6:04 p.m.
Director Jameson had provided the coordinates to a safe house south of Lancaster near Bear Creek. The house, a short drive from the Overland Steakhouse, was at the end of a long dirt driveway and surrounded by trees. The nearest tree line was no less than fifty meters from the house, so the occupants had a clear line of sight in all directions. Special Agent Cruz steered the Charger toward the two-story house, the roof’s pitch almost flat. The window shades were closed. The exterior of the house was worn, the paint peeling and faded. Sections of siding hung at angles. It was evident the house had seen better days.
She checked the GPS.
Hardy read her thoughts. “Are you sure this is the right place?” He surveyed the house and the surrounding terrain. Tall weeds flanked the Charger. The brown grass had not been mowed in weeks. Dropping a match or flicking a cigarette would have started a forest fire. An old sedan was parked out back. The tires were flat and the driver’s door, along with the windows, was missing. Weeds found their way into the shell of what at one time had been a nice car.
Cruz stepped on the brake pedal. “The GPS says we’re here.”
Hardy put a shoulder to the door. “Well, let’s hope we’re all current on our tetanus shots.” He got out and ascended the stairs that led to the front porch.
Cruz joined him; Charity was two paces behind them.
“Uh…how do we get in?” He eyed the solid steel door with no doorknob.
Cruz ran her fingers around the bottom of a mailbox attached to the side of the house. Finding what she was looking for, she pushed up and the right side of the mailbox popped open. A numeric keypad had been built into the siding. She pressed numbers, corresponding to the security code Jameson had sent, and hit ‘enter.’ A sound similar to briefcase latches releasing—only louder—was heard and the heavy door opened a crack.
“Cool. You FBI people have the neatest gadgets.”
Cruz and Charity exchanged a glance. Men and their toys.
He shoved the door the rest of the way open. The house was dark, but a faint light came from around the window shades. Feeling for a switch on the wall, he slid his hand upward and three lamps lit the room. Judging by the condition of the exterior, Hardy had expected the inside to be a mess.
The living room was nicely decorated. To the left, a stone fireplace with a flat-screen television was mounted above the opening. The fireplace faced a large wooden coffee table to his right. The table was surrounded by sectional sofas, arranged in the shape of a ‘U.’ Behind each sectional, a sofa table supported a lamp. In the far right corner, another flat-screen television, two straight back lounge chairs, two ottomans and a coffee table—complete with a video game console—formed a cozy gaming area.
Hardy advanced further into the room, admiring the hardwood flooring. Letting out a low whistle, he said, “Very nice.” A wooden staircase, accessed from the right side of the fireplace, rose to the second floor. The staircase passed in front of the chimney on a diagonal.
Cruz slipped past him and headed straight for the kitchen at the back of the house. Passing the dining area, she noted the large oak table surrounded by six solid wood chairs. The kitchen cabinets, baseboard trim and flooring were also made of hardwood and stained a dark color.
While she continued to inspect the kitchen, Hardy walked past the fireplace and made a button hook. “I’m going to check out the upstairs.”
He did a ‘one-eighty’ at the top of the stairs, his fingers dragging across the rough stones of the chimney and walked down the upstairs’ hallway. He leaned over a wooden railing to the right and could see most of the main floor.
Four doors were lined up on the left side. The first and last one led to bedrooms, each room set up the same—bunk beds against the left wall and a flat-screen television on the wall across from them. A desk and chair in one corner and two dressers in the opposite corner rounded out the floor plan.
The second and third doors led to bathrooms. The left bathroom had the sink, toilet and shower against the right wall. Shelves holding towels, washcloths, bathmats and toiletries were on the left wall. The right bathroom was a ‘mirror-image’ of the left.
Hardy descended the stairs and saw Charity rummaging through the refrigerator. He veered left and checked out the two rooms on the first floor. One was a bedroom, arranged like the others, except with a queen size bed, and the other was a third bathroom. Can’t have too many bathrooms, I guess.
A duffle bag slung over a shoulder, Cruz entered the back door and dumped her suitcase on the kitchen floor. She poked a finger at the luggage and glanced at Charity. “You should be able to find some clothes in there that fit.”
“Thank you.” Charity closed the refrigerator and picked up the suitcase. “There’s not much to eat.” She took a bite of a juicy Jonagold apple and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m,” she chewed and talked, “going to take a hot shower.”
“You have your choice of two upstairs,” Hardy jerked a thumb behind him, “or one down here.”
Charity sunk her teeth into the apple and sloughed upstairs, the suitcase bouncing off her leg with every other step.
Cruz slipped the duffle bag off her shoulder, dropped it onto the dining room table and unzipped it. “I parked the car around back, so it wouldn’t be seen from the road.” She fumbled around inside the bag before handing Hardy two full magazines for the MP5. After clipping a double-magazine pouch—two full pistol magazines inside—to her belt, she slid the zipper on the duffle all the way to the right and faced Hardy, who had already inserted one of the magazines into the rifle and was shoving the second into the back pocket of his jeans. The hiss of water sounded from the upstairs shower.
Hardy set the rifle on the table and pulled out a chair. “How long before someone from your agency shows up?” He sat and let out a sigh. “And, how did that guy know my name?”
Cruz shook her head. “He knew mine, too.” She put her cell phone to her ear and ran her fingers through her hair. “Whoever he was, he seemed—” she stopped talking to Hardy and spoke to the cell. “Director Jameson, it’s Cruz. We’re at the safe house. The witness is secure. How far out is your team?”
“They’re airborne and should be on-site in ninety minutes.”
She caught Hardy’s eye and mouthed the words ‘ninety minutes.’ “We were almost too late.”
“What do you mean?”
She relayed the events to Jameson. “How many people knew the witness was at the restaurant? Unless those men followed Charity, how could they have gotten there so fast?” She paused. “Who was with you when you called me?”
Jameson was lost in his thoughts.
“Sir, are you still there?”
Jameson shook his head. “I’m here. I was alone in my office with the door closed. I contacted nobody, except the men who are on their way to you right now.”
“Then my question still stands. How did they know the witness was at the restaurant?”
“I don’t know, Cruz, but I plan to get to the bottom of this.”
“In what case is our witness testifying? Who’s being charged with murder?”
“Hector Gutierrez,” said Jameson.
“You mean the Mexican mafia crime boss?”
“Yes. A prostitute was killed in a hotel room in Texas, near the border. Miss Sinclair was staying at the same hotel. She is very…proficient with computers. While she was working with her laptop, she gained access to the hotel’s security cameras and witnessed the murder.”
“I’m assuming that when you say she gained access, you mean she hacked the system.” The shower stopped running and her eyes shifted upstairs. “Why didn’t she go to the police?”
“She did. By the time the police arrived, the security footage had been corrupted. That’s when the FBI got involved and put Miss Sinclair in protective custody.”
Cruz put her fingers to her lips. “So, the FBI is attempting to prosecute a man based on a woman witnessing a murder through security footage that is now corrupt. I’m not a lawyer, but that sounds like quite a stretch.”
“It is, but if we can get this charge to stick, then we can take one more criminal out of the equation. It’s worth a try.”
“Where’s Gutierrez, now?”
“He’s in federal custody, waiting for his trial.”
“Then, it’s safe to say that the men who broke into the safe house and the men who were at the restaurant are working for Gutierrez.”
“It’s a very good chance. I’ll call you when I get more. I think it’s also wise to keep our phone calls to a minimum. We don’t know how they’re getting their information, so watch your back, Cruz.” Jameson ended the call.