Election Day (John Taylor #6) - Chapter 7

“So, explain to me why we’re going to the post office?” Whitaker asked as they pulled away from the EEOB.

“Well, we’re not going to the post office, exactly. I need to see if some of the feelers I sent out have come back.”

“At some point, you’re going to stop being cute and actually tell me what your plan is, right?”

“Sorry,” Taylor said, flashing her a grin. “As I said, one of the issues with Cole’s approach is he’s looking at Hubbard like a civilian. Even though he’s been discharged from the military, no one is ever completely let go. Registrations for the VA, applications to Veterans Affairs for loans, GI Bill applications. There is tons of stuff that connects us to the service even when we’re out.”

“You think he’s applying for benefits while trying to kill a candidate for president?” Whitaker asked, skeptically.

“No, but he doesn’t have a job and, as far as you’ve been able to find out, he hasn’t had one since he was discharged. He may be crazy, he might even sleep in his car, but he needs time to eat, the parts for all his gadgets and explosives have to come from somewhere, and he needs somewhere private to work, since building a pipe bomb in a homeless shelter would raise more than a few eyebrows. Now, since we know he wasn’t personally wealthy when he went into the service and doesn’t have any wealthy relatives supporting him, the most likely answer is that he’s living off of his pension. A medical discharge doesn’t invalidate your pension. The Army is very good about keeping track of where those checks are going.”

“Since we don’t have an address on him and you don’t think he’s staying with friends, since he needs that privacy, you’re guessing he’s getting them sent to a P.O. Box, right?”

“Yep.”

“We could have mentioned that to Cole.”

“Sure, and he would have shut us out as soon as we did. We wouldn’t get to look into the box, talk to the people who worked there, or see what else was mailed there. I know you like following procedure, but has Cole shown any ability to make use of the information in front of him? He had everything we’ve had, yet he didn’t know Hubbard’s name until we got it, and he hasn’t thought to see where Hubbard’s been getting his money. That, at least, should have been a no-brainer. I mean, Jesus, he’s Secret Service. Their whole deal is investigating money.”

“You’re still planning on turning anything we find over to him, right?”

“As long as it doesn’t cut off an avenue of investigation for us. This guy is really dangerous, and his target is our friend. I’m all for helping out the overall investigation, but these guys can’t see past their preconceived notions. I’m sure they would have eventually thought to look up the crazy ramblings and see if they matched something they could follow up on. I’m also sure they would have looked into his benefits and followed up on those. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’ll realize that’s a lead to follow in the next day or so. My problem is, the Senator might not have a day or so. This isn’t a situation where we can wait for them to make the right calls. So, we’ll make the right calls and then tell them what they need to know once we’re on to the next thing, or we get stuck.”

They got back to the Hoover building and Taylor started making some calls. Turns out, he didn’t need to bother. Cole had obtained a court order to allow the Taskforce access to various governmental records on Hubbard. While they weren’t officially on the Taskforce, the FBI had been included as one of the parties with access to his records, which meant Whitaker also had access, since nothing was classified or otherwise restricted inside the agency itself.

Within ten minutes of getting back to her office, they had the address of where Hubbard’s checks were getting delivered. As Taylor had predicted, it was a P.O. Box, unsurprisingly in D.C. not far from the mall. Taylor doubted that, once Caldwell became the center of his delusions, he got very far from wherever the Senator was. The trip to Rochester had been a one-off thing, and they’d just been insanely lucky to be there at the same time.

Of course, knowing where Hubbard’s checks were being sent wasn’t the same as catching him. P.O. Boxes were used for a reason. They were secure and generally disconnected from the owner outside of the paperwork filled out when renting the P.O. Box. Whitaker flashed her badge at the clerk and started asking questions.

They hadn’t received a warrant for the box yet, which meant they couldn’t look at what was inside it yet. The Post Office took the laws on mail security seriously and tended to be sticklers when it came to warrantless access to someone’s mail. That didn’t bother Taylor so much, since they would find out what was in it eventually. However, there were other things they could find out without seeing inside the box, including the paperwork on the box itself.

The first thing Taylor noticed was the name on the account wasn’t Hubbard’s, it was Stephen Abednego. Something about the name seemed familiar to Taylor, but he pushed that away for the moment, since he was more concerned that there was another name on the application. The Post Office checked IDs and was at least somewhat good at seeing a fake, which meant that Hubbard had been able to get a decent looking fake ID. Taylor hoped that he’d just known the right people to contact and buy one, because if he had someone else helping him, then things would get a lot harder. Taylor didn’t think that was likely, but it was a possibility they needed to start considering.

The box itself had been opened a month after Hubbard had been kicked out of the service. It further cemented that, despite being in the midst of a fairly severe psychological break, Hubbard had been able to take care of the basic things he needed to survive. More so, it was the forethought that went into it. Caldwell had been in the news for a long time and running for President for more than a year, but the first letter showed up six months ago, which suggested that was when he became fixated on her. The box was opened several years before that, however. At the time, Hubbard wouldn’t have known he’d need to hide his identity, and yet he’s still given a fake name using a fake ID. Taylor had to wonder; why was he taking precautions when he didn’t need to? Was he planning this all along or was he just insanely paranoid?

Either way, Hubbard was rational and calculating when he needed to be, which put him beyond a lot of completely sane criminals, let alone the insane ones.

The other thing on the form that interested Taylor was the primary address Hubbard had written down, which would have also been on the fake ID he had. Considering the fake name, Taylor was pretty sure the address would also be fake, but he hoped it would be a clue to something, at least.

They did a quick canvas of the postal workers, but none of them could remember Hubbard, even when Whitaker showed them his picture. That wasn’t surprising. Hubbard wouldn’t have stood around chatting and the workers saw a lot of people every day. Besides, the customer service area where the employees worked was separate from where all the boxes were held. The boxes themselves weren’t visible from the desk area where they worked, so they wouldn’t have seen who came in and checked which boxes. Considering how paranoid Hubbard seemed to be, the layout was probably one reason he’d chosen this particular post office.

As they left the post office, they called in the information to Cole who, as usual, didn’t seem to appreciate their getting him leads. Taylor didn’t think much would come of it, but Cole was thorough enough to get a warrant to look inside the box itself. Taylor thought, at most, they’d find the latest benefits check. Cole would probably put men on the box, watching for Hubbard to come back, but Taylor knew that wouldn’t work. Now that he knew he was being chased, he wouldn’t endanger himself needlessly. If he’d been likely to make a mistake like that, then the roadblocks would most likely have worked.

After calling Cole about the P.O. Box they headed to the address Hubbard had used on his application. It turned out to be a derelict warehouse that, from its condition, hadn’t been used for years.

Whitaker made notes to talk to the property owners and started looking for occupied nearby buildings they could canvas, but Taylor knew it wouldn’t matter. He seriously doubted Hubbard had ever stepped foot in the building or anywhere around here. He picked the address because he knew it wouldn’t lead back to him. The neighbors all agreed that no one had used or even been to that building in years, how long they couldn’t even really say. It had been abandoned as long as anyone at the adjacent buildings could remember. After an hour of hearing the same story, Whitaker agreed to drop the canvas.

It was disappointing that the lead didn’t pan out, but that was how these investigations went sometimes. They weren’t all go-go until you got the bad guy. There were false starts, dead ends, and a whole lot of waiting. With a few exceptions, every investigation Taylor had worked on had been a marathon, not a sprint. He still had a few avenues to chase down Hubbard, but they would take time.

He was working on hunting down people who served with Hubbard, but that wasn’t as easy as talking to someone in personnel, especially because he’d been involved in sensitive operations that left a lot of the service history for both him and the people he operated with not easily accessible. Instead of calling a friend of a friend to get the info immediately, he’d been forced to go through official channels, which slowed things down. Whitaker was also working on getting records she could track down on Hubbard. Taylor was certain that Cole was doing a lot of the same things, but he didn’t trust Cole to look at the information he got and see the full picture. Besides, Cole wouldn’t share anything he got with them. All of that meant they were in the hurry up and wait period of the investigation.

They went back to the Hoover building and worked for a few more hours, trying to get the next lead they could follow. They didn’t bother to call Cole about the warehouse. He’d either find it or he wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter either way, since it was a dead end.

Alexandria, Virginia

They eventually gave it up for the day and headed home. Taylor was worried that it was taking too long to track Cole down. He was back in D.C. by now, and now that he knew he was being tracked he’d be pushed to make something happen sooner rather than later. Taylor had some of the same training that Cole had, and one of the things they learned is that, while planning and meticulous work was important, when things kicked off, you went for the goal.

Whitaker was better at disassociating her home life from her investigation. She’d been in law enforcement for long enough that she was good at compartmentalizing her life, even when the investigation meant something to her. Taylor tried, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it, working the problem over in his head.

It was just starting to get dark and Taylor was helping Whitaker get dinner ready when their home phone rang. That was unusual in and of itself, since pretty much anyone that needed to reach them called one of their cell phones.

After a few muffled uh-huhs from Whitaker, she hung up and said to Taylor, “That was the doorman downstairs. He said he has a strange package and wanted to see if I’d come down and look at it.”

“Did he touch it?” Taylor asked.

“Yes.”

“Call him back; tell him to put it down and not to touch it again.”

“It wasn’t addressed to us. You think it’s Hubbard?” she asked, dialing the front desk.

“I don’t know, but I hate coincidences,” he said.

Instructions given, they shut off the half-cooked dinner and hurried downstairs, where they found a perplexed doorman with a rectangular box at his feet. It was maybe one foot tall and two feet long. Big enough that it wouldn’t have been gently sitting on a counter, which meant if it was an explosive, it was a stable one, since the doorman would have manhandled it around at least once.

“I’m sorry to bother you Ms. Whitaker, but I wasn’t sure what to do. It’s got Mrs. Jacob in 2B’s address on it, but a totally different name on the package. I called her and she said she hadn’t ordered anything and wouldn’t sign for it. I’ve called the shipping company, but they said the number on the package wasn’t one of theirs and they didn’t deliver anything here, but I was the one who signed for it. I saw their truck and everything. Honestly, I’m completely confused. I’ve worked in this building for six years and never saw anything like this.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tony; I’m happy to help out. You said you called the shipping company, and they didn’t know about it?”

“I did, and they didn’t. I swear it was them, though. You can see their label on the box, and I was here when it was dropped off. He was driving their truck, he had on one of their shirts, and I signed for it on one of their machine tablet things. I don’t get it.”

Whitaker and Taylor exchanged a look for a moment before she pulled out her cell phone and stepped away, to make her call in a place that wouldn’t spook the doorman.

“Can you pull up the security camera footage from then?” Taylor asked.

“Sure,” he said, going behind the front desk.

Taylor watched over his shoulder as he pulled up the security footage and started playing it back. While Taylor didn’t doubt that the truck and everything was correct, he wanted to see the delivery driver’s face. Part of him was disappointed when the driver walked into frame and it was just a normal-looking guy with short blond hair, dressed in the company’s uniform. Even though it would have meant he was almost certainly standing next to a bomb, he’d been hoping to see Hubbard walk through the front doors.

“They’re on their way?” Taylor asked when Whitaker returned.

“Yes. Was it him?”

“No, just some kid.”

“This could be nothing, you know. Just because the company couldn’t find a record and the label’s wrong doesn’t mean it’s not just a computer screw up. If they had some kind of glitch that put the wrong address on the label, then they wouldn’t have a record of a delivery here, since that wasn’t where the order was supposed to go.”

“Maybe, but I don’t like coincidences.”

“I know, and I agree with you. I just want to point out this might turn out to be nothing.”

“Ms. Whitaker, could you tell me what’s going on,” the doorman said, watching the byplay between them.

“Tony, I’m going to need you to do me a favor. We need to evacuate the building. There’ll be more police here in a moment to start banging on doors, but I want you to get the process started. Can we do that?”

“Is this a …”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to play things safe. Tell them there’s an emergency in the building and they need to hurry out front. Make sure they understand that this is serious, and police are on their way, and they need to hurry outside. Okay?”

He looked freaked out but did as she asked, calling to each apartment. He’d made it through about a third of the apartments before the first uniformed officers showed up, the bomb squad a few minutes behind them. Whitaker did her thing, flashing her badge and taking charge of the situation. Both she and Taylor were hustled outside the building as officers went door to door, making sure everyone was out. They were standing by the closest patrol car, watching people spill out of the building in groups of one or two, some looking confused and others annoyed at having their evening messed up, when the metro bomb squad truck pulled up. People may not know a lot about how police departments work, but most could recognize an explosives unit, especially once one of the team members started getting padded up in their giant suits.

One of the guys from the truck, who looked to be in charge of the group, went to talk to some of the officers who pointed to Whitaker and Taylor.

“Doug said you were the one who called it in,” he said when he walked over to them.

“Yes,” she said, showing her badge again. “There’s an unknown package inside by the front desk. Its address is for an apartment here but the name on it was completely wrong and the delivery company has no record of it being sent here. I know that’s not normally a big deal, but we are currently working on a case involving a bomber who’s made personal threats against us. Given the circumstances, we thought it best to make sure.”

“Got it. Do you think it’s an explosive, or just suspicious?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Be careful. Our bomber was former army EOD, so he knows what he’s doing.”

“Okay, my guys will x-ray the package and we’ll see what’s what,” he said, giving her a nod and heading back to his team, one of whom was now completely suited up.

The man had one last check of his equipment before waddling up into the building, wheeling a large device that Taylor assumed was a portable x-ray. Taylor and Whitaker relocated to the folding table that had been set up as a command post of sorts, stacked with radio equipment and a monitor with a feed from the bomb tech’s head camera.

“A large package, sealed. No signs of fires or connections,” the voice came through the radio.

On the screen she watched the man go over every seam and edge of the box.

“Run detector,” the commander said.

The tech turned and pulled a wand off the cart he’d been pulling, waving it over the box, beeping as soon as it was a few inches from the cardboard. The beeping continued as the tech waved it along the sides and around the box. He then set it back down on his cart and pulled out another small device, pulling out an antenna and working the buttons as he waved it over top of the box. Finally, he pulled out a third item, a small box with a wire connected to a probe. Taylor could hear the tell-tale click of a Geiger counter as he waved the wand over the box.

“The package definitely contains something metallic. No signs of radio signals or any kind of feed coming from the box. Negative on radiation.”

“You’re approved to x-ray it.”

“Roger,” the man said, folding a large arm off the cart and setting it over the device.

Waddling back, he took a deep breath and pushed the button. From the way everyone tensed up when he x-rayed it, Taylor assumed this was a tricky part of the process. Maybe they were concerned about x-rays setting it off if it was a bomb.

“Inconclusive,” the tech said after a minute, looking at a small screen on the cart. “A fairly solid, multi-part mass. Could be a device with connecting parts or just a bunch of stuff stacked together.”

“Roger. Do you see anything that might indicate it’s trapped or has anti-tamper switches?”

“No. X-ray doesn’t show anything above or next to the mass. No visible wires or connection points.”

“Okay, you’re good to open it.”

Everyone was silent, almost holding their breath as the tech slowly cut away the tape, only using the very tip of the knife he pulled off the cart, probably being careful to not cut into any wires that might have been missed on the x-rays. The tape cut away, the tech gently started lifting the lid, crouched down looking across the box, trying to see any connection to the lid, so he could stop before setting off a tripwire. None were found, however. The box lid was opened all the way. Inside were just stacks of phone books, some new, some old. Shoved in between the phone books were a few sheets of metal that had caused the metal detector to go off.

“What the hell?” Taylor said.

“Decoy. Someone wanted to freak you out but didn’t want to sling around a bomb.”

“Sorry to waste your time Lieutenant,” Whitaker said.

“No worries. It’s not like someone would actually ship a box full of old phone books. Someone sent that to freak you guys out and make it look like a bomb. You were right to call us since it could have easily been the real thing.”

“Still, we appreciate your checking it.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get my guys to pack everything up and get the street reopened.”

Whitaker went to talk to the police sergeant who’d take charge of the scene while Taylor went inside. He noted down the name and information off the box, just in case, and started up the stairs to their apartment.

He was sure this was from Hubbard, but he couldn’t figure out the message. It hadn’t been his style so far to just cause panic. Everything he’d done to this point had been direct and to the point. The letters were an escalation, and once he hit the stage of actually trying to kill someone, he hadn’t sent warnings. Taylor didn’t have a hundred percent hold on Hubbard yet, but from what he knew about the man so far, this play didn’t make sense.

Taylor was on their floor, and almost missed it, lost in his own thoughts. It was only as he got right to the door that his brain connected what he was seeing and told him something was wrong. Taylor stopped and looked at the door, standing partially open. They hadn’t been in a hurry when they’d gone downstairs. He’d closed and locked the door behind him, and definitely didn’t leave it standing open.

It took several more seconds as his brain clicked things in place before he turned and began running back down the steps, taking them two at a time.

“Out, back outside, right now,” he yelled at the people starting to come inside.

They seemed startled and confused until he started physically pushing some of them towards the door.

“Get these people outside,” Taylor yelled at the cops still on the street, drawn by his screams.

“Taylor, what are you doing?” Whitaker asked as she and the bomb squad Lieutenant ran over to him.

“The box was a diversion; he’s been in our apartment.”

“How do you know?”

“The door was standing open, and it’s the only thing that makes that box make sense.”

The bomb squad lieutenant gave an annoyed sigh and said, “Sir, I know these situations can be stressful, but …”

He wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Anything he was going to say was drowned out by a massive crashing and ripping sound as flames shot out of their third-floor apartment. Everyone covered their heads as glass and debris rained down on them.

“Shit,” Whitaker said, finally looking back up at the giant hole in the side of the building where her apartment used to be.