Chapter 42: Cat and Mouse!

I left the ranch just before 7 AM the next morning. I kissed my wife, the twins, and Grandma goodbye, then gave Andi a quick, chaste hug before climbing onto the motorcycle and heading for the Black Hills. I started the bike and let it warm up before riding up the long lane to the county road that ran past the ranch. I waved goodbye to my women and set off down the lane.

I had to fill up in Dickinson to make it to the next gas station, which was just across the state line, according to the AAA map I had. I stopped at small gas stations along the deserted state highways twice more. There were stretches where I wouldn’t see another car for half an hour. I’d fuel the bike up, grab a soft drink, and walk around a bit to loosen up my legs every time I stopped.

One stop had a breakfast sandwich special; egg, cheese, and biscuit with a drink for $2. It wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t up to Jorgenson standards. The speed limit dropped by ten miles per hour after crossing into South Dakota, so I slowed down. I spotted a county police car waiting for speeders a little farther down the road, and I was glad that I had obeyed the law. The last thing I needed was to get pulled over for speeding and arrested on a federal warrant.

It was funny; I passed through Sturgis, South Dakota, just a month before the annual motorcycle rally, and I couldn’t imagine the chaos that would take place during the weeklong event. I arrived in Rapid City around noon, and I set out to find a motel room for the night after grabbing a light lunch. I wasn’t looking for the Taj Mahal, but the rates I was quoted were comparable to what you’d pay at a four-star hotel.

I was starting to get discouraged when I saw a sign on a side street that read ‘Motel, Vacancy’. I turned and headed toward it. I was registered and handed a key to a small, simple room that was surprisingly clean fifteen minutes later. The forty-five dollars I paid for the night was definitely worth it.

I took a quick shower and changed into a pair of Dockers, a plain polo shirt, and my casual walking shoes.

I decided to walk around the business district, looking for a public phone booth where I could make a call without raising suspicion. I found exactly what I was looking for, a phone booth with a seat so that I could sit while calling, in the lobby of a department store.

I went into a bank across the street and asked for a roll of quarters. The teller exchanged it for me, and I returned to the department store lobby. I called the service’s number and asked if there were any messages for Gillespie. They gave me three numbers to call, and I thanked them before hanging up. I then inserted the required number of quarters into the payphone and dialed one of the numbers.

A woman answered, and I recognized her voice as Olive’s. I asked to speak to Randy saying, “This is Dr. No calling.” ‘Dr. No’ was the nickname Randy had given me after the Russian mission, a nod to my James Bond persona. Randy came on the line and asked how he could help a few seconds later. That was the cue that the line was secure and everything was good.

“Are you guys doing okay, Randy?” I asked.

“Yep, Doc, we’re eating a lot of lobster and drinking the tea you prescribed,” Randy replied. “I haven’t seen any re-infestations from the parasites. The cheesesteak sandwich I’m hoping to enjoy tomorrow night should be parasite-free.”

Randy let me know that they were in Boston and that the authorities weren’t monitoring them. They’d be heading to another location soon, probably Philadelphia. He promised to leave another message for ‘Gillespie’ with the service once they were settled.

I called the next number on my message list, and it was Scotty and Jean. They’d left a message for Gillespie, and we were able to talk since they were staying at her uncle’s place not far from the entrance to Everglades National Park. Only her uncle knew the exact location, and he came in by airboat with a food run once a week.

They were staying at his winter home, but it was under siege by millions of mosquitoes. Scotty said that they’d soon be heading for a cooler climate and would leave a new message for ‘Gillespie’ in a few days.

I hadn’t seen a message from Molly, so I figured that she’d been compromised and that her calls were being monitored. Her decision not to leave a message was the best way to keep the rest of us safe from reprisals.

The last call on my list was to the retreat. I wanted to check in on how the ‘Twin Mountains’ and Mike were doing. A quick call gave me the answers that I needed. The responses were simple: yes and no, and they managed to answer my questions without risking federal phone taps detecting my location. I hung up the phone and quickly exited the booth once I had the information.

I walked around Rapid City, taking in the sights. Hunger struck as I strolled, so I decided to grab a burger and fries at an outdoor place doing brisk business. The burger was good, though the fries were a bit greasy. I kept walking after my quick meal, and spotted a movie theater showing a film that I’d wanted to see. I decided to catch it and make an early evening of it. I walked back to the motel after the movie, and headed to bed as the sun set. I planned an early departure the next day and wanted to get enough rest to last me until I made it home tomorrow evening.

The wake-up call I’d requested came through at 5:30 AM, jerking me awake with a start. The ringer on the bedside phone was loud. I got up, took a quick shower, and threw the clothes I’d worn the night before on. I planned to change into jeans and a denim shirt once I got back from breakfast.

I had everything packed, except for the clothes I planned to wear, by ten minutes to six. A small diner down the street was serving breakfast, so I decided to grab a bite. The food arrived swimming in grease, but I reluctantly ate it, then made my way back to the motel to settle the bill. I returned to my room afterward, changed into my riding clothes, and headed out to the bike. I secured my duffel bag, put my helmet on, and started the engine. I rode out of Rapid City once the bike had warmed up, and began the journey north, back toward the ranch.

I pulled up in front of the ranch house, fifteen minutes later than expected due to an emergency stop courtesy of breakfast. That place was officially crossed off my list of dining spots for good. The dogs ran up to greet me as I shut the bike down and took my helmet off. Karen, Andi, and Grandma appeared a moment later, each giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They all seemed happy and a little giggly as they welcomed me home.

I took my duffel off the bike and followed the women back into the house. They had waited to eat lunch with me, and we all sat down at the dining table, everyone talking at once. Andi asked if I’d heard any news from the others. I told her that I’d spoken to Randy and Olive, they were doing fine, as were as Scotty and Jean. I said that I hadn’t heard from Molly or the Frischs, nor had I expected to. Andi was concerned about Molly, but I told her not to worry, that her husband would be watching over her. I explained that the Frischs were out of the country, so I didn’t expect to hear from them either. I also mentioned that I’d called the retreat and that everything was fine there, too.

The conversation at the table lightened once I got all that out of the way. Karen said that one of the cowboys had reported that the cattle would be unloaded sometime tomorrow. He asked that we keep the dogs close to the house, since they might spook the cattle and someone could get hurt. I agreed, as it was a sensible suggestion.

Karen saved the best news for last; the twins had started pulling themselves up and had tried to walk for the first time. It was wonderful news, and I wished I’d been there to cheer them on. The downside was that they’d soon be into everything, and we’d need to start keeping things out of reach.

We watched as semi-trucks loaded with cattle arrived at the ranch for the next several days. It was fascinating to see the crews set up a ramp at the rear of each trailer, open the doors, and guide the cattle down toward the range lands at first, but the novelty quickly wore off with little else to do. I began spending my time on small projects around the ranch house and outbuildings. Depending on what I needed, I’d occasionally drive into the little hamlet down the road to see if the general store had it. They surprisingly usually did, and I could always find something that worked just as well, if not.

I spotted a local newspaper on the counter with the headline ‘Scandal Rocks Our Nation’s Capital’ on one of my trips into town and to the general store. I picked it up and began reading the article. An independent investigation had uncovered irregularities in several government business transactions, and the Justice Department was now looking into the matter.

That was all I was able to read before the store’s owner said, “Ain’t that something? All that corruption in one place. Makes you wonder if anything good ever comes out of that city.”

“It’s like any other city or place, there’s always a small minority responsible for creating all the mess,” I said. “Stuff like this makes everyone else in Washington look bad.”

“If you say so,” replied the small-town store owner, not entirely convinced. “Have a good day, and come back when you can.”

I smiled and waved as I walked out the door, heading back to the truck I’d driven that afternoon.

I told the others what I had read in the paper when I got home from the store. I said it was time to make another trip to Rapid City and make a few phone calls. I explained that I’d drive the Crown Vic instead of riding the bike and turning it into an overnight trip this time, and anyone who wanted to come along was welcome.

Karen and Andi were eager to go, of course. Any chance to get off the ranch was a welcome one. We looked over at Grandma to see what she wanted to do.

“You go on,” Grandma said. “I’ll stay here and spend time with my grandbabies and spoil them some more.”

“Are you sure, Grandma?” I asked, my tone sincere. “I thought that you’d want to get off the ranch sometime.”

“I like it out here. It’s so quiet and peaceful compared to Washington,” she said. “We’ll be going back soon, I can feel it. Let me enjoy the peace while I can.”

We left early the next morning, just as I’d planned. I drove the Crown Vic with Karen beside me and Andi in the backseat. We stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere after a couple of hours on the road, filled the tank, and grabbed some snacks for the drive.

We reached Rapid City just before lunchtime. I parked the Crown Vic near the department store where I’d used the phone before. I dialed my old friend directly instead of calling the answering service this time. I fed enough quarters into the payphone for a 10-minute call and then dialed the number.

The call went through, and I heard a familiar voice on the other end say “Foster,” as expected.

“Lawrence, old friend, how’ve you been?” I asked, “It’s been a while.”

“Where are you, James? You’ve got the Bureau in a tizzy, and some very powerful people want to know where you are,” he replied, his voice almost a whisper.

“I’m playing it safe, and so is the rest of my staff,” I replied. “I’ve been in that city long enough to know that you’re gone if someone wants you gone.”

“Not this time, James. You’ve got the President, the VP, the head of the Bureau, and the CIA all wanting to know where you are,” Lawrence responded. “You shook a lot of trees to get all that rotten fruit to fall.”

“There are people in high places who care about you and your people.”

“Are you sure that it’s not a case of people in high places wanting to take care of me instead?” I said, my words laced with sarcasm.

“No, honestly, the Bureau went to your house, found it empty, and your Vanagon was gone. They knew that you’d flown the coop to protect your family,” Lawrence said. “There’s an international BOLO out on you, and you’ve eluded a very large search so far. The Bureau and the CIA will be after you to teach them how you did it when you get back to DC. That goes for your staff, too.”

“OK, I’ll call back in ten minutes if things are as you say. You can give me the phone number of someone higher up the food chain to call. Bye, Lawrence.”

I hung the phone up and went searching for Karen and Andi. I was also out of quarters and needed to pick up more before making another call.

I picked up two rolls of quarters from the bank down the street. I mentioned that I needed them for laundry, explaining that I was from out of town and using the Laundromat. The teller sympathetically nodded when I explained why I needed them.

I had just found Karen and Andi, and we had gotten into the car when a Rapid City cop car pulled up in front of the department store. A cop jumped out and ran into the store. I put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, unnoticed by the officer still sitting in the car. The Crown Vic was nothing like a Vanagon.

I told the women that the Feds were looking for us and that we needed to change locations. I asked them to spot a phone booth and let me know.

We drove around town for a while, searching for a phone. We finally spotted one, but it was under surveillance by a cop car a block away. That’s when I decided to head out of town.

I decided to head west out of town toward the park I had seen on the map earlier, hoping that we’d find a phone booth there. I spotted a phone next to the shelter as I turned toward the picnic area. I put the car in park and left the engine running; I wanted to be far out of town when the cops converged on the area.

Lawrence picked up the phone and wasted no time answering. “I’ll admit it, you’re slick, James. Here’s the number you requested,” Lawrence said.

“Thanks, Buddy,” I responded, then hung up the phone.

I hurried to the car and drove off at a normal speed, eager to leave the area before the police swarmed. Leaving the park, I spotted a road heading south and decided to take it. The road stretched on for several miles before turning into a gravel-covered county highway. I followed it for a couple more miles until we came to an old Lutheran church at a crossroads. The signpost at the corner indicated that the road went west. I knew from studying the map earlier that it would eventually intersect with US Route 385, and we could take it north to head back to the ranch house.

The route north took us through Sturgis. We stopped long enough to gas up the Crown Vic and grab enough food and drinks to last us until we got back to the ranch.

It was just after 6 PM when we pulled into the lane leading to the ranch. We got out and went to greet Grandma who had come out to see who was pulling in. She greeted each of us with a hug, and I told her about the excitement in Rapid City.

We all agreed that it would be too risky to go back to make more calls. Additional calls would have to be from another city if I needed to make any.

We debated where I should make the call from after supper that night. I wanted it to be somewhere I knew well, somewhere that I could escape from if needed. Karen, half-joking, suggested I might as well go to Chicago. You sometimes throw everything against the wall to see what sticks, and it was Chicago this time.

I used the maps to plot my route into Chicago and figure out the best places to use a phone that evening. I asked Karen what she thought about calling from the university or the hospital lobby. She said, “Too many people there know you and would tell the cops that they spotted you on the motorcycle with North Dakota license plates,” after a moment’s thought.

That narrowed it down to parks, fast food restaurants, and shopping malls as potential phone locations. A phone in the park seemed like the best option in my mind. It would have to be a short call, though, since I’d need to leave before the local cops showed up.

Looking over the city map of Chicago, I studied the interstate highways, beltways, and the surface street grid. The police would be watching all those routes. I was about to give up on the idea when it hit me that Chicago has one of the best mass transit systems in the country. Why not use that instead?

I went back to the map and started searching again, then spotted the perfect place to make the call. Now I just had to hope that there was a public phone there.

The rest of the evening was spent planning my route there and back. The round-trip journey I’d mapped out would take a week. I presented my plans to the women the next morning, and asked for their thoughts. None of them was thrilled about me riding that distance on a bike naturally, but they understood my reasons for doing it. It took some time to convince them, but they eventually all came around to my way of thinking.

The plan was for me to leave in two days, using the time until then to get ready for the ride. We drove into Dickinson that afternoon so that I could pick up everything I’d need for a routine maintenance check on the motorcycle, along with some extra gear.

I bought a rain suit in case it started to rain, some dried fruit and nuts to make a bag of trail mix to keep in my duffel, and a supply of hard candies in case my mouth got dry. The trail mix would serve as my backup in case I couldn’t find a place for food open.

Packing for the ride was easy. I had three sets of clothes for the road and a nicer outfit for when I went into Chicago by train. It would be a quick in-and-out trip, hopefully before anyone could track me. I circled the towns where I planned to find a motel for the night on the map. I also decided that it would be wise to carry my Walther.

The day before I left was a busy one. I did maintenance on the bike, paying extra attention to the chain and tires. I made sure that all my gear was packed and easy to access. I spent a couple of hours reviewing my planned route, memorizing every turn and cutoff. I finally rode the bike into the village to fill the tank. I’d be ready to leave after breakfast in the morning.

Karen was especially clingy, curling up close to me in bed that last night. She refused to let go, and I had to gently peel her off so I could get up and get dressed when the alarm went off at 4:30 AM. Grandma had a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast waiting for me when I came downstairs. I sat down to eat, with all three women now awake and eating breakfast with me.

I went upstairs to grab my duffel and the Walther. All three women were waiting for me when I came back down. I had to stop and kiss each of them goodbye before I was allowed to leave. I didn’t mind the extra attention. They were special to me.

They all came out onto the front porch after saying our goodbyes, while I strapped the duffel in place behind my seat. I climbed onto the bike and started it up, letting the engine warm up properly before taking off. I put my helmet on, looked over at the women, waved, then turned the bike toward the lane and on to Chicago.

The ride toward Chicago went as expected; a full three days of steady riding. My route resembled stair steps on the map. I chose a more rural path instead of passing through Minneapolis and other larger cities, sticking to open, secondary roads.

The first half of the trip was a scenic drive through endless grain farms across the South Dakota prairie. The ride became monotonous after the first two hours. My first night was spent in Aberdeen, South Dakota, a charming city on the plains. There was an excellent Mexican restaurant near the motel where I stayed, nothing like the national chains that served tacos.

I’d only covered 300 miles, but I wanted to use the first day’s ride to get myself accustomed to being in the saddle for a full day.

My second day’s ride started in Aberdeen, and ended in Albert Lea, Minnesota. The ride was similar to the first day, just a bit greener with more trees. I covered slightly more miles than the day before.

The motel that night was more upscale and had a restaurant attached. I decided to change into my Chicago outfit for dinner and enjoyed a nice steak. I noticed a woman who kept staring at me during the meal, and it made me feel anxious. I figured that it would be best to quickly finish my meal and head to my room for the rest of the evening.

The woman who had been staring approached and stopped me as I was paying for my meal.

“I think I know you from somewhere,” the woman said. “Are you from the Washington, DC, area?

I nearly fainted when she asked that question. I quickly replied, “Sorry, I’m from North Dakota and have never been back east.”

The woman looked even more confused, as if searching her memory for something that might trip me up. “You know, you look like the presidential advisor I saw on TV,” she added.

“I hope he’s as handsome as I am, then,” I said, laughing. “I’m a cattle rancher from North Dakota, heading to St. Louis for a cattleman’s convention.”

The woman turned beet red, wished me a good night, and hurried out of the restaurant. I walked through the lobby, down the hallway to my room, and locked the door behind me. I then called the front desk and requested a 4:30 AM wake-up call.

I changed clothes, putting my Chicago outfit back into the duffel. I gathered the things that I would need to shower and shave, not wanting to waste time doing it in the morning. Wearing my usual running shorts to bed, I pulled the covers back and climbed in.

The wake-up call came through exactly at 4:30, and the sky was still dark when I went out to pack the bike up at 4:45. I paid my bill at the front desk and then let the bike warm up. Thank goodness that it was a Honda and not a Harley-Davidson. I’m sure that I would have angered several motel guests if I had let a Harley warm up with its loud exhaust.

The goal for today’s ride was to make it to Joliet, Illinois. I stopped at a diner along the highway just before reaching the Minnesota–Iowa border. Several pickups and semi-trucks were parked out front.

I told the server what I wanted when she came to take my order. She wrote it down on the check before asking what I’d like to drink. I just asked for water.

I zoned in on the conversation at the table behind me while I was waiting for my breakfast. They were talking about what CNN had reported earlier; a series of FBI raids in Washington overnight, targeting corruption and influence peddling. Several political leaders and influential figures had been arrested. One of the farmers at the table mentioned that the list included a couple of Congressmen, one of them from Michigan, the one who everyone said had a great political future. That made me smile.

One of the farmers noticed me smiling and asked, “What are you smiling about, young fella?”

“I have very little respect for an elected official who takes advantage of his position to line his own pockets, Sir,” I responded. “It’s called ethics, and I don’t hear about too many people in that city having any.”

“You and me both, young man,” another farmer chimed in. “The TV commentators said those folks are facing some pretty stiff sentences if they’re convicted.”

Another farmer spoke up. “I heard an independent report this morning that the whistleblower in this scandal had to take his family into hiding to avoid retribution from these criminals. That just isn’t right. The report says that the Feds are worried about their safety and confused about where they are. It seems this guy is real good at hiding as he’s got them all buffaloed.”

“Hiding in plain sight, I bet,” one of the other farmers said. “The guy and his family are probably still in Washington laughing at the fools who are trying to find them.”

‘Hardly’, I thought as the server placed my breakfast in front of me. She smiled and said, “Enjoy,” before heading over to the coffee urn to warm up everyone’s coffee.

It took me half an hour to eat my breakfast and relax enough to get back on the road. I used the restroom, and the server had my check ready when I came out. I picked it up and headed to the register to pay. All I had were twenties, and I wanted to use the change from a twenty-dollar bill for the tip. That’s when I noticed the tip jar. I dropped my change into the jar when she handed it to me. She thanked me for stopping by and went over to the counter to clean up.

One of the farmers asked where I lived as I was leaving. I replied that I was from North Dakota and was on my way south to Saint Louis to visit an uncle. He must have noticed the bike, laughed, and said that he hoped my backside was up for such a long ride. I said that it had to be, or I’d be walking otherwise. That got all the farmers laughing, and they wished me a safe trip as I left.

There was a gas station across the road from the diner that had just opened as I walked out. I pushed the bike across the road, positioned it by a pump, and waited for the attendant to power up the system. It took him a few minutes, and he gave me a hand signal to start pumping when he was done. I put just under four dollars’ worth of fuel into the tank and went inside to pay, then I put my helmet on and hit the road, heading for Joliet.

It was a good thing that I left Albert Lea just before 5 AM. I pulled into a motel parking lot in Joliet around noon. I asked if it was possible to get a room, and I was in luck as they had just finished cleaning a block of rooms, and I was able to stay in one of them. I registered as James Jorgenson of North Dakota. The clerk didn’t ask to see any identification, and I was thankful for that.

I asked where the nearest train station was, explaining that I wanted to do some sightseeing in Chicago that afternoon and didn’t want to ride my bike in city traffic. The clerk agreed and gave me directions to the light rail station just down the street. He even retrieved a train schedule from under the counter and, recommended which trains I should take after he consulted it.

I thanked him and pushed the bike down the lot until I reached my room. I changed into my city clothes inside, a polo shirt and khakis, and grabbed the messenger bag that I planned to carry. Four rolls of quarters and a few other items that I thought might help me look the part of an out-of-town tourist went into it.

I locked up the room once I was dressed and ready, leaving my belongings in the duffel on the bed. I hid the Walther behind the toilet tank in the bathroom, to keep it out of sight. I walked in the direction toward the light rail station into Chicago that the clerk had indicated. I purchased round-trip tickets at the station, and joined the others waiting for the train. I didn’t have to wait long and the ride into the city took just over an hour.

I had originally planned to use one of the phones in Millennium Park, but chose a phone inside what I knew as the Sears Tower instead. The lobby had several public phones, which I figured would make it harder to trace who had used any one of them. I walked several blocks west to the Sears Tower after exiting the train near Millennium Park.

I entered the Tower acting like a tourist, my head on a swivel, taking everything in. I spotted a bank of phones, most of them unused. I took a roll of quarters out, fed a handful in, and dialed the number Lawrence had given me. It rang several times before someone finally picked up. I identified myself to the person on the other end and asked what the terms were for me to come in.

The first question they asked was where I was. I knew they were playing games, trying to improve their chances of tracing the call. I told the person to give me the conditions otherwise, they’d never hear from me again, except through some articles that I’d release about the bureaucratic bungling I’d uncovered but never published. I didn’t actually have any such material, but they didn’t know that. It worked, they quickly gave me the conditions.

We were instructed to surrender ourselves at the nearest FBI office and bring any additional information that I might have with me. I laughed at the person on the line and said, “Have a nice career, at least whatever’s left of it,” before ending the call.

I quickly left the Tower lobby and blended into the mass of people moving along the city street. I heard sirens blaring from a distance and heading my way once outside. That’s when I set my escape plan into motion.

I walked several blocks down the street, then turned west toward Chicago Union Station. The next train to Joliet was scheduled to depart in twenty minutes, and I intended to be on it.

The walk to Union Station took a solid five minutes. I put on a pair of sunglasses I had purchased earlier and a Cubs ball cap along the way. The hat was the key to the disguise. I remembered that from the evasion training that we had been required to take before the Russian mission. Everything that I’d done today was child’s play compared to that operation. I was glad that I’d paid attention to the instructor during that class.

I arrived at the station ten minutes early, and stood with the rest of the crowd waiting for the train. I scanned the platform for cops or any suspicious-looking thugs. Seeing neither, I relaxed and played the part of a bored Chicago resident.