Chapter 52
C HILDREN’S N ATIONAL H OSPITAL
W ASHINGTON , D.C.
T HURSDAY M ORNING
J oe Carolan looked at his watch and stood up from the conference table. “That’s it. I’m calling it. He’s not coming.”
In the next room, monitoring everything via an array of hidden cameras and microphones, the FBI SWAT commander relayed the order over the radio that they were shutting down.
“Are you sure you don’t want to give him a little more time?” Fields asked.
Carolan looked at her. “If your child had a terminal illness and you were trying to get him into a clinical trial, when a slot opened would you be late to sign all the paperwork? No. Of course not. You’d be so damn grateful you’d be in the hospital lobby the minute you got the call.”
“He did sound grateful when we spoke with him last night.”
“That was last night. This is today, and he’s over two hours late. He’s not even answering his phone.”
“Maybe he got in a car accident,” said Fields.
“Or maybe he got abducted by aliens. I don’t care. The fact is he isn’t here. Let’s pack it in.”
Gathering up the paperwork, Carolan placed everything in his briefcase, thanked the SWAT team, and headed downstairs to thank the agents who were at the magnetometer posing as uniformed security.
He thanked the hospital administrators who had agreed to work with the Bureau on such short notice and then thanked the agents in the parking garage who would have tagged and wired Russell’s vehicle for sound.
With his obligations as the operation’s lead agent complete, he and Fields got into his car and, without another word, exited the hospital grounds. But instead of heading back to headquarters, he drove them in a different direction.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Fredericksburg,” he replied.
“We’re going after Russell, aren’t we?”
Carolan nodded. “Somebody got to him. I want to know who and I want to know why.”
The tool-and-die shop was south of the city, near a truck and trailer repair company along the Rappahannock River. The entire business was humming and every piece of equipment, from the punch presses and vertical mills to the surface grinders and arm saws, was in use.
Entering the shop, Carolan asked a heavyset man with glasses hanging around his neck if he could speak with the manager.
“I’ll do you one better,” the man replied. “I’m the owner.”
Carolan showed the owner his credentials and stated, “We’re looking for Ricky Russell.”
“Is he in some sort of trouble?”
“We just want to talk with him. Is he around?”
The owner shook his head. “Took the day off. His boy, Jacob, is sick and they’ve been trying to get him into some clinical trial. A slot opened and Ricky and his wife were going up to D.C. this morning to do all the paperwork.”
“When did he let you know he wouldn’t be coming in?” Fields asked. Her head had been on a swivel since entering, alert to any possible danger.
“Called me last night and told me the good news.”
Carolan scrolled to an image on his phone from Russell’s parole file. “Can you confirm his home address for me?”
“They live about twenty minutes from here on Roxbury Mill Road. Not far from the River of Life church in Spotsylvania Courthouse. I can get the exact address from my office if you want. You’re sure he’s not in trouble?”
The FBI man shook his head. “Again, we just want to speak with him. Did he have any other plans that you know of today?”
“Not that I know of,” the machine shop owner responded.
“If you hear from him,” said Carolan, removing a business card and handing it to the man, “ask him to call me, please.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
As they left the business and walked back to Carolan’s car, Fields asked, “Next stop the house?”
Her boss nodded.
After doing a long, slow pass, they pulled into the Russell’s driveway and parked behind a purple Toyota missing its rear bumper cover.
A small soccer net and an empty kiddie pool sat in the front yard.
The roof of the house needed to be reshingled, and in several spots, the vinyl siding was warped.
Fishing the folder with the paperwork out of his briefcase, Carolan asked, “Ready?”
“Are you kidding me?” said Fields. “This place is so depressing, I’m going to need a Zoloft just to get out of the car.”
Her boss didn’t disagree. The Russells had it rough. Their son having a rare disease certainly didn’t help their situation. But there were plenty of other people who had it just as bad, or worse, and didn’t end up turning to crime and going to prison.
As they approached the front door, Carolan noticed a Confederate flag sticker in the window. Nodding toward it, he asked, “Do you want to ring the bell, or should I?”
“Very funny,” Fields replied.
From inside, a television could be heard playing.
Holding the white folder emblazoned with its blue Children’s National Hospital logo so it could be easily seen, Carolan pressed the doorbell.
Someone muted the TV, but no one came to the door. Carolan rang the bell again. Nothing.
Knocking, Carolan said loud enough to be heard inside, “Mr. and Mrs. Russell. It’s Joe Carolan. I don’t know what happened this morning, but we’ve got Jacob’s paperwork.”
As he waited for a reply, Fields scanned the windows and sides of the house, making sure they weren’t about to get ambushed. That said, if Richard Thomas Russell was sitting on the other side of the door with a shotgun, all he’d have to do was pull the trigger. The effects would be devastating.
Abandoning the bell, Carolan knocked solidly, “Mr. and Mrs. Russell. If we can’t get you to sign the paperwork, Jacob will lose his slot. This space will have to be given to another child.”
He was about to knock again when a young woman in her early twenties, with a nose ring and stringy blond hair, opened the door and peeked out.
“Mrs. Russell?” Carolan asked.
The woman nodded.
He tried to look past her, into the house. “Is Mr. Russell home?”
She shook her head. “He’s not here.”
“Mrs. Russell, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re FBI. Both of you.”
Carolan didn’t need to look at Fields to know that she was just as shocked as he was. Someone had tipped Russell off. Someone inside the Bureau.
“Mrs. Russell, may we come in and speak with you?”
“Haven’t you done enough?” the woman asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You gave us hope. And then you took it away. I can’t think of anything more terrible. We may not matter to people like you, but we care about our child’s life.”
He looked at her. “Mrs. Russell, we are indeed from the FBI, but I want you to understand that this opportunity is one hundred percent real. There is a space available for Jacob in the trial at Children’s National Hospital.
” Emphasizing the point, he held up the folder.
“It’s conditional, however, on your husband cooperating with us. ”
She studied him and then Fields, wanting to believe them, but unsure of whether she should.
“Other lives are at stake, Mrs. Russell. Not just Jacob’s,” said Carolan. “We need to speak with Ricky. It’s urgent.”
“And if he speaks with you, Jacob gets into the trial?”
“Yes, ma’am. You have our word. As long as your husband is honest with us, Jacob is in.”
She stood at the door for several moments, weighing her options. Finally, she stated, “Wait here. I’m going to get my keys. I’ll take you to him.”
As they drove, Tammy Russell answered every single question they asked. She was polite and to the point.
She was on full disability for a medical condition of her own—a back injury she had suffered at her previous job. When asked where Jacob was, Tammy explained that they had dropped him with her mother last night. She wasn’t due to pick him up until later.
Though Carolan and Fields had both seen people who gamed the disability system, Tammy’s situation wasn’t germane to their investigation. They were here for her husband. And as to him, his tattoos, and his associations, she was extremely forthright.
Ricky had been a member of a White nationalist organization known as the Iron Tree. But they had grown more extreme and violent, too extreme, even for Ricky, who was worried about violating his parole. About six months ago, he had left the organization.
They had been very angry with him for leaving and there had been many threats.
It got so bad at one point that Ricky thought they might kill him.
Eventually, though, they left him alone.
In fact, both Tammy and Ricky thought they had all but forgotten him.
Then, late last night, his phone had rung.
One of the members of Iron Tree was calling.
The man knew all about Children’s National Hospital and the invitation that had been extended to Jacob. It was a con, he explained—a sting operation set up by the FBI as part of a crackdown on so-called extremist groups.
Not only was the offer not real, but if the Russells showed up for the appointment, they would all be targets of Iron Tree—all three of them, including Jacob.
She had never seen Ricky afraid before. That call, however, had scared him. Not wanting to admit to his boss or her mother that the trial invitation had been fake, they decided to keep it to themselves. Tammy had stayed home watching TV while Ricky had gone to hang out at his cousin’s place.
When asked how the man from Iron Tree had known that the FBI was involved in the offer for Jacob, she had no idea. For that, they were going to have to ask Ricky.
When they arrived at the home of Ricky’s cousin, they agreed to let Tammy go up to the front door and bring Ricky out.
And, just to make sure he didn’t do something stupid and try to make a run for it, Fields went around to the rear of the dwelling and kept an eye on the back door.
Ricky Russell was their one and only lead at this point and they had no intention of losing him.
To say Ricky was not happy to see his wife would have been an understatement. He was furious that she had not only spoken with the FBI, but had also brought them right to him.
Tammy Russell, however, didn’t care. Her instincts as a mother had fully kicked in. She had listened to Carolan’s pitch and believed that the offer was indeed legitimate. She made it crystal clear that, for Jacob’s sake, she expected Ricky to fully cooperate with them.
When Ricky asked what the hell they were supposed to do about the Iron Tree threats, Tammy waved Carolan over.
After introducing himself, he explained that in addition to getting Jacob into the clinical trial at Children’s National, if there were threats against their family, the FBI would put them in protective custody.
With his arguments stripped away, his wife leaning on him, and most important of all—his son and a potential lifesaving cure hanging in the balance, Ricky Russell did the only thing he could. He agreed to fully cooperate.
Carolan and Fields didn’t waste any time. Accompanying the Russells back to their home, they began debriefing Ricky right there.
Within fifteen minutes, Carolan had to step outside to call Gallo. Ricky Russell had dropped a major bombshell. The FBI needed to move. Fast .