Kirk Russell - Counterfeit Road

‘I could take a lot of offense to that.’

‘You could but don’t take it yet because it’s only speculation and it’s just one idea. Here’s another. You’re being used as a conduit to get information out. Your source is using you. Your source is involved.’

‘That’s absurd. You have no idea what you’re saying.’

‘My killer in the 1989 murder was probably right around twenty-six or seven at the time. He’s dark-haired, medium build, and was experienced with guns when he shot Alan Krueger. People who knew him then believed he worked for our government out of DC. He may have been tied to an investigative unit. He may have worked with our victim on a counterfeit one hundred dollar bill investigation and not just any bills, but the first supernotes. To be that young and working on something like that he must have been tagged as gifted and capable. Today, with a combination of photos and the videotape of the killing we told you about, we got an ID on him.’

‘Who ID’ed him?’

‘A woman whose name I can’t give you yet. She ID’ed him and then struggled with his last name. She was confident about the first name, but not about the last. But I don’t want to give away too much information yet, and you probably don’t either, so let’s do this in steps. I’m going to give you initials and you tell me if they mean anything to you. If they do, then I’m probably right.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘C.G.’

Raveneau heard him breathing. He waited. He looked out at the night, the empty road below and knew he’d hit home. The delay was too long.

‘Why should I believe any of this?’

‘You don’t have to. I can hang up right now. Do you want me to do that?’

‘No, don’t hang up. I just don’t see how it’s possible.’

‘I’m not sure what I believe either, but pieces are coming together and two more people died today. One of them tried to kill my partner and me.’

Fine now sounded as if he was struggling for breath as he said, ‘Greiston. Colin Greiston. He’s on his way out. He gets into SFO sometime in the next few days. He’s going to try to make time to see me.’

‘You don’t want to make that meeting. I’m going to call the FBI and an agent named Mark Coe. He’s the only one you should talk to at this point. Do you have anything you can write with or do you want me to text his cell number to your wife’s phone?’

‘I’ve got something to write with.’

Raveneau gave him Coe’s number and listened as he recited it back. Then he told Fine, ‘I’m going to call him now and you should call in ten minutes, but use your wife’s phone. Just to be safe don’t use your computer or any of your phones. Tell me again when Greiston said he would come through.’

‘Day after tomorrow.’

‘Do you have friends you can stay with?’

‘What?’

‘If I were you I’d go somewhere he won’t look for you.’

The bomb casings were real. Jericho worked as a password on Casey’s laptops and Coe revealed last night the FBI was aware of a Hawaiian link. They got that through an IP address, though not one linked yet to Casey. After his conversation with Coe late last night it was clear the Feds would help hunt for Colin Greiston. He expected to hear more this morning. He hoped Coe would call early and say they had taken him into custody in Washington. But from what Fine said it was just as likely Greiston was on the move and Casey was still missing. Casey was Jericho and losing him was big. Casey could easily have alerted everyone he was in contact with. No doubt they had a plan for shutting everything down.

But in the dawn Raveneau sat in front of a computer looking at a satellite image of the east Mojave Desert. He pulled up articles on the solar thermal plants being built there and thought about the President’s impending west coast trip. When completed, these solar thermal projects would double US solar capacity and become the largest solar installations in the world. He looked at photos of the dry lakebed in the Ivanpah Valley where the plant would be built, and at renderings of what it would look like when finished. He drank more coffee. He mulled over the conversation with Fine last night and then his phone rang.

He hoped it was Coe. He hoped Coe would say they found Casey and arrested Greiston and he and la Rosa could fly home knowing the plot was foiled and Krueger’s killer was on his way to justice. It was la Rosa asking if he’d heard anything yet.

‘Nothing yet.’

‘A lot of this may go down when we’re sitting in an airplane.’

‘It could.’

‘Let’s hope they find Greiston first.’

Raveneau hoped that as well, but he doubted they would. He kept talking with la Rosa and walked out on the small balcony deck. Clouds wrapping Mauna Loa turned pink then crimson in the sunrise. They were leaving for Kona Airport within the hour, their routing a reverse of the flight over, back through Los Angeles and then north.

‘I just don’t get it,’ she said. ‘I don’t get Casey. I don’t get the philosophy. He’s got money. He’s got that beautiful ranch. He’s living in friggin’ Hawaii. What more does he need. Why would someone like him join a conspiracy?’

‘He’s a true believer.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning he’s sure he’s right so things won’t go wrong, or if they do he still did the right thing.’

‘That still doesn’t answer it for me.’

Raveneau walked back in and before closing his laptop and packing, he googled the drive from LAX to the Mojave Desert. The President was vulnerable in the Mojave. The Mojave visit was the type of nightmare scenario Brooks talked about. He didn’t say anything to la Rosa about that until the airport. Then he worried aloud and quietly, sitting with her, talking, sketching the scenario that kept him awake all night. He felt a cold fear that it wasn’t over yet.

On the plane he finally dozed off, but woke with the same worries. Men make history, Casey had told him. History is not something that just happens. It’s not some implacable river. History is created by people with will. Change is driven by need and desire. That was Casey the first time they met. Raveneau listened to the plane’s engines. He kept eyes closed. He turned it all again in his head. When they touched down at LAX and he powered up his phone he stared waiting for the voice mail alert, and there were messages but none from the FBI. As they walked off the plane Raveneau said quietly, ‘We need to go there. The President’s Mojave visit is like a perfect storm.’

‘It’s too big for us, Ben. It’s not our job. It’s beyond us.’

‘The best thing would be to fly on to Vegas, but I think we pick up a rental and drive from here.’

La Rosa sighed. She understood how he got there. She didn’t need him to go through it again. He should call Coe or Brooks if he was so certain and Raveneau kept repeating, the President’s visit is tomorrow. An hour later they were on their way to the Mojave Desert, Raveneau talking as he drove, la Rosa working from a map on her phone.

‘Why aren’t you in some conference call with Coe and Brooks if you’re so certain?’

‘Let’s talk it through first. Let’s get a look at the solar plant and the land. We can fly home from Vegas tomorrow morning if it looks like I’m way off base.’

‘What’s Greiston doing while we’re out here? We could be there when he gets off a plane in San Francisco.’

‘He won’t be there. He won’t do what he told Fine and by now Casey has alerted whatever network they have. They’ve either rolled it up or are thinking they have a short window of time.’

She didn’t answer and he continued. ‘They took a real risk to liberate those bomb casings. These are people willing to take a chance and they don’t have much time. This solar installation is just starting construction. Its main roads might not even be paved and road building is restricted because of desert tortoises they’re trying to save.’