ADX Praxis (The Red Lake Series Book 3) Read online

  Harry was far less comfortable. There were no stores or restaurants near the prison. During the afternoon he parked on a dirt, logging road that wound into the hills north of Praxis. Looking down from a ridge he clearly saw the prison’s parking lot with his binoculars.

  As it grew dark he was forced to move down to the tree line outside the jail property. By using his night goggles he clearly saw anyone coming or going. He snuggled in the sniper bag and put his arms through the sleeves.

  The shift changed. For a half hour the lot was busy. He sipped the now tepid coffee in his thermos. He thought about Paula. He counted the woman he had known, lost count, and started over. He recalled black ops he ran in Afghanistan. He listed people he’d known who were now dead. Men he had killed. Off and on he thought about what secrets Praxis might hold.

  Slowly the stars wheeled across the sky. Dawn broke and Harry slid out of his bag and back into the woods. Five minutes later he was up on the ridge watching.

  It was mid morning and nobody had seen anything out of the ordinary. Paula called Harry. He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket.

  “I’m starving Harry. How long do I have to wait?”

  “What time is check out?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Stay until then. If you haven’t heard from me go watch from the Prop Shop Bar.”

  “I’m not going into that dive alone. There are people in there who couldn’t make friends in a prison shower room.”

  “Then stay in your car. I think things will happen before eleven.”

  At ten Harry’s phone vibrated again.

  “I got a black GMC Suburban waiting in the lot. Tinted windows. It’s so obvious they might as well put a sign out reading, ‘Feds’. I’ll get back to you as soon as anything shakes loose.”

  Harry hoped Barton was right. He wouldn’t mind being able to run over to town and get a hot meal. It did not appear they would be using a chopper to bring either Zhou or his impersonator in.

  Ten minutes later Barton called.

  “A Citation jet set down a few minutes ago. I called Ziggy to run the numbers. The plane is registered to the government but it’s not a JPATS plane which is the normal protocol for BOP to move prisoners.”

  “You see our boy?”

  “An Asian guy got off by himself, walked out the gate and got into the Suburban. They should be up there in an hour and a quarter. You want me to follow?”

  “No. Check their flight plan. See where they are heading and when. Then get back to me.”

  Harry gave up his observation post and drove into town. He went to the drive thru at McDonalds. It was junk food but at least the coffee was steaming hot. Forty minutes later he was back at the prison.

  He parked on a lane leading down to the lake. About a half-hour later he saw the Black SUV cruise past. Traffic was light, Harry pulled out behind it.

  Harry found when you tail somebody you can try to be clever, which usually requires two or three cars, to work the tail or you can be blatant. People usually ignored the obvious. He followed the car into the prison’s parking lot. Harry took the first spot he saw, parked, climbed out and walked briskly toward the administration building.

  The Suburban pulled into a space marked ‘reserved’ on the curb. The driver and an Asian man stepped out. The Asian drew deeply on a cigarette, before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it.

  Harry passed within ten feet of them. He continued toward the front door but had no doubt the man was Zhou. Inside the lobby he asked where he could apply for a job. The guard directed him toward a small desk with a computer terminal in the corner.

  “You can fill out an on-line application over there.”

  Harry smiled, thanked him and took a seat at the desk.

  The front door opened. Zhou came in. His escort spoke to the guard at the service counter. A few minutes later a man in a suit came out to greet them. Then they were gone.

  Harry’s application listed ‘Mickey Mouse’ as the job applicant. He left. In the lot he called Lou.

  “When you go in, take a pack of cigarettes with you. They may take them away or they may not. If you can bring them in, offer Zhou a cigarette. I want his prints on the cellophane wrapper. The guy’s a smoker, he will take one.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “A little birdie at the prison told me.”

  “Come on. Who’s feeding you information?”

  “Do the interview and we’ll talk.”

  Harry called Barton while he drove back to town.

  “Positive ID on Zhou or else the guy is a dead ringer. Lou is going to try to lift fingerprints. If he gets them you can come back. If not then you will need to follow the Suburban and try to dust the passenger door handle. For a dangerous spy the guy sure travels in style.”

  “I’ll hang out here. I got the flight plan for the Citation jet. They are flying to McClellan-Palomar Airport near Carlsbad in north San Diego County. The pilot came into the lounge. I chatted him up. He says he expects to be out of Beaumont before four o’clock.”

  “You know anybody who operates in San Diego”

  “Yeah. I know an investigator who works alone like you. Why?”

  “Hire him. I want him at the airport when the plane arrives. If they take off before four o’clock here, it will still be daylight when they land on the west coast. I want him to do two things. One, take some top quality telephoto pictures. Two, follow the guy home. If we can’t get fingerprints here your guy can B & E Zhou’s house. Or would he have a problem with that?”

  “He wouldn’t have a problem dropping the guy if the money was right. B&E is no problem.”

  *

  It was late in Red Lake when Barton got the call from the coast.

  “Barton, here.”

  “Yeah, it’s Barry. I got a lot of clear shots of your guy. I’ll download them to you. He came off the plane alone. He wasn’t off the tarmac before the plane began to taxi out.”

  “Where did our guy go?”

  “He got into a BMW. The ride is registered to Charles Chan.”

  “Charles Chan? You got to be kidding me?”

  He put his hand over the receiver. “You aren’t going to believe this, Harry. The guy’s name is Charles Chan!”

  “Like Charlie?” Harry said softly.

  Dirk nodded. “You sure Barry?”

  “That’s the name a friend at DMV gave me. This guy drives like most Asians, which is saying, not too good. I followed him to a house on Cove Drive near the water. The house is on an estuary. Your boy is living large. Nice house and thirty foot Bayliner docked in back. I can run the title on the house tomorrow if you want.”

  “We can handle that from out here. Nose around discreetly. See what you can learn from the neighbors without drawing attention to yourself.”

  Chapter 37

  Paula walked from her house to her car wearing a white blouse and black skirt. Until she could return to Harry’s office, she needed work. Marie offered her the lunch shift.

  She waited for a pickup to pass then stepped into the street. As she unlocked the car door a delivery van came along, going a little fast for a residential street. Paula flattened herself against her car, just to be safe.

  Behind her the van braked. A man hopped out of the van’s open sliding door, reached around and pressed a rag against her nose and mouth. A strong chemical odor hit her as she tried to twist free. Another arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her onto the floor of the truck. Before the door slid closed, the chloroform rendered her unconscious.

  *

  Harry and Barton ate lunch on the aft deck. Black Forest ham and Munster cheese slathered with spicy mustard and mayo. Both were thinking about Zhou. Learning he was not a prisoner was one thing, knowing why, was something else.

  Barton finished a beer and opened another bottle.

  “Ziggy will run a background check on Chan. He should have it in two hours, social security number, deeds, titles, wants, warrants, arrests,
and convictions. Anything Chan’s ever done, we’re gonna know it.”

  “But why have a trial, sentence him to prison and then let him go?”

  “Hey Mr. Grim!” a voice yelled out from the fuel dock. Harry looked up. The attendant waved his arm.

  “You’ve got a call.”

  Harry left the sandwich but took his beer with him as he stepped off the boat. Anyone he wanted to talk to had his cell number. He couldn’t think who might call him at the marina. At the fuel dock the kid was busy topping off a pocket cabin cruiser. He pointed toward the office.

  The dock shack smelled of oil, grease and diesel. A grime-covered phone lay on a desk buried deep with papers, next to the kids half finished lunch.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah we’ve got your girl, Grim.”

  Harry’s face tightened.

  “I don’t have any kids.”

  “Very funny wise guy. But this broad is no kid. You want to see her again you better give us what we want.”

  “Whom are you talking about?”

  “Your lady friend, Paula Lindstrom.” The guy sounded cocky, as if he was pleased with himself.

  “Listen buddy, she’s all yours!”

  “What? You saying you’re not going to deal?”

  “Shoot her, marry her, let her go, I don’t care. The bitch dumped me.”

  Harry hung up the phone. He strolled toward his boat, nonchalantly picking at an imaginary irritant between his teeth. When he came aboard he picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and sat down on the gunwale as though he had no cares in the world.

  “They grabbed Paula,” he whispered between bites.

  Barton was leaning back, his hands casually clamped behind his head. “What did you tell them?”

  “Only safe thing. I said they could kill the bitch for all I cared.”

  “Smart move, Harry.” Barton took a drink, “So how do you want to play this?”

  “I’m going to hand you some money and a GPS tracker. Go over to the market. Buy us some more beer. On your way see who is watching us. I figure the guy who called is in the parking lot. If you can, tag their vehicle.

  Harry ducked into the salon. A minute later he came back on deck.

  Barton faked a laugh, as if sharing a joke. Harry handed him some money folded around the electronic bug. Barton tucked the bills into his shirt pocket, vaulted the gunwale easily and landed lightly on the dock. He moved slowly up the dock. At the top of the ramp he paused to tie his shoelace. Across the marina’s parking lot he saw the probable spotter in a blue sedan. His thoughts were confirmed when, from inside the liquor store, he saw the man lean his head out the window and look his way.

  Barton came out carrying a six-pack of bottled beer. He strolled across the street. As he crossed the lot he worked at opening the twist off cap while holding the rest of the beer pressed against his chest. The Spotter’s eyes followed him from the car’s side view mirror. As he passed the sedan, Dirk let the six-pack slip. He lunged for it. Dropping all the beer. Three bottles shattered the others rolled under the car.

  “Damn it,” he swore aloud. The guy in the car looked directly at him. Barton got down on his knees and began picking up broken glass.

  “What the fuck you doing, asshole?” The guy asked looking down at him.

  “Sorry, buddy,” said Barton. “Dropped my goddamn beer. Couple rolled under your car and there is broken glass by your tire. I don’t want to give you a flat.”

  Dirk reached far under the car while he leaned his shoulder against the door so the spotter could not get out. With his left hand he pulled one beer out and set it where the guy could see it. With his right hand he put the magnetic tracking unit on the undercarriage. He felt the door nudge him as the man tried to open it. As Barton eased back the door swung open and a pair of feet appeared as the spotter stepped out of his car. The man was tall and lanky.

  Barton watched the man’s hands as he busied himself picking up glass.

  “Sorry about this,” he said repeatedly. “I think I got all the big pieces. Best if you steer right when you pull out. Want one?” he asked, offering the man one of his remaining beers.

  “No, asshole, forget it.”

  Barton opened one. Beer foamed up and spilled down his hand. “It was an accident, give me a break.” He shrugged and left the man standing next to his car.

  “The car’s tagged,” he announced when he came aboard.

  Harry opened a beer, tilted his head back, and took a long swig. The blue car was still in the lot. “Now we wait. I doubt he’ll hang out here for long.”

  “Think they’ll kill her?”

  “I’m betting her life against it. I think they will cut her loose. That’s if they were careful and she can’t identify them. But in case she saw their faces we need to find her quick.”

  “Kinda tough saying kill her.”

  “It had to be done.”

  “Yep. They get you, they gonna kill you both.” Dirk made a gun with his thumb and forefinger.

  “Not if they die first.”

  Barton smiled like a toad eyeing a fly, “That be true,” he said.

  Ten minutes later the blue car moved out of the parking lot. Harry and Barton casually followed. If anyone stayed to watch, the two seemed to be in no hurry. The transmitter had a two-mile range. They could keep up.

  They got into Barton’s car. Harry followed the transmitters location overlaid on an electronic map. The car traveled through town. It stopped at a fast food drive through and moved on. They drove out the east lake road toward Praxis. About a mile before the curve where Eddie went off the road, their target turned onto a gravel road running down to toward the lake.

  It was a narrow tree shaded lane. On either side were seasonal cabins. This early in the year the driveways and houses were vacant. The GPS showed the car at the water’s edge.

  “I hope they aren’t taking a boat or we’re screwed.”

  “If they were using one I think they would have watched us from it. They could have tied up at the visitor’s dock.”

  Barton coasted their car down the lane. Two houses up from the lake he stopped and backed into a vacant drive. The house had a For Sale sign posted by Herb Lanski of Bay Shore Realty.

  They left the car and moved behind the house. The rear of the property was thick with trees. Dirk led as Harry and he edged toward the house facing the lake. The blue sedan was parked alongside a beige pickup with a white shell. Harry and Barton drew their guns, where they would be useable and lay down among the tall weeds.

  On the side porch the spotter talked to someone out of sight. Then the man on the surveillance video in Harry’s office came into view. Bits of the conversation were audible.

  “What do you mean he doesn’t care?”

  “He and the black dude sat there drinking beer like they didn’t give a damn. When I called, he said I should kill the bitch.”

  “We might have to do that.”

  “Well he’s a cold son-of…” A passing boat cut their words off. The men on the porch appeared done talking. The one who seemed in charge called into the house, “Let’s go Louis!”

  “Where are you and Speers going?” the spotter asked querously.

  “To get some lunch, seeing you didn’t bring anything back.”

  The man called Speers came out. Barton recognized him as the intruder at Paula’s.

  “I’m going to kill that bitch.” He exclaimed irritably. “She tried kicking me in the balls. Would have connected too if she didn’t have that hood on her fucking head.”

  “You may get the chance, but not now and not here.”

  As the two men walked toward the pickup, Speers slightly limped. He shook his leg. “Damn that hurts where she got me. I’m going to give her sorry ass a little slow, painful, payback.”

  The leader rolled his hand, as if bored, and saying yeah, yeah. Shut up and let’s go. As he opened the door, the spotter shouted.

  “Hey Kurt! Bring me another burger, okay
?”

  The man called Kurt shook his head in disgust. Speers brought the engine to life. He spun the tires, kicking up gravel as the truck fishtailed and shot up the lane.

  The spotter stood on the porch and lighted a cigarette. Barton brought his pistol up and lined the man up in his sights. Harry touched his arm. He shook his head no, to wave him off. He drew one finger across his throat then put one finger up against his lips.

  Harry handed Barton a rock. He mimed throwing the rock, held his hand up fingers to wait. Barton nodded. They were gestures from their work in Afghanistan and were as clear as words.

  The man paced the deck, sucking hard at his smoke. Harry dashed across the back lawn, up to the rear of the house. From the cord of firewood stacked against the wall he picked up a piece of split oak.

  Harry nodded. Barton threw the rock. It skipped through the gravel and rolled under the blue car. Barton saw the man stop on the deck. He dropped his smoke and stepped on it. From his shoulder holster he pulled out a pistol, came down the steps and looked around cautiously, trying to locate the source of the sound. The spotter crouched down to look under the car. While he was down, Barton threw another high lob over the roof of the house. It landed with a clatter on the far side.

  Barton pointed to Harry to go. The spotter came up to a shooters stance waiting to see what came from the front. He never saw what he was looking for, Harry took a batters swing. The wedge shape log cleaved the man’s skull open.

  The man was still falling to his knees when Barton sprinted past. He took the steps three at a time, crossed the porch without slowing down and dove through the door. If there were a shooter inside he would shoot high, missing Barton down on the floor. He rolled and came up searching all quadrants for a target.

  Harry swept past as Barton came up. They hit the two bedroom doors at the same time. Barton’s room was empty in the other Harry found Paula tied to a chair. Her arms strapped behind her back. A hood covered her head.

  He pulled the hood off; her face was bruised. Dried blood coagulated below her nose and a small trickle mixed with saliva at the corner of her mouth.

  He pulled the duct tape from her mouth.