Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

brings to the party. It means you’ll have to disappear completely until we have him arrested and, of course, until we’re sure the real hit has been called off,” Chapman said.

“Of course!” Lazlo agreed sarcastically.

Chapman was getting ready to leave. “I’ll see you at the car,” Cromwell said to him.

“Make it quick! We have less than eight hours to stage Lazlo’s death and for him to disappear,” replied Chapman as he left the brownstone.

Cromwell turned to Lazlo. He put his finger to his lips—it was the universally understood symbol to be quiet. But Lazlo understood that it meant the place they were in could be bugged.

“Go and talk to Joseph now. I’ll let you know when we need you,” Cromwell said.

‘Talking to Joseph’ was code. Code that only Cromwell and Lazlo knew. Since Quantico, they had kept in touch. ‘Joseph’ was a secluded log cabin out in the woods in Oregon that George had bought with some inheritance money and that he’d kept in order to escape, from time to time, the pressures of working at the FBI. It was accessed by a series of unmarked dirt roads and was six miles from a lake that was good for fishing.

The cabin had helped Lazlo reassess his life after his divorce and after quitting Quantico. He had never seen another soul in all the times he had been there, and that was just the way he liked it. More importantly, the cabin had high visibility on the surrounding grounds. It was located in a clearing in the forest, making it impossible for anyone to approach the cabin under cover of trees.

John followed Chapman and Cromwell back to Lazlo’s precinct, the 73rd, where he assumed the FBI would make their base.

Entering the station, he saw a few men in suits and blue windbreakers with the letters FBI stenciled on their backs. They were setting up computers, moving files, sequestering furniture—confirming he was right. Fresh coffee was brewing in response to the increased demand, but the interview rooms were still empty. He decided to wait it out until arrests were made and got himself out of view, crashing in the janitor’s closet again to get some rest. He would need it.

In a hotel room by JFK airport, booked under the unisex name Alex Simpson, Shadow Dragon moved the onscreen slider to the start of the recorded film footage of the FBI raiding her Honolulu home. She was well aware that even successful professional killers left tracks. Like her, they needed a slew of trusted partners in order to do their job: an accountant, weapons suppliers, informants, contacts, and more. But she wasn’t just successful, she was the best, and one of a new breed––a digital nomad who resided, along with her partners, only in the dark web, cloaked in anonymity.

Twenty-Six

As soon as John awoke, he made his way back to the interview rooms. He could already sense, even from a distance, that there was increased activity in and around that area. Passing through the wall of the observation room that looked into Interview Room 1, he counted six people, all of them looking out through the one-way window. El Gordito was in the interview room, sitting opposite a man in a suit who had his back toward the glass. Immediately, John saw that El Gordito was possessed; an orange glow smoldered in his eyes. Santiago’s spirit must have returned.

After a few seconds, John recognized that the man with his back to him was Lee Chapman of the FBI. He listened in to the conversation that was being relayed through the overhead speaker.

“Your man Gonzalez crashed a truck carrying drugs hidden in a shipment of washing machines. The delivery manifest shows that it came from your fulfillment center in Newstone, New Jersey. You and your organization are now the subject of a federal inquiry.”

El Gordito shrugged. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Special Agent. Fulfillment centers like mine simply receive, store, and distribute goods for companies who don’t want to invest in their own warehouses. I am in the business of storing sealed packages. Thousands of them. I can hardly be expected to check every one of them. If some unscrupulous criminal organization decided to hide drugs inside some of the goods, I cannot be held responsible,” he said, giving Chapman an incredulous smile.

Chapman seemed unfazed, but John was starting to worry just how much of a case the FBI really had. “How do you account for Gonzalez being the driver?” Chapman asked.

“I suppose he was helping out. Perhaps the original driver of the truck was taken ill? I don’t get involved in all the details of my businesses, Special Agent.”

“Enough of the bullshit! We’ve got federal arrest and search warrants that give us the right to seize your accounts and raid every business you own.”

“You will find my accounts and businesses are in order. Anything else you can discuss with my lawyer.”

John knew how well the drug manufacturing was hidden and figured El Gordito would have a prepared set of legitimate accounts to show to the FBI. He shuddered at the prospect of him walking away from these new charges due to lack of hard evidence. All John’s efforts would amount to nothing. Far from closing down the drug business of Santiago’s host and thus making the evil spirit fail at The Game, he would have simply postponed Santiago’s victory.

Chapman got up. “Looks like your lawyer is taking his time getting here.”

John watched as El Gordito was taken out of the room by a police officer. He didn’t look concerned, and while his eyes glowed orange, they didn’t burn with rage. Santiago’s spirit must feel confident that his host will soon be released, John thought.

One of the agents in the observation room with John stood up from his computer as Chapman entered. “Why didn’t you tell him his accountant is with his lawyer, next door, trying to cut a deal?”

“I’m not going to show him our cards just yet. At the moment,