Electing to Murder

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Kristoff, he’s coming to you.”

One fifty-three p.m. Foche yawned and then sipped his now lukewarm twenty-four-ounce Super America coffee as he watched the main entrance to the Landmark Towers. Coldplay’s “Paradise” purred out of the car radio on Cities 97 as the engine hummed and the heater kept the vehicle temperature at 68 degrees. On the other side of the street his second unit watched the front of the building as well, having been stationed there since morning. They had people staked out at numerous locations now, including Montgomery’s home in Maryland and his parents’ home in Delaware, as well as at The Congressional Page offices.

Foche arrived on the scene as part of following McRyan, something he’d been doing since sunrise. There were stops at the Department of Public Safety, both campaigns for Minnesota’s hotly contested Sixth District and now the national headquarters of the James Thomson Campaign for President.

Foche was on his own for now. Kristoff was now directing his full attention to tracking down Montgomery and applying all of his technical resources to that problem. Kristoff had immense technical resources at his disposal to throw at problems and the full fusillade was being applied to this one. Kristoff’s last text a half hour ago indicated there were some potential developments on that front. They didn’t have Montgomery yet but new avenues for finding him were emerging. It would just take a little time. In the meantime, they needed to make sure McRyan and his partner didn’t find him first.

The security specialist, Foche preferred that term to describe what he did as opposed to mercenary or merc, had spent the morning trailing the two St. Paul homicide detectives. His tablet sat on the passenger seat to his right. Kristoff had forwarded him the full profile on McRyan and Lich, the two men he was tailing.

Detective Richard Lich made for interesting reading. To say the man had a colorful personal history would be putting it mildly. His professional history, however, was fairly pedestrian—a functional cop with many years on the job.

Mac McRyan, on the other hand was an entirely different story. He did not fit the profile in any way, shape or form for a cop. Summa Cum Laude from the University of Minnesota and William Mitchell College of Law. His test scores, all the way back to his nearly perfect SAT in high school, revealed a brilliant mind. His record on the force revealed an unusually high closure rate on his cases and a dogged approach to his investigations. As he read through the profile, what jumped out at Foche most was the detective’s relentless nature. It oozed out of the background information he was reading. And what this little trip to the Thomson campaign, as well as the others McRyan took this morning told him, were that the detectives weren’t buying that Stroudt’s death was a random drug buy gone bad. They were rightly thinking that it was what Stroudt did professionally that led to his death. He and Kristoff thought a killing at a seedy hotel would be met with bland indifference. Clearly this was not the case.

McRyan was, if not on the right track, at least was looking in the right direction. Providence had not smiled on them either. With McRyan’s live-in girlfriend working high up in the Thomson campaign, he was able to get quick access to the top of the Thomson campaign. After killing Stroudt, they learned that he went to law school with McCormick. It wasn’t a huge leap of logic to think Stroudt would be looking up his old law school classmate when he came to the Twin Cities instead of trying to head back to Washington DC. Thus far, based on a review of cell phone records, it did not appear that before his death, Stroudt had actually contacted McCormick.

The green glass doors burst open and McRyan and Lich strolled out the front door with smiles on their faces. Foche’s heart skipped a beat for a minute but as he assessed their demeanor he determined that the looks were more of laughter than of satisfaction. They were reliving an event as they walked to the parking ramp across St. Peter Street.

Foche waited until McRyan exited the parking ramp and pulled out onto St. Peter to follow while placing a call to Kristoff.

* * *

Henri Gerstner sat on the metal folding chair in the dank crumbling warehouse in Landover, Maryland. Behind him rested the panel van from which he and others were pulling their haul from the home of Jason Stroudt and the offices of The Congressional Page.

The expert thief was a long way from the comforts of his Zurich apartment, the warmth of the fireplace, female companionship and a bottle of red wine. The comforts of life he so enjoyed resulting from his prolific success. When he wanted, there was little in the world he couldn’t steal. All he needed was time and the tools of his trade. Twenty years of world travel stealing jewels, paintings and information left him wealthy and quite comfortable. He now only worked when he was motivated to do so, or when Kristoff called.

When Kristoff called, he answered, he always answered, for two reasons. First and foremost, he owed his life to Kristoff from long back in the day when both men were in the employ of the General Directorate for External Security for France. Second, Kristoff paid well, very well, for Gerstner’s unique services and no matter how much money he had put away, he was never one to turn down easy money. Accessing Stroudt’s condominium and the offices of The Congressional Page was extremely easy money.

Adam Montgomery’s place, however, was entirely another matter. A quick look at the condominium complex in Bethesda told him he needed some time to work his way in, it was not a one-hour take a look and then go in like the other two. He would need a few days to properly plan for that. Kristoff told him to wait until dark and then he could start his planning, which would include reconnaissance.

For now, Gerstner sat with three of Kristoff’s other men at a long metal banquet table in the largely empty warehouse. One man was working through the computer hard drives and e-mail. Gerstner and the other two men worked through the documents they’d taken from Stroudt’s home and The Congressional Page offices.

Kristoff instructed them to look for two things. First, any manner in which they could track down Montgomery and second, any information on how it was Stroudt and Montgomery knew of the Kentucky meeting. All of the information that was gleaned was being uploaded to Kristoff’s technical people, who were sifting through every component of those two men’s lives. Gerstner knew what happened to Stroudt in St. Paul and fully knew what his friend had in store for Montgomery.

When doing research on a mark, if he could, Gerstner always liked to look at whatever billing information he could get his hands on. Billing and financial information told you much about a person. From that information Gerstner learned a great deal about those he was targeting. The thief could determine what security company someone may employ, what security system they had and what features it included. Insurance information could tell him what or how much in valuables someone insured. Billing and financial information told you what kind of safe a person had, what type of computer or Internet provider a person used. With all of this information, he could determine how to best approach a particular job. Not once in twenty years had he ever been questioned by the police.

So when the men sat down to look through the papers, Gerstner gravitated towards the financials. He already went through Stroudt’s and was now looking through the payables for the business. There was rent, office supplies, office equipment, insurance, health insurance, retirement plan and computers. Back in March, the business purchased new Dell laptops through their outside technical support vendor. However, it was what was purchased along with the laptops that caught Gerstner’s attention. The thief reached for his cell phone and dialed Kristoff, who answered on the first ring.

“Henri.”

“My friend, I might have something for your technical people. Are you familiar with the term LoJack?”

* * *

Wire stirred cream into her coffee and picked with her fork at a piece of apple pie as the late afternoon sun began its rapid descent in the crystal clear western sky, contemplating her next possible move. She occupied a window booth at Boo’s Coffee Shop which sat kitty-corner opposite of Montgomery’s five-story condominium building. The booth gave her an unobstructed view of the front of the building as well as the entrance to the underground parking ramp on the south side. She was also well positioned to take in the two men in the navy blue Dodge minivan parked on the opposite side of the street from the parking garage entrance. The van had been parked for fifteen minutes. It was the second time in the last two hours that this specific van pulled up along the south side of the building. As she watched, she thought there was another silver Ford sedan further up the block to the north that was unnaturally in that position for over an hour.

It had been a long day.

It would have been an even longer day were it not for Detective Court. When she was walking out of Stroudt’s condo this morning, she suggested to Court that his next investigative step should be to check out the offices of The Congressional Page. The Alexandria detective readily agreed.

The Congressional Page’s offices were located on the second floor of an aged three-story red brick and white trim office building in Georgetown. The building itself was occupied by small businesses, including a two-lawyer law practice, an accountant, an interior decorator and a temporary staffing firm. Stroudt and Montgomery’s offices consisted of a small reception area, a galley kitchen just wide enough for a small refrigerator, coffee maker and sink, and two reasonably sized offices.

The Congressional Page offices were not ransacked to the degree of Stroudt’s home. However, they had been broken into. The computer hard drives were missing as were the contents of filing cabinets in the two offices. In fact, the tops of the desks were cleaned, which the building manager claimed was highly unusual. He was in the offices at least two or three times per week checking on things and when he would check on his tenants, their desks were always cluttered with paper. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know that the desk tops had glass,” he said.

A simple key card system, easily defeated by a professional with the right tools, served as the buildings security system. A regular key was all that was needed to enter the office, the lock for which had been easily defeated by a simple bump key. A canvas of the other office suites revealed no evidence that anyone had been in the building overnight and nobody recalled seeing anyone suspicious.

With The Congressional Page having been broken into, Wire didn’t have a hard time getting Court to make a call to Bethesda police to arrange entry into Montgomery’s condo. Montgomery’s condominium building had much better security, with a twenty-four-hour guard and video surveillance at the entrances. As a result, it did not appear that Montgomery’s spacious condo was breached prior to their entry. There was no evidence that his place had been searched in any way. There was no computer hard drive or any evidence of one in his office, but Wire thought that was because he probably just used a laptop. Montgomery appeared to keep a very neat home. The condo was a dead end. Court said he would put out an APB on Montgomery and would let Wire know if anything turned up.

As they were leaving the condo, Wire noticed a set of BMW keys sitting in a basket by the door. The building superintendant confirmed that Montgomery drove a white BMW 335i sedan, which was not in the parking garage. Ten minutes ago, Court called to tell her that Montgomery’s car was found in a parking garage at Reagan National. It had been parked since Tuesday.

She contemplated calling Court about the two vehicles that appeared to be watching the condo, but she wasn’t completely sure that’s what they were doing. She had the plate number for the minivan and was contemplating a drive-by of the silver sedan to get that plate as well. Wire wanted to watch a little longer and see if they stayed. If they did, then she would make a call.

Her cell phone for the Judge buzzed. She answered on the second ring, “Hello, Judge.” She could hear cheering in the deep background. “Where are you, sir?”

“I’m in the bowels of Quicken Loans Arena here in Cleveland. The governor is speaking to a packed house of over 22,000.” There was a loud roar in the background. “That must be the governor’s line about a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work.” Then the Judge got down to business. “So have you found out anything more since you left Stroudt’s place this morning?” Dixon asked.

Wire related the result of the search at The Congressional Page and Montgomery’s condo and the rest of her day.

“I’m not sure, Judge, if these vehicles are watching the condo or not.”

“Gut?”

“They are.”

Just then the van started and quickly pulled away, turning south and driving rapidly away from the building. “Wait a second, Judge.”

Wire looked to the north for the silver sedan. “Judge, the minivan just left in a big hurry and turned south away from the building. Every other time they moved, they turned left and went north as if they circled the block slowly and then came back.” Wire focused on the silver sedan. The driver looked down and then put his cell phone to his ear. There was a short conversation and then the silver Ford 500 immediately pulled away from the curb, drove south, right by the restaurant in the same direction that the minivan went. Wire had the feeling that the surveillance detail was over. “Judge, I have a weird feeling here that something just happened.”

“That they found Montgomery?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Wire thought for a moment. “Something feels off.”

“Dara, I think it’s time you come back to Minnesota,” Dixon ordered. “The jet is at Reagan National. I will call and have it ready to go within the hour. You are going to pick me up here in Cleveland and we’re going to head back to the Twin Cities. There is someone I think we should have you talk to.”

“Who?”

“Mac McRyan.”

* * *

6:07 p.m. Kristoff repeatedly and gently dropped the tea bag into his cup as he looked out the tenth floor window of his suite at the St. Paul Hotel, conveniently located across the street from the Landmark Towers. He turned around and leaned against the window sill and watched his people work their laptops at the large conference table. There had been a working group in St. Paul the entire campaign season tracking the Thomson campaign and its personnel, looking for any potential way into the campaign. While they found a few people to feed them tidbits of information, the working group was never able to get deep into the campaign structure in any meaningful way. Governor Thomson’s, meaning Judge Dixon’s people, were loyal and committed. However, while that effort largely failed, with Stroudt coming to town, the suite had proven advantageous. It gave Kristoff a command post from which to operate.

Kristoff’s technical people had worked backward on Stroudt to St. Louis. Airport security video revealed that Stroudt arrived at the airport in St. Louis on Thursday at 7:15 a.m., dropped off by Montgomery in the same rental car that the two political bloggers rented back in Nashville. After dropping Stroudt off at the Delta departure door, the airport video feed showed Montgomery turning in the rental car at the National Rent-A-Car lot at the airport.

From there, Montgomery grabbed a cab. The GPS tracking system in the cab revealed that Montgomery was driven back into downtown St. Louis. Downtown traffic cameras were accessed and the group was able to follow Montgomery walking for a few blocks but then lost him near Busch Stadium. From that point in time, Montgomery had fallen off the grid. There was no credit card or cell phone activity. It obviously occurred to Montgomery sooner than it did to his business partner that he needed to lay low.

Kristoff wondered why the two of them had chosen St. Louis. They could have gone back to Nashville, driven to Louisville or down to Memphis among other big cities, so why go to St. Louis? There had to be a reason. Stroudt’s history revealed no ties to St. Louis in any way shape or form. As best the working group could tell, he may have never even been to the city before Thursday morning. However, a deeper search into Montgomery’s past revealed he had a second cousin named David Reeves that lived in St. Louis.

Montgomery and Reeves were close as kids, when they were growing up in Charlotte, North Carolina. There were two Reeves boys, David and Michael, who were the same age as Montgomery. However, it was David with whom Montgomery had been in contact with recently and who lived in St. Louis. The second cousin came up through a search of Montgomery’s e-mail history and there were four cell phone calls in the last three months. The only reason the connection wasn’t made sooner was that the second cousin only moved to St. Louis in the last three months yet still had his cell phone with the Houston, Texas, area code.

Reeves lived in the Kingsway East neighborhood in St. Louis. The Reeves family owned three vehicles, a Chevy Suburban, a Toyota Camry and a white 2001 Honda Accord, which looked to be the vehicle for the Reeves’ seventeen year-old daughter. The Suburban and Camry were tracked via their GPS systems and were located at home and at David Reeves’s workplace. The Accord was not at home or at the high school. In looking at the GPS system for the Suburban, it appeared that Reeves drove into St. Louis yesterday morning to a location one block from Busch Stadium, presumably to pick up his second cousin. Kristoff was making an educated guess, but thought Montgomery borrowed the Accord from Reeves. As a 2001 model, it did not contain a GPS system and thus there was no way to track the vehicle to know for sure.

But now they caught a break thanks to Gerstner.

LoJack.

LoJack, as a tracking system, came to fame as an aftermarket vehicle tracking system that allowed vehicles to be tracked by police with the aim being to recover the vehicle after a theft. After its beginnings in the prevention of car theft, LoJack evolved into a tracking system for trucks, construction equipment, motorcycles and now laptop computers. The Congressional Page had a LoJack system loaded onto their new laptops. The LoJack system was installed by TRP, which stood for Technical Recovery Professionals, a component business of their outside computer support company, Technical Office Professionals or TOP.

Ginger, one of Kristoff’s technical people, was now accessing the TRP system to track the laptop. Kristoff was anxious and therefore impatient for results. “How much longer, Ginger?”

“Relax. I’m working it,” she replied tersely.

Kristoff hovered as Ginger’s fingers worked frantically over her keyboard. After five minutes, he was impatient. “Damn it, do you have anything or not, Ginger?”

“Almost there. I just need to get through one more layer of the system here, hold on …” There were more blinding fast keystrokes, followed by some play-by-play from Ginger which consisted of “no, no, yes, I got you, no I don’t, there, there it is, yes, yes, YES!”

“I’m in, now I’m just waiting for the map to pull up. Should be just a few seconds … Whoa!”

“What?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

Ginger turned her laptop around for Kristoff to see, “Montgomery and the laptop are moving north on Interstate 35W, just south of Minneapolis. Kristoff, your boy is coming to you.”