C.: Well, T.'s not home yet, so I suppose I can read chapter tow of d.c. scot's THE COLOR GRAY. It looks like a long chapter.
CHAPTER TWO: A CLANDESTINE CONVERSATION
January 15, 2025. Houston, Texas; 0850 CDT
Private investigator Jay Magruder understood Texas Attorney General Mark Joliet’s insistence that they meet at the local FBI office at nine a.m. He was obviously worried that one or both men were being watched. As the former chief of the Texas Rangers, Mark had good instincts about such things, and he had important information to share with the detective. They would be protected by some of the best field agents in the United States at the FBI headquarters in Houston. These agents would be able to assure that the two men’s private conversation would remain private.
However, it did surprise Magruder to find Mark waiting for him, anxiously pacing the floor at Houston’s FBI office the next day. “Jay, I’m glad you came in early,” Mark began. “There’s something we need to discuss, but not here. Let's take a walk to the parking garage.” Mark started walking at a brisk pace, as Magruder followed him with a furrowed brow. He was surprised at the uncomplicated method that Mark had chosen to mask the specifics of the obviously important and private conversation.
“Jay, I called you from the landline yesterday to ask you to meet me here because I think that someone has tapped my cell phone, and I didn’t want to be stalked.’’ Mark began. “ If my cell phone is bugged for phone calls, I’m sure that whoever bugged it also put a GPS device on it. It’s probably one that I can’t turn off, even if I did know how to locate it. Anyone who could tap my phone without my knowledge is a force to be reckoned with because I have extensive police training and usually can recognize when someone does something like that.” Mark paused, and then began again.
“I just wanted to leave as brief of a message as possible, though, because the lines in this office are also recorded. I didn’t want to talk in my hotel room, either because I’m positive it’s bugged as well. It was done by one of my own employees, though, so I cannot report it for fear of this information being leaked. They’ve probably had your apartment bugged, too, for months, if not years. The FBI can do that without you knowing, and this person lacks the scruples that are necessary to hold a job with this organization. I just wish I knew who s/he was, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. This is about another case, and if we talk in person, there won’t be any record of the conversation.”
Magruder was now fully invested in the conversation, but the fumes that the cars passing emitted were making him nauseous. Nonetheless, he motioned for his friend to continue as car after car whizzed by.
“I need to talk to you about a murder. It’s something that happened in your past–” Jay cut Mark off.
“If it’s about the man I shot in South America, that was in self-defense. I was also protecting five other people–” Jay began, but was interrupted.
“No, Jay, it’s not about that man,” Mark interrupted before Magruder could expound on his explanation any further. “You didn’t kill that man, anyway. The guy was bleeding out when he entered the room. The CIA found bloodstains on the carpet where he entered the room. It looks like someone severed his carotid artery. He (or she) must have been a long distance away, though. There was no trace of anyone being within almost three hundred yards of the hotel room–”
“Two hundred ninety-nine yards,” Magruder thought aloud.
“What?” Mark was curious.
“Nothing. I was just estimating the distance of the shot.” Magruder realized that he was implicating someone he didn’t care to implicate, so he stopped talking.
“Anyway,” Mark continued, “a Kevlar vest with five .44 magnum indentations on the left side of it was also found in a dumpster near the hotel. The vest was an XXL, so it would have fit Juan-Carlos.” Mark covered his mouth and nose to take a deep breath and continued.
“That was probably your bullets lodged in the vest. I have a theory about the sniper who made that shot. Since none of the trees surrounding your hotel would support the weight of an average-sized man, or even a small one, I believe it was a small woman who killed Juan Carlos. She was using an arrow with razor-sharp edges on it, I believe.
“I came up with my theory when I learned the Colombians were developing some land by the Amazon River. An arrowhead was found on the ground where a building was being built. Strangely enough, the arrowhead disappeared when the authorities came to investigate.
“Some archaeologists from the Historical Society wanted to study it, thinking it was from an ancient Native American tribe. They studied the arrowhead, then supposedly returned it to the Bogota Police Department.
“No trace of it has been found since, though. The arrowhead was made of stainless steel. The Pueblos wouldn’t have had access to that type of equipment. They were peaceful people, and most were farmers. Some were hunter/gatherers, but none had access to stainless steel.
“After the work alongside the Amazon River was stopped for one day, the Colombian Historical Society let the work continue. They reasoned the arrowhead was from a modern-day weapon, probably a crossbow from the length of it. It’s shorter than an arrow that’s usually fired from a longbow, which is what the Pueblos would have used. The Bogota Police Department concluded it wasn’t an artifact that needed to be studied by the historical society. That was the theory, so they let the work by the Amazon River continue.”
“Was there any blood or DNA on the arrowhead?” Magruder’s head was spinning. He didn’t like the direction that the conversation was headed, because he was worried that the evidence would expose the sniper’s identity, something he didn’t want to happen.
“No, Jay, whoever did this was a pro. He (or she) knew better than to leave that type of evidence. It sounds like you may know more than you’re letting on, but I digress. If you know anything more, don’t tell me. If you did, I’d be obligated to report the information that you give me to my superiors, which may open a whole new ‘can of worms.’ “As far as the CIA and the local authorities in Colombia are concerned, you killed that man in self-defense, and in defense of five other people. The carotid artery was sliced, the coroner’s report now reads, posthumously by someone who was trying to take credit for killing a vicious criminal. Truth to tell, though, the shot was timed perfectly. Whoever made that shot timed it to hit Juan-Carlos’ left external branch of his carotid artery while the heart was beating, not at rest. That made him die quickly. You may have saved a life or two, though, because your shots deterred him from opening fire blindly and accidentally killing someone.
“The sniper used a crossbow, apparently, to make that shot because he (or she) knew that it would penetrate Kevlar, and it wasn’t an easy shot. If the sniper had missed Juan Carlos’ neck, s/he wanted to make sure s/he made a killing shot, and not all sniper bullets penetrate Kevlar.
“If the sniper had used a .50 cal., like most militarily trained snipers do; you, or one or more of your colleagues would be dead, along with Juan-Carlos. The sniper probably would have used armor-piercing rounds to make sure s/he made a killing shot because those bullets will penetrate Kevlar. The bullet would have kept traveling after it went through Juan Carlos and his Kevlar vest because a .50 cal. bullet can travel up to five miles!
“Whoever did it was one helluva shot, if you ask me. Using a crossbow at that range is something that would take a lot of practice. I doubt the best-trained sniper the world has to offer could make that shot accurately fifty percent of the time without practicing with a crossbow obsessively for a long period of time! However, that person seems to have disappeared from our vista, along with the arrowhead.
“Besides, Jay, did you really think you were that fast? Juan-Carlos already had his gun drawn and was opening fire when he entered the room. Fortunately for you and your companions, the man was dying as he entered the room, so he couldn’t aim accurately. That’s what saved all of you.”
“Well, if that’s not the man whom you’re referring to, who are you talking about? I’ve only killed one man in my entire career–”
Tux: Cal.e.,, where are you? You got some 'spaining to do.
C.: Opps! I guess I'll need to contiue the rest of this chapter tomorrow since T came home..