Mystery and Crime Fiction posted March 13, 2025 Chapters:  ...51 52 -53- 54... 


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Cat and Mouse Games
A chapter in the book Veil of Secrets

Veil of Secrets Chap 53

by Begin Again


Zhang stood at the long oak counter of the safe house, his fingers tightening around the burner phone as his men fed him rapid-fire updates. The raids were everywhere — Chinatown, the docks, the South Side operation — every major holding was under siege.

He kept his expression calm, but inside, calculations were shifting. The net was closing. Zhang's mind was racing, developing new plans and strategies at lightning speed. The voice on the other end was tense. "Sir, the original plan is no longer viable."

"Forget the couple. Find replacements — anyone who fits the profile. They need to be at O'Hare before I arrive."

A pause. "Your private jet is fueled and waiting in Bayside. We can still get you out through the usual —"

"No." Zhang's voice was sharp and decisive. "That's exactly where they'll expect me to be. Let them waste their time. Change of plans — I'll use the reserved hangar at O'Hare."

His driver entered the room, a quiet nod indicating the car was ready. Zhang moved swiftly, grabbing his suitcase and shrugging on his coat. The forged passport was still incomplete, but he didn't need it — yet. He'd have a new identity before he even reached the terminal.

As he stepped into the black sedan, the driver met his gaze in the rearview mirror. Zhang's lips curled slightly. "O'Hare. Hangar Six."

The car peeled away, slipping into the night. By the time anyone realized the truth, it would be too late.

*****
Garth moved up the driveway, gun raised, his breath steady. The suburban house was dark, still — too still. "Tango, Poppa — watch the perimeter," he muttered.

A dog barked in the distance. A faint breeze rustled the leaves. Poppa's hand signaled — Go.

CRASH! 
 
The door burst open. Inside, signs of a hasty exit were everywhere. A half-eaten meal sat abandoned on the table, chopsticks resting carelessly on a plate. On the coffee table, an ashtray held a single cigarette, the ember still glowing.

Tango's eyes scanned the room. His jaw tightened. "Son of a bitch was just here."

Poppa moved straight to the desk. Papers. Receipts. A locked drawer. One swift kick. CRACK. The wood splintered, revealing a burner phone inside.

From the back hallway, footsteps.

Garth swung his weapon up — only to find two men in disposable gloves — the cleanup crew.

They froze. One raised his hands, and the other darted for the back door.
Poppa was faster. A sharp grunt, a hard tackle, and the second man hit the floor with a muffled curse.

Garth stalked forward, grabbing the first guy by the collar. "Where is he?"

The man's face paled. "I don't know. He never tells us anything — we just clean up after him."

Garth shoved him into a chair. "Then tell me what you do know."

A hesitation, then, nervously, "He left in a black sedan. That's all I know. We weren't done yet. He moved fast."

Tango kicked over a chair in frustration. "That's nothing. We already knew he was running."

The second man pointed toward the desk. "The phone rang right after Mr. Wei left."

Garth grabbed it and hit play on the last message received. A smooth and composed voice filtered through the speaker. "Flight's arranged. Everything's ready."

Tango swore under his breath. "He's heading for the jet."

Poppa shoved a map onto the desk. "Bayside Airport is closest. That's where his private jet must be waiting."

Garth's grip tightened around his gun as his adrenaline set in. "Let's go get this guy."
 
*****

Bayside Airport's tarmac glowed under the harsh runway lights. Tires screeched as Tango slammed on the brakes, stopping near the hangar. The three men barreled out of the SUV, weapons drawn.

In the distance, a sleek black-and-white jet was taxiing toward the runway.
"There he is," Tango barked. "We need to stop him!"

Garth was already sprinting forward, radioing the tower. "This is FBI Agent Garth Woodman— hold that aircraft! Repeat, do not clear for takeoff!"

Sirens blared. The jet slowed. The three men raced across the field.
Poppa moved first, yanking open the cabin door with his gun raised.
"Out! Hands where I can see them!"

Inside, the cabin was empty.

The pilot, a sweating man in his fifties, raised trembling hands. "He's not here," he stammered. "I was ordered to taxi. That's it."

Tango let out a slow, deadly curse. Garth's stomach sank. They'd been played.

Poppa's voice was already tight with realization. "Where would he go?"

They still had no idea. Which airport did he choose?

Moments later, Garth's radio crackled. "Update on suspect's vehicle."
Garth responded immediately. "Agent Woodman here — what's the word?"

"The car was spotted headed north at the Wisconsin/Illinois toll booth."

"Are you sure it was his car?"

"Yes, sir, we ran the plate number to make sure."

"Okay. Let me know if you get any further updates."

Garth ran his fingers through his hair. "Why would he leave his jet idling here in Bayside and take a car north?"

Poppa shook his head. "I could never second guess what goes on inside that man's head."

"If it's another airport — there's Madison or Milwaukee. But it doesn't make sense."

"Well, we can't go chasing ghosts until we get a lead."
________________________________________
 
About thirty minutes later, Garth's radio flared to life.

"Agent Woodman, State Troopers just pulled over a black sedan on I-90, westbound, outside Rockford."

Garth froze. "Is it Zhang?"

"It's his car, sir, but we only have the driver."

Tango frowned. "Westbound? Why the hell would he be going west?"
Garth's mind snapped the pieces together. "Zhang's been playing with us. Making us chase around in circles." He exhaled sharply, realization hitting like a punch. "He's not running west," Garth muttered. "He already dropped Zhang off."

Poppa cursed. "Son of a bitch made it to O'Hare. He knew we'd see him crossing the state line, and then he took a back road and doubled back to Chicago."

Now they knew where Zhang was. But were they already too late?

*****
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Zhang stepped out of the black sedan and into the private hangar. The two men waiting inside moved with cold efficiency, their expressions unreadable. "Please, sit, sir," one of them instructed, unfolding the wheelchair.

Zhang obeyed without hesitation, lowering himself onto the seat as they worked swiftly around him. They secured gray strands of hair in place. Latex wrinkles stretched over his smooth skin, transforming his sharp, angular features into those of a frail, aging man. Tinted contacts dulled his piercing eyes. A plaid blanket was draped over his lap, an oxygen tank set beside him, completing the illusion.

One of the men stepped back, scrutinizing their work. "You'll pass."

Zhang barely moved, his voice void of emotion. "The baby?"

"On schedule. Arriving separately." 
 
He nodded once, then allowed his escort to wheel him toward the terminal. By the time they found him, he'd already be gone.

*****
Judge Alex Garland sat behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in hand, eyes scanning a thick legal brief. His private office was quiet and unaware of what was happening across the city — he was at peace.

His burner phone buzzed. He ignored it.

A second buzz. Then, a third. With a scowl, he grabbed it and answered.
"This better be important."

A panicked voice crackled through the line. "It's done. FBI hit the warehouse."

Garland froze. His grip on the glass tightened. "What?" Beads of perspiration covered his forehead. "Are you sure?"

"They got everything — product, ledgers. The whole damn operation is burned."

Garland sat back slowly, exhaling through his nose. This wasn't supposed to happen. He clenched his jaw. His life — the one he'd worked so hard to gain —  was unraveling, and he couldn't stop it.

He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass aside, his mind racing to calculate the next move. This was supposed to be his way out — his retirement fund. He needed to act fast, but every second felt like an eternity.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping into something cold, sharp. "I need a car. No phones. No credit cards. Cash only."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sir, if they have the ledgers —"

"They don't have my name or yours."

"But if they flip someone —"

"Then I won't be here to see it. And I suggest you consider not hanging around either. There's an emergency bag in the lower locker. Get it and have it ready.

He ended the call, his heartbeat finally racing. Plan A was to get somewhere safe until he had time to think.

*****
Garland stepped through the O'Hare International entrance, the crowd closing in around him. He adjusted his coat, his pulse steady, but something felt strange. There was an unusual amount of movement — too many uniforms for a normal day.

His eyes flicked to the far side of the terminal — FBI agents. Chicago PD. TSA officers are standing rigidly at security checkpoints, scanning the crowd.
 
His stomach tightened. Were they here for him?

He slowed, keeping his expression neutral, then spotted a familiar face —Lieutenant Burke. Garland exhaled through his nose, adjusting his approach. He strolled up, casual and friendly, just curious. "Hey, Adam, it's been a long time. What's going on?" he asked, his voice smooth.

Burke barely spared him a glance, too focused on the communications in his ear. "Manhunt. We've got a high-priority fugitive trying to slip through."

Garland's brows lifted slightly, feigning only mild interest. "Who?"

Burke shook his head. "Zhang Wei. Got a tip that he's somewhere in the airport."

Garland forced himself to stay still, though his mind was already moving. Zhang was here. Everyone would be on high alert. Today wasn't a good day to be at the airport.

He stepped away, slipping his phone from his pocket. His pace remained steady as he distanced himself from law enforcement. Outwardly, he was the picture of calm. But his pulse drummed against his ribs.

Then, he paused near two federal agents, close but not obvious, eager to hear what they were saying.

"We got the warehouse."

Garland froze, swallowing hard.

"Drugs were inside the bodies. Can you believe it?" One agent chuckled. "They were funneling the drugs right through the locals' own morgue."

Garland's fingers tightened around the handle of his briefcase. He pretended to scroll through his phone, listening.

"DeLuca and his guys found something big — names, transactions. We're bringing it all in now."

A cold sweat broke out along the back of Garland's neck. They had the evidence.

His plan had been simple: Leave the country. Lay low. Resurface when the dust settled. He had cash, a fake passport, and a seat on a private jet waiting on the tarmac.

Now, none of that mattered.

His heart pounded as he scrolled through his burner phone and stepped into a secluded corner. He dialed a number — one few people even knew existed.

The line clicked. A woman's voice answered. "You shouldn't be calling this number."

"They raided the warehouse," Garland hissed, glancing over his shoulder. "The ledgers, the shipments — it's all exposed."
A pause. Then, in that same cool, controlled voice, "Are they coming for you?"

Garland exhaled sharply. "Not yet, but they will."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I did, but this place is crawling with Feds."

"Stay where you are." The call ended.

A moment later, his phone buzzed with a message.

"Exit through the private car service. Red Lincoln. Do not get on the plane."

Garland swallowed hard. He knew he'd just traded his freedom for survival.
He slid his phone back into his pocket and glanced around. No one was looking at him. No alarms had been raised. Good.

But as he moved toward the stairwell, a prickling sensation ran up his spine €— the distinct, nagging feeling of being watched.

He was.

Invisible, Eleanor tracked him for the past few minutes, noting how he carefully avoided security checkpoints, how his hand stayed close to his coat pocket, and the slight tension in his jaw.

He was up to something, but what? Was he involved in Zhang's escape? Why was he at the airport, and where was he going?

She moved in close as he exited the boarding area. His steps were deliberate as he slipped through the service door and maneuvered toward the exit.

A red sedan pulled up to the lower-level service entrance a moment later. Garland slid inside, barely glancing around. Eleanor drifted closer to catch the license plate.

As the car left, she still had questions, but her main focus was on Maggie and Zhang, and time was running out.

Zhang was somewhere in this airport, and the baby's window of safety was closing fast.

She turned, filing the incident away in her mind as she moved back into the terminal, her mind focusing on Maggie.
 

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Spirits from the past -
Eleanor Bennett - ghost detective
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Matthew Donatelli

Current Characters -Bayside's Community --
Jenna Bennett - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, Maggie's mother, Donatelli's love
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective and Maggie's father
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie) and interested in Rebecca
Rebecca Cascio Stillwell - recently inherited the Vineyard after discovering her adoption
Joseph DeLuca - Bayside detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge, nemesis to all, and deceased
Vince Rossi - mobster and Doyle's cellmate and now witness protection
Judge Alex Garland - the man trying to step into John Doyles corrupt shoes
Rosalie Jarvis - a lawyer currently on Zhang's payroll
Nathaniel Devereaux - International Art Dealer
Criminals - Good and Bad
Zhang Wei - once involved in human trafficking with Doyle, seeks revenge for his career losses after Doyle's downfall from the Judge's bench.
Frank DiVito - retired gangster and childhood friend of Garth
Sam - Frankie's right-hand man and friend
Jack Lexington - Chicago kingpin
Danny Veraci -a dear friend from the past and casino owner
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