let's think here. Where would they go?"
"To America," Claber said instantly.
"Exactly." Truman smiled. "I want you to research the most likely route by road and through the woods. Chances are they won't use a legal point of entry because they've seen the police with me and they don't want to get caught."
"Makes sense. Then what?"
"Get everyone together. The Bennett brothers, Grey and Sanders. Send two groups into the woods. I want you and two others back in the States, prowling the border."
Someone in the background let out an exclamation.
"What?" Truman barked. "Someone have a comment?"
"Just Hastings,” Claber said, his voice less confident.
"What's his problem?"
"Apparently he has some concerns about the plan."
“Out with it,” Truman demanded.
"He thinks it's a waste of time."
So Hastings had decided there were no boundaries, that he could insult and rage to his heart’s content. Respect was still lacking.
"He doesn't have to go, then," Truman said, his voice icy calm. "Dispose of him."
"Sir?" Claber asked, and there was no mistaking his surprise.
" You had no problem doing it to McAllister’s men. I'm tired of having my decisions questioned," Truman growled. "What hurts one of us hurts us all. Hastings doesn't want to help, fine. We don't need a broken wheel. Get rid of him."
Claber's voice murmured as a muffled conversation occurred in the van. Then Claber said, "He changed his mind. He's more than willing to help."
That's more like it. "Perfect. I want him in a rental car, stateside. He reports directly to you. I want constant surveillance on the likely points of entry."
"Yes, sir," Claber said, his voice hesitant.
What was the problem now? "This isn't difficult," Truman snapped. "Four people in the woods. Four in the States. You just have to research the likely entry points."
"But there could be dozens—"
"Then choose the best ones!"
"Yes, sir."
Truman took a deep breath, letting his rational self take over. “Get on this. I want detailed maps by tonight. Send Hastings and the Bennett brothers into the States right away. But you come back with the four going into the woods. We'll need to prep them with supplies for the journey."
"Yes, sir."
Truman hung up. He stumbled over to the bar and grabbed the whiskey. It looked like he still needed his contact with the police force. Truman pressed the preassigned number.
"Fayande," the man answered.
"I need you to arrest some people."
"On what charges?"
"Well, that's up to you, isn't it?" Truman consulted the notepad he'd used when speaking with Claber. "Let's start with Chris Coton and his girlfriend, Natalie."
#
Claber and the four men he’d selected to track the girls in the forest entered Truman's office. Their faces glistened with sweat, and he could practically smell their fear. It had come at a heavy cost, but Truman admitted to liking the respect the men had for him. He glanced at Claber. Claber’s mouth twitched, a vein on his neck pulsing. He clutched a manila folder at his side.
Truman tapped his fingers on the wooden desk in a solemn staccato, letting the silence draw out. The men shifted about and kept their eyes on the floor.
"Well?" he finally said. "What happened? How did you and the police both manage to lose the girls?"
Sanders cleared his throat, straightening a little. He glanced at Claber, who gave a slight nod. "The last call Claber got on his hotline was at a gas station in Victoriaville. The caller correctly identified the car and the driver. We found the vehicle on the side of the road. It was empty. Either they proceeded on foot or they got a different car."
Truman kept his face impassive. "What are your projections? Where are they now?"
Sanders’ Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Fayande has patrols watching the routes to the American consulate, the RCMP, and the border. They’re looking for any vehicle with a blond driver and three or more girls in the car."
Already Truman saw the ways they could
"To America," Claber said instantly.
"Exactly." Truman smiled. "I want you to research the most likely route by road and through the woods. Chances are they won't use a legal point of entry because they've seen the police with me and they don't want to get caught."
"Makes sense. Then what?"
"Get everyone together. The Bennett brothers, Grey and Sanders. Send two groups into the woods. I want you and two others back in the States, prowling the border."
Someone in the background let out an exclamation.
"What?" Truman barked. "Someone have a comment?"
"Just Hastings,” Claber said, his voice less confident.
"What's his problem?"
"Apparently he has some concerns about the plan."
“Out with it,” Truman demanded.
"He thinks it's a waste of time."
So Hastings had decided there were no boundaries, that he could insult and rage to his heart’s content. Respect was still lacking.
"He doesn't have to go, then," Truman said, his voice icy calm. "Dispose of him."
"Sir?" Claber asked, and there was no mistaking his surprise.
" You had no problem doing it to McAllister’s men. I'm tired of having my decisions questioned," Truman growled. "What hurts one of us hurts us all. Hastings doesn't want to help, fine. We don't need a broken wheel. Get rid of him."
Claber's voice murmured as a muffled conversation occurred in the van. Then Claber said, "He changed his mind. He's more than willing to help."
That's more like it. "Perfect. I want him in a rental car, stateside. He reports directly to you. I want constant surveillance on the likely points of entry."
"Yes, sir," Claber said, his voice hesitant.
What was the problem now? "This isn't difficult," Truman snapped. "Four people in the woods. Four in the States. You just have to research the likely entry points."
"But there could be dozens—"
"Then choose the best ones!"
"Yes, sir."
Truman took a deep breath, letting his rational self take over. “Get on this. I want detailed maps by tonight. Send Hastings and the Bennett brothers into the States right away. But you come back with the four going into the woods. We'll need to prep them with supplies for the journey."
"Yes, sir."
Truman hung up. He stumbled over to the bar and grabbed the whiskey. It looked like he still needed his contact with the police force. Truman pressed the preassigned number.
"Fayande," the man answered.
"I need you to arrest some people."
"On what charges?"
"Well, that's up to you, isn't it?" Truman consulted the notepad he'd used when speaking with Claber. "Let's start with Chris Coton and his girlfriend, Natalie."
#
Claber and the four men he’d selected to track the girls in the forest entered Truman's office. Their faces glistened with sweat, and he could practically smell their fear. It had come at a heavy cost, but Truman admitted to liking the respect the men had for him. He glanced at Claber. Claber’s mouth twitched, a vein on his neck pulsing. He clutched a manila folder at his side.
Truman tapped his fingers on the wooden desk in a solemn staccato, letting the silence draw out. The men shifted about and kept their eyes on the floor.
"Well?" he finally said. "What happened? How did you and the police both manage to lose the girls?"
Sanders cleared his throat, straightening a little. He glanced at Claber, who gave a slight nod. "The last call Claber got on his hotline was at a gas station in Victoriaville. The caller correctly identified the car and the driver. We found the vehicle on the side of the road. It was empty. Either they proceeded on foot or they got a different car."
Truman kept his face impassive. "What are your projections? Where are they now?"
Sanders’ Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Fayande has patrols watching the routes to the American consulate, the RCMP, and the border. They’re looking for any vehicle with a blond driver and three or more girls in the car."
Already Truman saw the ways they could
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