Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 50

Chapter 50
Mercer knew Walker's time was short. A manhunt in Statenville didn't just include the small local law enforcement staff. It included all the thugs on Cloverdale's payroll, the ones so secret that not even Walker had figured out who they were. If Mercer was going to make his mark in the bureau, it was going to be helping Walker make a big move-and this was their big moment.
Mercer gave a misleading tip that sent Walker's search party clear across the county, far from Cloverdale Industries. In a short time, Mercer familiarized himself with the inner workings of the Statenville Sheriff's Department, including the protocol for a major security breach. The other deputies spoke in vague generalities until they felt they could trust Mercer. Once he passed a specifically designed trust test, Mercer became privy to more of Statenville's secrets. Then, he learned about the biggest secret of all.
But he and Walker were determined to expose it. Statenville and its mob-like leaders would no longer be the kingpin drug dealers of the Pacific Northwest. No, that was all about to stop.
Walker and Mercer both crouched low as they crept up the ramp toward the backside of the facility. One of Walker's first tasks was to discover the range of the security cameras and all their blind spots. And in this moment, that intel came in handy. Nobody saw them.
Mercer huddled close to a back-door entrance as Walker dug out his keys. Walker finally found the right one and opened the door. He flipped the light switch and dropped his keys. They landed on the cement floor, clanking out an eerie echo. Walker bent down to pick up the keys and froze. He and Mercer both scanned the warehouse. It was bare. Not so much as a forklift remained. Every shelving unit, every box, every packing table-gone.
Neither could hide the shock on their faces.
"Aaahhhhh!" Walker let out a scream. His plan was disintegrating. At this point, he didn't care who heard him, though from the looks of the now-cavernous warehouse it didn't appear that anyone was there.
"Tonight was the night!"
Mercer and Walker both slumped onto the floor. Years of work had vanished. If there was no FBI raid, there was no way to get all the evidence necessary to shut down Cloverdale. It was over. The upper brass would likely yank their field status. Back to being analysts and pushing paper after this failed operation. But at least they wouldn't have to live in Statenville-not everything was bad about this.
Mercer was undeterred.
"Look, let's split up. You look around here and see if you can find any places that could easily house such a transformation and I'll check out the other end of the plant. Let's meet back here in 15."
"OK."
Mercer walked stealthily against the wall for about 200 yards and disappeared into an unlit portion of the warehouse.
Meanwhile, Walker began making a sweep of the staging area, fretting that it was all in vain.
Suddenly the back door swung open and the sounds of feet running thundered from across the warehouse. Walker scrambled to face the noise. More than a dozen high-powered rifles were pointed at them from a handful of directions.
Walker surrendered immediately.
"Hey, don't shoot. I'll do whatever you want us to do," he pleaded.
Not a single person moved, frozen with the pair in their sights.
"Seriously, guys. I'm sure we can work something out."
Mayor Gold, who had been standing off to the side against the wall, stepped forward.
"I'm sure we can," Gold said.
"Mayor Gold? What are you doing here?"
"Maybe I should ask you the very same question since you obviously don't know anything about basketball or cleaning a facility."
"And you don't know anything about keeping a secret."
"Oh, I beg to differ special agent Walker. I can call you 'special agent,' can't I?"
"I've got plenty of footage and pictures of what really goes on here."
"Really? So, special agent Walker, tell me what really goes on here."
"I think we all know."
"What? That this facility produces faulty healthcare and vitamin products for mass consumption? Everyone already knows that."
"No, I mean that this company uses its vast distribution network and resources to transport drugs."
"Well, I wouldn't call them drugs. They're more like vitamins."
Gold smiled at his wry comeback.
"No, I mean illegal drugs," Walker said, trying to remain serious.
"Drugs? Here?" Gold gestured with his hand toward the barren warehouse.
"You know you're never going to get out of this without the FBI taking this town apart. They will find something."
"Perhaps they'll find your dead body ... right next to agent Cooper's."
The comment by normally affable Gold chilled Walker. He had hoped up until now it was merely bravado talk. It wasn't. Nobody knew about agent Cooper. Even within the FBI he was a ghost-not to mention a well-respected legend. But Walker didn't have time for respect when Cooper came into town unannounced. Cooper wanted to glean enough information to make an assessment as to whether the undercover operation was going as planned-or if it was even necessary. Plus there were rumors within the bureau that Walker was breaking protocol. Cooper was there on assignment-and the assignment was Walker. But apparently Gold's goons had ended that assignment.
With a slight motion toward Walker, the armed men surrounding him moved in. They snatched Walker's hands behind his back and secured his wrists with plastic zip ties.
***
Operation Fuego had been jettisoned for Operation Cleanup. Gold gambled that the FBI agents wouldn't have sent any hard evidence back to their superiors-or even if they had it would be inadmissible as evidence in court.
Gold hoped this day would never come, but knew exactly what to do in case it did. Agent Cooper's presence had been a surprise, as was Mercer's. Gold thought there was only one man on the case-and that was Walker. But Gold had a contingency plan or five. When you've got a secret as deep as the one Statenville held, there was no need to take any chances.
And Gold wouldn't take a single chance with Walker and Mercer. After securing the FBI pair, Gold's men forced the two to take a hit of meth. It had all been well thought out by Gold; planting evidence on the two men would completely undermine any federal case against Cloverdale Industries. A drugged out janitor? A coach who others would testify gave drugs to students, including the ones who died? Who would find him credible, even if he was believed to be an FBI agent?
Gold returned to the confines of his home and had been there 30 minutes when his cell phone rang.
"Gold, here."
"Mr. Gold, the threat has been eliminated," came the voice on the other end, emotionless.
"Excellent. Keep me posted on how that other loose end is coming along."
Gold hung up the phone and smiled. It had been a while since he had smiled. A long time ago, Gold learned that suppressing grief was never good-not even for a few days. But it had served him well during this process.
It was almost safe to cry.
***
The man climbed into his F-250 truck and roared away, leaving carnage in his wake.
Walker's body now laid slumped over the steering wheel, still clutching his firearm. Dead. Two close-range bullet holes to the head. No law enforcement personnel would report that his body had been moved and his body repositioned.
Outside Mercer's car was old man Willie Nelson, lying face down in the gravel next to the road. He had been groomed for such a moment as this: the perfect junkie on which to pin a murder. He held the murder weapon in his hand. One bullet to the head. One to the chest. A small plastic baggie of meth in his pocket.
Gold's men had successfully recreated the scene that Gold had envisioned when he drew up this plan. One dead junkie. One dead basketball coach. A drug deal gone bad. Walker? An FBI agent? Nobody would believe that, except maybe the players on his basketball team who knew he had no idea how to coach the sport. He worked two jobs just to support his illicit lifestyle, not his mother who had actually died five years ago. Gold had enough details of Walker's life that he could paint him however he wanted and no one would question him. Perception is always more powerful than reality when you control the information. A drug dealer was more like it-a dealer trying to sell meth to a known crazy person in Willie Nelson. The whole town knew he was nuts.
Framing people was an art form-and the people of Statenville had been painting Louvre-worthy canvases for snooping parties for 20 years. If anyone managed to make it out alive, the person's reputation was sullied beyond repair, and their word was rendered meaningless.
Cal and Kelly were next.