Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“Let’s go, Kate.” Danson yanked his earpiece from his ear, adjusted his camera’s strap and trotted toward the motel.

“Hey! You people, hold it right there!” a uniformed Dallas police officer ordered from his car, some thirty yards away.

Kate froze.

“They just gave the all clear!” Danson shouted to the cop. He held up his press ID and pointed to a TV news crew and a news photographer who’d also emerged from concealed positions and were hurrying to the motel. “Come on, Kate!”

Standing there paralyzed, Kate looked at the cop, then Danson, then the other newspeople who were ignoring the order and running to the motel office where the SWAT team was taking the woman.

I’m not going to be the only one left out on this, Kate thought before running with Danson and the others toward the motel.

They were halfway to the office when Kate noticed several people stepping out to receive the woman. Among them, she’d recognized FBI Agents Grogan and Quinn.

Suddenly Kate heard the loud cry, slurred the way a drunk makes a self-pitied plea, and she realized that the arrested woman was yelling at one of the people in the group.

“Don’t fire me, Shelby! I came in to work! I cleaned that room! I cleaned every damn corner, every damn inch! Twice!”

As Kate got closer, more newspeople had materialized along with police officers who blocked them from getting near the office. Photographers continued shooting pictures. As the growing pack swarmed the area, Kate noticed several new figures who were not press: Jenna and Blake Cooper, along with Jenna’s sister and brother-in-law.

“Where’s Caleb?” Jenna yelled at the woman. “What did you do with my son?”

Jenna then saw Grogan.

“Agent Grogan!” Jenna shouted. “Where’s my son? Did you find him? You knew this was happening- Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It’s the parents,” someone in the pack said.

The news photographers, including Danson, shifted their attention to Jenna and Blake.

“PLEASE!” Jenna shouted. “Somebody tell us something. Where’s our baby! We have a right to know! Why did we have to find out from the TV news? HE’S MY SON!”

Grogan spoke quickly into the ear of one of the senior Dallas cops, who dispatched uniformed officers to shield the Coopers from the press and get them into the office. As that happened, Jenna found Kate.

“You knew, too, and you never told us!” Jenna yelled. “But you want me to tell you everything and I did!”

It was true.

Kate burned with shame at Jenna’s reproach. The call had come in so fast, she’d had to move so quickly, she’d forgotten about her promise to keep the Coopers in the loop. Jenna’s words tore at her as they echoed from under the motel’s canopied reception area and over the courtyard.

Fort Worth, Texas

Children’s screams escaped when the glass door opened to the enclosed play area of the fast-food restaurant.

A kid named T.J. had, according to the banner, turned seven years old and a dozen of his friends had his party going full bore. Like competitors in a cage match they attacked the nets, the tunnels, the slides and ball pit in the contained section known as Playworld.

A grandfather of one of the little partygoers watched the action from his booth, occasionally lifting his eyes from the Dallas Morning News to sip his coffee and ensure the action didn’t get out of hand. Thick, silver-white hair accentuated his chiseled face. He wore a navy polo shirt.

Eli Maddick.

That’s him, Pavel Gromov thought after entering the restaurant and scanning the dining room for the man who’d described himself to Gromov over the phone last night.

White hair, sixties, said he’d wear a navy polo shirt. Yes, he’s the man I’m looking for.

Since Gromov and Yanna had arrived in Texas the previous day, Gromov had worked late into the night, talking with Yuri Korzun in New York. Korzun had reached out to his associates, calling in favors to help Gromov find ex-con Mason Varno, his girlfriend, Remy Toxton, and ultimately, his grandchild.

They’d exhausted the list of names of Mason Varno’s coworkers that Gromov and Yanna had gleaned from Triple E Carpenters. Korzun obtained telephone numbers and at Gromov’s demand, Yanna called, claiming to be a distant relative of Remy’s who needed to see her.

Yanna had surprised Gromov with her talent for acting. He listened to her emotional ruses, the way she smoothly played off names of the spouses of coworkers, woman to woman.

“Suzie, Billy’s wife thought you might be able to help me. I need to reach Remy, you know, Mason’s girlfriend? Yes, she was due to deliver a few weeks ago. Remy and I were friends, way back when I lived in America and we lost touch…”

But Yanna’s calls were to no avail.

Gromov had grown to believe that Mason’s coworkers did not know of Mason’s or Remy’s whereabouts. And Gromov had failed on another front. He couldn’t reach the person with the ex-con support group, the Fellowship of the Good Thief. After he’d considered a new approach he went back to Yuri, this time for help finding other ex-cons who’d served time with Varno.

It took several hours before Korzun called Gromov back with a contact.

“His name is Eli Maddick and he’ll be expecting your call.”

Yuri gave Gromov the background on Maddick, how all of Korzun’s associates in Miami, New Orleans, Houston and Dallas, vouched for him as a “consultant.” The speed and quality of his information is unsurpassed.

Korzun said that Maddick was a prison official who had resigned five years ago after allegations surfaced that he had controlled several inmates to make a brutal attack on other inmates. The men who were allegedly beaten at Maddick’s command contacted attorneys, who claimed their clients had had their civil rights violated. The FBI launched an investigation but soon all statements were mysteriously recanted and all complaints were withdrawn.

Maddick agreed to voluntarily resign and take early retirement.

Nothing was ever proven.

Since retiring, Maddick did “a bit of confidential security consulting,” using his expertise and contacts to help clients obtain information on the justice system.

It was late last night when Gromov called him on the cell number Korzun had provided and told him of his situation concerning Mason Varno. Maddick listened and said little. Then he gave Gromov directions, details and the time to meet before quoting his consulting fee, which was to be paid in cash, with nonsequential serial numbers. “I’ll have the information you need.”

Gromov and Yanna rose early to make the estimated four-hour drive from Lufkin to Fort Worth, to make it in time to the suburban fast-food restaurant where Maddick was now waiting.

“Eli?” Gromov said.

Maddick looked up from his newspaper at Gromov and Yanna.

“I’m Sergei, and this is my niece, Tatiana.” Gromov adhered to his practice of using false names. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, have a seat.”

Yanna paused to slide a child’s jacket, ball cap and small sneakers farther along the bench seat that she and Gromov took.

“How was your trip-from Canada, wasn’t it?”

“Uneventful,” Gromov said. “Thank you for agreeing to help us. You were highly recommended.”

“So were you.” Maddick offered the beginnings of a bitter smile. “I was advised rather strongly that I should help you.”

“Good. You have the information?”

Maddick lifted the corner of the folded sports section of the newspaper, showing a glimpse of a large plain brown envelope.

“It’s all there.”