He ditched the car in a Target parking lot about a mile from the terminal. His legs were stiff from the drive, which was nonstop other than bathroom breaks. When he reached the Julia Street Cruise Terminal, he walked over to the railing and looked out at the Gulf of Mexico just as the horizon was starting to burn with dawn. The brightening sky and the orange glow of the ocean filled him with hope that soon he would be free. That maybe, perhaps, this could work.

God, he hoped Claire knew what she was doing.

CHAPTER 63 - Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 11, 2021

CHAPTER 63

Manhattan, NY Sunday, July 11, 2021

THE TWO FEDERAL AGENTS PULLED TO THE CURB IN FRONT OF THE judge’s residence early Sunday morning and climbed from the car. The female agent wore slacks and a blazer, and just like when the two hiked through the mountains of Lake Placid earlier in the week, she was in charge. Her partner, wearing a crisp gray suit, followed her to the front door. He limped slightly from his blisters. Sunday mornings, the agents knew, were a time for coffee and newspapers before the judge headed to church with his family. Their presence would not be well received, but there was simply no more time to wait.

The female agent knocked on the front door and a moment later Judge Marcus Harris opened it. The judge was wearing a T-shirt and work-out shorts. Open-toed slippers covered his feet, and a look of annoyance covered his face.

“Good morning, sir. I’m special agent Mary Sullivan. This is my partner, James Martin.”

“Is this really necessary on a Sunday morning?” the judge asked.

“I’m afraid it is, sir.”

The Federal Bureau of Investigation had a bead on one of its most wanted white-collar criminals, and years of searching had finally produced his whereabouts. Waiting for Monday morning and office hours and chambers time was not an option.

Judge Harris waved them both through the door. “Come on. Let’s see what you have. I’m leaving for church in an hour.”

Ten minutes later, the judge’s kitchen island was covered with the surveillance photos the agents had taken of the Lake Placid cabin, including a couple of long-range shots through the windows that captured the hazy figure inside. For thirty minutes the agents presented their evidence to the judge, who sipped coffee as he listened. They took him through the operation and brought the judge up to speed on the Bureau’s hunt for Garth Montgomery, and how they had, just this week, turned over the most damning evidence yet that convinced them the fugitive was hiding in the cabin featured in the photographs.