The guns were intended for the FBI. The Barons had thought hijacking the shipment was a huge joke. The weapons would sell quickly on the black market for a healthy profit.
The second, smaller crates, marked “Candles,” contained drugs. Heroin. Cocaine. Prescription painkillers. And Ecstasy, the party drug. Peter couldn’t keep up with the various names for this one. It was Molly for a while. Now he was hearing it called Strawberries or Candy. It was all money to him.
“I’d better get the Dutchman,” the first Baron said.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Peter said. “I’ll take care of him.”
With that he lowered his submachine gun and, with hardly any noise, left a trail of bullet holes beginning at the first man’s right shoulder and moving across his chest. The second man took all three bullets in the belly.
As previously ordered, his twenty men spread out through the building, killing any Baron of Lucifer who showed his head. Thanks to the sound suppressors, Peter could hardly hear any noise, except for the occasional lucky shot a Baron got off before falling in a hail of bullets.
Peter followed in the wake of his soldiers to the second floor. While they broke into every room looking for Barons, he walked purposely down the hall. He kicked in the door of the Mad Dutchman’s apartment and wasn’t surprised to see the naked leader of the Barons aiming his semiautomatic handgun at the door.
The Dutchman made a fatal mistake. He let his surprise at seeing Peter leading the attack force slow him for a second. No more. Time enough for Peter to let loose with a burst that blasted the weapon from his opponent’s hand.
“Oh, I’ve ruined your pretty little pistol, Lin,” Peter said, with an evil laugh.
The Dutchman was overcome with rage. He charged Peter completely unarmed. Before he took three steps Peter riddled him with bullets. The Mad Dutchman was mad no more.
Nor was the unfortunate naked woman cowering in the bed behind him. Peter couldn’t afford to leave her alive.
Two of Peter’s men had been wounded. One was shot in the foot; the second in the neck. Peter shot them both in the head. He left their bodies on the warehouse floor.
No witnesses.
They were in and out within fifteen minutes. No Baron of Lucifer unfortunate enough to be at their headquarters was left alive.
The truck drove away with cargo worth millions.
Peter thought it had been a good day.
Darcey worked from home. She didn’t want to leave Miles alone just yet. He continued to sleep. When he woke briefly that morning, she managed to get him to eat a few bites of scrambled eggs. She gave him one of the anti-depressants. He didn’t need another pill to go back to sleep. He spent a second day in bed.
Trent came home at five o’clock. He seemed buoyant. Mixing martinis for both of them, he led her out onto the terrace to tell her about Ross Brown’s game. How effectively it had worked.
When his phone rang, he was not surprised to see Christopher’s name show up. They had fired yet another round into the den of snakes. He assumed the cop wanted to discuss the next step.
He was mistaken.
“Someone hit the Barons of Lucifer headquarters in Richmond today,” Christopher said. “Nancy says not one Baron was left alive, including the Mad Dutchman. And any goods, whatever they might have had on hand, are gone. The ware house is full of nothing but dead bodies now.”
Trent was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that.
“Well, when you get the snakes snapping at each other, you don’t know what will happen next,” he said. “But I have to admit I didn’t expect this. And the timing. This operation was carried out before it was known that Brown sent all the fiduciaria’s funds to Rossi’s bank in Rome. Does Nancy have any idea who might have done it?”
“We might have a pretty good clue. Two of Rossi’s men were found dead on the scene.”
“Maybe Rossi decided one or more of his partners were out to get him so he decided to strike first,” Trent said. “Or maybe someone recruited a couple of Rossi’s men just to set him up. Either way, our snakes are striking at each other. And that’s exactly what we want them to do.”
Trent and Darcey dined on Hunters stew, redolent with mushrooms, onions, and Louisiana spices. After dinner, Trent made them each a second martini.
“From now on events are going to be unpredictable, Darcey,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you and Miles would stay here in the condo. It’s a secure building.”
“No argument from me,” Darcey agreed. “One kidnapping a week is my limit.”
“And keep the M16 right near.”
Abdul was temporarily stupefied when a government official on his payroll called to tell him that the warehouse headquarters of the Barons of Lucifer had been attacked. He was told that all the Barons who were on site were dead. That included Lin Winters, aka the Mad Dutchman
When asked if the police had any idea who carried out the massacre, he was told only that they were guessing two of the dead worked for Jonathan Rossi.
Abdul immediately called Kiettisuk Jetjirawak who hadn’t yet heard.
“Our partner has turned against us, Kiettisuk,” Abdul said, barely able to control his already bad mood. “The question is now, ‘What do we do about him?’”
“Yes, what indeed?” Kiettisuk replied. “We must plan carefully, Abdul. Let’s think about it and talk later in the day.”
Kiettisuk smiled as he ended the call.
Saturday, August 6th
Phones began ringing early.
Kiettisuk Jetjirawak received calls from banks and investment managers on two Caribbean islands, one Pacific island, two Asian nations, London and Paris. The message was all the same. The message was electrifying. Terrifying.
All Kiettisuk’s accounts, even those under other names, had been emptied. Transferred electronically by burst transmissions.
Abdul Rahman received the same calls from one Caribbean island, one Pacific island, one Latin American nation, three Middle Eastern countries, and one investment firm in Paris. The message was the same. All accounts now reflected zero balances.
When the calling agents were asked, both men were told the funds were directed to a bank in Rome. When the accounts of Lin Winters, the Mad Dutchman, were included, more than $200 million had just been diverted to a bank controlled by Jonathan Rossi.
While Kiettisuk Jetjirawak had not seemed overly concerned when Abdul called with the news of the demise of the Barons of Lucifer, he was highly agitated when he called Abdul.
“We were foolish to delay moving against Rossi,” Kiettisuk admitted. “He has ruined us.”
“He has stolen many millions from us, Kiettisuk,” Abdul replied. “But he has not destroyed us. We still control lines of business that are highly profitable. We will recover the millions we have lost. But we must eliminate Rossi now. Immediately.”
“We trusted too much in allowing Rossi to administer the fiduciaria,” Kiettisuk said. “We don’t know enough about the process to reverse it.”
“Perhaps our administrator can be convinced to reverse his actions,” Abdul replied, “with the proper techniques of persuasion.”
“I’m told that Rossi enjoys martinis,” Kiettisuk said. “I’m also told that recent stress has led him to enjoy multiple martinis in the evening.”
“The perfect time to discuss the situation with him,” Abdul agreed with the implication. “But how do we get into his compound.”
“I can arrange that,” Kiettisuk said, with confidence.
“Then by all means, my friend, please do so. As soon as possible.”
Abdul thought Kiettisuk was more confident than he would have expected. That was something worth thinking about.
Darcey had turned off all the lights and drew the drapes on all windows. Still Trent wore dark glasses. It was barely enough.
Another of the symptoms about which they had been warned. Dilated pupils. Light, even dim light, was painful to him. Darcey hoped this symptom
, as had the others, would be of short duration.
Fortunately, he was in no pain. He could see well enough with the dark glasses. When he took them off, he was blinded by the light.
He was lying on the couch when Miles came in.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Darcey said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible given the circumstances.
“Please, I’m up but not feeling like sunshine,” Miles said. “And speaking of sunshine, why is there none in this room? It’s as dark as night in here.”
“I guess you might as well know, Miles,” Darcey said, as she poured him a cup of coffee. “Trent is suffering a symptom of an illness he has contracted. There are several symptoms. Today his eyes are completely dilated. The least bit of light is blinding to him. Hence, even with no light in the room, the darkened glasses are a neccesity.”
“How awful!” Miles exclaimed. “What happened? How did he get this disease?”
Darcey told him the whole story. He shuddered when she described the nasty little bug. Trent himself broke the tension in the room when he exuberantly described the hallucinations, the belief that they were in the Witness Protection Program and his early morning visit to Fairbanks.
That gave them all permission to laugh. Laughter was medicinal for all of them.
“I would be happy to make you a big breakfast, Miles, but I don’t want to turn the lights on. Is there something I can get you that won’t require me to be able to see well?”
“I’m not very hungry. Maybe a piece of toast? Would that be OK?”
“I think I can handle that. I had planned to make calas, another wonderful New Orleans treat that Ivy taught me to make. One of Trent’s favorites. We’ll do it another day.”
Kiettisuk Jetjirawak called Rossi once again. He said he and Abdul Rahman would like to visit Rossi at his home on Sunday. Would eleven o’clock Sunday morning be convenient?
Rossi said of course he would be happy to see his two partners. He asked if the Mad Dutchman would be accompanying them. Kiettisuk said the Dutchman would not be available.
Rossi called again for Peter. He instructed him to send two men to Scott Douglas’ condo in the Marina district. Have them search the place for his laptop and for any financial records related to the fiduciaria. He wanted it done that night.
“What if Mr. Douglas is there, Don Rossi? What are your instructions?”
“Don’t worry about that. He won’t be there,” Rossi replied, not looking at Peter.
Peter left his boss’ office wondering. This seemed unusual. He knew they were holding Douglas’ boyfriend and her boss. Why would they need to burglarize Douglas’ home? With his boyfriend in danger surely he would do as Rossi directed. Something wasn’t right. He suspected Rossi hadn’t told him everything.
Peter was correct. Rossi hadn’t told Peter or anyone else about the rescue of the hostages the night before.
He certainly would not mention the death of Douglas. That was a tragedy that might bring down Rossi’s fiduciara, the tontine he had planned, and perhaps the Rossi Family itself.
He had to think. He had to come up with a plan. When he had a plan, of course he would share it with Peter. He relied on Peter completely and would trust him to carry out the plan.
Think, Rossi. Think. What would your father do? What would your grandfather do?
The usual cocktail hour at the Nob Hill condo was canceled this evening. There was no way they would let Miles have a drink given the medications he was taking. And they didn’t think it hospitable for them to indulge while denying him.
Darcey prepared a light dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches. Miles seemed to have recovered his appetite. He ate one whole sandwich and half of another.
“I think I’d like to go to our condo this evening, if it’s not too much trouble,” he requested.
“No trouble at all,” Darcey said. “I’ll be happy to drive you.”
“You can drive him, Darcey,” Trent piped up, “but I’ll be with you.”
“Do you feel up to it?” she asked.
“I feel fine. I just can’t see in bright light. As long as I have these dark glasses I can see just fine. And with all the lights off I don’t even need the glasses. If we run into trouble, this might be the best night for it,” he said, with some amusement.
“We’ll wait until full darkness falls before driving to the Marina.”
“And I want you to keep your commitment,” Trent said. “Bring your gym bag.”
The two men Peter sent also waited for darkness. The condo Scott and Miles had occupied was not in a secure building. It was a simple matter to slip the lock on the door leading into the condo.
They immediately spotted the desk at which Scott had worked from home. There was no computer of any type on it. They went through each drawer of the desk, looking through every file, every sheet of paper. Trying to find anything remotely connected to Don Rossi, any of his partners, or the fiduciaria.
They searched the house. Every room. Emptying drawers.
Nothing.
They took down every painting, every wall hanging looking for a hidden safe.
Nothing.
They slit all the cushions on the furniture, all the mattresses.
Nothing.
They were ready to give up and leave when they heard someone at the door. They quickly switched off the lights. It seemed a reasonable thing to do.
It was a mistake.
Darcey had seen the strip of light under the door. She was surprised since to her knowledge no one had been in the condo since they had brought Miles there to pick up some clothes for him.
Then the lights were switched off. She grabbed both Trent and Miles by their arms and quietly pulled them away from the door, whispering so that only the two of them could hear.
Inside Rossi’s burglars drew their handguns and found cover, one at the end of a large couch, the other behind a Queen Anne chair. He didn’t know it was a Queen Anne chair. He only knew he could hide behind it and it might stop a bullet.
Outside, Trent asked Miles if there was a way to switch off the lights in the hallway. Miles said there was a fuse box near the elevator.
Trent directed Miles to flip the switch in the fuse box to darken the entire floor. Then lie down on the floor in the hallway, away from the front door. He told him to stay there and make not a sound.
He told Darcey to prepare her M16. He wanted her to get on the floor. When he opened the door he wanted her to crawl into the room on her belly.
He said with the lights in the condo and the hallway out, whoever was inside couldn’t see him but he would be able to see them as though they were in a spotlight.
If they started shooting, Darcey should look for the flash of their gunshots and fire at those.
When Miles had extinguished the hallway lights, Trent removed the dark glasses and quietly opened the door. It was black as tar for everyone but Trent. He could see one man behind the Queen Anne chair; the other at the end of the couch. Both were armed only with handguns, not the submachine guns he had encountered at the Rossi compound.
“You, at the end of the couch. And you, behind the chair. Drop your guns and stand up.”
As soon as he spoke, he stepped forward and to his right. He had guessed right.
The burglars were taken by surprise. They could see no one. But the voice was real.
The man behind the couch fired at the direction he thought Trent’s voice had come from. But Trent had moved. All he did was give Darcey her target. She fired a three round burst from the M16. The powerful weapon smashed through the arm of the couch and made a mess of the burglar’s left femur. He wouldn’t be walking with that thigh wound for a while.
Trent didn’t have to wait for the man behind the chair to fire. He could see him clearly. One .50 caliber round punched through the chair, striking the would-be gunman’s left hand. His gun hand. He dropped the weapon and leaped to his feet, his hands up.
“Please, I give up,” he bawled
. “Don’t shoot.”
“Me, too,” they heard from the end of the couch. “But I can’t stand up.”
“Kick your guns out into the middle of the floor,” Trent ordered. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Putting the dark glasses on again, he told Miles to restore the lighting on the floor. Darcey turned on the lights inside the condo.
Miles was furious when he saw the condition of his home.
“What have you done to our home?” he shouted. “It’s ruined. You have destroyed it.”
The two men said nothing. Trent dragged the man Darcey had wounded in the thigh out into the middle of the room.
Darcey called 9-1-1 requesting two ambulances. She told the operator one burglar had a relatively minor injury. The second man’s wound was more severe. She said he would survive but needed immediate medical attention.
Trent called Christopher and quickly told him what had happened. He said it would be helpful if Christopher himself could get to the condo and make sure they didn’t get thrown in jail.
That’s exactly what the first two uniformed officers had in mind when they arrived. They arrived at the same time as the EMTs. While the medics tended to the wounded, the officers confronted Trent, Darcey, and Miles.
All the two uniforms knew was there were two men wounded by two citizens armed with illegal weapons. Trent and Darcey both produced the papers showing them to be consultants to the SFPD and the permits and waivers authorizing them to be in possession of the weapons. Miles showed them his identification and told them this was his home. He didn’t know why, he said, the two wounded men had ransacked the condo.
The two young officers weren’t sure enough of themselves to accept what seemed to them to be a very unusual situation.
They took the guns away from Trent and Darcey. Handcuffs were out and ready to be applied. Then one of the young officers looked suspiciously at Trent.
“Take off those shades,” he ordered.
“I can’t. I’ll be blinded if I take them off.”
Neighbors and Other Strangers Page 18