CHAPTER 33
FBI special agent Nicholas Fowler emerged from the safe house bathroom feeling like a new man. He now had a purpose that was driving him—to steal the rejuvenation formula from the scientists before they could give it to Ashby. He’d teach his fucking wife a lesson for leaving him—he’d become super rich and stick it in her face. Hell, once he had control of the formula he might just decide to take some himself and become thirty years younger, like the guy in the video Ashby had watched.
He checked his cell phone to make sure it was still forwarding calls from his home, just in case someone from the FBI office called to check on him.
He fixed a cup of coffee using the old Mr. Coffee in the kitchen and sat down at the desk containing the computer monitors used in the surveillance of Ashby’s bedroom.
He thought for a moment, then dialed the number of the intelligence division at FBI headquarters. When the phone was answered, Fowler gave another FBI agent’s name and badge number and asked for the license plate numbers of everyone involved with the formula. Just in case anyone thought to check, he didn’t want it known he still had an interest in the case.
After he wrote them down, he took one last look at the computer monitor to make sure nothing was going on at the Ashby mansion. Ashby was still asleep, so he left the safe house and headed for the parking garage of Dr. Sheila Goodman. He knew that her estranged husband, Burton Ramsey, was staying there most nights now, so he figured he could check out both of their cars at the same time. He’d leave the college student, Kevin, and Dr. Williams for later.
When he got to the garage of the Twin Towers apartment complex, he finally found both Goodman’s and Ramsey’s cars parked next to each other on the third floor. Smiling, he pulled a black plastic cube from his pocket and pushed a button on the side. When a green light began to flash, he slowly walked around both cars. The Sniffer, as it was called, beeped once near the front wheel well of each car.
Good, he thought. The GPS trackers he’d heard the detective Gelb say they’d put on the cars were still active, and now their signal was going to be sent to Fowler’s computer also. That would serve two purposes: It would make keeping track of their whereabouts much easier, and when the time came to corral them all and steal the formula for himself, he would know exactly when and where it could be done.
As he walked down the stairs of the parking garage, he pulled a notepad from his coat pocket and checked the address for Dr. Williams’s apartment. He would go there next, leaving the less-important college kid for last.
* * *
Kat got up early and pulled up Jackson Dillard’s website on her computer. Summoning up her courage, she dialed the number listed under CONTACT US.
After three rings, a gruff, gravelly whiskey-and-cigarette voice growled, “Yeah, Dillard.”
“Uh . . . Mr. Dillard, this is Kaitlyn Williams. I don’t know if you rem—”
The voice changed from gruff to happy. “Why, of course, I remember you, Kat. After all, your dad and I had some business in the good old days.”
Kat was astounded. Her dad had talked to her and told her some tales about Dillard. “You and Dad worked together?”
“Yeah,” he said, chuckling, “but I bet he never told you about it, did he?”
Unconsciously shaking her head even though he couldn’t see her, she answered, “No, but I’d love to hear about your . . . adventures.”
Now he laughed out loud. “And I’d love to tell you sometime, since the statute of limitations has probably run out on our . . . adventures, as you call ’em.”
Statute of limitations? Kat thought. What in the world could Dad have gotten mixed up in to rate worrying about legal limits on prosecution?
“But,” Dillard continued, “I’m sure you didn’t call me at this ungodly hour of the morning to talk about old times, so what can I do for you, Kat?” Suddenly his voice became more concerned. “Nothing has happened to your dad or mom, has it?”
“Oh no,” Kat replied. “They’re still retired up in Boston and doing fine.”
In a relieved voice, Dillard said, “Yeah, your dad said that after thirty years of the Houston heat, he couldn’t wait to get somewhere that had four seasons. He said Houston only had two seasons: summer and almost summer.”
Kat smiled, remembering her dad saying just that on many occasions.
“So,” Dillard continued, “what’s goin’ on that you need to call an old reprobate like me, Kat? Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“You could say that, Mr. Dillard.”
“Now, Kat, when we were kids you used to call me Jackie. Well, I’m a little long in the tooth for Jackie, but how about calling me Jack instead of Mr. Dillard?”
“Okay, Jack. I do need your help, if you are available.”
“I am always available for friends and relatives, Kat, and you are both. So, why don’t you tell me just what it is that you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in that you needed to call in the marines.”
Even though she was calling from a burner phone, Kat didn’t want to go into specifics over the airwaves. “Uh, I’d rather not talk about it on the phone, Jack. Is there any way you could come up here to Houston? I’d be glad to pay you for your time even if you decide there is nothing you can do for me.”
He chuckled again. “Kat, unless your circumstances have changed since the last time I talked to your dad about you, you can’t afford my rates. But let’s not talk about money—at least not yet. How about I fly my little plane on up to the big city and meet you about”—he hesitated as he checked his watch—“about two hours from now. I’ll be flying into the private air terminal at Bush International. Do you think you can pick me up, or should I rent a car?”
“Oh no. I’ll pick you up. And Jack, thank you.”
“You got it, kid. I’ll see you in a couple.”
Kat hung up and immediately called Ramsey. “Hey, Burton. Jackson Dillard is going to fly up here from Galveston. I’m to meet him at the airport in two hours. Do you think you and Sheila could be ready to interview him by then?”
“Yeah, I think so, Kat. Sheila was able to get one of her on-call doctors to cover her practice for the next two weeks by telling them she was going on a vacation. As a matter of fact, we are just having breakfast in her apartment right now.”
“Good. Listen, there is an IHOP out on Highway 45 about a mile before the turnoff to the airport, and I think they have a private dining room that we can use. I’ll call Kevin and have him ready for you if you don’t mind picking him up on the way to the restaurant, and we’ll meet there in . . . say . . . two and a half hours.”
“Okay, Kat. Do you really think Dillard can help us?”
“If he can’t, Burton, then we are out of luck, because I can’t think of anyone else who will come to our rescue.”
A half hour later, Sheila and Burton got out of the elevator on the third floor of the parking garage. “Should we take the safe car?” Burton asked.
Sheila shook her head. “No, I don’t see why we should. After all, we’re not leaving town—and we are just going to meet some friends for breakfast. I don’t think that will raise any alarms if the detectives are monitoring our car’s movements.”
“Okie-dokie,” he replied and he opened the door to her Mercedes sedan for her, then got in the passenger seat.
* * *
From her parking space in the FBO (Fixed Base Operations) arrival area two hours later, Kat watched as a sleek twin-engine airplane came in for a smooth landing.
Ten minutes later, a man walked up to her car, a wide grin on his face. He was a shade under six feet tall, had iron-gray hair cut in a flattop and high and wide on the sides, was well-muscled with not an ounce of extra fat on his body, and had steel-gray eyes that matched his hair.
Watching him move, she was reminded of a large jungle cat: no wasted motion and fluid, even strides. She noticed his eyes were never still, but moved back and forth as if he was checking in all directions for any danger that might be lurking in the vicinity.
He put his hands on her window and leaned in to look at her closely. “You haven’t changed a bit in twenty years, Kat. Still as pretty and bright as ever.”
“You haven’t, either, Jack, except maybe just a touch grayer up top.”
He grinned and brushed his hand over his brush cut. “Don’t remind me. Father Time is working its magic on me like he does on everyone.”
She smiled and thought, Not everyone, Jack, not everyone.
He moved around the car, pitched the large duffel bag he was carrying into the backseat, and climbed into the passenger seat. “Okay, what now, Kat?”
She put the car in gear and pulled out. “Now we go to meet my friends, and we’ll tell you just what is going on and see if you have any ideas on how to help us.”
“Before we get there, does this help include protecting you from physical danger?” he asked.
When she hesitated and finally nodded, he reached over the seat and pulled his duffel bag onto his lap. He unzipped it and pulled a small semiautomatic pistol and holster from inside.
Throwing the duffel back over the seat, he clipped the holster to his belt and pulled his shirttail out to cover it. Grinning, he faced forward and said, “Better safe than sorry.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, all introductions having been made, they were seated in a private dining room at the IHOP restaurant.
Dillard looked around at the group. “If you folks don’t mind, I’m gonna order breakfast, since Kat called me this morning before I’d had time to eat.”
After the waiter had brought them all coffee and taken their orders, Kat said, “Jack, I have known you all of my life, but my partners have no idea who you are or what you do for a living. Would you mind terribly telling them a little about yourself?”
“Okay, Kat. Here’s the short version. I’m an ex-marine . . . uh, scratch that. There are no ex-marines—once a marine, always a marine. For the past thirty years I have been flying people and cargo into and out of some of the worst hellholes in the world. I have also, on occasion hired on as a mercenary if I thought the fight was worth fighting. I once spent about six months working as a private investigator, but the work was too boring—nothing like on TV. I fly a Cessna 425, otherwise known as a Conquest I, and I am an expert in electronic surveillance, as well as an expert with just about any weapon known to man. I do not hire myself or my expertise out unless I am in full sympathy with whomever needs my help.”
He looked around the table and spread his arms. “Is that enough?”
When everyone nodded, he smiled and said, “Good, ’cause I think our waiter is on the way with our grub. So why don’t we eat while you all tell me something about yourselves?”
* * *
When they had finished eating and Dillard had heard each of their stories, he took a sip of his after-meal coffee and said, “So, let me summarize. Kat is a medical doctor who quit medicine to do research, Burton is a Ph.D. who has pretty much always been in research, Sheila is an internist who specializes in old people and people with endocrine problems, and Kevin is a student studying organic chemistry who evidently has quite a crush on Kat. Is that about right?”
“Uh . . . I don’t . . . that is . . .” Kevin stammered, his face flaming red.
Dillard grinned and held up his hand. “Oh, don’t worry, Kevin. I told you I’ve had to live by my wits for the past thirty years, and being observant is part of that. I just noticed the way you look at Kat and how you moved your chair a little closer to her, as if to protect her if need be. Your feelings are nothing to be ashamed of, ’cause I noticed the same look in Kat’s eyes when she looked at you.”
“I don’t . . .” Kat started to object when Dillard held up his hand.
“Save it, Kat, it’s not important. Now, why don’t you good people tell me just what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourselves into?”
It took three refills of coffee before Kat finished telling Dillard about their situation and what was going on. She didn’t give any specifics about the formula, only that it cured certain diseases that Ashby was afflicted with and that it was extremely valuable, also leaving out the exact amount he was willing to pay for the formula.
“So, the other player in all of this is your experimental subject, an ex-professor and current drunk?”
Sheila shrugged. “We needed someone who had nothing to lose and everything to gain by the use of our formula.”
At this point, Kevin pulled out his legal pad and showed Dillard his four bullet points.
“We’ve got one and two covered, but it’s three and four we cannot figure out,” he said.
“So, the bottom line is that you need to find some way to hand this magic formula over to the go-between, Dr. Alexander, and to do it in a way that you cannot be trapped or captured by the detectives that this rich guy Ashby has hired, and then you all want to disappear forever and live to spend the money Ashby is going to pay you?”
“That about sums it up, Jack,” Kevin said.
“Well,” Dillard said, leaning back in his seat and staring at the ceiling, “one way would be for me to kidnap the doctor, blindfold him, and fly him to some remote location where you could hand him the syringes and then blindfold him again and fly him back to Houston.”
“Do you think that’s the best way?” Burton asked, excitement in his voice.
Dillard laughed. “No, of course not. How about FedEx?”
“What?” Kat asked.
Dillard shook his head. “You guys are so caught up in this that you can’t see the forest for the trees. Just package the syringes up and drop them in a FedEx box with a label with Alexander’s address on it. I assume the syringes aren’t heat-sensitive?”
Burton slapped his forehead with his palm. “Why didn’t we think of that? It is a simple and elegant solution.”
Dillard held up his hand. “That’s only a solution to Kevin’s point three. For point four, disappearing with a shitload of money and staying off of everyone’s radar, including the government’s, is a lot more difficult.”
“Mr. Dillard,” Sheila asked, “do you think you can help us? Like you say, we are scientists and doctors, not secret agents or people experienced in this sort of cat-and-mouse game.”
Dillard stroked his chin and looked around at the group. “Ordinarily, I’d say no and get up and walk away from all of you. In my humble opinion, you have about a ten percent chance of getting away from this with your lives, not to mention the big payoff you’re expecting.”
“But, Jack—” Kat started to say.
“Hold on, Kat,” Dillard interrupted. “I said ‘ordinarily,’ meaning if my favorite cousin wasn’t involved.” He chuckled. “I ought to have my head examined, but I guess I’m in for the duration, with a couple of nonnegotiable demands.”
“What is it you want?” Burton asked.
“First, I at least have to be paid expenses—that plane I mentioned cost me eight hundred seventy-five thousand dollars and costs several hundred dollars an hour to operate, and then there is the business I am going to lose working with you guys twenty-four/seven.”
Kat looked around and the others nodded. “How about this, Jack? If you can wait until we get our payment from Ashby, we’ll guarantee you two million dollars plus any and all expenses.”
Dillard grinned. “That payoff I was talking about must be very healthy for you to offer me that much, but hell, yes, that will do nicely.”
“What about the other conditions?” Burton asked, giving Kat a dirty look for offering so much to Dillard.
“First and foremost, you must all agree to do exactly as I tell you, without deviation. If any of us are going to get out of this with our skins intact, we need to all be working from the same playbook.”
Burton shrugged and nodded. “I think we can all agree on that.”
“Don’t agree too soon, Burton. It is definitely not going to be easy. First of all, as of right now, each one of you will drop off the grid, and I mean completely off. We are going to go directly from here to rent two or three safe houses. We’ll all stay together in one, and if that one becomes compromised, we’ll go to the next, and so on. There will be no going back to your old residences ever again, so if there are things there that you absolutely cannot replace or live without, make a list and I’ll go in and get them for you.”
“But, why . . . ?” Burton started to ask.
Dillard laughed. “See, Burton, I told you it would not be easy. Listen to me, all of you. If the men Ashby hired are worth their salt, they’ve already got your cars bugged, your houses under surveillance and probably bugged, and your cell phone numbers tagged and bugged, so they know everything you’ve said and probably every place you’ve been for the past several weeks.”
“But we’ve been using burner phones,” Kevin said.
“Did you take the batteries out of your regular phones, and did you carry them with you?”
Kevin’s face flared red. “Oh shit! I forgot about the batteries.” He looked at Dillard and then dropped his eyes. “I told everyone not to use their phones, but I forgot about the damn batteries.”
“Crap,” Burton exclaimed. “That means they probably know about the lab house in Conroe.”
“We’d better call Jordan and have him clear out,” Kat said.
Dillard shook his head. “Uh-uh, too late for that. They’ve probably got the house under surveillance.”
He thought for a moment. “Evidently, they’re not quite ready to grab you or they would have already done it. Ashby is probably waiting for you to give him the injection and to make sure everything goes well before he makes his move to take you all out and get the formula for himself.”
“But,” Sheila interjected, “how can you be sure he is going to double-cross us? Maybe he’s just going to get the injection and be satisfied to be cured of his medical problems.”
Jack laughed. “Dr. Goodman, that is probably what you and ninety percent of normal, decent people would do. They’d thank God for their second chance and go on with their lives. But, and it is a big but, we are not dealing with a normal, decent human being here. We’re dealing with a very rich man who has gotten rich, most likely, by never accepting half a loaf when he could take the whole loaf by force.”
He sighed and took a breath. “Okay, I could be wrong, but think about it. If I am wrong and Ashby means you all no harm and does intend to go through with the deal as planned, what have we hurt by taking the precautions I’m advocating? Nothing. Then the deal will go through, you’ll get your money, and you will have wasted only some of it by paying me.”
He paused and looked around at the group, staring into each of their eyes one by one. “But if I am right and he plans, as Sheila says, a double cross, then the two million you are paying me will be the best money you’ve ever spent.”