She was soon drinking a mug of black coffee and leaning over Agent Ruth Noble’s shoulder reading a report from Walt Monaco, SAC of the Richmond Field Office, about Liam Hennessey, aka Manta Ray, and his escape from the U.S. Marshals only a mile out from their destination—Lee Penitentiary in Pennington Gap, Virginia, the high-security federal prison.
He’d escaped only three hours before, and Monaco had already mobilized the local FBI office and coordinated with local law enforcement to begin the manhunt.
Agent Ruth Noble looked up and put her hand over her cell phone. “Give me a minute, Cam, then we can discuss this mess. It’s my son Rafe—he’s suffering girlfriend problems.”
Cam nodded, waited until Ruth punched off. Though she wasn’t a stranger here in her new home, she knew better than to rush into things like she usually did back in the Criminal Division. What happened? Let’s get this moving; let’s go! She said with an easy smile, “Girlfriends can be tough. What’d you tell Rafe?”
“I told him to speak to his father.” Ruth gave Cam a fat smile. “I told him his father knows everything about girls—well, just about everything, can’t overdo—and he should do whatever his father says. Now I’ll call Dix, warn him, so he’ll have time to come up with the right approach.”
Cam laughed. She liked Ruth, knew a bit of her history. She’d married the sheriff of Maestro, Virginia, and become a mother to his two teenage sons. Ruth, she’d heard, had a target group of local informants in her back pocket, most gathered when she’d been a detective with Metro. It was one of her informants who’d called to tell them where Manta Ray was hiding in Alexandria on the day of the robbery.
Savich stepped out of his office. “Cam, welcome to the CAU. I’m glad you’re here.” He raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “As you know, we have a situation. I sent all of you Walt’s report on Manta Ray’s escape. Come into the conference room, I’ve got some new information, and we need to go over what happened.”
Ollie Hamish, Savich’s second-in-command, asked, “Where’s Sherlock?”
“It’s her yearly physical, and yes, I ordered her to keep it with the promise I’d fill her in on everything later.”
When everyone was seated around the CAU conference table, Savich said, “Walt is in charge of the local manhunt. He and his people in Richmond are gearing up to cover all the roads for Manta Ray and the men who took him. Marshal Chan Michaels, the driver of the transport van, told officials at the scene he wasn’t sure how many men staged the escape. He and the other two guards were incapacitated almost immediately by a flash bang and some sort of knockout gas. So our only physical evidence is what’s left of the flash bangs and the housing for the chemical agent they used. They’re trying to identify it now.
“Liam Hennessey, or Manta Ray, as he calls himself, had only one known cohort, Marvin Cass, and he was killed during the bank robbery. Other than this one robbery, to the best of our knowledge, Manta Ray has operated on his own.”
Cam said, “That was the Second National Bank of Alexandria, Virginia, right?”
Savich nodded. “Manta Ray was busy dumping the contents of the six safe-deposit boxes into a dark brown leather bag when his partner decided he wanted some cash. He ordered a teller to fill up a sack for him, but she was too slow. He shot her in the head. Cass and Manta Ray ran out of the bank, fortunately without shooting anyone else. But the teller died en route to the hospital.
“Two FBI agents were near enough to be at the scene only a few minutes after the alarm tripped. In the firefight, Cass was killed and Manta Ray was shot in the side, but he escaped on a motorcycle, drove a circuitous route through some alleys where cars couldn’t go.” He sent a nod toward Ruth.
She said, “One of my informants called me, said this guy who’d just escaped had staggered, bleeding like stink, into one of the ancient buildings in the derelict warehouse section in Alexandria. Dougie’s always reliable, so I called the agents involved and they went out there.
“Gotta say, Manta Ray was worth the three hundred bucks I paid Dougie, even if he spent it on drugs and Wild Turkey.”
Savich picked it up. “Manta Ray was bleeding pretty bad, but he managed to hold himself together long enough to hide what he’d taken from the safe-deposit boxes before the FBI got him. Agents haven’t been able to find any of the stash, and believe me, they’ve torn that warehouse apart. Manta Ray refused to talk. Ollie?”
Ollie said, “From what Walt wrote, today’s escape was flawlessly planned and executed. As you said, Savich, Manta Ray usually acts alone, and look what happened the one time he didn’t. His partner killed that bank teller. One question is, how was he able to hire anyone to break him out while he was locked up inside Northern Neck Regional Jail?”
Savich said, “Manta Ray’s lawyer, Duce Bowler, springs to mind. The bank robbery happened less than a month ago, but on the advice of Bowler, Manta Ray accepted a plea bargain. Thirty years to avoid the death penalty. Duce Bowler’s name is the only one that appears on the visitor sign-in.
“Here’s a big question: Manta Ray rifled only six safe-deposit boxes and maybe that was all the time he could afford, but why those particular boxes? The six owners reported only jewelry, cash, and papers that could easily be replaced, nothing unusual. But someone went to a lot of trouble to break Manta Ray out, and you have to wonder if it had something to do with what was in those boxes. Was one of the box owners desperate enough to get back whatever it was Manta Ray stole to break him out to get it? Four of the six box owners are old bank customers, and they look solid, but the other two could do with a closer look. We’ll be repeating those two interviews.”
Ruth raised her hand. “Dillon, I’ve been thinking about Walt’s report. It took the driver, Chan Michaels, and the other two guards about thirty minutes to come around after they were pulled from the van. That had to be true for Manta Ray, too. They must have loaded him in a car and driven him out of there quickly, knowing the roads would get dangerous for them real fast. I wish we knew how many were involved in breaking him out.”
Savich said, “Chan Michaels saw a man down in the middle of the road beside the motorcycle and he heard someone barking orders, but he was fading fast and disoriented from the flash bang and the gas bomb. The whole breakout was over in a couple of minutes.
“Michaels also said he believes Manta Ray knew what was coming, based on some of the things he said and his body language. He was ready. So did Bowler tip him off?” Savich shook his head. “Walt told me it was a good enough operation that he’d be happy to hire whoever planned it to come work for him.”
Ruth tapped her fingertips on Manta Ray’s prison photo. “The dude looks seriously hot, even in prison orange, I’ll give him that, but underneath that sexy smile? The black of a rotted tooth.” She let that hang a moment, then added, “Three of us had a flash bang blow up in our faces last November in San Francisco. We couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, felt like someone had thwacked our heads with an ax. I don’t think Chan Michaels and the other guards had a chance after that. Still, the whole thing makes us look like Keystone Cops.”
Ollie took a swig of his coffee. “We should have deported Manta Ray—Liam Hennessey—back to Ireland, let them put him in that Belfast prison, what’s it called? The Maze? By the way, do any of you know where he got the moniker, Manta Ray?”
Savich said, “We’ll ask him when we get him back in custody. Let’s get back to the people who freed him. He was in prison, so how did he make contact with whoever planned this? His only visitor was his lawyer, Duce Bowler, is the obvious go-between. Walt asked us to interview him even though he’s well aware that Bowler knows he has attorney-client privilege and won’t say a thing. He’ll claim Manta Ray could have gotten word to the outside some other way. What other way? All he has to do is shrug that question off, and trust me, he will.”
“But Bowler’s got to be right in the middle,” Cam said.
Savich nodded. “I’m going to set MAX onto opening up Bowl
er’s life like an oyster. We’ll begin with his client list.”
Ruth said, “Poor MAX won’t find any pearls inside.”
There was a spot of laughter.
Savich said, “Ruth, you and Ollie will pay lawyer Bowler a visit this afternoon, get a feel for him, see what you make of him. Before you leave, drop by my office and take whatever MAX has dug up on him. Maybe you’ll have some ammunition.
“Now, there’s something big I’ve saved for the end, something none of you know about yet.” He sat forward. “A teenager by the name of Kim Harbinger was heading back from a camping trip in the Daniel Boone National Forest in Kentucky less than an hour ago. She spotted three men in the parking lot, heading into the forest. She believes Manta Ray was one of them. The forest is about a two-hour drive from Pennington Gap, so the timing’s about right. We’re paying attention to her because Kim’s dad is Chief Harbinger, of the Pennington Gap Police Department. She’d seen photos of Manta Ray in his office, thought he looked like a rock star, and that’s why she remembered him. She called her dad immediately. Chief Harbinger called Richmond FBI, and Walt called Mr. Maitland to ask for more manpower. I told Mr. Maitland we’re lucky to have the perfect agent with us to track Manta Ray down in that forest, if he’s in there. As to the number of men who broke Manta Ray out, we still don’t know, but if the teenager is right, it was the two men who went into the forest with him.
“New York SAC Milo Zachery sent down one of his crew yesterday to work a case with the Criminal Division—Special Agent Jack Cabot. I know him quite well. He’s an ex–army ranger with experience in special ops, an expert in survival and surveillance techniques in the wild. He’s perfect for tracking these guys, and I’ve already hijacked him. I was thinking about which of you to partner up with him. Cam, as I recall, you spent some of your formative years hiking around in national parks with your parents. And you hiked and camped throughout college. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, I did, but—you’re picking me, Dillon?” The agents around the conference table would have had to be deaf not to hear the excitement in her voice. She nearly bounced out of her chair.
“Yes, you. Come to my office and we’ll talk. The rest of you, carry on. Text me your ideas.”
4
Executive Assistant Director Jimmy Maitland, Savich’s boss, stuck his head in Savich’s office as Cam was on her way out the door. She gave him a blazing smile. Maitland could tell she was itching to get past him, so he only said, “Welcome aboard, Agent Wittier. Good luck.”
Maitland’s eyebrow went up as he watched her nearly run through the unit. “She’s a good addition, Savich. She looks so happy and excited; if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d given her a paid vacation to Paris.”
Savich waved his boss to a chair. “Knowing Cam, she prefers this assignment to climbing the Eiffel Tower, as amazing as that sounds. I told you about the teenager who spotted Manta Ray. Cam will be partnering with Jack Cabot, flying with him to the Daniel Boone National Forest. They’ll go in after him and whoever’s with him.”
Maitland said, “Cabot’s a great choice, but that’s quite an assignment for a new agent in your unit. I suppose Agent Wittier’s already had her trial by fire, though, in the Starlet Slasher case in L.A.”
Savich nodded. “I think she has the skill set to handle it, after what she showed us in L.A.” He smiled. “She’ll realize soon enough she’s teamed up with Tarzan-with-brains, and I hope they’ll figure out how to use each other’s strengths, guard each other’s backs. Better than plunking her down at a desk here in the CAU, wondering how she fits in.”
“And knowing you, you wanted to see if you could get Jack to transfer from Milo Zachery’s kingdom in New York to the CAU, right?”
“Of course not, I don’t want Milo after my head. Well, okay, maybe. Milo does owe me one. It’s not a bad idea.”
“You think that teenager really saw Manta Ray? Saw him walking into that forest?”
“I’m sitting at about eighty percent on that, maybe higher because it would be a smart move to get Manta Ray tucked away from the manhunt going on outside. They could be planning to take their time in the forest until things cool off, even have prepositioned food and equipment waiting for them, and a planned meet at some designated pickup point later. It was really bad luck for Manta Ray and his men if they were spotted by a teenage hiker.” Savich grinned. “Now I’ve talked myself up to ninety percent.”
Maitland sat back in his chair, swung his leg. “My real reason for coming is to let you know Detective Aldo Mayer’s captain called me about the Kara Moody incident you were involved in yesterday. Ramirez said he had to promise Mayer he’d call me to calm him down. We agreed there would be no formal complaint from Metro about your, ah, interfering in a local police matter. It turned out well, after all.” Maitland shrugged. “If it had gone down differently I’d have to keep them from hanging you by your feet, but this way, no worries. Hard to bring charges against the guy who walked out of that house helping a pregnant lady in labor. That’s all over YouTube this morning, you know that? One of the neighbors posted the video before the media even arrived. Has Kara Moody had the baby yet?”
Savich grunted. “A baby boy, Alex, born late last night, healthy, six and a half pounds.”
Maitland gave him a big grin. “From what Captain Ramirez told me, your only problem is with Mayer. He’s not too happy with you, thinks you made him look like an idiot. Maybe it’s best to keep your distance from him for a while.”
“No problem, if I can keep Sherlock from taking him down in a dark alley, locking her knees around his neck, and reminding him of the importance of good manners. She isn’t happy with him right now.”
Maitland laughed. “What a visual. You’re going to see Moody and the baby?”
Savich nodded. “Yes, and Mayer’s got no say in that.”
“Do you know if Metro has identified the guy?”
“It’s Detective Mayer’s case, sir; it’s not my business.”
Maitland arched a brow, said nothing. He rose. “Whatever you say, Savich. Keep me in the loop, all right?”
“I have no plans to get involved.”
“Right.” Maitland gave him a salute and left his office, heading over to speak to Shirley.
Savich watched Maitland weave his way out of the unit, speaking to each agent, asking questions, nodding, and he wondered again, Why was that young man so desperate to take Kara Moody away from that house? Why did he call himself an enigma?
5
ANDREWS AIR FORCE BASE
CAMP SPRINGS, MARYLAND
MONDAY AFTERNOON
Special Agent Jack Cabot finished his preflight inspection by walking around the white FBI Skylane 182 with its distinctive blue stripe. He patted the fuselage, stood back a moment, and admired the shine. The Skylane was as clean as his dog, Cropper, after Jack washed him along with his SUV. He walked to the top of the airstairs and slid on his aviator sunglasses. It was a bright, hot afternoon, with only a slight breeze. The humidity was the killer. He wished he had a garden hose to spray himself down.
He looked out over the busy airfield. Andrews was always hopping, the noise at times just short of mandatory-earplug levels. He looked down at his watch thinking Agent Wittier was now officially late when he noticed a long-legged woman striding purposefully toward him, a banged-up backpack slung over her arm, a fleece sweatshirt tied around her neck. She wore lightweight dark green Polartec pants, a green-checked Polartec long-sleeve shirt, and well-worn hiking boots. So this was Agent Wittier, his partner on the assignment. At least she knew how to dress for their mission.
He wondered why he’d been assigned a female agent, truth be told, rather than an ex–special forces type like himself. There was nothing like field experience in holiday destination spots like Kabul to train for locating and bringing in dangerous hostiles hunkered down in the desolate hills. Maybe she was ex-military, or maybe she was as wily and mean as his ex-mother-in-law.
> He had to admit Agent Wittier’s straight-on, take-no-prisoners stride as she walked toward him fit her hard-ass camping clothes and the Glock on her belt clip. But his image of her changed when he saw her short blond wavy hair tangling around her face in the hot breeze. He could tell from twenty yards away she was pretty. He’d bet her eyes were laser-sharp on him behind her aviator sunglasses.
Cam stopped at the bottom of the airstairs and looked up at the man staring down at her with his arms crossed easily over his chest. She’d wondered what an ex–special forces cowboy from New York would look like, and he fit the bill. Special Agent Jack Cabot looked tough and chiseled and military, no beard scruff on his tanned face. His dark hair was cut short. He was taller than she was, which put him over six feet, and younger than she’d expected, maybe early thirties. He was wearing a dark Polartec shirt and had his Glock clipped on his belt, as she did. His boots looked like they’d clomped over a great many gnarly miles. He was buff, but not a muscle-bound yahoo who liked to pretend he sprinkled nails in his Cheerios instead of blueberries. He didn’t look like he snarled very often. She could deal with him.
Then Cam looked past him at the tiny single-engine airplane, shocked at how small the propeller was, small enough to stir her guacamole with the blade. She was surprised to feel her stomach churn like a greasy ball. Until that moment, she hadn’t thought much about the flight. Of course she’d flown noncommercial before, with only the occasional butterfly flitting in her belly. But this white-winged miniature box, this big toy, was going to transport them to Kentucky? A stray bird could knock it out of the sky. She’d grill the pilot, make sure he knew what he was doing, maybe ask him if he had any Valium.