Over the next couple of days Jack monitored Graves’s pickup truck movements over his laptop, but didn’t see anything to arouse his curiosity. A trip to a grocery store that Graves made confirmed that the GPS was working properly.
It was noon on Sunday when Roger called Jack at home.
“The name Zombie came across our wiretap,” Roger said. “Two of the Death Heads were chatting about him.”
“What are their names?”
“Lyon Downes and Jimmy Ferris. In the call Lyon said he just got back from meeting Zombie.”
“A couple of days ago Laura and I managed to get a tracker on Zombie’s, or I should say Graves’s, pickup. I can tell you that it hasn’t moved all morning.”
“Maybe Downes met him at his apartment or someplace close to there.”
“Maybe,” Jack agreed.
“Downes told Ferris that Zombie would bring them a six-pack of beer to the party in the next day or two. I’m betting they ordered six guns.”
“I’d say so,” Jack replied. “That’s great news. Love it when a plan comes together.”
“The thing is, I can’t spare anyone to watch Zombie at the moment. We think two from the United Front are going out to waste someone today.”
“Their targets wouldn’t be Downes and Ferris, would they?”
“We don’t know. It sounds like they’re planning to scout out a few places that the Death Heads frequent. Restaurants and the like.”
Jack briefly imagined the potential carnage for families having Sunday brunch at some restaurant. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Sounds like you’re busy. No worries as far as I go. I’ve got the tracker on and a bunch of ATF agents who are eager to take over south of the border. I’ll set up on Graves. If he goes south he might not be coming back — or if he does, he’ll be labelled a rat.”
“Either way would be great. If my people get free, I’ll send them over to lend you a hand, otherwise let me know, will you?”
“You got it. Thanks for the info.”
Jack immediately called Ferg and gave him the details.
“Good chance he’ll be heading down to Seattle to pick ’em up,” Ferg noted.
“Very good chance,” Jack agreed. “That’s only about an hour and forty-five minutes south of the border.”
“I’ll contact my guys in Seattle to have a team on standby to head north and meet up with him at a moment’s notice. Who knows, he might lead us to the Coggins brothers.”
“That’d be perfect. It’d be nice if they were all busted down your way.”
“What do you want done with Graves? Let him go, or bust him?”
“He met with a member from a gang called the United Front this morning. It would be okay to bust him. I think the heat would go to someone in the United Front and not my guy.”
“Sounds good. We’ll play it by ear. If we catch him red-handed doing the deal we’ll take him down then. Otherwise, we may jump him as soon as he heads north again and take him down with the six he came to get. That would also give us grounds for a warrant to search wherever or whoever we figured he got them from.”
“Good. Thanks.”
“Any time amigo. Any time.”
* * *
An hour later, Jack parked his SUV where he could watch Graves’s pickup. Except for when Graves made a short trip to a drive-through for fast food, there was no other activity for the rest of the afternoon.
At 6:30 p.m. Roger called. “I’ve some rather interesting news,” he said. “My team took down the United Front boys … Downes and Ferris. Caught ’em each with a Kel-Tec 9mm pistol.”
“The ones the Death Heads were using were Glocks,” Jack noted.
“I know, but guess what; the Kel-Tecs we seized were stolen from the gun shop in Arkansas. The same store the FBI thinks was robbed by the Coggins brothers in Alabama.”
“No kidding!”
“It looks to me like Graves is playing both sides of the fence,” Roger noted.
“Pretty dangerous thing to do,” Jack replied.
“No shit. I’d be tempted to let the gangers on both sides know. They’d probably take care of him for us.”
“Except some innocent schmuck might get killed.”
“That’s the problem. So … give my people a couple hours to do the paperwork and then I can send them your way if you like.”
“Thanks, but it sounds like they’re busy enough. Except for grabbing a bite to eat, Graves hasn’t moved his truck all day. The tracker is working good. If he does head to the border, I can handle it myself.”
At 8:00 p.m. Graves went to his truck. Unlike when he went to the restaurant earlier, this time he crawled underneath first.
Stay out of your tool box, jerk.…
A moment later he finished his search and drove away.
Jack felt the adrenalin surge as he called Ferg to tell him what happened.
“I’m on it!” Ferg exclaimed. “Grabbing my coat as we speak.”
Jack heard Betty’s voice in the background say, “Again? You better not be making this up to keep from doing the dishes. If you come back with beer on your breath you’ll be sleeping in the barn!”
Jack smiled to himself, then ended the call. He then used his laptop to follow Graves, and thirty minutes later called Ferg to give him an update.
“Graves is in the lineup to cross the border,” Jack reported. “Looks like he’ll be about fifteen or twenty minutes judging by how many people are ahead of him.”
“Not bad for Sunday traffic,” Ferg noted. “My team’s on their way. I’ll call them and let them know. We’ll talk again once he clears. By then, I should be there.”
Fifteen minutes passed, then Jack called Ferg again. “He’s cleared Customs. You watching on laptop?”
“You betcha,” Ferg said, then muttered, “That’s right. Come to papa, baby, come to papa.”
“Good luck, hombre,” Jack said. “Wish I could be there to join in on the fun.”
“No worries. My guys are leaving the outskirts of Seattle as we speak. With the tracker, we’ll be able to gift wrap him for you.”
“He’s your gift, and I have a no return policy.”
Ferg chuckled.
“Happy hunting, and let me know how it goes.”