Months later Tanner learned that Litzman had not only been tipped off about the team’s presence in the city, but that he’d fabricated the information that led them to the apartment. Instead of simply fleeing, Litzman had again laid a lethal trap.
And now he’s back, Tanner thought. And he’s got his hands on Susanna.
“Point me in the right direction,” Briggs said. “I’ll find Susanna, then I’ll find him.”
“As I understand it, you’ve got some history with Litzman,” Coates said.
“That doesn’t make me unique. He’s had a busy career.”
“And what about Susanna?” Len Barber asked. “Are you sure you’re not—”
“I’m sure.”
Sylvia said, “I don’t suppose it matters. Something tells me with or without us, you’ve made up your mind.”
“Yes.”
There were a few seconds of silence, then Coates said, “Gunston had a dead drop in Dinard; that’s why he was in St. Malo, he was trying to set a meeting with her. Whether he’d already checked the drop, we don’t know.”
“It’s a place to start,” Tanner replied. “Where is it?”
It was behind a loose brick in an alley off Rue des Lilas.
In his slouch hat, glasses, and windbreaker, Tanner looked like any other middle-aged businessman on his way to work. It was just past seven in the morning and the streets were mostly deserted, with only a few delivery trucks and shop owners visible. He reached Rue Lilas, crossed the street, bought a paper from a machine, then slipped into the alley. The brick was exactly where Coates said it would be. Tanner slipped it free, palmed the square of paper inside, replaced the brick, then turned and walked out of the alley.
Forty minutes later, back at the hotel, Tanner handed Cahil the note, then shrugged off his disguise. “Well?” Briggs asked.
“It’s her. The Lorient docks, midnight, day after tomorrow.”
14
Following confirmation of Selmani’s appearance at Bob’s Boat Rental, events moved quickly.
Within hours of Deputy Lewen’s report, Oliver, McBride, Gene Scanlon, and a full squad of HRT descended on the town of Quarryville, about nine miles east of Erbs Mill, where they were met by contingents from the FBI’s Pittsburgh Field Office, the Pennsylvania State Police, the Lancaster Sheriff’s Department, and, finally, arriving in a black Lincoln Town Car, Pennsylvania’s lieutenant governor. In the space of two hours, Quarryville’s population of eighteen thousand had increased by thirty souls.
In the town hall Oliver and McBride sat at the conference table and watched the attendees file into the room and take in their respective seats. The murmuring grew until it became a cacophony of overlapping voices.
The Quarryville police chief, a laconic man of sixty, had long ago retreated into his office wearing a “let ‘em have their fun” smile. Conversely, Jerry Nester, the Erbs Mill chief of police, stood in the corner, his mouth agape. Rumor had obviously reached him that his little corner of the world was about to be overrun.
“Poor guy,” McBride said.
“He’ll recover,” Oliver said. “Besides, before this is all over, he’ll probably end up being the hero. He probably knows every nook and cranny of the Susquehanna. If Selmani’s on his turf, he’ll find him.”
“Then what’s with the hordes? It’s overkill, for god’s sake.”
“It’s CYA, Joe — Cover Your Ass. They’re covering their asses by showing up and making sure we don’t screw up, and I’m covering my ass by inviting them so they can say they’re doing their duty.”
“God save us from politics.”
“Yep, but with a case like this, our little invasion wasn’t going to stay secret for long. Better to get this out of the way now so we go get the son of a bitch.” Oliver looked around. “Well, I think the gang’s all here. Time to play diplomat.” He stood up. “Can I have your attention please … Everyone, your attention, please.” Once all the voices had gone silent and all eyes were on him, Oliver said, “My name is Collin Oliver. I’m with the FBI. We’re a little pressed for time, so I’m going to be brief.
“In case you don’t know why we’re here, a few days ago, the wife of Jonathan Root, former director of the CIA, was kidnapped from their home in Maryland. We’ve tracked one of the suspects to this area. Whether he has Amelia Root, we don’t know, but at the very least he may have information about his accomplices and Mrs. Root’s possible whereabouts. We don’t believe our suspect is a threat to the general public, nor do we believe he knows we’ve tracked him here.
“Once we’ve captured him and recovered Mrs. Root, the agencies in this room will receive the lion’s share of the credit. Whatever you’ve heard about the FBI swooping in, wreaking havoc, kicking shins, then grabbing all the glory is crap.” Oliver smiled, then added, “At least in this case.”
There was general laughter.
“I don’t give a damn about credit. What I do give a damn about is getting our guy and returning Mrs. Root to her husband. Everybody clear on that?”
“And if you mess it up?” one of the State Troopers asked. “What then?”
“Then it’s on us — on me. Now for that bad news: This is an FBI operation. I’m not going to keep each and every one of you informed of our every move; I’m not going to brief everyone on every detail of this case; I’m not going to allow your people to beat the bushes looking for this guy. And finally, I am not going to tolerate anyone jeopardizing either this woman’s life or this subject’s capture.”
Oliver paused for a long three seconds and scanned the room. “Questions?”
The lieutenant governor stood. “You’ve got a lot of balls, Oliver, coming in here—”
“Sir, if you’d like to talk this over with my boss, he’s easy to find.” Oliver pulled out his cell phone, and laid it on the table. “Press one on the speed dial; it’ll take you straight to the director of the FBI. I guarantee you two things: One, he will have already talked to your boss; and two, your conversation will be brief.”
Looking as though he’d been slapped, the lieutenant governor sat back down.
“I’ll say it again: As long as it’s ongoing, this is an FBI case. When it’s over, it’ll be trotted in front of the media as a superb example of local, state, and federal cooperation — with the emphasis on state and local. If that’s not good enough for everyone here, too damned bad.”
Again Oliver paused, scanned the room, and said, “Any more questions?”
No one spoke.
“Okay, then. Thanks for coming. If all goes well, we should be out of your hair in a day or so.”
The attendees stood up and began shuffling out, some muttering to one another, others casting glances back at Oliver. Once the room was empty save Chief Nester and the Lancaster county sheriff, both of whom Oliver had asked to stay behind, McBride turned to Oliver. “Collin, just when I think I got you pegged, you surprise me.”
Oliver shrugged sheepishly. “What can I say? Sometimes you gotta play the bastard.” He turned to the two cops. “What I told the rest of them — it wasn’t meant for you. I just needed to clear the deck a little, you know?”
Both men nodded.
‘If we’re going to catch this guy, it’ll be because you and your people know the area, its citizens, its patterns. Our subject’s an outsider; somebody will notice that.”
“What do you want from us?” asked Nester.