Remy went to check on him. He needed changing. After cleaning him and putting on a fresh diaper, she took him into her arms and held him.

At this very moment Hedda Knight’s on a jet coming here to take you away from me
.

The glint of a small jewelry box in her bag caught her eye. She opened it and took out the corner of cloth cut from the blanket her stillborn son was buried in. As she held the baby, she pressed the cloth tenderly to her face.

Then she kissed Caleb Cooper’s cheek.

I can’t do this. I can’t lose you, too. I saved you from a very bad mother. You and I are meant to be together.

At that moment, she heard the sound of rain against the house, then the murmur of a voice outside the living room window. She saw Mason had taken shelter under a tree while talking on his cell phone.

It was weird, but even with the rain she could hear Mason’s side of the conversation almost echoing to her through the open window.

“Yes. Garza, listen, I’ll give you the five tomorrow, but by tomorrow night I’ll have all the money for my buy-in. That’s right, the fifty, no problem. That’s right. No, you heard wrong—I’m not tied down. No, once I have the cash and we get rid of the kid, I’ll get rid of her, too...she’ll be history. Right. Yes, it was always the plan.”