Fuck them good, the voice in his head said.
Having Leon as a neighbor had its advantages. Drug dealers never spoke normally when they talked business. The spoke in code.
He raised the cell phone to his face.
“You need to take a vacation,” Crutch said.
“I do?”
“Yes. How does that sound?”
His friend hesitated. Then said, “A vacation sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“I knew you’d understand,” Crutch said.
Chapter 24
At twelve-thirty, the FBI satellite picked up a call from a slave phone to a 954 area code in Fort Lauderdale, and relayed the call to the FBI’s Jacksonville office.
While the call was being recorded, a stenographer wearing a headset typed the conversation into word processing program. Sixty seconds later, that conversation appeared as text on Warden Jenkin’s computer at the prison.
At the same time, the 954 number was run through a software program designed to trace phone calls. This program instantly determined the 954 number’s physical location, and emailed the address to Linderman’s iPhone, along with a street map with a red arrow showing where the call was coming from.
“Talk about one-stop shopping,” Jenkins said.
Linderman liked the analogy. When the FBI put its mind to something, there was nothing it couldn’t do. He called Vick’s cell phone and heard her pick up.
“We’ve got Mr. Clean in the cross hairs,” Linderman said.
“Yea,” Vick said.
“He’s talking at a payphone at a RaceTrac gas station on the corner of Sunrise Boulevard and State Road 84. Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in my car in a parking lot on Sunrise Boulevard near the entrance ramp to I-95,” Vick replied. “I’ve got three agents with me. Two other teams of agents are parked in other spots around the county.”
“Which team is closest to this location?”
“We are.”
“He’s yours. Get him.”
“I’m already on the road.”
Linderman needed to end the call, and let Vick do her thing. Talking was a distraction. But a nagging feeling needed to be extinguished.
“Do the Broward police know about the sting?” Linderman asked.
“No, sir.”
“What about DuCharme?”
“He’s out of the picture.”
“Glad to hear it. Good luck, Rachel.”
“Thank you, Ken.”
The line went dead. Linderman folded the phone.
“Looks like the text of their conversation is coming through,” Jenkins said, swinging his chair closer to the computer. “Damn, these letters are small.”
Linderman fitted on his reading glasses. The delayed text of Crutch and Mr. Clean’s conversation was running across the screen like an old-fashioned teletype. Reading it, he felt the hairs on his neck rise in alarm. Mr. Clean had spotted Vick at the Broward library, and knew the FBI was chasing him. Mr. Clean was scared and approaching panic mode. Serial killers who went on tilt were capable of incredible destruction. Linderman immediately called Vick back to alert her. A frantic busy signal filled his ear.
“God damn it,” he swore.
Jenkins pointed at the screen. “You better take a look at this. Something strange is going on.”
Linderman followed his finger and stared at the words on the screen.
“Let me think about this. How is the boy doing?”
“The boy is strange. I don’t think he’s right for The Program.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t seem angry enough.”
“Your voice is fading.”
“We’re having a bad storm.”
“This is different. You sound far away, like at the bottom of a well.”
“Who’s the boy, and what’s The Program?” Jenkins asked.
“The boy is our kidnap victim,” Linderman explained. “Mr. Clean is obviously putting him through some type of regimen.”
“Lord, I wonder what he’s doing to him.”
The text became frozen on the page. Linderman ripped off his glasses in anger and called the FBI’s Jacksonville office. He started to read the riot act to the agent coordinating the trace of Crutch’s cell phone conversation when the agent stopped him.
“There’s nothing wrong with the transmission,” the agent said.
“Then why isn’t the text moving?” Linderman snapped.
“Your suspects stopped talking. They just started back up. You’ll see the rest of the conversation shortly.”
“But why did they stop?” Linderman pressed him. “Could they have known their conversation was being bugged?”
“Possibly.”
“What do you mean, possibly?”
“There was a glitch in the system right about the time they stopped. It had to do with atmospheric conditions not being normal for this time of year. Your suspects might have heard it on their phones.”
“How long would it have lasted?”
“No more than ten seconds.”
“It would have been nice to know this before.”
“Sorry. It doesn’t happen very often,” the agent said.
Linderman ended the call. He tried to call Vick and got patched into voice mail. Vick and the rest of the agents on her team were stepping into a hornet’s nest. He left a brief message, and told Vick that she was in danger.
“For the love of Christ,” Jenkins said, “now they’re talking about taking a vacation. What the heck’s going on here?”
Linderman closed his phone and shifted his attention to the computer screen.
“You need to take a vacation.”
“I do?”
“Yes. A very long vacation.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
Linderman balled his hands into fists. The sting was blowing up in their faces. Crutch had seen through it, and was now giving Mr. Clean instructions on how to deal with the problem.
“They’ve started talking in code,” he explained.
“Like the drug dealers do,” Jenkins said.
“Exactly. The word vacation was the signal for them to start using the code. They know we’re listening to them.”
“Any idea what they’re saying?”
“Most verbal codes are fairly straight forward. Usually, the suspects simply start saying the opposite of what they mean.”
“If that’s the case, then your agent in Fort Lauderdale is in trouble,” Jenkins said.
“Take a look.”
Linderman brought his face up to the screen.
“What about the cute little blond FBI agent?”
“I think you should leave her alone.”
“But I wanted to introduce her to the judge.”
“Is he with you?”
“Oh, yes. The judge is in my car.”
“Come to think of it, that’s not a bad idea.”
His breath fogged the screen. He knew about the Judge. It was the nickname for a Taurus.410 revolver that was capable of firing shotgun shells. Judges around the country had started carrying them beneath their robes as protection against violent criminals in their courtrooms. Crutch was telling Mr. Clean that it was all right to shoot Vick.
Again he dialed Vick’s number. This time, he prayed for her to pick up.
Chapter 25
Sunrise Boulevard was a sea of headlights. One a.m. on a weekday night, and the traffic was backed up for miles.
Vick gripped the wheel and stared at the cars in front of her. Ever since joining the FBI, she’d dreamed of taking down a dangerous criminal – a terrorist, or perhaps someone on the Ten Most Wanted List. Now her dream was about to be realized.
Just up the road was the intersection for State Road 84. The RaceTrac gas station was on the southwest side. Six vehicles were parked at the gas pumps, another eight in front of the service center. Capturing Mr. Clean in a public place was dangerous, but she didn’t see any other choice.