The Fugitive

Around two p.m., Slade got off his phone, placed it on the table, and said, “Okay, here’s the plan right now. We’ve sent the video and photo to our office in Washington. Our experts are going through it now, but their quick analysis is that there is an eighty percent chance this guy is the real Pete Duffy. We’ll have several agents on the Metro this afternoon, and we’ll also stake out the apartment on Forty-Fourth Street. There is an outstanding warrant for his arrest, so the paperwork is already in place. If our guys see him, they’ll grab him, search him, search his apartment, and, with luck, we’ll have our man.”

Ackerman said, “We need to get back to our office now, but we’ll be in touch.”

Slade looked at Theo and said, “On behalf of the FBI, Theo, we want to say a big thanks for doing what you’ve done. It took a very sharp eye to see what you saw.”

Ackerman turned to Ike and said, “And to you as well, Mr. Boone. Thank you for getting involved.”

Ike waved him off as if it was no big deal. Just another day at the office.

After the agents left, Mrs. Boone looked at her watch and said, “Well, I guess it’s too late to go back to school.”

“Of course it is,” Theo said helpfully. “I think I should stick around here and wait to hear from the FBI. They might need me again.”

“I doubt that,” Mr. Boone said, also glancing at his watch. Time to get to work.

When his parents were gone from the room, Theo smiled at Ike and said, “It must be cool to be an FBI agent, don’t you think, Ike?”

Ike grunted his disapproval. “Listen, Theo, about the time you were born I got into some trouble and the FBI came knocking on my door. It was not pleasant. When you’re on the other side of those guys, it’s hard to be a big fan. They’re good, and they know it, but they’re not always right.”

Ike’s troubles were deep, family secrets. Theo, being the nosy kid, had fished around a few times for details from his parents, but had learned nothing. Now that Ike had opened the door, Theo was tempted to go barging in. But he bit his tongue and said nothing.

Ike said, “Just think about it, Theo. Right now your video is being analyzed by the best experts in the world. Pretty cool, right?”

“Very. Say, Ike, we haven’t talked about this, but have you thought about the reward money? They’re offering a hundred thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of Pete Duffy. I’m sure you know this, right?”

“Sure, everybody knows it. And, yes, I’ve thought about it. What will you do with that kind of money?”

“Well, I think you should get some of it. What if we just split it, okay?”

“We’re not there yet, Theo. First, they’ve got to catch him. Then there’s the small matter of another trial. Duffy has great lawyers and he’ll put up a strong defense, just like last time. You watched the trial and you know that the prosecution was about to lose when Judge Gantry declared a mistrial. Getting a conviction will not be easy.”

“I know. I was there, but that was before we knew about Bobby Escobar. He’s an eyewitness, Ike. He saw Pete Duffy sneak into his home at the exact time his wife was killed. And he found the golf gloves Duffy was wearing when he strangled his wife.”

“Right. Let’s just wait until there’s a conviction, and then we’ll talk about the reward money.”

“Okay. But what would you do with fifty thousand?”

“Theo.”

At four thirty, Theo was at his desk in his office, with his dog at his feet, doodling at his homework and staring at a Twins clock on the wall. He closed his eyes and imagined the crowded Metro train as it stopped at the Judiciary Square Station.

A dozen FBI agents in various disguises are on the train, watching, waiting. The doors open, a crowd of commuters rushes into the train. One of them is Pete Duffy, and he is soon identified by an agent who whispers into a mike. “PD is identified, car number four, halfway back.” Duffy reads his newspaper, clueless that his life as a fugitive is about to end. Clueless that he is about to be arrested and hauled back to Strattenburg. At the Metro Center Station, even more agents pile on board; some maneuver so close to Duffy they could touch him. But they wait. They’re patient, professional. They whisper into their mikes, text messages on their cell phones, ride the train as if they do it every day, and before long they’re at the Tenleytown Station. Duffy folds his newspaper, sticks it under his arm, gets to his feet, and when the train stops and the doors fly open, he steps onto the platform, same as everyone else. More agents are waiting at the station. They trail Duffy up through the quiet, leafy streets of Northwest Washington, watching every step. When he turns on 44th Street, he comes face-to-face with armed men in black trench coats. One says, “FBI, Mr. Duffy, you’re under arrest.” Duffy almost faints, or does he? Is he relieved that his life as a fugitive is over? Probably not. Theo suspects Duffy would prefer to live on the run. They handcuff him and lead him to an unmarked van. He says nothing, not a single word. At the jail he calls his lawyer.

At five o’clock, Theo was staring at the phone on his desk. He called Ike, who’d heard nothing and said to relax. They’ll get Duffy, but maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Be patient.

Really, Ike? Theo said to himself. How many thirteen-year-olds understand how to be patient?

After dark, and without a peep from the FBI, the Boone family walked three blocks from their office to the Highland Street Shelter, where they volunteered each week. They began in the kitchen where they do

Mrs. Boone, along with several other female lawyers in town, had started a free legal clinic at the shelter to help women and their families. After di

At eight twenty, Theo got a text from Ike. Call me now. He stepped outside and punched the number on speed dial.

“Just talked to the FBI,” Ike said. “Agent Slade called me with an update. Everything went as pla

“So, what does this mean?”

“Not sure, really. Duffy is a smart guy and he could be staying at more than one place. Maybe he saw a suspicious person; somebody stared a bit too long. Who knows?”

“What’s the plan?”

“They’ll try again tomorrow. They’ll watch his apartment all night, see if he comes out in the morning, and they’ll monitor the trains. But you know how it is; there are about a million people on the Metro during rush hour. I’ll call when I hear something.”

Theo was devastated. He was certain the FBI, with its unlimited manpower and technology, would have Pete Duffy in custody by midnight.