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When Steve Hutchings stepped off the plane in Cheyenne, Wyoming, he knew the shit was about to hit the fan. The area was well lit as the last flight of the night disembarked. Four men in suits by the terminal doors one hundred feet away were easily spotted.
Hutchings tried to blend in with the small group. Head down and carry-on bag in his left hand, he shuffled along. He still wore his dark brown suit and tie, though they were slightly rumpled from the long day.
He tried not to make eye contact, but it didn’t work. The four men repositioned when he reached the doors and blocked his path.
Fuck it. Let’s get this over with.
“Steven Hutchings, if you could come with us.” The first man was five foot six and had a medium build, dark hair, and mid-forties.
“Why the hell would I want to do that, kid?”
“We would like to ask you a few questions.” Two men flanked him, and one stood behind at an arm’s reach.
“Identification.”
The man in front glanced at his companions. “Don’t make this difficult.”
Hutchings had enough. Punk-assed kids. He pulled out his wallet and flicked the badge open. “Sergeant Hutchings, Arrow Point Police Department. Identify yourself, or get the fuck out of my way.”
Several people stood behind as the doors were blocked, and they couldn’t leave or step around them. Steve had no doubt cell phones were out and recording. Everyone wanted to be famous for a viral video. He counted on it.
The man’s eyes flicked from Hutchings to the crowd of people behind him and back to his companions. Then, to the police officer’s surprise, an ID was produced.
“Special Agent Louden, FBI. Come with us, please.”
Hutchings tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace. “See? Was that so hard? I’ll cooperate once I have verified your identification. Unfortunately, I was recently attacked by someone claiming to be from the bureau. So, you can understand my hesitation.”
Steve tucked his wallet away and reached for his cell phone, but a strong hand clamped down on his wrist, and the large man behind him whispered in his ear. “You can walk out of here, or we can carry you. Decide now.”
Hutchings’s arm twitched, and there was no give. It felt like he was trapped in a vise. Maybe if he were younger, but those days were gone.
“Ya, ya. Call off the goon. Quit wasting time, and let’s get this over with. It’s been a long day, kid, and I’m tired.”
With a nod to his companion, Louden led Hutchings away. The small crowd was disappointed when nothing happened.
Steve hoped Hunter was having better luck. Their small advantage was over, and the feds were in the game.
Instead of heading inside, Hutchings was surprised when they did an about-turn, and he was escorted out onto the tarmac.
*****
THE REPORT FROM GORDON on the near-miss with Noah Hunter and possibly Leslie Taylor filtered through certain channels and landed on a stainless-steel desk. Three hours later, another statement by Special Agent Louden was printed out and placed on top.
Sean Cameron made a decision several steps above his paygrade.
He stepped out of his glass-enclosed office and into an operational cell. Six desks lined three walls of the large room with four or five monitors per station. The fourth wall had a series of monitors and a large screen in the middle.
Angled out from the corner, the polished oak podium had a small screen and keyboard on the flat surface.
When Sean stood behind the podium, he adjusted his glasses and buttoned his blue suit jacket before tapping on the edge with a pen. He stood an inch over six feet and had a stocky build that made the suit appear tight.
“Attention. I need everyone’s attention here.”
The sound of fingers striking keyboards halted as the six technicians swiveled in their chairs.
“We have an Alpha One target scenario. Location only.” When the monitor closest to his shoulder flickered to life as a timer, a few couldn’t hold back a groan. Sean nodded. “We are mandated to have three practice runs per quarter. I’m just following orders. Subject's name is Noah Hunter, last seen boarding a plane at Washington Dulles International Airport.”
A Wyoming driver’s license appeared on the large screen. Another picture was presented. It showed a man with a close-cropped goatee and short dark hair in a suit as he stepped out of a dark-colored SUV next to an older gentleman with short white hair.
“Mr. Hunter never arrived at his destination, and it’s believed he never boarded the plane. So, let’s try and beat last month’s practice. The clock starts now. Any questions?”
The timer started on the monitor.
A woman in the corner shot her hand in the air. “Any known aliases?”
Sean Cameron shook his head. “None.”
“Profession? Skills?” The young man on his left grinned at the challenge.
“Police officer, former military. Skills unknown. He has a thirteen-hour head start.”
Three months ago, they had conducted a similar exercise with a former Navy pilot gone rogue, last seen in Dubai. Again, each training objective was fulfilled with real people on the ground. Far as they knew, it was planned ahead of time. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
“I got financials.”
“Transportation.”
“Airport surveillance.”
“Cell phone pinged in Washington, then in Wyoming at 23:26 hours yesterday.” The man beside him worked his station like a virtuoso. Two keyboards were used simultaneously as a flurry of data streamed across the monitors.
“Have him!” The woman in the corner mirrored her screen on the large monitor. Noah Hunter left the airport and climbed into a dark gray taxi in clear detail.
“Running the taxi medallion.” A large man in his late fifties sitting on the edge of his chair called it out. This team had been working together for over two years like a well-oiled machine. “Flyer’s Taxi Service system breached. Route for 5K11 on screen.”
A map of Washington DC overlaid the GPS coordinates of the taxi in question.
When the vehicle halted on screen, the location was identified. “CVS drugstore on Connecticut Avenue northeast.”
“You are doing good, folks. Keep it up.” Cameron gripped the sides of the podium as he watched the experts track down the cop like a bloodhound on a scent. He couldn’t help but grin at the excitement. He had been doing this for over thirty years, and it never got dull.
“Inside the store?” the woman called out.
“Blind.” There were no cameras inside. “Checking ATM across the street.”
Twelve seconds later, a video of Noah Hunter leaving the drug store appeared on the large screen. It wasn’t perfect with the camera angle, but they all could see him open a package and toss the plastic wrapper in the garbage out front.
“He has a burner phone. We’ll have him in four minutes.”
Sean glanced at the timer on the wall.
They were about to set a new record. It was a shame this wasn’t sanctioned.
Three minutes and twenty seconds later, Sean’s eyes grew wide when the final location of Noah Hunter appeared on the screen. “Well done. Very well done. Fill in the blanks.”
Despite the sinking feeling, he smiled and darted from the room back to his office. Sean had a flight to redirect and to update the others. A tapestry woven with skill decades ago was slowly unraveling. He couldn’t let that happen.