Check out more than 65+ chapters right now! š„
š patreon.com/cw/Mr_UmU
https://www.patreon.com/Mr_UmU
___________
Chapter 125: Another Green Parcel
With Tolson tied up in meetings, Theodore and Bernie fell under the Investigation Department's chain of command.
That meant reporting to Supervisor Rosen, a twenty-year veteran of the Bureau who treated crisis calls like chess problems, methodical, thorough, and slightly paranoid.
Before heading upstairs, Bernie made one more call to Wenner back in Felton. Old habits from his patrol days, always verify with local assets before escalating to the federal level.
Wenner didn't waste time with questions. Within minutes, he had Cahill dispatching patrol units to Bernie's neighbourhood for a welfare check.
The house was empty, but no one had been kidnapped.
The patrol officers learned from Mrs. Henderson next door that Bernie's wife had left early that morning to meet with a real estate agent.
Apparently, a buyer from the East District was very interested in their property, to the point of making an immediate offer.
Little Sullivan had eaten breakfast at the Hendersons' and been walked to school with their boy. Mrs. Henderson personally saw both children through the school gates.
Bernie's youngest, Gertie, was still at the neighbour's house, crawling around with the Henderson baby while Mrs. Henderson watched both toddlers.
When the patrol officers explained about the ransom call, Mrs. Henderson immediately offered to help.
She called the real estate office and confirmed that Mrs. Sullivan had just finished signing papers with the buyer thirty minutes ago.
She was now with the property manager, handling transfer documents.
To cover all bases, the Felton West Division also contacted Little Sullivan's school directly.
The principal confirmed that the boy was indeed on campus at that very moment, safe in his third-grade classroom.
No kidnapping. No missing family members. Just a very elaborate hoax.
Bernie finally exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief as he thanked his former colleagues.
The fear that had been clawing at his chest since that phone call began to transform into something harder, anger at being played for a fool.
Theodore nodded toward Supervisor Rosen's office. Time to brief the brass.
Rosen listened to their account with the patience of a man who'd heard every variation of criminal stupidity over two decades.
He checked his watch, 2:15 PM, and picked up his phone to call the D.C. First District.
From a jurisdictional standpoint, the extortion attempt fell under the jurisdiction of the D.C. Metro Police.
But obviously, the FBI couldn't go hat-in-hand to the locals to report a crime against one of their own.
The case would need to make a bureaucratic round trip, officially reported to Metro, then immediately transferred back to federal authority.
The First District sergeant was accommodating, readily agreeing to let the Bureau handle the investigation while they handled the paperwork later.
Professional courtesy between law enforcement agencies.
Rosen summoned two teams of agents and laid out the operation.
The train to Pittsburgh would arrive at Union Station at exactly 3:00 PM, stopping for twenty-five minutes, which would be plenty of time for someone to board, grab a package, and blend into the crowd.
One team would board the train, another would work the platform. Simple surveillance operation, really. One team could handle it, but since it was Friday afternoon and everyone wanted to go home with a clean case, Rosen added the second team for insurance.
Senior Agent Vincent R. Lombardi drew lead on the operation.
Theodore and Bernie rode with him in one of the Bureau's standard-issue black Chevrolets; ninety per cent of FBI vehicles were Chevy sedans, reliable as sunrise and twice as inconspicuous.
During the short drive, Lombardi briefed them on the tactical setup.
The train would hold at Union Station for twenty-five minutes, long enough for their target to board, retrieve the package, and either disappear into the crowd or even sit tight for a few stops before making his exit.
The Justice Department sat barely a mile from Union Station, less than ten minutes door-to-door, even in D.C. traffic.
Union Station itself was a sixty-year-old transportation cathedral, handling over two hundred daily departures to every major city on the Eastern seaboard.
New York, Chicago, Miamiāall connected through this marble and steel nerve centre.
The daily passenger flow was enormous. A dozen FBI agents scattered through the crowd would blend in like drops of water in an ocean.
As 3:00 approached, the Pittsburgh train glided into the station with a hiss of air brakes and the metallic screech of steel on steel.
Theodore and Bernie moved with the crowd onto the platform, their eyes scanning faces while trying to look like commuters heading home for the weekend.
They were assigned to platform duty, stationed near the exit of car number four per Lombardi's instructions.
The senior agent, carrying a briefcase and wearing the kind of rumpled suit that screamed "travelling businessman," boarded car four with the flow of passengers.
He caught their eyes briefly and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
A few minutes later, Lombardi reappeared on the platform, his expression serious as he approached their position.
"You're certain the caller specified a green Western Union parcel?" His voice carried the controlled urgency of a man who'd discovered something unexpected.
He held up a rectangular green package, the distinctive colour immediately recognisable to anyone who'd worked in government.
Western Union Telegraph Company's special delivery system for official documents, 12 inches by 8 inches by 4 inches, was sized to fit railway safes and designed to bypass normal inspection procedures.
Unlike the brown packages civilians used, green parcels enjoyed privileged status once registered.
They moved through the system separately, were stored securely, and arrived intact.
Government employees used them constantly for sensitive documents, taking advantage of a bureaucratic loophole that the railways chose not to examine too closely.
Bernie studied the package and nodded. "That's exactly what he said. Green Western Union envelope."
Lombardi's expression darkened. "There's more than one green parcel on this train."
The implication hit Theodore immediately.
They weren't dealing with a single con man targeting Bernie; this was a broader operation, possibly multiple victims being worked simultaneously.
"How many?" Theodore asked.
"At least three that I could see in car four alone. Could be more throughout the train."
Lombardi glanced at his watch. "I need to get back in there. Keep watching this exit. If our boy shows, he'll likely make his move in the next fifteen minutes."
Lombardi disappeared back into the crowd, clutching the Bureau's dummy package.
Theodore watched as he approached a group of passengers near the conductor, falling into line behind two men who were also carrying green parcels.
The exchange was smooth as silk. Lombardi handed over the package, slipped the conductor two bills, and received whispered instructions about destination and recipient.
Classic under-the-table dealing, as old as the railway system itself.
Theodore had read about this in his previous life, the conductor's "side business."
Officially, green parcels required registration an hour before departure, complete with "WU Priority" stamps and proper documentation.
The package would then go to the railway freight supervisor, who would personally oversee delivery to the postal car or temporary storage.
At the destination, another freight supervisor would verify and collect the parcel, ensuring secure delivery to the registered address.
Conductors weren't supposed to touch the packages at all; they only had supervisory authority.
But official procedures were cumbersome, and most train keys were universal "T" shapes that opened multiple compartments.
Conductors might not have had keys to the storage areas, but they did have keys to other areas, and the difference was often academic.
This unofficial system transported more than just delayed paperwork.
It was a pipeline for anything that couldn't move through normal channels, grey market goods, black market items, and apparently, the proceeds of elaborate con games.
Criminal organisations had been known to place their own people in railway positions specifically to exploit this system.
Goods moved invisibly across the country, beyond the reach of law enforcement, sometimes for decades.
Theodore watched as the conductor pocketed Lombardi's money and made a note on a small pad. Professional efficiency in an unprofessional enterprise.
The train's whistle blew; ten minutes until departure. Around them, the platform began to thin as passengers found their cars and settled in for the journey to Pittsburgh.
Bernie shifted beside him, still scanning faces in the crowd. "Think our boy's already aboard?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he's smart enough to wait until the last minute." Theodore checked his watch. "Either way, we'll know soon enough."
The next few minutes would tell them whether they were dealing with a small-time grifter or something more organised.
Either way, the case was about to get a lot more interesting.
[End of Chapter]
__________________Ā