Sardar recognized his slipup and nodded his head, saying, “Yes, yes. The special supply for the government. That’s why they built it here, on the old site.”
They tossed the suitcases in the cab of the truck and Flynn asked, “Why are they still connected?”
Sardar shrugged and said, “I guess it cost too much to dig them out of the ground. Easier to just leave them in place and connect the new filtration site.”
They followed Sardar inside the building. Sardar shined a flashlight into a hole in the floor, illuminating a large pipe with a circular hatch bolted on top. He said, “We need to remove that hatch, then pump in the contents of the truck. That’s it.”
It turned out the process was easier said than done. It took them more than an hour to break through the century of rust on the bolts, with Flynn cursing the entire time. Eventually, they had the hatch removed.
Sardar said, “Now I need your expertise.”
Flynn turned to Shane, saying, “Show ’em what that truck-driving school taught you.” He pulled a pistol from his waistband, saying, “I’m going to have a look around.”
Shane unhooked a large rubber hose attached to the side of the truck, coupled it to a valve at the bottom of the tank, then ran it into the building, dropping it through the hole in the pipe under the floor. He said, “Ready to open the valve?”
Chapter 83
Creed turned from the computer and said, “Second photo complete. Colorado is a dry hole as well.”
Knuckles checked it off the paper map he’d printed, seeing they’d gone through Utah, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. They’d used the facial recognition program against every state surrounding Utah searching for a commercial driver’s license for either man from the zoo, but had come up empty. Now he had to decide on the next database to attack; California or Texas?
He rubbed his eyes and said, “Go with Texas.”
Creed turned around to his computer and began typing. Brett said, “I guess my brilliant idea isn’t panning out. At this rate, we’ll be sitting here as the sun rises, seeing a breaking news story about the attack on CNN.”
Knuckles said, “It was a good shot. More than anybody else seems to have tried and better than sitting around waiting on that license to show up in a database.”
Creed shouted, “I have a hit!”
Brett and Knuckles scrambled to the screen, seeing the picture of the man from the zoo, the name Shane L. Tuscadero next to it, along with an address.
Knuckles said, “Plug that into the zoo ticket database.”
Creed went to a different terminal and began to work, Knuckles and Brett waiting expectantly. Deflated, he turned from the computer, saying, “No match. He didn’t use his real name.”
Knuckles thumped the desk with his fist, saying, “That fucker. So close.”
He turned away, thinking. Brett said, “What other data is on that CDL record?”
“His birthdate, CDL number, and Social Security number.”
“No contact information? No phone number?”
“No. Just an email.”
Knuckles turned back and said, “He has an email?”
“Yeah. A Gmail account.”
“Put that in. He might have thrown on a fake name and address, but he had to get the ticket. The email he used must be real. Maybe he was lazy and didn’t take the time to create a throwaway.”
Creed put it into the system, and like magic, an account appeared for one Yogi Berra from California.
Knuckles said, “That’s him! Did he use his phone to get the ticket? Can you track it?”
Creed said, “I need to find the actual ticket email and check the header. Hang on.”
He typed what looked like gobbledygook to Knuckles, his fingers flying over the keyboard, the screen flashing one thing, then another, until finally he said, “It went to a phone. I have the IMEI of the handset.”
