Mitchelli moved downhill under the cover of darkness, carefully backtracking his route with his GPS returning to his machine. The GPS guided him to within five feet of his ranger. Mitchelli coasted his machine downhill, only starting the engine at the bottom. He would not turn on his phone until he reached Butaninni’s house, which was a comfortable distance from the hilltop camp. Activating his phone would allow the FBI to pinpoint his location. When he reached Butaninni’s house, he would text Coarseni with his list of materials. Coarseni would deliver the explosives to the location indicated on Mitchelli’s phone.
Mitchelli did not want the camp’s location leaked to the mole. He had to trust Coarseni and Buckala. Their orders would be specific: to support Mitchelli in the field and report directly to Special Agent in Charge Freed, and no one else. Secretary Stuart had instructed MacJames and Freed that Mitchelli was to have everything he requested, short of a thermonuclear device. Freed had joked what would happen if Mitchelli had requested a bomb. MacJames did not appreciate his humor. Their relationship was still strained from Freed’s report. MacJames was a professional, but she was also a woman who could hold a grudge significantly longer than any man. Freed was no match for MacJames. He would have to apologize to her in the near future.
***
Coarseni read the message aloud to Freed, Buckala, and MacJames. It was short and to the point, “Dense forest, need enough explosives to make a landing zone for helicopter. Helicopter must be able to extract 21 men. Need delivery before dusk today.”
Freed sat in front of MacJames’s desk. “Son of a bitch, he did it.” He looked at MacJames and then Coarseni and Buckala. “Twenty-one men? He found them? Did you get confirmation from him, is he sure they’re our men?”
“No, he deactivated his phone immediately after sending the message.” Coarseni nudged Buckala standing beside him, expecting fury from Freed.
Freed shook his head. “Typical. A field trip to the woods didn’t soften him up. No, not our fisherman. He’s running the show.”
MacJames seized control. “Drop it, Bob. Dom, you have his explosives ready?” Coarseni nodded his head. “Good. Get the hell out of here. Move it.” Coarseni moved to the door with Buckala and MacJames raised her voice, stopping him. “Dom, make sure you explain to him how to place and arm them. I don’t want him blowing himself up.”
“Yes, ma’am.Neither do I. He’s mechanically inclined, he should be OK.” Coarseni left her office.
Freed looked at MacJames. “Do you really think he found them? I mean Angela, we’ve had two teams investigating in Olean for a week now.”
“Bob, I can’t believe it either. But Peter wouldn’t have asked for the explosives unless he was confident he was onto something. You’d better assemble an assault team, or do you want Peter to plan that out for you?”
“I’ve started. Believe or not, I anticipated his success. I have to check on the security detail at his house; the Secretary insisted he wants a report from me today.”
MacJames grabbed her purse from her closet. “I’ll see you at his house.”
“Where are you going?”
“His mother-in-law asked if I could watch the kids this afternoon--she has a doctor’s appointment.” MacJames leaned over her computer and logged off. “I couldn’t tell her no, their lives have been turned upside down and I feel responsible.”
Freed smiled. “I shouldn’t have written that report. You should see how excited you look when you talk about his kids. It was more than not refusing her request; you want to be with the kids.” Freed paused and then proclaimed, “I’m just so damn frustrated.”
MacJames looked at her watch and ran out the door. “Apology accepted! I’ll see you at the Mitchelli house.”
Freed yelled back, “Thank you!” Under his breath he muttered, “Did I just apologize? I don’t think I said I was sorry?”
***
Butaninni worked diligently rubbing antiseptic on Mitchelli’s hands while he slept on her bed. He had arrived five hours earlier covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. Butaninni bit her lip trying to restrain her foul mouth and simply ordered him into the shower. She fed him then put him to bed making sure he ate his entire breakfast. She forced him to take several of his narcotic pills. While he dozed off, she remembered to check his blood pressure. The narcotics made him sleepy, another side effect; he would rest for hours.
Madison was in the kitchen whining; she knew not to bark alerting strangers to her presence. Butaninni heard her whining and stopped rubbing Mitchelli’s hands. “Madison what is it?” She quickly walked to the kitchen, “What’s a matter girl? You see a rabbit?” She looked out the window and saw a black SUV with heavy tinted windows and a man looking in her barn. She quickly noticed a short man wearing a gun. “I’ll be, son of bitch.” She ran in her bedroom and removed from her dresser drawer a canvas belt with a holster and magazine pouch. It was her military side arm, a Beretta pistol. She drew the pistol from its holster, inserted the magazine, and racked the slide. She went out the front door and worked her way around the barn, flanking the intruder.
“Sal, this is the place, I can see his truck in the barn between the slats.” Coarseni shook the barn door attempting to open it. “He’s paranoid, why the hell did he have to shut his damn phone off.” Coarseni started kicking the door, “I’ll smash this damn door in, that’s what I’ll do!”
Butaninni aimed her gun at the man while standing behind the SUV fender. “Freeze, Shorty!” She fired a shot at the ground.
Coarseni put his hands in the air and fell against the door. He slowly turned around hoping to see Buckala, but ended up looking down the barrel of Butaninni’s pistol.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing snooping around my barn?”
Unnerved, Coarseni hesitated before he answered. “We…I’m looking for our partner… our friend.”
“What friend?” Butaninni insisted.
Coarseni yelled, “Listen lady, I’m not telling you who our friend is, I’m a fricken FBI agent.” He lowered his hands to get his credentials and Butaninni fired another shot at his feet. “YOU BITCH…Ok ok ok, take it easy lady.”
Buckala came around the back of the barn his pistol aiming it at Butaninni, “Police, don’t move.” Butaninni flinched. “Ah, what did I tell you beautiful? I want you to slowly lower your pistol and place it on the ground, real slow.”
“No way, drop yours or Shorty gets it.”
Mitchelli came running out of the house wearing only his pants. “Melanie, they came to help me. It’s ok, they’re my friends. Lower your gun.” Mitchelli stood next to Butaninni looking at Buckala and Coarseni with his hands up. He placed his arms around Butaninni and whispered in her ear, “Melanie, finger off the trigger, it’s ok, babe.” The narcotics had softened Mitchelli’s personality. Without them he would have never used the word ‘babe.’ When her finger moved out of the trigger guard, reaching over her arms he gently guided her pistol down and away from Coarseni. “You must have been one hell of a soldier.”
She whispered in his ear softly, “Damn right, babe.” She kissed him on the lips. Coarseni’s jaw dropped.
Mitchelli looked at Coarseni his hands above his head, “Oh, wait, these aren’t my friends.” He broke up laughing. Buckala noticed the difference in Mitchelli’s mannerisms. The way he grabbed Butaninni and held her, then kissed her. Mitchelli was confident but rigid. The man standing in front of Buckala was relaxed and at ease.
“Oh funny, you asshole. Hee-haw, Annie could have shot me. Bad enough I have to baby-sit you. I’m at the mercy of your every whim and now I have to get shot in the process?” Coarseni’s hands were still up in the air.
Buckala exclaimed, “Peter have her holster her weapon before she frickin’ shoots Shorty!”
Butaninni holstered her pistol, “Peter you get back into bed, I mean now. I’ll fix your friends something to eat and open up the barn for them.” Mitchelli went back into the house as ordered. He was quite relaxed, agreeable, c
ertainly not himself.
Coarseni noticed the difference, “Lady, what did you do to him? No one tells him what to do.”
“What do you mean?” Butaninni played dumb but she had also noticed the change in Mitchelli’s personality.
Buckala answered, “I’ve seen him drink three whiskies in an hour and he’s still wound tight as a drum. Bounced a man he didn’t know off every wall in the bar. The man you just ordered in your house is not Peter Mitchelli, what did you give him?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Butaninni watched Mitchelli as he entered the house.
“Where is his gun, lady?” Coarseni asked.
“It’s Melanie, and I’m no lady!”
“Ok, Melanie, the bitch that likes guns, I’ve never seen him without his gun. He heard gunshots; the man we know wouldn’t have left that house without at least one gun. He’s not the man we expected to meet.”
Butaninni looked at Mitchelli petting Madison just inside the door. He looked carefree, just playing with her dog. She knew he was not the same man she pulled from the truck. The pills worked, they eased his tension and relaxed his personality. But she knew he had changed, the more pills he consumed the further he transformed into someone else no one knew. She had already fallen in love with her medicated patient, Peter Mitchelli.
“I will ask him, if I don’t he’ll never see his children.” Buckala looked at Coarseni. “We’d better let him sleep the high off before you give him your little explosive instructional talk.”
Butaninni walked towards the house and Coarseni stood next to Buckala, eyeing her. “Do you think those are real? Jesus, what a nice set.”
“I heard that Shorty, they’re real,” she yelled back at Coarseni.
Coarseni yelled, “Lady! It’s Dom, not Shorty.”
She shouted back, “Call me Melanie, you wiseass.”
Coarseni spoke to Buckala as Butaninni followed Mitchelli into the house. “Will you look at the ass on her? What is with Mitchelli and women, they frickin’ flock to him; he’s not even good looking. Sal, don’t you think I’m better looking? Sal, come on, tell me?”
“Dom, give it a rest. Let’s unload the truck before she comes out again and yells at us.” He admired Butaninni’s legs as she walked up the steps to her kitchen. “Cool, cool as a jewel.”
***
MacJames was in the kitchen serving Kaitlin and Peter Jakob lunch. They were at the table eating their sandwiches and drinking pink lemonade. Peter Jakob jumped out of his chair and looked out the window up at the sky. The faint sound of a propeller plane could be heard.
“Peter stop getting up and finish your lunch,” MacJames said. “What are you looking at anyways?”
“The planes, they keep flying over our house.” Peter sat down at the kitchen table.
Kaitlin yelled at her brother, “Peter we live in the flight path, remember that plane that crashed near us last year? Ms. MacJames, the planes fly over our house before they land. He’s just keeps getting up because he doesn’t like the sandwich you made him.”
“Kaitlin, shut up. It’s the same two planes, they keep circling our house. One’s blue, the other’s red.”
MacJames put her glass on the table and her hand quivered. She was suddenly terrified and her thoughts were sickening. Red and blue, just like the boats, oh no it can’t be. “Get in the great room right now; get your butts on the couch, move!” She ran to the foyer where Freed was speaking with Hoss and interrupted them, “Bob, the kids say there’s been two planes flying around the house for the last hour.”
Freed said, “Come on you got to be kidding? It’s nothing.”
Hoss looked at the children he had grown fond of. They were his responsibility and for the first time in his short career he took his job personally. The security teams had focused on ground threats; they never considered a threat from the air. He immediately raised his radio to his mouth and alerted his security team to the potential threat. He turned and looked out the front window to see a blue van had pulled on the front lawn. Four men leapt out of the van with submachine guns. He drew his pistol as he opened the front door and raised his radio to his mouth.
“Guns on the front lawn, code five, guns on the front lawn!” Hoss drew his pistol and ran out the front door, firing. He shot one man, and three others dropped to their knees. Hoss had learned his lesson well from Mitchelli. His pistol was fully loaded chambered, ready to fire.
FBI agents ran out of the metal surveillance container onto the driveway, firing their machine pistols at the assailants on the lawn. A white sedan pulled into the driveway, shooting at the agents as they leapt from the surveillance container. A third vehicle stopped at the street and three men emerged, also firing pistols. Bullets ripped into the front of Mitchelli’s house, shattering windows and splintering the front door. MacJames jumped over the back of the couch, pulling the children to the floor. She held them down as bullets whistled over their heads. The children screamed, petrified they called out for their father. Hoss’s ears, which had been tuned to their voices over the last several days, burned with rage, No one will hurt them! He yelled a grizzly scream and fired his pistol towards the intruders. The ferocious yell halted the intruders for a moment. The children heard him yell, a familiar voice, one they knew from play wrestling with him; his voice silenced their screams, bringing them some assurance they would be protected.
MacJames held the children as gunshots continued to ring out. What had she done to Mitchelli and his family? This can’t be happening, his children cannot get hurt, I won’t allow it. She had failed; the government could not protect one man and his children. Had her love affected her decisions at the expense of the family she longed to be a part of? She raised her head and saw the carnage of bullets strafing the family photos Ann Mitchelli had placed around the room. She squeezed the children close to her body. She lay between them and the intruders.
Freed returned fire. Two agents lay motionless on the ground; the hail of fire from the assailants had been deadly accurate. Lying prone, six assailants crawled towards the front door. Hit, Hoss continued to fire his pistol, slowing the assailants’ progress. Freed quickly assessed the situation. Four agents down, six threats moving towards the house. Freed fired four more shots and the thugs returned fire with a spit of machine pistol bullets ripping through the exterior walls. The situation was dire; he knew he could not hold off six men. He had to capitulate.
Freed yelled into the house, “Angela, get to the car, get the kids out of here and don’t stop! I’ll hold them off as long as I can. Hoss and I will lay down and cover fire.” He yelled the second command loud enough for Hoss to hear.
MacJames knew they didn’t have time to discuss their predicament. She knew Mitchelli left the keys for the Mercedes coupe on its front seat. The care was parked in the garage. She yelled her instructions to the children they had to get to the garage while Freed started shooting again.
MacJames yelled, “Crawl to the garage, stay low!”
She pulled the kids along with her. Crawling quickly on the floor, they reached the hallway and she lifted them to their feet. She held her arm out, motioning them to stop, they stood still; she drew her pistol from under her blouse and flung open the garage door, quickly scanning the garage for any threats.
“Get in the car!” They ran to the car, the children yelled at each other to hurry. “Stay down, I want your heads below the windows.”
The coupe started quickly and the engine roared to life. The garage door slowly opened and she spun the tires across the concrete floor as soon as the coupes roof cleared the bottom of the garage door. She drove across the side yard. Sod flying from the spinning tires, the car skidded onto the neighbor’s driveway. The rear tires broke loose from the grass as the coupe turned sharply and accelerated down the driveway to the street. Freed and Hoss continued with their cover firing, reloading their pistols as needed. When the thugs realized the Mitchelli children were in the coupe, it was too late. The car was already
past the house at the end of the street.
A stocky thug yelled, “GET THAT CAR!” and fired a barrage of bullets at the house. The bullets ricocheted off the floor, wood splinters flew, and Freed rolled away from the door opening, yelling for Hoss.
Another thug yelled, “Smoke!”
The intruder’s hand glided casually over his head, releasing a silver metal can that rolled across the front lawn spewing thick, dense smoke and concealing the men as they ran to their cars. Desperate, the surviving agents on the driveway released a wave of bullets through the smoke. Two of the thugs fell, one grabbing his throat, the other his stomach, blood covering both of their hands.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 59