Rick Mofina - Full Tilt

Then, in an undisclosed location in Montana, the team and equipment were transferred to state and county service trucks. Under cover of night, they embedded at key points on the property while other tactical units, including members of the task force, took up positions in the outer perimeter where they’d been waiting since the predawn hours.

Now, as sunset neared, the radio crackled with a dispatch from the command post.

“Head’s up. Eyes in the sky have activity.”

Brennan tensed.

“We’ve got a van approaching from the east.”

Dust clouds rose in the distance as a lone vehicle rolled along the dirt road to the property. It was headed to the ranch house.

“Hold your positions.”

Brennan dragged the back of his hand across his mouth as he watched through his binoculars.

“Hold.”

The van slowed, then braked. Nothing happened. From what Brennan could see, there was only the driver in the front. Judging from the shadow silhouette, the driver was doing something behind the wheel.

“Maintain positions.”

The driver’s door opened and a male got out and began walking to the rear of the van.

“Go! Go! Go! Go!”

Heavily armed tactical members rushed from their covers with weapons drawn on the driver, instantly putting him facedown on the dirt.

“What the-don’t kill me!”

As the driver was handcuffed a tactical team member fished through his pants for a wallet and ID. According to his Montana driver’s license, the man was Marshall Chang, aged thirty-two from Billings, where he worked for Big Sky Rapid Courier.

“What’re you doing here, Mr. Chang?” an agent asked.

“I’m delivering to Wallace Cordell. This is my last one of the day.”

“Did you speak with Cordell today?”

“No.”

“Do you know his whereabouts?”

“No. I don’t know the guy. This is my first time to this place.”

“What sort of delivery are you making?”

“I don’t know, it says ‘parts.’”

“Parts for what?” The agent turned to another. “Let’s take a look.”

Weapons at the ready, team members opened the van’s rear doors to a large wooden crate. They pried off the lid to find it lined with heavy plastic. The first agent pulled at the plastic, then suddenly recoiled.

“Whoa!”

The agent backed into the second agent, who moved forward to look.

“What the hell?”

Others crowded, peered inside to a mass of severed arms, legs, torsos and heads with sinewy tendons. One agent grabbed the lid and read the shipping label, which was stamped “Urgent Express.”

“Look at this.” He pointed to the shipper’s address. “Studio Quality Body Parts Discount Movie Props, Burbank, California-they’re fake! This is for us! He expected us to find this place and be waiting today!”

New York City

Across the country, Kate was in her apartment when her phone rang. The number displayed was for the NYPD.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Officer Morello with the NYPD, calling for Kate Page.”

“I’m Kate.”

“Ms. Page, as you know, Newark PD has informed us that they’re unable to transport you to the hospital. I’ve been assigned to be your ride.”

“I never heard from Newark.”

“They said they’d called you.”

“No, I didn’t get a call.”

“Must’ve been a screwup. Sorry about that, ma’am, but can I pick you up in twenty-minutes?”

That was earlier than usual. Kate hesitated. Days ago, Newark police and the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance had indicated to Kate that, for security reasons, the job of ferrying her to and from the hospital might be shared by various police agencies.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but I got court duty in the morning and-”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Good. Just so you know I won’t be in uniform. My sarge said this is plainclothes duty.”

“I’ll be in front of my building in twenty minutes.”

Officer Morello thanked Kate and recited her address.

“That’s it.”

Kate alerted Nancy that she was leaving a bit early, then hurried getting herself ready. Fifteen minutes later she was downstairs standing in front of her building. Uniformed officers were no longer in sight. They’d only been posted to the street during the first days after Vanessa’s rescue. Kate didn’t mind because it reinforced Brennan’s call, that they’d found Zurrn somewhere far off. Was it Colorado? Kate watched the traffic until a shining black Chevy sedan stopped in front. The driver dropped the passenger window and leaned out.

“Excuse me, are you Kate Page?”

“Yes.”

“Officer Morello. I called.”

“Hi.” Kate stepped to the unmarked cruiser.

As Morello got out and opened the rear door Kate heard radio dispatches spilling out. Morello was in his forties, had a thick black mustache, thick dark hair and glasses. He wore a dark blue houndstooth sport coat, light blue shirt and dark pants.

“Watch your head,” he cautioned as she got in.

She glimpsed the butt of a gun peeking from his shoulder holster as he closed the door, then walked around to get behind the wheel.

The car was not as nice as the Newark and FBI cars that had come for her over the past week. The air was musty, the seats torn and patched with tape. A scarred Plexiglas shield divided the rear and front seats, but the sliding gap was open so they could talk.

“You could ride in the front with me if you like,” Morello said into the rearview mirror, “but our policy dictates that you ride back there for your safety.”

“Better stick to the policy.” Kate smiled. “Thanks for doing this.”

“No problem, ma’am.”

As they pulled away Kate asked the usual question.

“Have you heard of any breaks finding Zurrn?”

“Me? Naw, they don’t keep grunts like me in the loop.”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

“No problem, you just take it easy back there.”

As he wheeled into Manhattan traffic, Kate’s thoughts went to Brennan’s confidential tip. He’d left her on pins and needles ever since he’d told her they’d found Zurrn. She fell into her habit of checking her phone for news, searching the competition and regional wires.

Nothing.

She called Brennan and again it went straight to his voice mail.

Kate took a breath, smiling as she considered Vanessa. It had only been a week, but the psychiatrist said she was making remarkable progress and soon Kate could bring Grace to meet her. Thinking of their new future together as a family, Kate took in her surroundings and realized they were on 125th Street and had just passed Amsterdam Avenue.

“Excuse me.” Kate moved to the divider. “I think you’re going east-this is the wrong way. We should be getting on the West Side Highway, for the Lincoln Tunnel, that’s the way everybody goes.”

Morello didn’t respond.

“Officer, you’re going the wrong way.”

Morello ignored her.

Kate sat forward and thrust her face toward his shoulder. “Officer!”

Morello said nothing.

As Kate puzzled over her situation a terrible unease hit her like a cobra’s strike. Staring hard at Morello’s neck, Kate noticed for the first time how a stubbly ridge of shaved hair crept below what should have been his hairline.

He’s wearing a wig.

She questioned if his mustache was real, then the pieces- Morello’s call, switching drivers, coming early, going the wrong way -and in an awful instant, realization exploded.

Oh, God, Morello is Sorin Zurrn!

Kate’s pulse soared.

This is how it happened to the others! He just reaches into your world and takes you into his!