Rat Trap

Most people find rats unsettling, and Julian was no exception. After being forced to deal with one rat in particular, he now fears them.

Julian Hawk is a successful writer; not in the Michael Connelly or Lee Child category of successful, but he has sold three books with a contract from a major publisher for more. The twist in his stories is that the bad guy always gets away. There is no Jack Reacher or Harry Bosch to save the day and put things right. His fan base seems to like it when a smart criminal wins.

With fame comes distraction and less time to develop a new story. So far, he’s written about a jewelry heist, a Ponzi scheme, and an arms dealer. The simple path is to revive one of the existing characters and continue that character’s journey. That’s what Julian planned to do until he received a strange letter. The correspondence, typed on old-style onion skin paper, had to be created with a manual typewriter. Even stranger was that it went to his house and not the P.O. Box that his publicist had set up to divert fan mail. The most disturbing thing was the letter’s content.

Julian,

I need your help. In four days, I will steal the contents of a safe on the private yacht “North Star” while it’s moored at Skyport Marina on New York’s East River. You need not know what I’m taking or how I’ve acquired my information. What I need from you is the perfect plan. I’ll be in touch soon with more detail. By the way, your phones are being tapped and your movements monitored. Any attempt at notifying the authorities will cause the death of someone close to you. I’m looking forward to our collaboration.

The Rat

Julian re-read the letter three times before placing it on the side table next to his chair. He thought, “What a sick joke. This has got to be the work of Jason. He’s always trying, sometimes successfully, to get one over on me.”

Julian picked up the phone and called Jason, his old high school friend. “Ok smart ass, what’s with the creepy letter, and where did you find the antique typewriter?”

Jason said, “I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, Julian. You need to explain.”

Before Julian could say another word, a text message popped up on his phone’s screen which read, Hang up the phone now! “My bad,” Julian said to Jason, “I hit the wrong speed dial number. Got to go.” He hung up the phone with trembling hands.

Two seconds later, his phone buzzed and Julian, with a shaky voice, answered, “Hello?” An electronically altered voice said, “I’ll give you that one, but that’s it. From now on any mention of our project, and someone dies.”

“Ok, this is crazy!” Julian blurted out. “If you can do all this surveillance stuff, and you have the information you need about the boat and the safe, why do you need me?”

“Simple,” said the voice. “I’m your biggest fan! I want to see if you’re as good as you think you are. Better get busy. I need to be out of New York and in Washington D.C. for another engagement late the next day.” The phone went dead, and Julian’s heart skipped a couple of beats.

Although his fear was stronger than before, Julian thought of this as a challenge, both to his skill as a writer and his acumen for working through a problem to a satisfactory resolution. Rat would get his fool-proof plan, and Julian would figure out how to catch this thief and protect his friends.

Research makes an okay story a great story. The devil is in the details, and all those other clichés are actually right on the money. Julian spent the next two days learning everything he could about the marina, its security, and evening activities. He researched the least conspicuous way out of NYC and the best way to arrive in D.C. unnoticed.

Julian also had a regular schedule to maintain. The Rat couldn’t expect him to stop associating with friends, going to book signings, and just plain living his life. It was during a social function that Julian ran into Mike Jones, a retired FBI agent he had used as a consultant for one of his books. Could he trust this man? Never having seen the Rat, Julian knew he could be anyone. Suddenly, his phone buzzed! Stay away from the FBI guy. I’m watching!

Unnerved, Julian looked around the room at people talking in small groups, and at security cameras. Julian expected to be watched and had prepared for it. He joined a group of people closest to him and clumsily spilled his drink on a lady he knew well. While profusely apologizing and dabbing at the lady’s damp sleeve, Julian palmed a note he had written before coming to the function into her hand. With his back to the closest surveillance camera, Julian whispered, “Before you leave, give this to Mike Jones. You know him. It’s very important and do not be obvious giving it to him. This is no joke!”

Later that night, and safely home, his phone rang. Before Julian could say hello, the electronic voice said, “What do you have for me?”

“Okay, here’s what I’ve worked out,” said Julian, trying to sound confident. “Every Tuesday evening at 7:30 p.m. there is a booze cruise that leaves from Skyport Marina, two slips away from where the North Star is moored. Buy a ticket online for tomorrow night’s cruise. Take the trip, be seen, and enjoy yourself. The ship returns at 10:00 p.m. You want to be one of the first people off the ship. Casually wander over to the North Star. You should have approximately 10 minutes to board the boat, crack the safe and return to the unloading area where you can hail a cab to the Port Authority Bus Terminal.

While you’re online, also purchase a one-way ticket for the Greyhound bus leaving at 1:00 a.m. for D.C. The bus will make a stop at the Baltimore Greyhound terminal, which is where you’ll get off. Take a taxi to Baltimore/Penn station and board a MARC light rail train for D.C. The trains run about every twenty minutes starting at 4:20 a.m., so you’ll have plenty of options. At this point my job is done.” said Julian.

“Very good,” said the voice. “I like the use of multiple modes of transportation.” The connection cut off abruptly.

On the Tuesday evening of the heist, Julian was signing books at a local library. An attractive woman in a stylish suit approached his table. She casually brushed back one side of her coat and discreetly revealed a police badge. “I’m a friend of Mike Jones,” she said. “He told me to ask you for a signed copy of your first book.”

“Any friend of Mike’s is a friend of mine,” said Julian, and handed her the book. “Tell Mike the most interesting part is chapter three.” The woman smiled, thanked Julian, and walked out. What he had given the agent was a copy of the same itinerary the thief had.

It was almost midnight by the time the FBI put together a plan to catch the thief. They didn’t know what he looked like, so they figured it would be best to pick him up in Baltimore. They would wait to see who left the bus and went to the train station. The plan worked, and the Baltimore agents picked up a man for questioning. He possessed nothing unusual and had a perfectly good reason for changing modes of transportation. After several hours of questioning, the police let him go. Besides, the owner of the North Star said nothing was missing from his safe. The agents were not happy.

Julian showed the local agents the letter and his phone with the text messages, so they knew he hadn’t created this to sell more books. “It’s a mystery,” Julian told Mike. “I may never know what this was all about.”

Later that week, another letter arrived at his house.

Julian,

I imagine you’re looking for answers and have had little success. First, you fulfilled your part of the deal, so your family and friends are safe. The item my associate took from the safe was a thumb drive with a list of customers the boat’s owner was selling guns to. The robbery will never be reported. A certain African warlord doesn’t like competition and needed the list to cull the herd, so to speak.

I never would have considered buses, but that worked extremely well. My associate met me at the Port Authority Building and passed the drive to me while we were waiting for our respective buses. He took the Greyhound to D.C. while I took a Peter Pan bus to Boston. When the Feds sprung their Rat Trap, I was already 300 miles away with the metaphorical cheese safe in hand. As in your stories, the smart criminal always gets away.

I’ve enjoyed working with you. We need to do it again sometime!

Regards,

The Rat