Chris Mooney - The Missing

Evan, standing in the far corner of the room, stared at the tops of his shoes for a moment before addressing the crowd.

'I know there's been some bad blood between police agencies and the Boston office. As far as I'm concerned, this is Detective Banville's investigation. We were asked to assist, and that's what we're here to do. We're all after the same goal – to find Carol Cranmore and bring her home. I don't care who gets credit for it.

'That being said, I can't stress enough how important it is for each of you to approach this cautiously. If you see someone or something suspicious, call it in immediately. We only have one shot at this, and we can't afford to spook him. Always assume he's watching, because he is.'

Solemn nods and blank stares around the room.

Banville spent the next half hour explaining how the streets and roads would be blocked off. If Traveler was listening somewhere in that half-mile radius, there would be no way he could escape.

The meeting broke up. People got out of their seats.

Evan inched his way through the crowd to the back of the room.

'This could be a long waiting game,' he told Darby and Coop. 'Why don't you two head back to the lab, see if there's anything you can find about the tan fiber. I'll call you the second I find out something.'

'Our boss wants us here,' Coop said.

'There's no guarantee he'll be listening this morning,' Evan said. 'It could be sometime this afternoon. You'd be better off using your time at the lab.'

'A case like this creates a lot of confusion – a lot of people are going to go straight for the collar, everyone wants to be a hero,' Darby said. 'If you find him, you're going to need people to secure the crime scene. We're going to need all the evidence we can get to nail him to the wall.'

Evan nodded. 'Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope he takes the bait.'

Darby headed for the door. Carol's smiling face was everywhere she looked.

A light rain fell over Boston, the highways clogged with traffic.

Daniel Boyle, sitting behind the wheel of the Federal Express van, clicked on the blinker and turned left, heading slowly down the ramp, the shocks groaning from the weight in the back.

Two policemen were guarding the delivery area. Boyle stopped in front of a long length of steel plating. He knew what it was. With a flip of a switch, the steel plating would turn over, revealing a set of road spikes that would puncture the tires of any fleeing vehicle.

An overweight cop with a jowly face lumbered his way through the rain. Boyle rolled down his window, face pleasant, smiling.

'Good morning, officer. This isn't my normal route – I'm just filling in for the day. I have a package for the lab. Could you tell me where to go?'

'You have to sign in first.'

Boyle took the clipboard. His hands were covered in leather driving gloves. He wrote the name 'John Smith' on the clipboard. The name matched the photo on the laminated FedEx badge clipped to his shirt pocket. Boyle had other supporting credentials ready, if needed.

He handed the clipboard back through the window. The fat cop's partner was busy looking around the van.

'Go down this ramp here, park in the back – you'll see the signs marked off pretty clearly,' the fat cop said. 'Deliveries are through that gray door back there. Follow the corridor to the front desk. Someone there will sign for it. You don't have to take the package up.'

Boyle was about to ease off the brakes when the second cop said, 'Back of your van is sagging quite a bit there, fella.'

'Shocks are gone,' Boyle said. 'I've got three more stops and this baby's going in the shop. Rate I'm going, I'll be working until six tonight. Great way to start the day, huh?'

The fat cop, wanting to get out of the rain, waved him through.

A bump as Boyle drove the van over the steel plating. He headed down the ramp and into the garage. Security cameras were mounted high on the walls, sweeping the area. He pulled the FedEx cap low on his brow.

There were plenty of parking spaces for the delivery trucks. Boyle chose the one closest to the stairs.

Out of his seat and through the door behind him, Boyle grabbed the heavy package and headed inside.

The white surveillance van, complete with a periscope and microwave transmitters and receivers, was designed to look like a telephone repair vehicle. The driver was also dressed to look the part.

Darby sat next to Coop on a carpet-covered bench near the back doors. Across from her, seated on the opposite bench, were two members from Boston SWAT. Both men were sweating beneath their heavy combat gear. One was busy chewing gum and blowing bubbles, the other checking the impressive-looking Heckler amp; Koch MP7 machine gun strapped across his chest.

She had no idea where they were. There weren't any windows. The tight space smelled of men's deodorant and coffee.

Banville was seated on a bolted-down swivel chair set up in front of a small but workable desk. He was having a private conversation with one of the FBI technicians. She wondered what was going on.

Another fed, a pair of headphones wrapped around his massive bald head, was listening to Evan's conversation in the house, sometimes pausing to talk to his partner, who was busy studying the screen of a laptop. It was hooked up to some futuristic-looking equipment being used to monitor the listening device's frequency. At the moment, the devices were turned off.

The call would come through. The FBI techs would lock on to the signal and Boston SWAT would get the call to move in. Boston SWAT was very good. They would move in hard and fast.

The wall phone started ringing. Darby tensed, digging her fingers into the edge of her seat.

Banville answered it. He listened for a full minute before he hung up. He shook his head.

'Bugs are still off,' he said.

Darby rubbed her damp palms across her pants. Come on, goddamnit. Turn on.

The marble lobby of the Boston police station was very impressive. Boyle was sure hidden security cameras were watching him right now, recording his every move. Cops were everywhere. He kept his head bowed as he moved quickly toward the front desk.

The blue uniform sitting high behind the front desk was reading today's Herald by a banker's lamp. Boyle slid the big package across the wood.

'Want me to take this up?' Boyle asked. 'It's pretty heavy.'

'No, we'll take it from here. You need me to sign anything?'

'You're all set,' Boyle said. 'Have a great day.'

*

Billy Lankin was still thinking about the FedEx truck. He didn't know much about cars, but he felt reasonably sure the problem with the delivery truck wasn't blown shocks.

Billy's partner, Dan Simmons, sipped his coffee as rain drummed softly against the roof above them.

That's the eighth time you've looked in the garage, Billy.'

'It's that FedEx truck. I don't like the looks of it.'

'What do you mean?'

'The way the back of the truck is sagging,' Billy said. 'I don't think the shocks are blown.'

'If it's bothering you that much, go take a look.'

'I think I will.'

Boyle opened the door to the parking garage. The cop stationed out front, the one who had looked over the back of the truck, was checking the driver's side door.

Smile and play it cool.

' Something wrong, officer?'

'Since when do you guys lock up your truck? You don't trust us?' The cop grinned, but there was a warning behind it.

'Force of habit,' Boyle said, returning the smile. 'My normal route is in Dorchester. When I started out there, I was delivering a package and some kids vandalized my truck. Guess who was liable for all the damages?'

'You mind if I take a look in the back?'