The Burning Edge

36

North Platte, Nebraska

The man known as Dieter Windhorst drifted toward death.

He’d lost his struggle for State Trooper Duane Hanson’s gun when a bullet smashed through his jaw, shredded his optic nerve, then tore into the frontal lobe of his brain.

He’d been rushed from Ogallala, an hour east, to Great Plains, a regional trauma center in North Platte. After three hours of surgery, he lay shackled at the ankle to a hospital bed, his condition deteriorating. In the chair next to him, an FBI agent snapped through Field & Stream magazine, keeping a vigil punctuated by the squeak of soft-soled shoes on polished floors as the nurses checked on him at twenty-minute intervals.

It’d been some twenty-four hours since Trooper Hanson had stopped him.

The doctors said the patient was unlikely to survive much longer.

Across town, in a third-floor room of North Platte’s federal building, a bland three-story red stone structure that evoked a 1960s high school, a growing team of investigators was at work dissecting the mystery surrounding the suspect.

Agent Frank Morrow had arrived with several New York agents the previous night, joining FBI agents from North Platte, Omaha and Denver who were crammed into a meeting room along with local and state investigators. The ad hoc local task force used secure laptops and cell phones to work online and through teleconference calls to federal agents in Chicago, Washington, D.C., Quantico, Manhattan, the NYPD and the bureau’s legal attache at the U.S. embassy in Berlin.

The Ogallala stop was a critical break.

Morrow agreed, the subject’s cobra tattoo was consistent with Lisa Palmer’s description of the one wrapped around the wrist of Agent Dutton’s killer.

Who is our subject? Will he lead us to the others?

They had to confirm his identity.

North Platte P.D. got a clear set of the driver’s fingerprints, which were now being processed through databases in the United States, Canada and Europe, while an Evidence Response Team from the FBI’s Denver office processed his car and the scene.

“We need to ID this man and put him at the scene in Ramapo, or in the area at the time of the hit,” Morrow said.

So far they had received nothing on the prints.

But with each piece of evidence, the scope of the investigation broadened. Chicago confirmed the car was rented at O’Hare. Then Homeland confirmed an air ticket for Dieter Windhorst on an Air Canada flight direct to Chicago from Toronto. Toronto Police Service, the Ontario Provincial Police and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were investigating the subject’s activities in Canada under the alias Dieter Windhorst.

In Nebraska, in the lining of the subject’s jacket, the ERT had found a credit card in the name of Hans Ballack of Munich. Credit card security confirmed Ballack’s identity had been stolen. The card was shut down after one recent fraudulent use at a motel in Teaneck, New Jersey.

“This charge puts our guy, whoever he is, twenty minutes and twenty miles from the heist the day before it happened. He checked out the morning of the crime,” Morrow said before requesting emergency warrants to search the New Jersey motel room the subject had rented and check the IDs and rooms used by every guest. “The heist crew may have launched from this motel.”

At that point identification of the subject’s fingerprints had been confirmed via Interpol, Europol and the BKA, Germany’s equivalent of the FBI.

Suspect identified as Erik Rytter, age twenty-nine. Last known address, Munich. No criminal record, no arrests, convictions or warrants. Not even a traffic infraction.

According to the BKA, Rytter was a former member of the Bundeswehr, Germany’s national defence force. He completed two tours of Afghanistan with the Kommando Spezialkrafte. He’d been a sniper and an explosives expert. Upon returning home to Germany, he pursued a Ph.D in chemical engineering at university but left to become a professional soldier, taking a job with a private international security firm with contracts in Iraq. From there, Rytter’s trail got murky as he continually subcontracted himself to shadowy companies.

The BKA was sending agents to interview Rytter’s relatives and friends.

Rytter’s military expertise and his potential network underscored Morrow’s concern about the people behind the heist. This was no ragtag crew. Morrow updated the Joint Terrorism Task Force, Homeland and several other national security agencies for help probing Rytter’s background as more questions arose.

Was Rytter ever legitimately in the United States under his real name? If so, what was his status? Who were his associates, what were his activities, his travel patterns? Did he have any affiliation with anyone at American Centurion? Did he know Gina Saldino, who gave the crews their delivery spreadsheets?

And where was Saldino?

They’d failed to locate her so far. That Saldino, who had access to all information on routes and deliveries, would take a vacation without any contact information a week before the heist was an aspect of the case that troubled Morrow.

Was she involved?

Morrow returned to his files to review statements and reports, when his cell phone rang.

“Morrow.”

“It’s Darby at the hospital. He’s regained consciousness, but it doesn’t look good.”

Kyle Rice, with North Platte P.D., got Morrow into his unmarked Ford and they roared to the hospital in minutes. Morrow badged his way to Rytter’s room just as Darby exited, shaking his head. Behind him nurses were drawing a sheet over the body before the door closed.

“He never said a word, Frank,” Darby said before Morrow was paged to the phone at reception.

“Morrow, FBI.”

“Captain Wagner, with State Patrol.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“We’re getting calls from local press following up on the bare-bones news release we issued yesterday on the shooting. Now, we don’t want to jeopardize your case, but what more can we tell them at this point?”

“We’d prefer you say nothing further about the suspect. Only that his identity is under investigation.”

“Can we tell them the FBI is involved and this is linked to your armored car heist?”

Hell, no. The last thing Morrow wanted was the three other suspects to learn what had happened. He wanted to use the advantage the FBI had at the moment to capitalize on leads that could bring them closer to the others.

“No. Keep it low-key for now, please.”

“Low-key?”

“Yes, it’s crucial for some of the leads we’re pursuing.”

“You know, Agent Morrow, sooner or later this thing is going to blow open. It was our trooper who put his life on the line to bring in your suspect.”

“Yes, it was outstanding work.”

“Damn straight, and we’d like to inform the public about it.”

“I appreciate that, Captain, but we need time before we can release more details.”

“I hear you, Agent Morrow. We’ll keep things low-key for now, out of respect for the FBI man and the guards you lost back east in the heist.”

“I understand and I appreciate your help, Captain.”

Morrow hung up, ran a hand over his face.

“Excuse me, Agent Morrow?”

He turned and his stomach tensed.