Deliverer

Chapter 19

"Excellent work, Alfred." Truman paced around the dim motel room in Sleazeville, California, restless with nervous energy. Alfred's sleuthing into the Carnicero was paying off. Now they had contact info to go with the name. Truman pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Even if the email we have for the Carnicero doesn't work, I'm sure his employers have a way of contacting him.

"Not only that," Alfred said, "but if they know we've tracked them down, they'll pressure him to accept our offer."

Either that, or they'll make silencing us a priority.The grim thought crept into Truman's mind uninvited. He made a conscious effort to loosen his jaw, rubbing at the sore muscle by his ear. "Right. I have another assignment for you."

"Yes?"

"Go back to Idaho. I want surveillance on the girls' houses. If you see police coming or going, make note. Check their mail every day, even if you have to sneak into the mail truck to get it before they do. Anything from the girls or the FBI, grab it."

"Yes, sir. I'll head that way now. I should get there tonight, if I hurry. But just me, for all four houses?"

Truman considered the question. "I know it seems like a lot, but you won't have anything else to do. This will keep you vigilant. I'll send Sanders out to join you."

"I'll let you know what we find out."

Truman hung up the phone and called Claber. "What time's your meeting with the dealer?"

"In about two hours."

Truman could practically hear the sunshine of Panama pouring through the phone. At least Claber had safely made it to South America. With any luck, McAllister had no idea where they were now. "Call me as soon as the deal's done."

"Right."

Sanders was next. Truman thumbed through his contacts and pressed the name. "Sanders, it's Truman. I need you to assist Alfred in Idaho. Call him and meet up with him."

"Sir?" Sanders said. "I'm with Derek. Bennett," he added, as if Truman didn't know. "Do you want him to come with me?"

Translation: the man wasn't ready to handle anything on his own.

"No," Truman said. This might work out really well, after all. "Tell him to stay in New York. Lay low in a motel. I'll be heading east soon."

"Got it. I'll get in touch with Alfred."

Truman put the phone down and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. California was the other side of the continent from Victoriaville; also from where he wanted to be. He hoped it would throw McAllister even further off his trail. If his contacts were extensive, and Truman suspected they were, he probably had people monitoring the arrivals at airports on the east coast.

Truman risked a quick glance through the blinds,checking out the dingy street below. Vacant. He drew back, hoping no one had spotted him. How good was McAllister? Did he have Truman's American alias? If so, it wouldn't take him long to hunt down Alex King.

The dismal thoughts were easier to entertain than the optimist ones. He tried to picture finding the girls, selling two of them for ridiculous amounts of money, and keeping Sara with him.He couldn't keep her safe unless she was with him. There were bad men out there, monsters. Criminals.

He wasn't one of them. He supported more than a dozen men and families. He worked hard to make sure he wasn't hurting anyone personally. Sara had to see that.

By lunchtime the next day, Truman felt like an imprisoned man. He couldn't stay here much longer.

His phone rang. Alfred. He turned the speaker on and leaned over his phone. "Yes?"