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

  “I have no idea what you want help with.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Well that’s your problem, Sheriff.” Clemson stood, “So if that is all we’re out of here.”

  Gaines grinned and shook his head slowly.

  “I brought you in so we could talk. It was unsatisfactory. Perhaps some time in our jail will facilitate your recall. Book them, Deputy Conner.”

  “On what charge?” Speers snarled.

  “Impersonating an agent of the FBI. It seems they have never heard of either one of you.”

  Gaines nodded to Conner, “Put them into a holding cell until we can spare a deputy to formally book them at the County Jail.”

  Clemson and Speers both scowled.

  “Let me make a call. I think I can clear this up.”

  “Sorry,” Gaines said amiably, “Might be a while, we’re a hick town and sadly understaffed. I’ll let you make your call as soon as we process your booking papers.”

  “You’ll regret this.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No telling you.”

  “When you book them use John Does, we know these ID’s are fake.”

  “I’ll have a paper from a judge kicking us loose in no time.”

  Gaines laughed. “Yeah, as soon as you make that call, I know.”

  Gaines went home for a late lunch. He liked the quietness of his home and the easy company of his wife’s presence. He let her chat about neighborhood gossip, content to forget missing bodies, crime, and violence for a while. He quietly munched on his turkey sandwich and forked potato salad into his mouth. After an hour he brushed the crumbs from his mustache kissed his wife and left for the station.

  When he arrived, an obviously impatient man waited for him. The man stood as soon as Gavin was through the door. He wore a business suit, something rarely seen in Red Lake, and certainly above the price point for local vendors. Lawyer, Gaines thought.

  “Sheriff I have a writ from the District Federal Court ordering you to turn over to me two prisoners.”

  Gaines held up an open palm, as if directing traffic. “I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

  “I have better things to do than wait on you Sheriff.”

  “Your choice, sir.” Gaines walked past and into his office where he closed the door. He opened the file for the amended budget, stroked his mustache and killed time. Bemused, through the glass he saw his visitor restlessly pace. Finally the man turned and let himself into the Sheriff’s office.

  “I need my prisoners Sheriff.”

  “And who might they be?”

  “John Doe one and John Doe two.”

  “I think I’ve got three John Does in custody. How do you reckon I identify them?”

  “I can do that.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll need better proof than that. I need something concrete. Do you have fingerprints for the men you want released?”

  Exasperation showed on the lawyer’s face.

  “I can get them.”

  “Okey dokey.” Gaines said. He looked at the man’s business card, “Mr. Torgeson, come back with positive ID or fingerprints and I’ll kick the John Doe’s loose to you.”

  The lawyer wore a sardonic grin. “You’re screwing with me for spite, aren’t you Sheriff?”

  “Just cautious. Your boys came to town and stirred up trouble. How would it look come election time if word got out I just let them walk?”

  “I can tell you’re really worried Sheriff. I’ll get those prints.”

  “Well if you have them then they should be in the Integrate Automatic Fingerprint Identification System. But when we ran them IAFIS came up blank.”

  “This has to do with National Security.”

  “Would that be under the aegis of the FBI, CIA, NSA, DIA or what?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “Well you get those men’s prints into the system and I’ll have no problem letting the right John Doe walk.”

  The lawyer nodded. He sent a text on his cell phone.

  “Run those prints through IAFIS in twenty minutes and you will get a match. I’ll be waiting over at the County Jail for my men.”

  Torgeson left. Gaines called the jail.

  “Get ready to kick loose our two John Does. A lawyer named Torgeson is on his way over “Send their prints through the system in twenty minutes. Let me know who they come back as.”

  A half hour later the deputy called back.

  “IAFIS ID them both.”

  “What are their names?”

  “According to the computer, John Doe One and John Doe Two.”

  A chagrined smile spread across the Sheriff’s face. At least Torgeson had a sense of humor. Abstractedly, he murmured to himself, “Things grow more and more curious.”

  Chapter 40

  “We will remove Dirk. As for Grim, I have an operational plan to isolate, discredit, and ultimately eliminate any threat he may pose,” Kurt told his boss confidently.

  “Okay. Snatch Dirk. Find out what he knows then make him disappear. Go ahead with neutralizing Grim. Anything you’ll need?”

  “Transport for the package and Sam to fill out my team.”

  “You’ll get both Kurt, but screw this up and you’ll join Dirk.”

  Van de Meer cut the connection without further comment.

  Kurt chose not to think about Van de Meer’s threat. He would take care of things he assured himself. But his current problem was he hadn’t found either Grim or Dirk.

  Chapter 41

  Dirk flew to Spokane. Harry saw Paula off in a taxicab, while silently fearing that shoving her towards her ex was a mistake. Twenty minutes after landing they taxied back out.

  They flew south through the night over the Great Basin. The flight from Spokane to Reno was 787 miles, well within the PA 30’s 1,200 mile range. Cruising at 180 they made the flight in less than five hours.

  Barton set down in Reno to take on fuel. It was the middle of the night. They were hungry but the restaurant was closed. They could have caught a cab to a casino but decided to move on.

  They continued south flying parallel to the Sierras. Barton let Harry take the controls. He never finished his hours for a pilot’s license but he would have made a competent pilot. The Sierras petered out and they flew over the Mojave Desert. For most of the flight the ground below was a dark void. Clusters of lights marked small towns. Occasional yard lights marked a ranch, barn, or wellhead, but mostly it was black space.

  They stayed east of the San Bernardino Mountains, to avoid the Los Angeles basin, though, at this time of night incoming traffic was sparse. Briefly they saw the basin, a sprawl of lights that carpeted the entire valley. It made the global power shortage understandable.

  Barton drifted southwest near Palm Springs, flying over the San Gregornio Pass, to be on the west side of the Santa Rosa Mountains. Once their plane was south of LAX’s flight path he turned westerly toward McClellan-Palomar Airport at Carlsbad.

  The 565 miles took another four hours between climbing to altitude and making their descent approach into Palomar. They circled out wide over the Pacific Ocean and turned back east on their final leg. Below the blue Pacific lapped at the skirts of the continent. The row of white breakers looked like ruffles on a petticoat. The morning sun rose directly in front of them as they touched down.

  The silence after the engine shut down was pleasurable. One of the least desirable memories of Harry’s years in service was hours spent in the windowless belly of an air cargo transport.

  Barton locked up the plane. Inside the hangar building they found a perky girl, eager to assist them, at the flight services desk. Harry ordered a rental car. Then they went into the restaurant for breakfast and lots of black coffee.

  “We haven’t talked about why were here.”

  It was a statement and a question.

  “Gathering information. Talk to Chan.”

  “I don’t think Charlie will be too amenable to that,” Bart
on said.

  “So, our job is to encourage him.”

  Barton speared a piece of egg and ham.

  “There are lots of ways to open a man up. The problem is putting the pieces back together after you make him talk. You do want him for later, don’t you, Harry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Makes it harder.” Barton said while attacking the ham steak with his knife blade. “Easier to cut off a piece here and a piece there until you know everything.”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  The waitress refilled their coffee cups.

  “As soon as we leave, Chan is going to be on the phone to whoever is running him.”

  “They know we are looking. Having found Chan should scare them.”

  “They might decide Chan is extra baggage and clean house. Announce he died in prison, but have a real body for the casket this time.”

  “I think that’s our pressure point with Chan. We threaten to turn him over to the Chinese or we walk away and let his own people take him out. He’s between a rock and a hard place.”

  “What makes you think the Chinese want him?”

  “The guy was sentenced to life for spying for China. If he’s not in prison, for whom was he working? It sure as hell wasn’t the Chinese. It stands to reason he was working for the United States.”

  “What did Zhou actually do?”

  Harry signaled for more coffee.

  “He was convicted of providing the Chinese with access to a portion of Boeing Aircraft’s computer system. It was in their military division. The government was never clear exactly what he gave China but they claimed it was devastating.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “Money.”

  “And now he’s living the good life in Carlsbad?”

  “We could speculate all day, why don’t we just go ask him?”

  “You drive.” Harry said. “I’ll sit in the back. If Chan looks out he will be less likely to worry about a white guy with a black driver.”

  “Yes sir, boss!” Dirk spoke in a heavy drawl.

  “What did Barry find out?”

  “Said Chan lives alone. A housekeeper comes in three days a week, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Not today. He is quiet and keeps to himself. It is assumed he is retired because he doesn’t keep business hours.”

  “Good. Then he won’t be missed.”

  The GPS led them straight to the house on Cove Road. Barton drew up to the curb. He opened the rear door of the sedan and held it. Harry stepped out and tugged down the cuffs of his shirt and adjusted his sport coat whose principle function was to hide the gun at his back. Barton waited a step behind him, holding a leather satchel. It was a good show if Chan was watching.

  Barton’s eyes ran along the eaves. Two security cameras covered the corner of the house. Above the doorbell another Cyclops’ eye covered them.

  Harry played it straight when he rang the bell. If Chan seemed apprehensive they would charge in.

  “A medium height Asian man in a white shirt and dark slacks answered the door. He wore thick glasses typical to his race. One arm stayed behind the door. Harry assumed it held a gun.

  “Jeffery Lang, Bureau of Prisons, Mister Chan. May I come in?”

  “Who is that?”

  Harry glanced over his shoulder in a dismissive way. “My driver. I don’t drive, never learned.”

  The comment caused Chan to lower his guard. A man who could not drive himself was an incompetent man, not a man to be feared.

  “Come in.”

  Harry saw the thirty-eight slide into Chan’s pocket. He stepped far enough into the entry that Chan was forced to choose who to keep in sight. He looked at Barton and nodded his head. “Come.” It was an order not an invitation. When his eyes returned to Harry he found himself looking down the barrel of a .357, his eyes flipped back to Barton who now held a knife an inch from his face.

  “They will both kill you Mister Chan, but the knife is quieter. Keep your hands where my friend can see them. Harry pulled the .38 out of Chan’s pocket; then patted him down.

  “Lets sit down.”

  They walked into the living room. Barton picked up a dining room chair and put it in the middle of the room. He nodded at it. Chan sat down.

  “What do you want?”

  “Information.”

  “I’m just an engineer.”

  Barton smacked Chan’s mouth with the back of his hand, hard. Chan’s head snapped back.

  “Shut your mouth, if you are going to lie.”

  Barton pulled electrical ties out of his pocket and cinched Chan’s hands together. He tied Chan’s legs to the chair.

  “I’ll check the rest of the house,” he said as he finished. When he drifted away, his gun was drawn and ready.

  Harry looked at Chan as though he were a disgusting bug. He switched on the television. When the picture appeared, he turned up the volume. “If your house is bugged this should mask our conversation, at least until they run filters on it.”

  On the screen, Dr. Phil gave marital advice to a couple who appeared almost as forlorn as Chan.

  “Charlie you are going to tell us everything you know.”

  “About what?”

  “About anything you think we might find interesting.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “We both know that’s a lie, Charlie.”

  Barton came back. He toyed with a pair of garden shears in his hand. Chan shuddered.

  “There be worse things than dying. You might wanna be thinking on that.” He snipped the clippers as he spoke.

  “You’re not from BOP are you?” Chan asked warily.

  Harry shook his head.

  “The CIA?” Chan said hopefully.

  “Why would you think that?”

  Chan shrugged.

  “Tell me about Praxis.”

  “I’m a consultant. I flew up there to help with their security system.”

  “Cut the bullshit Charlie or my friend will spend the next hour lopping little pieces off of you. You and I both know that sooner or later you will talk. So why not keep all of your body parts?”

  Barton slid one blade of the loppers into Chan’s right nostril. “You, like feeding yourself, don’t you, Charlie?” he asked. You probably also like being able to get it up, get it on, and piss standing up. Imagine life as a deaf, blind, tongue-less engineering eunuch. It could prove difficult, brother.”

  Chan’s eyes were large as he tried to pull his head back. “I was pardoned to be Zhou.”

  “Pardoned for what?”

  “Computer hacking. We were stealing information and selling it. I was doing twenty years at Bare Hill Correctional Facility in upstate New York, when a man came to see me.”

  Barton pulled the loppers back. Chan was eager to continue talking, the words spilled out of him.

  “He offered me a new identity if I became Zhou.”

  “And who was he?”

  “I don’t know. He never gave his name or showed me any identification, but two weeks later I was in Seattle, living in an apartment on Queen Anne hill and had a job at Microsoft.”

  “What kept you from walking away?”

  “They surgically planted something in me. If I ran before the deal was up, they said I'd be dead.”

  “What did they want you to do?”

  “Sell information to the Chinese.”

  “What sort of info?” queried Dirk?

  “About a backdoor to the Microsoft operating system. It was all bullshit. There is no backdoor, at least as far as I know, but the Chinese believed me. I was given some code to sell them as a sample. It accessed some computers whose software was registered to Boeing Aircraft. The Chinese were quite happy with the results and ready to buy more. That’s when I was arrested and put on trial.”

  “A disinformation operation,” Barton said in disgust. “Let me guess, after the trial you went to Praxis as Zhou and a short time later left as Charlie Chan.”

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p; Chan nodded. “They gave me the money from the Chinese and let me go. I settled down out here. I didn’t hear from them again until the other day, when someone called to say I had to be out at Palomar to meet a plane.”

  Harry stood up. “Cut him loose.”

  Barton slit the electrical ties. Chan nervously watched Dirk while he rubbed his wrists.

  “We’re going to go now Charlie. If you sit on the front steps and behave yourself we won’t kill you.”

  Together they walked toward the front door. Barton dumped the bullets from Charlie’s thirty-eight onto a side table in the entry. He set the gun down beside them.

  “Charlie,” Harry said in an avuncular way, “You should probably keep this visit to yourself. No one will be happy you talked to us.”

  Chan nodded dumbly and sat down on the brick steps, like a chastised child. Barton pushed the thumb lock on the front door knob, locking Chan out of his own house.

  As they drove away, Harry saw Chan sitting immobile, at least until they were out of sight.

  “He’ll talk,” Barton observed.

  “Just as soon as he can get to a phone,” agreed Harry.

  Barton made a gun of his fingers. “He’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it.”

  Then Dirk pulled an imaginary trigger and his gun hand kicked.

  Chapter 42

  Claus Van de Meer frowned. Barton Dirk’s plane was on the FAA’s list of aircraft that landed at Palomar Airport. The proximity to Chan’s house was beyond chance. Obviously the demand to interview Zhou was part of a set up and he allowed himself to wander into the trap. Maybe it was part of a broader investigation? Was it possible Dirk or Grim were working for another agency? Were they running their own cloak and dagger operation to get him? Claus tentatively concluded it was unlikely, but Grim and Dirk had become a major threat. Claus was not about to have his career derailed.

  “Get me Kurt,” he snapped into the intercom.

  At her desk Christina Whelk ignored his ire and placed the secure call.

  “Yes?” Clemson’s voice answered crisply.

  “We have visitors at Palomar. I thought you were locking up the barn?”

  “I haven’t had the chance.”