There was another short silence. Again, Linderman spoke first.
“How are you going to do that, Jack?”
“I located the blond-haired guy in the photo. The profiler. He owns a call center business in Fort Lauderdale that processes drive-through orders for McDonald's restaurants in the state. That's how he's finding the gang's victims. I'm going to pay him a visit and make him tell me where Melinda is.”
“Make him
I didn't answer, which was all the answer Linderman needed.
“Jack, this is a dangerous road you're going down,” Linderman said.
I wasn't going to argue with him there.
“Care to join me?” I asked.
I heard Linderman breathing heavily into the phone. The truth was, there was no other road to go down. If the FBI or the police arrested Paul Coffen, he would hire an attorney and clam up, and we'd never find out where Melinda was being held, which was the equivalent of signing her death warrant.
I heard Linderman rise from his chair. Then I heard movement. I imagined him pacing the floor with the phone pressed to his ear while wrestling with his conscience. I'd done the same thing plenty of times when I was a cop. All cops did.
“All right, Jack,” he said. “I'll do it your way. What's your game plan?”
“I'm in Orlando, about to drive back to Fort Lauderdale,” I said. “I'll call you when I arrive, and we'll meet up at this guy's office, and pay him a visit.”
“Are you going to tell me this guy's name?”
“Not until tomorrow,” I said.
There was another silence, punctuated by Linderman's heavy breathing.
“Are you're planning to use force to make this guy talk?”
“Do you have another suggestion?” I asked.
Linderman did not reply.
“I also have a request,” I said.
“What's that?”
“I want you to send your best agents to Starke to cover Skell when he's released.”
“That's already been taken care of,” Linderman said. “Special Agent Saunders and his partner are at Starke right now. They'll be tailing Skell the moment he walks out the front gates.”
I watched a car pass through the tollbooth in front of me. The FBI had a high opinion of itself. But when it came to deception, my opinion of Skell was much higher. Two FBI agents could not adequately cover him, no matter how well trained.
“That's not good enough,” I said.
“Excuse me?” Linderman said.
“Having two agents watch Skell isn't good enough,” I said, raising my voice. “This guy is a meticulous planner. He's been thinking about this day for six months, and he has a plan that's taken all these things into consideration.”
“How can you be so certain?” Linderman asked.
I sipped my coffee. The answer to that question was simple.
“I just am,” I said.
“I'll call Saunders and suggest he add another team, ” Linderman said.
“Four agents total?”
“That's right.”
“Make it six,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“Make it six agents. Three teams of two agents, each team assigned to watch Skell for four hours at a time so they're always sharp. Otherwise, they're bound to slip up.”
“This is outrageous, Jack. You can't be telling the FBI what to do.”
“If you don't do it, I won't call you tomorrow when I reach Fort Lauderdale.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Call it whatever you want. That's the deal.”
I heard Linderman bump into something and curse.
“You're being unreasonable,” he said. “The Bureau is fully aware of the threat that Skell poses. Come to Fort Lauderdale and I'll help you find Melinda Peters. In the meantime, stop worrying about Skell.”
There was a finality to his words that should have made me stop. But I didn't.
“I want six agents watching Skell, and I won't settle for anything less,” I said. “That's the deal. Take it or leave it.”
“What has gotten into you?” he said angrily.
“I'm hanging up the phone,” I said.
Linderman let out an exasperated breath.
“All right, Jack. You win. Six agents. You have my word.”
“I'll call you when I arrive,” I said.
Before I could say good-bye, Linderman slammed down the phone. He sounded mad as hell, and I told myself he'd get over it. I entered the tollbooth and got my ticket, then started my drive to Fort Lauderdale in the lightning and pouring rain.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The downpour turned to a light drizzle around the Vero Beach exit. The highway was humming with vehicles, the water flying up from their wheels in a dangerous but hypnotic ballet. I stayed in the right lane, my speedometer clocking a steady fifty. I wanted to go faster, but there was too much standing water on the road. Barring any delays, I would be home by five a.m.
I had driven this stretch of highway enough times to know its landmarks. One of the most significant was the service center eight miles south of Vero. Reaching it, I left the dead zone I'd been traveling in since Kissimmee, and my cell phone came to life.
A minute later my phone's message bell chimed. I dialed up voice mail and found two messages waiting for me.
The first message was from Rose. It had come in shortly after I hit the road. My wife was lying in bed, and called to say how much she loved me. I'd forgotten the powerful effect those three words had on me, and I listened to the message several times before erasing it.
The second message was from Jessie, and it came in right after my wife's. I could tell from the exuberance in my daughter's voice that she'd spoken to Rose and heard the news about our reconciliation. When Jessie was happy, she talked a mile a minute, and the voice mail cut her off in midsentence. I listened to her message a second time, then erased it as well.
As I neared the Stuart exit fifty minutes later I weighed calling my wife and daughter back. Both were early risers, and I couldn't think of anything I would have enjoyed more than hearing their cheerful voices to begin my day.
I decided against it. If I called them, my wife and daughter would hear the apprehension in my voice and know something was wrong. To be honest, I didn't want to hear it myself, for I just might realize how afraid I was of what lay ahead.
