“A cop’s life is never his own, Diana. So many doughnuts to eat. You know that,” letting his wit show in the conversation, something he would never do back in his office. “Is Charlie around? I need a few minutes with him.”
Diana announced Albright’s presence. The chief told her to send him right in. The few minutes turned into an hour.
At the end of the hour, the chief told Diana he wanted the conference room next to his office set up as a headquarters for a special team being put together. He wanted the room ready for occupancy by noon and without notification to anyone else. He wanted it accomplished in complete secrecy.
Captain Albright’s men, he told her, would provide a list of names. Only the people on that list were to be allowed into the room. No one else was even to know that the team existed. No one.
While Diana hustled to carry out her instructions, Chief Marvin was making phone calls. The first call was to the chief of police in Richmond. Other names were on his call list for the morning, including the FBI’s Special Agent in Charge for San Francisco.
Returning to his own office, Albright called Booth and Lieutenant Billy Mitchum into his office. He told Booth that the chief had approved creation of the special task force. The chief, he said, was making the appropriate calls and had established a conference room next to his office as headquarters for the team. No one else on the chief’s staff would be involved. Nor would anyone else know of the team’s existence.
Albright said he wanted Mitchum involved but made it clear that this was Booth’s operation. He wanted them to work together.
As the two younger officers left, Albright’s smile was wide enough to show his teeth. He hadn’t felt so good about being a cop in a long time.
Albright wasn’t surprised when Deputy Chief Amanda Justice showed up in his office just before noon. She didn’t bother knocking.
“Good morning, Amanda,” he greeted her. “It’s not often we see you down here.”
She wasn’t particularly friendly. “I have other things to do, Fess. But now I want to know what’s going on with Sergeant Booth’s investigation.”
“He’s making progress, Amanda. I’d say he’s making significant progress.”
“Give me details.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Amanda.”
“It’s Deputy Chief Justice, Captain Albright,” his superior reminded him, in no good humor. “Did you forget that? And I’m giving you a direct order. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll send you a report by next week.”
“I said I want to know what’s going on, Albright. I want to know now.”
“I’m sorry, Amanda. I can’t accommodate you.”
“You’re going to regret this,” she said, as irate as she could remember being in her life.
She was trembling as she left the building. She was a deputy chief of police and she was scared. She tried to think of her options. She was too frightened to think clearly. She suddenly had a vision of the humiliation she would suffer if this ended in her incarceration. Given other possibilities that might come to mind if she gave in to panic, humiliation and incarceration would be the preferable alternatives.
By midafternoon, Booth and Mitchum had assembled their multi-force team in the conference room that was established as their headquarters. Since Rossi had been forced to pull his lookouts from the Nob Hill building, Trent had no one following him to police headquarters. They included Scott via a secure Internet video link.
SFPD Chief Charles Marvin, with Richmond Police Chief Bradford Dundee and FBI Special Agent in Charge for San Francisco Joel Harris on either side of him, spoke very briefly. He told the assembled team that they were assigned to a joint project called Operation Den of Snakes. He said he wanted them to set aside any professional differences and work together, quickly and efficiently. He assured them that he, Chief Dundee, and SAiC Harris would have their backs.
“Just get the job done,” he urged, before the three agency chiefs left the room.
Trent and Scott provided a briefing on the structure of Rossi’s fiduciaria and the hawala system used to move significant amounts of money without detection or risk. Booth and Trent outlined the plan they had developed to disassemble it.
The first order of business was to get trusted officers to cover Scott’s condo, Darcey’s condo, and the office in which she and Miles worked. They were instructed to be careful to avoid notice.
Assignments were made to members of the group. Team members got busy making calls and opening files on various devices.
Scott was available to answer questions. Trent spent time talking to Scotland Yard, the Paris Prefecture of Police, the three Italian police agencies with which he had met, and Interpol. He and Booth also spoke with Ross Brown, though they were careful not to mention his name.
At five o’clock Scott’s phone rang. It was a blocked call. He didn’t answer. It was the first time he ever failed to answer that call.
On the other end of the line, Rossi’s anger was becoming uncontrollable. Today was threatening to be even worse than the day before.
Amanda Justice suddenly couldn’t force a cop two levels down from her to give her a report. Why was he paying her? He had thought it a good joke having Justice on his payroll. Now it would seem the joke was on him.
By the end of the day, Douglas had done nothing. No money had been moved.
Then Harry Sherman, Rossi’s mole in Booth’s office, reported that Booth and Mitchum had been called into Albright’s office. They left a short while later, taking half a dozen officers with them. Sherman couldn’t find out where they were going or what they were doing.
More money wasted on useless cops, Rossi thought. When he got this mess straightened out, there would be some changes made.
Motioning for two of his security team, he began issuing orders. He went back into his office and, using his high frequency radio transmitter, sent a burst transmission. He needed competent help. He needed someone who had never failed.
It was dark when Trent finally made it home. He rode up the elevator again with Jean Philby. She did not become hysterical. Neither did she speak to him. When they reached the 15th floor, Trent stood aside to let her exit first.
Mrs. Philby walked slowly toward her condo at the far end of the hallway. She saw James Williams standing in his doorway as she came abreast of him. She paused for a few seconds. Still she didn’t go into her hysterical routine. Nor did she lower her voice to threaten him. She walked on by.
She didn’t see the semiautomatic handgun he was holding out of sight. From the angle from which he was looking at Williams, Trent did see the weapon. But the old man made no move to use it. He watched Mrs. Philby until she was inside her condo. He closed his door as the sound of the four locks on her door sliding into position, one by one, reverberated down the hall.
Trent made another mental note. He had to talk to Christopher about these two old people.
Darcey’s day had gone long as well. She had picked up a large order of chicken wings on her way home. Trent made peach martinis. They each had two martinis and several wings.
Martinis and chicken wings and a few precious moments alone together. Trent thought they were following the doctor’s orders.
Jimmy Shadow once again read the message received in the burst transmission from Jonathan Rossi. Jimmy was considering a response. Or whether there would be any response at all. This was the second time within the past few weeks that Rossi had signaled for help. Perhaps Rossi’s troubles were approaching the overwhelming. Jimmy was beginning to think further involvement could be dangerous. Maybe disastrous.
Jimmy Shadow hadn’t survived so long by flirting with disaster.
Tuesday, August 2nd
It was four o’clock in the morning when Darcey was awakened.
Trent was standing in the middle of their bedroom, looking around as though he didn’t know where he was.
“Trent?” she asked, cautiously.
&n
bsp; “Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“You tell me,” he answered. “How did I get to Fairbanks? Why am I in this hospital?”
“You’re fine, Trent.”
“All I know is I have to get back to San Francisco before morning. I promised Darcey she can go with me when I return to Alaska. If she finds out I came up here without her, she won’t be happy,” he said, with conviction. “And if there’s nothing wrong with me, then discharge me from this hospital.”
“It’s all arranged, Trent,” she said, cooperatively. “I’ve taken care of your discharge. Come lie down. By the time you wake up you’ll be back in San Francisco. Darcey will never know you went to Fairbanks.”
“I’ll probably tell her,” he mumbled, as he calmly climbed back into bed. “I don’t like to keep secrets from her.”
Trent had coffee ready at six o’clock when Darcey stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said cheerfully, kissing her and handing her a cup, already doctored with a little cream.
“Good morning,” she replied, warily, looking him over. “Where are we?”
“We’re in San Francisco,” he said, puzzled. “Where else would we be?”
“We’re not in Alaska? Not in Fairbanks?”
“Another hallucination?”
“Just a small one,” she said. “You were quite amusing. And thanks for not wanting to go back to Alaska without me and not wanting to keep secrets from me.”
“No problem,” he said. “Sounds like it was fun. Sorry I missed it.”
At seven o’clock Christopher started the team’s day.
“After getting some eyes on the street in a few defensive positions, your assignments yesterday were to search your files for any open cases involving Spitting Cobra, the Barons of Lucifer and the Scourge. Anything we can move on. We don’t have to have enough evidence to convict. In fact, we don’t want to take them to court. We want enough to get warrants and bust a few of them, even if we hold them for only a few hours. This is poker, folks, not jurisprudence.”
There was a ripple of laughter through the room.
“So what have we come up with?”
Lieutenant Mitchum was the first to speak up.
“We can bust Spitting Cobra for prostitution most any time. Can’t ever make it stick against any of the big guys but at least we free up some women being held as sex slaves. Some of them are only 12 or 13 years old.
“We should be able to disrupt their business temporarily,” Mitchum continued, “if Chief Marvin can help us get a couple of warrants. We’ve been watching a building on the edge of Little Saigon where we think they’re holding some girls.”
“OK. Let’s get on it. Anybody have anything on the Barons of Lucifer?”
Nancy was the first to speak up.
“They’re headquartered in Richmond. We know them well. Murder for hire is one of their biggest illicit money makers. And it’s the one they enjoy most. We’re working the Alexis Brandt murders. We’re sure Steve Burgess was the trigger man on those killings. But then two Barons tried to take Burgess out. It’s the only connection to the murders in Richmond. No way to bring a case. But it might be enough to haul a few of the leaders in for a few hours for questioning.”
“Who’s their head guy?”
“He calls himself the Mad Dutchman. His real name is Lin Winters. Woe unto anyone who calls him Lin. He thinks it’s a sissy name. If you want to call him by his first name, call him Mad.”
More laughter.
“See if Chief Dundee can help us with a warrant. What about the Scourge?”
Joseph Brady from the FBI spoke up.
“We’re probably best positioned to take them on,” he said.
“Do you have anything on’em?” Christopher asked.
“No, but if we can get a warrant we can bring in Abdul Rahman, their leader, for questioning. The charge can be a general one. Aiding and abetting interstate criminal activities.”
“What criminal activities?” Christopher asked.
“I’ll make a list,” Brady said.
Still more laughter.
“Sounds like we’re right on schedule. One more thing. Rossi has two men each watching Darcey Anderson’s office building and Mr. Douglas’ home. We scared them off Trent and Darcey’s condo. But I want those four busted. When we make the raids tomorrow morning, I want one of the Mafioso clearly visible in the back seat of a black and white at both the Spitting Cobra and the Barons of Lucifer headquarters. And let’s have two Mafioso on the scene when we hit the Scourge.”
“What do we charge them with?” came the question from one of the team members.
“Stalking,” Christopher said, drawing the most laughter yet.
“Now let’s get busy and round up some warrants. Chiefs Marvin and Dundee, SAiC Harris, are ready to run interference for us. I’d like to hit all three groups simultaneously tomorrow, early in the morning, if possible. While they’re still waking up.”
Team members spread out to meet with their respective leaders. To get the warrants they needed, Marvin, Dundee, and Harris carefully selected the judges to approach. They avoided judges known to be soft on crime. They especially avoided judges suspected of being on someone’s payroll. Though those judges would have been surprised to learn it, their unsavory connections were generally no secret in the law enforcement community.
Trent spent most of his day talking with Ross Brown. Scott was again available by Internet video link to answer questions. Trent and Ross participated in a conference call with law enforcement personnel in London, Paris, Lyon, and Rome. When Ross’ computer game was finished and ready to play, coordination with the seven European police agencies was critical.
At three o’clock Christopher directed two black and whites each to the Marina condo building and the California Street office. The four men Rossi had assigned to watch the two buildings were taken into custody. At first they thought it was funny that they were being arrested for stalking. Then one of the arresting officers explained to them how serious a crime stalking is in today’s world. They didn’t think it amusing when they learned that such a charge could get their names listed on the sex offenders’ registry.
The four were allowed the attorney Rossi sent to represent them. But they were rushed before a judge not of Rossi’s choosing. Bail was denied. They were returned to jail. The attorneys promised to appeal.
At four o’clock the action began to move in the opposite direction. The plan Rossi had directed the night before was put into action.
Two men who at first appeared to be casually strolling down California Street stopped behind the officers watching Darcey’s building. Each man produced a sound suppressed hand gun, firing two shots into his target. The shooters continued their walk.
A black van drove rapidly up California Street. Tires squealed as the driver slammed the brakes on to stop the vehicle in front of Darcey’s office. The driver remained behind the wheel with an armed man beside him in the passenger seat. Four other armed men piled out of the rear of the vehicle and rushed the building. All six men wore ski masks.
Darcey was looking out her window. She was shocked to see the policemen across the street shot. Even more shocked to see the van and the men rushing into her building. She heard them running up the stairs. She heard Miles’ emotional cries as they dragged him from his office. She reached for her phone and hit speed dial.
“Four armed men just raided my building. They’re dragging Miles out. I can hear them coming down the hall for me,” she said when Trent answered. She tried to remain as calm as possible.
“Where are the cops guarding your building?” he asked, dreading to hear the answer.
Darcey looked out her window at the two bodies lying across the street.
“They’re both down. I don’t know if they’re alive or dead. They’re coming for me, Trent.”
Suddenly Trent felt biting cold sweep the room as he listened. He stru
ggled for words.
“Don’t fight, Darcey,” he said. “Go with them. I’ll find you. I WILL FIND YOU.”
“I love you, Trent,” he heard her say. In the background he could hear the shuffle and scuffle of the men taking hold of her.
“I love you, Darcey,” he shouted into the phone.
The room got even colder as he heard a heavily accented voice speaking in his ear.
“How romantic, Mr. Marshall,” the voice said. “If you want to see your wife alive again, tell Mr. Douglas to carry out his orders. Otherwise….” The voice left the other possible outcome hanging.
Trent sat staring into empty air when the call was ended. He felt uncharacteristically frozen. He was, in effect, on the verge of a post-traumatic stress reaction. He struggled to bring himself under control. Darcey was in danger. Now was not the time to freeze. Now was the time for action. White hot action.
As the adrenaline began to flow, bringing him out of the temporary trance, he motioned for Christopher.
“We have officers down at Darcey’s office. We need Scott Douglas here. Now,” he said as the big cop stepped to his side. “And have him bring his laptop with him.”
Without question, Booth called for EMTs and back up to the California Street office. He directed the officers guarding Scott’s condo to bring him to headquarters immediately.
“Douglas will be here in ten minutes,” Christopher said. “What’s going on?”
“Rossi has Darcey and Miles,” he said. He repeated the little information Darcey had been able to pass along as well as the threat delivered by one of the abductors.
“Where do we go from here?” Christopher asked. “We have no idea where Rossi will be holding them.”
“We’ll find them,” Trent said, with determination. “We’ll find them and we’ll bring them home safely. Meanwhile, I need to do something that you probably should not be a part of, Christopher.”
Christopher raised his eyebrows.
“And it would be best if you asked no questions,” Trent added.
Christopher looked at Trent, a meditative expression in his eyes. He said nothing.
Neighbors and Other Strangers Page 11