teams? Standard two-by-four.”
Tyler stepped out of the van into the long shadows of the low afternoon sun and stretched, rolling his shoulders around to loosen them up as he waited for the teams to assemble.
It was dark outside. Two hours of searching and nothing. Was it possible that they had slipped through his fingers again? Tyler stood on the mezzanine and looked down over the first-floor shoppers. No. Somewhere in this huge complex, they were hiding. The exits were covered, and the police had an outer cordon around that. There was no way out.
Hutchens appeared at the top of the escalator and jogged over.
“Anything?” Tyler asked.
“Nothing. We’ve been through all the storerooms, warehouses, washrooms, janitors’ closets, everywhere.”
“They’re here somewhere,” Tyler said. “Bring in a dog team; see if they can pick up the scent. Get something personal from their desks at CDD.”
He punched a button on his cell phone. “Gordon, it’s Tyler. Anything suspicious?”
Gordon’s voice sounded a little harassed through the cell phone. “No, sir. I’m closely monitoring every camera in the building myself, and I’ll let you know at once if I see any trace of your three missing agents.”
“Thanks, Gordon,” Tyler said, and rang off.
An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him, but that wasn’t it. Something troubled him about that call. He drummed his fingers on the polished wood railing of the mezzanine floor, thinking. How had Gordon known the fugitives were CDD agents? He hadn’t mentioned that, had he?
“We have a positive identification on the girl,” Hutchens said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Where and when?”
“An hour or so ago. A store assistant at Walmart remembers her. Paid cash.”
“What did she buy?”
“Wigs, fake beards, that kind of thing.”
“Send me pictures of the clothes now,” Tyler said, and waited a second or two while Hutchens flashed through images. “Control?”
“Control here.”
“Feed me through the central mall cameras, last two hours, ten-second intervals, two per second.”
“On its way.”
Tyler shut his eyes and waited for the images to arrive. The center of the mall appeared in his vision, and he watched carefully. There! A young couple: a blond male and a female with long black hair, cuddling each other as they walked through the mall. Behind them a male in a Windbreaker and a woolen hat. That had to be Sam.
He traced their progress through the mall, then lost them in a crush of shoppers. He tried a different camera angle, without success. And another.
Where were they?
He alerted his teams and picked up the phone to call Gordon again.
34 | THE PHANTOM
Sam watched Dodge sleep. Even the sound of the ringing phone did not disturb him at all. His face was peaceful. He lay curled in a ball on the floor of the office.
“Security, Gordon.” The security officer answered the call on speakerphone, as Sam had instructed.
“Gordon, it’s Tyler again. New information. The fugitives have changed their appearance, using wigs and beards. They have also changed their clothing.” Tyler went on to describe their outfits and appearance. Gordon jotted it all down carefully, all the time staring at the people who were being described.
“Okay, got that,” Gordon said at last. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now. Keep us informed.”
Gordon hung up the phone.
“Good boy,” Vienna said pleasantly, aiming Gordon’s own gun at him.
Their CDD security IDs had got them through the door, and Vienna had swiftly relieved Gordon of his sidearm.
Gordon must have been in his fifties, Sam thought, and looked as though he had been doing this job all his life. His stomach hung heavy over a straining belt, and if his nose reflected the state of his liver, then his liver was in real trouble. His complexion was ruddy, and his uniform wouldn’t recognize an iron. He hadn’t been happy when Vienna had taken his gun, and he looked less happy every minute.
Dodge stirred and snorted in his sleep. Sam looked at the tattoo on his forehead and hoped that wasn’t too close to the truth. Was Dodge’s brain now just a biohazardous wasteland?
“Should I wake him up?” Sam asked. “Isn’t it bad for people who have concussions or something to sleep?”
“Let him sleep,” Vienna said. “That concussion thing is just a myth. Right now his brain is trying to repair itself. Let’s just hope that when he wakes up, he’s okay.”
“And if he isn’t?”
She didn’t reply.
Tyler retraced the steps of the three fugitive CDD agents through the main thoroughfare of the mall, stopping every few paces to close his eyes and compare the neuro-fed images from the security cameras with his surroundings.
Hutchens, a pace in front, ran interference, cutting a path for him through the crowd. Not that it took much doing: the black combat suits and helmets acted as a natural defoliant, a crowd repellent.
The dogs had picked up the trail of the fugitives in the rear storeroom of Walmart but had lost it in the heavily trafficked main thoroughfare.
“Right here,” Tyler said. “This is the last image we have of them. After that they move out of range of the camera, and they don’t appear on the next one.”
He looked to the left and the right. To the right, a jewelry store with a huge fake diamond rotating slowly in the window joined onto a clothing store for teenagers.
“We’ve looked everywhere,” Hutchens said. “Storerooms, changing rooms, everywhere. And there are no rear exits.”
“Come with me,” Tyler said. “I want to pay a visit to our friend Gordon in security.”
“Where the bleedin’ hell are we?”
Sam jumped. He had almost nodded off. He spun around to see Dodge sitting up, looking around with suspicion and concern.
“Dodge! You’re awake!” he said with huge relief in his voice.
“And the sky is blue, and the Bears are going to win the World Series,” Dodge said. “Is it state-the-bleedin’- obvious day today, or are you just practicing for stupid school?”
“Tell me your name,” Sam said, peering as deeply as he could into Dodge’s eyes, not sure what he was looking for. He tried to remember the questions they asked on TV shows to see if a person was properly conscious.
“Fozzie Bear, what’s yours? Ya muppet.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Sam asked, holding up three.
“I dunno. How many fingers am I holding up?” Dodge replied, holding up just one middle finger. “Now where the bleedin’ hell are we?”
“Security center at the Great Mall,” Vienna said from her chair at the control panel. The pistol sat on the desk in front of her, right by her hand. It still pointed at the guard.
“Why?” Dodge asked.
