It was ten past two in the morning when the blip on the transponder screen told Loving that Officer Shaw had finally arrived at the hospital.
He slumped down in the front seat of his van, making sure he wasn't spotted. He had waited too long for this to screw it up now. The floating beam of the headlights told him that Shaw's PT Cruiser had passed him by. Then he slowly inched upward in his seat and waited for something to happen.
As far as he could tell, the operation was going down exactly as Dr. Sentz had planned. Loving had successfully intercepted the text message: LOADING DK THU 2. He had picked up a few other text messages, too, which told him more than he ever wanted to know about Shaw's personal life and those massage parlors on Cherry Street.
They were at the hospital's rear loading dock. A truck had been parked here more than an hour. It was not a large truck, however. More like the size of your average armored car. So what exactly was going to be transported? Money? Gold bullion? And why were they picking it up at the hospital? There had to be a reason. No one would choose this location if they could avoid it. Unlike most buildings, a hospital remained active all through the night. It was a dangerous place to be doing anything you didn't want other people to know about.
Why did the oncologist need to be involved? And why was it happening here? He remembered that Sentz indicated to Shaw that someone else was the primary boss orchestrating the operation. Who was it? Loving had no answers-yet. But he was determined to get them.
Shaw left his car. Loving wanted to be in a position to keep an eye on him. He had intentionally parked his van far enough away to avoid attracting attention. But he was too far removed from the loading dock. He needed to be closer. He could try to follow the truck, but he might lose it, and even then there was no guarantee that following the truck to its destination would give him the information he wanted. He would feel much better if he could see and hear what happened. Better yet if he could get a GPS tracking device on that truck.
He was a little worried about exiting without attracting notice. But he had rigged his van a long time ago so that no noise was made and no lights went on when he opened his door. Carefully he eased the door just enough and slid his wide frame through the opening, then began creeping forward. Didn't appear to have attracted any attention.
There was no moon tonight, and that was cutting two ways. It decreased the chances that anyone would spot him. But it also decreased the chances of him being able to spy on them. He wondered if they hadn't chosen this particular spot because there were no lamps or any other prominent illumination. Fortunately, he had retrieved his night-vision goggles from the kit in the rear of his van. He put them on. He didn't much care for the way they made everything look neon green. But it was better than stumbling around in the dark. Especially when you were stumbling around people who seriously did not want to be detected-and might have resorted to extreme means in the past to avoid it.
There were two men standing close to the hospital, in front of the truck. Shaw joined them. Loving crept a little closer, still not getting anywhere near close enough to be spotted. There was a retaining wall on the edge of the driveway that gave him some cover. He wanted to be close enough to hear what they were saying.
He slid a small plug into his left ear. It was a direction amplifier. Sort of like those eavesdropping dish guns you saw in toy stores, except more powerful and much smaller. He hated the James Bond gimmickry. But they lived in a Google-driven world. The technophobes were not going to rule the earth, much less catch very smart doctors engaged in nefarious activities.
Careful not to make any telltale sound, Loving crept to the rear of the truck and slid a GPS transponder under the bumper. Now he had a backup plan. Time to figure out what was going on.
He hid behind the retaining wall. A few more steps and he was able to pick up some of the conversation, even though they were talking in whispers.
"Everything ready?" Loving did not know who was speaking.
"It will be." That was Sentz. "I didn't want to break in until I knew you were ready to take it away."
"I didn't think you had to break in. Don't you have access?"
"Do you want it to be obvious?" Sentz spoke to him as if he were a child, which Loving was beginning to believe was his usual way of speaking to everyone. "There are only a handful of people who have access."
"And did you make sure everyone else was out of the way this time?" The speaker gave the last two words a particular emphasis.
"Absolutely. Only one other oncologist on duty, and he is very busy."
"Good. We can't afford screw-ups."
"Agreed. Eventually someone is going to notice what's missing-probably soon."
"I got a question." This time it was Shaw speaking. "Shouldn't I be wearing some kinda suit?"
"You're good as long as you don't open the pig. And you wouldn't do that, would you?" The doctor's question seemed particularly pointed.
"Of course not. I just want to be sure. I saw that guy."
"It won't happen again."
"Make sure it doesn't. I'm doing this so I can have a life. It would spoil the whole plan if I ended up dead."
"Granted." Sentz glanced at his watch. "I'll go to the vault now. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Good. Hurry."
The pig? What are they smuggling, farm animals?
The doctor disappeared. Shaw lit a cigarette. The other man rubbed his hands together, glancing occasionally at the sky.
Loving wondered how long this would take. Every moment he was out here, he was potentially in danger. He didn't have any doubts about what these guys would do if he were spotted. Shaw was surely carrying his service revolver. Loving didn't care to test his aim.
He wasn't sure whether it would be best to rush them as soon as Sentz emerged with the contraband or to wait and try to follow the truck to its destination. The surest way to find out what was being smuggled would be to rush them as soon as Sentz presented the goods. But there were three of them, and it was dark, and at least one of them was armed, probably all of them. It would be safer to wait, though riskier, because even with the tracer, they might escape. On the other hand, the police would be able to charge them with more if the goods were actually transported, and they would need big charges to threaten these people enough to get them to talk, maybe offer some immunity deals to find out what was going on and how it related to the Dennis Thomas case. Decisions, decisions…
There were too many questions, and it was too hard to know-
A hand gripped Loving around the mouth.
His eyes went wide. Loving tried to shake the hand free, but he couldn't. Whoever was behind him had locked his other arm around his chest. He was strong. Loving's cover was probably already blown, but he still wasn't anxious to attract the attention of the men on the loading dock. Maybe he could still get out of this alive…
Loving kicked back against the retaining wall, knocking his assailant on his butt. His grip on Loving remained strong, even on his back. Loving tried to break away, unsuccessfully. This guy had some serious muscle. Loving pushed again and they went rolling down the grassy hill, locked together like lovers, Jack and Jill, tumbling out of control.
They hit the bottom with a thud. Finally the attacker's grip loosened just enough for Loving to wrest himself free. He swung around, then pushed himself up on his knees and took a swing.
The other man ducked, then lunged under Loving's arms and wrapped his arms around him, tackling him. They both crashed once more to the ground. It knocked the breath out of Loving. He shook himself, trying to get his bearings. The darkness made it almost impossible. He felt a fist clock him on the right side of his jaw.
Enough. He wasn't going to be anyone's punching bag. He jumped up and lunged.
The other man pulled a gun. Loving froze in his tracks.
"Police," the man said breathlessly.
Blast. Probably one of Shaw's buddies. Now Loving would never find out what he needed to know.
He heard the hammer of the gun cock. "You've got ten seconds to tell me what you're doing here."
"I'm not sayin' anythin'."
After a brief pause, the man said, "Loving?"
The dirty cop recognized him. He was a goner now.
"Is Ben here?"
Loving wasn't sure how to answer. He decided to go with the truth. "No."
"Thank heaven for that. For once, he actually showed some sense. Now get down before those jerks on the dock see you."
"You mean," Loving whispered, "you're not with them?"
"With them? I told you, I'm with the police."
"So is Shaw."
"Good point." He took a small pocket flashlight out of his coat and shone it on his face. "Now are we both on the same page?"
It was a face Loving had seen in the office a dozen or more times. Ben's best friend. Homicide detective Mike Morelli.