O'Malley laughed. "Shit. I was kind of hoping he was that smart."
Crews said, "I'll go parallel down Fourteenth. What's he look like? What's he wearing?"
Tall, over six feet. White guy. Beard, maybe a fake one. Long hair. Pretty nondescript clothes: Dark sports coat and slacks, blue shirt… He's picking up the pace. He's starting to jog now. He's going off the main street, Jimmy. He's headed back through a yard. He's running! Son of a bitch is on the run! Here we go!"
Vincent O'Malley jumped out of his car and followed the Mastermind. He ran close to the maple and oak trees that lined most of the apartment buildings on the street. He continued to report in to Crews. "He's going into the woods off Shepherd Park. Motherhumper is trying to get away from us. Imagine that."
O'Malley followed the Mastermind as best he could, but he couldn't keep up. The guy was a runner. He didn't look like it, but he could move real well.
Then O'Malley lost him! "He's gone. Fuck me in the heinie. I lost him, Jimmy. I don't see him anywhere. This is not good."
Crews picked him up again. "I got him. I'm on foot too. He's still running like some pickpocket with my wallet."
"You keep up with him?"
"Hope so. We'll see. For fifteen million dollars I'll keep up with him somehow."
The Mastermind finally came out of the woods and on to a side street filled with brick townhouses. Crews was panting as he spoke into the mike on his headphones. "Thank God I run every day. He runs too. He's out on Morningside Drive … Awhh shit, he's heading back into the goddamn woods. He's picking up the pace again. The bastard must train on the Appalachian Trail."
It became an incredible game of cat and mouse. Even though they were good at it, O'Malley and Crews lost their prey twice more in the next twenty minutes. They were miles from the Holiday Inn, somewhere south of Walter Reed Army Medical Center.
Then Crews spotted him on a narrow side street called Powhaten Place. The Mastermind had turned into a back driveway or something. Crews followed. He saw a metal sign, and he almost couldn't believe what it said.
Crews reported back to O'Malley. Then he talked to Brian Macdougall who'd joined the merry chase.
Crews couldn't keep the irony out of his voice. "I know where the hell he is, fellas. Get this he's inside a nuthouse. He's on the grounds of a mental institution called Hazelwood. And now I've lost him again!"
Chapter Fifty-One
Monday morning, I got a call to meet Kyle Craig and Betsey Cavalierre at the Hoover Building on Tenth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. They wanted me to be at the director's office at eight o'clock. An 'emergency7 meeting had been called.
The Hoover Building is sometimes called the "Puzzle Palace," and for obvious reasons. Kyle and Betsey were waiting when I arrived in the FBI director's conference room. Betsey looked tense for her. Her small hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles white.
I pretended to be annoyed that Director Burns wasn't there yet," He's late," I muttered. "Let's get out of here. We've got better things to do."
Just then, one of two polished oak doors into the room opened. I knew both of the men who walked inside. Neither of them looked very happy. One was FBI Director Ronald Burns, whom I'd met during the Casanova killings in Durham and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The second man was Secretary of Justice, Richard Pollett. I had met him when I'd worked on a case involving the President.
"We're getting an awful lot of heat on these robbery-murders. The big banks, Wall Street," Pollett said to Kyle. He nodded in my direction. "Hello, Detective," Then he looked at Betsey. "I'm sorry, we haven't met."
'I'm Senior Agent Cavalierre," she said and rose to shake the secretary's hand," I'm the SAC."
"Ms Cavalierre is the agent in charge of the investigation?" Pollett asked Director Burns.
"Yes, she is." Kyle answered the question. "This is her case."
Secretary Pollett turned his unwavering gaze on her. "All right, you're the SAC. Where are some results, Ms Cavalierre? I walked into this room ready to make heads roll. Tell me why I shouldn't. "Richard Pollett had run a large and successful Wall Street investment house before he came to Washington. He knew nothing about law enforcement but believed he was smart enough to figure out anything once he had some facts.
"Have you ever been part of a national manhunt? "Betsey stared right back into his eyes.
"I don't think that's a relevant question," he answered dryly. "I've run some very important investigations, and I've always gotten results."
"The robberies have been coming fast," I found myself saying to Pollett. "Obviously, we were starting from nowhere. Here's what we know now. A single man planned the Citibank, First Union, First Virginia, and Chase robberies and murders. We know he's selecting crew members that are willing to kill. He's only interested in recruiting killers.
"Our profile tells us he's a white male between thirty-five and fifty. He's probably well educated, with a thorough knowledge of banks and their security systems. He may have worked for a financial institution in the past, or even more than one, and might have a grudge against them. He robs banks for the money, but the murders are probably for revenge. That, we're not sure about yet."
I looked around the room. Everyone was listening instead of bickering. "A few days ago we located and questioned a man named Tony Brophy. He was recruited for one of the jobs but was turned down. He wasn't cold-blooded enough. He wasn't a killer."
Betsey spoke. "We have over two hundred agents in the field. We were only a couple of minutes behind them at the Chase robbery in DC," she said. "We know that he calls himself the Mastermind. There's been a lot of progress in a relatively short time."
Pollett turned to the FBI director and nodded curtly. 'I'm not satisfied, but at least I finally got a few answers. It's your job to get this Mastermind, Ron. Do it. What's happening makes all our financial systems appear vulnerable. The polls say confidence in the banks is down. And that's a disaster for this country. I assume your Mastermind has figured that out already."
Ten minutes later, Betsey Cavalierre and I rode the elevator down to the FBI's underground garage together. Kyle had stayed behind with Director Burns.
When we got to the basement floor, she finally spoke. "I owe you one for upstairs. You saved me. Big time. I was this close to unloading on that pompous Wall Street asshole."