Twenty-five minutes south of the border Ferg’s laptop revealed that Graves had exited the I-5 and was entering a small town called Ferndale.
He immediately notified his team, who were about an hour away, then narrowed the gap between his vehicle and Graves’s truck so that they were only a block apart.
Graves slowly drove past a bar called the Main Street Bar and Grill. It was the second-last building on the block. He turned right onto a side street.
Ferg followed and saw that the street was wide enough for vehicles to be parked nosed to the curb. He then spotted Graves getting out of his truck and continued past before parking farther down the street.
Graves walked back toward the main street.
Ferg quickly updated his team and followed Graves on foot. As he approached the corner, he noticed a bearded man sitting in a blue Dodge Ram crew cab pickup truck nosed up to the curb. The truck had a winch on the front and also a canopy on the back.
As he passed the front of the truck he was conscious of the man staring at him. Coincidence? He nonchalantly glanced around and memorized the plate. The buildings are commercial and closed for Sunday. Odd place to be waiting for someone.
A moment later he rounded the corner where Graves had gone, but could no longer see him. The only place open was the bar, so he paused to quickly jot the licence plate number of the pickup on his wrist, then headed toward the bar. As he opened the door, Graves literally brushed past him on his way out. He was with another man — clean-shaven with short brown hair, Ferg noted. He looked to be about thirty years old.
Ferg continued inside the bar, then glanced around briefly to make it appear to anyone watching that he may have been looking for a friend. He then went back outside.
The door to the bar was slightly inset from the building and he was able to peek around the corner in time to see Graves and the other man turn right at the side street where Graves had parked his truck.
Okay, the guy in the Ram … is he a lookout or not?
Ferg kept to the shadows and crept up to the corner and took a peek. The man with the beard was still in his truck, but Graves and the clean-cut looking man had continued on past his truck, as well as Graves’s own truck.
Do I follow or stay put and risk losing them? He grimaced as he looked at his wrist, then called in the licence plate number to the truck. The answer he received told him he couldn’t walk past the Dodge Ram truck again. The plate was registered to a red Chevy sedan. Oh yeah, they’ve got counter-surveillance.
Ferg’s next call was to his team, who reported that they were thirty minutes away. “We don’t have thirty minutes,” Ferg replied. “The deal is happening now.” A flash of light caught his eye. “Hang on, the yahoo in the Ram flashed his headlights. Wait … yup, it’s what I figured. The guy in the Ram gave them the all clear. Graves and the clean-cut guy are walking back toward him.”
Ferg watched as the man with the beard got out and went to the back and opened the rear door on the canopy as Graves and his associate joined him. Perfect.
Ferg then whispered into his phone. “I gotta go. The deal is happening right in front of me.” As he pulled out his weapon, the bearded man handed Graves a backpack from out of the canopy. While the three men were distracted looking at the bag, Ferg scooted up the street toward them — his soft-soled rubber shoes not betraying his approach.
“Don’t move!” he yelled. “You’re under arrest!”
Three faces turned and gawked. He partially crouched behind them in a shooter’s stance, levelling his pistol straight at them. “All of you! Hands in the air!” He motioned Graves with the muzzle of his pistol. “Drop the bag! Do it!”
The bag landed with a clunk from the guns inside and all three raised their hands.
“Lace your fingers over your head and drop to your knees!”
The three men slowly started to comply.
Ferg’s aim was steady. He’d made many arrests in his career and hadn’t become complacent when it came to maintaining an acute focus of every eye movement or unspoken signal that their faces might portray.
It was only at the last second that his thoughts were diverted by a truck rapidly approaching from behind. By then, it was too late.
Ferg’s body was impacted with the grille first and then flung in the air. His first instinct was to protect his head and cup his arms around his temples, but he was too late. The back of his head hit the windshield and he heard the crunch of glass as it spider-webbed out from the back of his skull. Next came the squealing of tires as the driver applied the brakes. The momentum sent his body flying off the hood and tumbling down the road.
Despite multiple broken bones he was still conscious, and, for a moment, still in shock as his brain started to process the pain. He heard the driver get out and run toward him. For a brief moment he thought … or hoped … it was an accident.
A balding man of about sixty looked down on him. His face … I’ve seen it before.
Another man, also sporting a beard, appeared beside the older man.
“Where the hell were you?” the older man asked the new arrival.
“Across the street like I was supposed to be. I only had one car to hide behind and, as you can see, it’s a little farther down.”
“Too far to get a good shot in,” the older man surmised.
“Yeah, I seen he had his gun out. I was gonna wait until he was busy handcuffin’ them, then make my move.”
The three other men’s faces appeared over him and the older man looked at them. “He’s still alive,” he stated, then looked down at Ferg.
Christ, he’s holding a pistol with a silencer. He’s going to kill me. Betty, I’m so sorry. I love you so —
The older man spoke to him. “Y’all didn’t think I’d let you arrest my boy now, did you?”
Ferg didn’t reply. His breathing was laboured and came in shallow, painful gasps.
The man then looked at Graves and gestured to him with the silencer on the muzzle of his gun. “You led ’im right to us.” His words sounded matter-of-fact.
“I did everything I was supposed to,” Graves protested.
“They obviously know about you,” the older man stated.
Graves shrugged and looked at the others. “I don’t know how,” he replied.
The older man cleared his throat. “You understand that a man has to protect his family, don’t you boy?”
“What? No! I’d never tell —”
A hole appeared in Graves’s forehead and blood squirted out the back of his skull. His body landed with a thud beside Ferg. The older man stared down at the body. “May the Lord have mercy upon your soul.”
He then looked at Ferg. “And may he have mercy upon your soul, as well.”