Read Online The Fallen: A Derek Stillwater Thriller by Mark Terry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Terry
Ads: Link
storage area, moving into the banquet room. El Tiburón headed toward one of the tables loaded with liquor, his job to mix in with the waitstaff. Coffee moved through on his way to the kitchen, where he would help deliver food to the banquet area.
Coffee checked his watch again. ETA: twelve minutes.
Chapter 22
Agent Sarah Macklin sat at her computer in the FBI command center in the resort’s main building. It was a conference room with no windows, and they had brought in a dozen folding tables and loaded up the room with computers, telephones, and radio equipment. Eight or nine agents were monitoring the computers and talking on the phones, keeping tabs on various aspects of the security event.
Macklin compared the headshot of Derek Stillwater she had pulled off the bureau database with the headshots of male employees at the Cheyenne Hills Resort. She was able to winnow it down to about seven hundred faces just by eliminating the women. She started with last names beginning with the letters A through I. One of her agents, Bill Creff, looked at J through S. Joe Snyder sifted T through Z.
“Check this out,” Snyder said.
She and Creff glanced over at Snyder’s computer, peering at the face on the screen. Angular face, dark wavy hair, age thirty-five to fifty. The name was Stanley Federov and the file indicated he worked in the golf shop. They studied the image.
“Close, but not quite. Keep him on the list, though.”
They went back to their computers.
Macklin’s radio buzzed in her ear. She clicked it on. “Macklin.”
“This is Padillo. POTUS is on his way. ETA four minutes.”
“Understood.”
She clicked past the face on the screen, an African-American. The next up on the resort’s security database was a headshot of a guy on the resort’s maintenance staff. His name was Michael Gabriel.
She pulled up Derek Stillwater’s headshot and placed it alongside the one of Michael Gabriel that had been taken for his security badge.The hair was different— much shorter and lighter in color, and he’d grown a goatee, but it was clearly the same man. “Bingo!” she said.
Snyder and Creff took a look. Creff said, “Been working here eight months. Timing’s right.”
“Good cover, too,” said Macklin. “Complete access to the facility.”
Macklin picked up the phone and dialed Steve Planchette, head of maintenance. When he answered, she said, “This is FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge Sarah Macklin. Is your employee Michael Gabriel working today?”
“Sure.”
“Where is he right now?”
“In the kitchen, I think. There a problem?”
“No, sir. No problem. Thank you.”
She hung up and looked at her partners. “Okay, gentlemen. Let’s go pick up this guy.”
Chapter 23
Derek Stillwater was working inside the walk-in freezer. The Cheyenne Center’s kitchen area was large enough to support one walk-in freezer and two walk-in refrigerators. The refrigerators were convenient to the cooking areas, but the freezer was tucked away in a cul-de-sac near a service hallway, which was partly why Derek had chosen to sabotage it.
It was cold, so he propped the door open. For some reason known only to the contractors who custom made and installed it, the controls were inside the freezer instead of outside. The compressor was beneath the structure. The walk-in was large, easily twenty-five feet deep, seven feet high, and fifteen feet wide. Shelves ran along the walls and were jammed with frozen produce.
He had purposely created a short in the controls that would be relatively easy to fix. Still, it was a pain in the ass. In order to open the control panel all the way he had to shove aside a stainless steel shelf piled high with what looked like frozen turkeys—dozens of them. Then, jammed into the corner, he used his screwdriver to open the control panel, shut down the power so he didn’t fry himself, then reconnected the wires.
Derek was in a very awkward position when a broad-shouldered woman in a dark
Coffee checked his watch again. ETA: twelve minutes.
Chapter 22
Agent Sarah Macklin sat at her computer in the FBI command center in the resort’s main building. It was a conference room with no windows, and they had brought in a dozen folding tables and loaded up the room with computers, telephones, and radio equipment. Eight or nine agents were monitoring the computers and talking on the phones, keeping tabs on various aspects of the security event.
Macklin compared the headshot of Derek Stillwater she had pulled off the bureau database with the headshots of male employees at the Cheyenne Hills Resort. She was able to winnow it down to about seven hundred faces just by eliminating the women. She started with last names beginning with the letters A through I. One of her agents, Bill Creff, looked at J through S. Joe Snyder sifted T through Z.
“Check this out,” Snyder said.
She and Creff glanced over at Snyder’s computer, peering at the face on the screen. Angular face, dark wavy hair, age thirty-five to fifty. The name was Stanley Federov and the file indicated he worked in the golf shop. They studied the image.
“Close, but not quite. Keep him on the list, though.”
They went back to their computers.
Macklin’s radio buzzed in her ear. She clicked it on. “Macklin.”
“This is Padillo. POTUS is on his way. ETA four minutes.”
“Understood.”
She clicked past the face on the screen, an African-American. The next up on the resort’s security database was a headshot of a guy on the resort’s maintenance staff. His name was Michael Gabriel.
She pulled up Derek Stillwater’s headshot and placed it alongside the one of Michael Gabriel that had been taken for his security badge.The hair was different— much shorter and lighter in color, and he’d grown a goatee, but it was clearly the same man. “Bingo!” she said.
Snyder and Creff took a look. Creff said, “Been working here eight months. Timing’s right.”
“Good cover, too,” said Macklin. “Complete access to the facility.”
Macklin picked up the phone and dialed Steve Planchette, head of maintenance. When he answered, she said, “This is FBI Special-Agent-in-Charge Sarah Macklin. Is your employee Michael Gabriel working today?”
“Sure.”
“Where is he right now?”
“In the kitchen, I think. There a problem?”
“No, sir. No problem. Thank you.”
She hung up and looked at her partners. “Okay, gentlemen. Let’s go pick up this guy.”
Chapter 23
Derek Stillwater was working inside the walk-in freezer. The Cheyenne Center’s kitchen area was large enough to support one walk-in freezer and two walk-in refrigerators. The refrigerators were convenient to the cooking areas, but the freezer was tucked away in a cul-de-sac near a service hallway, which was partly why Derek had chosen to sabotage it.
It was cold, so he propped the door open. For some reason known only to the contractors who custom made and installed it, the controls were inside the freezer instead of outside. The compressor was beneath the structure. The walk-in was large, easily twenty-five feet deep, seven feet high, and fifteen feet wide. Shelves ran along the walls and were jammed with frozen produce.
He had purposely created a short in the controls that would be relatively easy to fix. Still, it was a pain in the ass. In order to open the control panel all the way he had to shove aside a stainless steel shelf piled high with what looked like frozen turkeys—dozens of them. Then, jammed into the corner, he used his screwdriver to open the control panel, shut down the power so he didn’t fry himself, then reconnected the wires.
Derek was in a very awkward position when a broad-shouldered woman in a dark
Similar Books
