J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide by J.D. Trafford Page B
Authors: J.D. Trafford
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ropes ,” she said. Then Andie kissed him again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The young agent walked across the FBI’s bullpen of cubicles to the outer offices that were reserved for senior investigators. Agent Billy Armstrong knocked on the door.
“Busy,” Vatch barked.
Armstrong knocked again, opening the door. He peeked his head inside, holding up a sheet of paper. “Thought you’d want to know about this.”
“Doubtful.” Vatch turned away from his computer screen and gestured for Armstrong to come inside. Vatch had been told that he was supposed to mentor Armstrong, which Vatch decided was permission to be even crueler to the young agent than he was to everybody else. “Must be another dress code memo.”
Vatch reached out for the piece of paper, and Armstrong handed the memo to him. He adjusted the distance of the piece of paper from his face, trying to focus. Vatch had needed glasses for the past year, but he refused. They were too expensive and Vatch believed eye doctors were just hucksters selling overpriced plastic.
His beady eyes scanned the document, and Vatch’s tongue flicked out his narrow mouth as he read the lines that Armstrong had highlighted. Then he nodded.
Agent Armstrong beamed, all optimism. “Looks like we’re going to get him.”
Vatch said nothing.
“Been checking the flight register every day since the priest died,” Armstrong continued. “Figured he’d be coming back for the funeral.”
“You’re a regular Nancy Drew.” Vatch put the paper down on his desk, and then he looked back at Armstrong. He had a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Vatch almost thanked Armstrong, but he was able to suppress the impulse. Vatch, instead, gave the young agent a nod, turned back to his computer and resumed typing.
“Shut the door on your way out, will you? Got plans to make.”
###
The flight from Cancun was scheduled to arrive at LaGuardia in the late afternoon. Vatch reviewed the airline’s flight manifest. Since the September 11 attacks, airlines had to submit lists of passengers to the government for all flights.
The CIA and the National Security Agency had always had access to the information, whether through legal or other mechanisms. But for the FBI, access to flight manifests was relatively new. It had been a significant help in tracking down people of interest, although none of the people of interest were terrorists.
According to the list, Michael Collins, Andie Larone, and the weird guy had booked their flight late the night before.
Vatch set the paper down on his desk and leaned back. He thought about how many agents he should call for backup or whether he should just rely on the immigration officers at the airport.
He wanted to do the arrest himself. He didn’t want to share the glory, but he also didn’t want to let Michael slip away again.
It seemed too easy, although Vatch doubted whether Michael Collins knew about the indictment. Grand jury proceedings were supposed to be confidential and he was thousands of miles away.
Vatch pulled up his email account, typed a summary of the situation, and then clicked the “send” button. Instantly, the message was directed to the bureau chief, his immediate supervisor, and United States Attorney Brenda Gadd. Go big or not at all, he thought.
It was a call for six to nine additional agents, but he made it clear that Michael Collins was only to be questioned by him.
Vatch looked up at the clock on his wall, and then checked the flight time again.
He had an hour and a half to get to the airport, which was just enough time to find a lowly federal prosecutor and get a warrant from a judge to detain Andie Larone and Kermit Guillardo as material witnesses.
Hopefully they’d lie or be uncooperative, Vatch thought, then he could charge them with obstructing a federal law enforcement investigation, maybe aiding and abetting after the fact.
That would be nice.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kermit Guillardo
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The young agent walked across the FBI’s bullpen of cubicles to the outer offices that were reserved for senior investigators. Agent Billy Armstrong knocked on the door.
“Busy,” Vatch barked.
Armstrong knocked again, opening the door. He peeked his head inside, holding up a sheet of paper. “Thought you’d want to know about this.”
“Doubtful.” Vatch turned away from his computer screen and gestured for Armstrong to come inside. Vatch had been told that he was supposed to mentor Armstrong, which Vatch decided was permission to be even crueler to the young agent than he was to everybody else. “Must be another dress code memo.”
Vatch reached out for the piece of paper, and Armstrong handed the memo to him. He adjusted the distance of the piece of paper from his face, trying to focus. Vatch had needed glasses for the past year, but he refused. They were too expensive and Vatch believed eye doctors were just hucksters selling overpriced plastic.
His beady eyes scanned the document, and Vatch’s tongue flicked out his narrow mouth as he read the lines that Armstrong had highlighted. Then he nodded.
Agent Armstrong beamed, all optimism. “Looks like we’re going to get him.”
Vatch said nothing.
“Been checking the flight register every day since the priest died,” Armstrong continued. “Figured he’d be coming back for the funeral.”
“You’re a regular Nancy Drew.” Vatch put the paper down on his desk, and then he looked back at Armstrong. He had a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Vatch almost thanked Armstrong, but he was able to suppress the impulse. Vatch, instead, gave the young agent a nod, turned back to his computer and resumed typing.
“Shut the door on your way out, will you? Got plans to make.”
###
The flight from Cancun was scheduled to arrive at LaGuardia in the late afternoon. Vatch reviewed the airline’s flight manifest. Since the September 11 attacks, airlines had to submit lists of passengers to the government for all flights.
The CIA and the National Security Agency had always had access to the information, whether through legal or other mechanisms. But for the FBI, access to flight manifests was relatively new. It had been a significant help in tracking down people of interest, although none of the people of interest were terrorists.
According to the list, Michael Collins, Andie Larone, and the weird guy had booked their flight late the night before.
Vatch set the paper down on his desk and leaned back. He thought about how many agents he should call for backup or whether he should just rely on the immigration officers at the airport.
He wanted to do the arrest himself. He didn’t want to share the glory, but he also didn’t want to let Michael slip away again.
It seemed too easy, although Vatch doubted whether Michael Collins knew about the indictment. Grand jury proceedings were supposed to be confidential and he was thousands of miles away.
Vatch pulled up his email account, typed a summary of the situation, and then clicked the “send” button. Instantly, the message was directed to the bureau chief, his immediate supervisor, and United States Attorney Brenda Gadd. Go big or not at all, he thought.
It was a call for six to nine additional agents, but he made it clear that Michael Collins was only to be questioned by him.
Vatch looked up at the clock on his wall, and then checked the flight time again.
He had an hour and a half to get to the airport, which was just enough time to find a lowly federal prosecutor and get a warrant from a judge to detain Andie Larone and Kermit Guillardo as material witnesses.
Hopefully they’d lie or be uncooperative, Vatch thought, then he could charge them with obstructing a federal law enforcement investigation, maybe aiding and abetting after the fact.
That would be nice.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kermit Guillardo
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