“I think you’re giving these guys too much credit,” said the driver as he chuckled. “They don’t strike me as being all that bright. I think they just forgot to buy something. They aren’t as prepared or plan the way we do.”
“Okay,” Agent Gamble responded. “I think you’re right. Let’s continued on, but pull off the road about a couple of hundred yards from the fire lane heading to the site. We’ll hide the vans there and wait until we are sure they are heading to the location.”
***
It was ten minutes after seven when Conn observed a van coming up the fire lane. “They are moving fast — they must be our guys. I’ll get some pictures.”
“How many are coming in?” the Captain asked.
Conn reported that there were five of them. “They are all carrying shovels and guns. It looks like a hit all right, but for whom?
“Stay put; let’s see what happens.”
***
The FBI was three minutes behind Kroll’s men and closing in fast. Gamble called in the helicopter to get a position on their targets. The helicopter pilot said they would be there in exactly six minutes. Meanwhile, he deployed his men. All twenty men entered the woods headed to their predetermined positions while following the Kroll gang. It was dusk now and long shadows stretched along the ground. In half an hour the sun would fade from the sky completely, and it would become very hard to see, but the FBI men were prepared. They had night vision goggles.
***
Michael Dean led the way, and soon announced that they were at the location on the map. He pointed to the marker. It stood straight just like in the picture.
“Christ, there’s already a hole here. Its thirty paces south of the marker. The box is gone,” wailed Teddy. They all stood there in shock. No one knew what to do. They had been double-crossed. Someone beat them to the marker, but whom?
Michael Dean was very angry. Within minutes, he should have had it all. He knew the shooters waited in the shadows, fingers on their triggers. He didn’t know that the police task force people were on the balls of their feet, all ready to pounce, and the FBI was only minutes behind them. There was growing tension in the quiet night air as everyone moved closer.
Dean suddenly whipped out his cell phone and called the old man. “Pierce, you double-crossed me, you bastard,” he screamed into the phone. His voice echoed in the woods.
“Ah, Michael, how wonderful to hear your voice.” Pierce replied with a chuckle.
“Where is the box?”
“Calm down, my boy; it is in a safe place. I thought you would go directly to the location. You don’t follow directions very well I’m afraid. I told you to be there at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow night. That’s tomorrow not tonight. The tablet will be revealed then, not before. And don’t try to find me; you can’t.”
Dean hung up the phone, he was furious.
***
Gamble’s headphone erupted almost at the same time. “This is Chopper One. I’m getting many body signatures — at least thirteen near the site.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” Agent Gamble muttered in panic. He knew they would be outgunned. The FBI routinely employed a three or four-to-one ratio to ensure success. “Everybody stop and take cover,” he ordered into his microphone.
***
Confusion was grabbing everyone’s mind at the marker. Some kicked sand, and some stood deflated with shovels in hand.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Teddy expecting a hail of bullets from the shooters at any time.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to go get drunk,” said Kroll through gritted teeth. There was a rage in him so great he wanted to hunt, but he knew it could jeopardize everything. His best alternative was to get drunk. “Throw your shovels into the woods, where you can find them tomorrow night if we need them,” he ordered. “Let’s get out of here.”
***
“Kroll’s group is coming out; everyone else is staying put right now,” the chopper pilot broadcasted.
Gamble had figured correctly. “They thought the box was in the hole, but it’s not,” he said into his era pierce. “Pierce is controlling everything. We’re done here for tonight. We need to come up with a better plan for tomorrow. Okay, everybody, it’s over for tonight. I need four volunteers to follow these other two groups of unknown guys out of the woods and to find out who they are. Call out. The rest of us will follow Kroll.”
The remaining FBI men kept close to Kroll and his men as they headed out of the woods. He was consumed with too much anger, and wasn’t paying any attention to their surroundings. Otherwise he might have noticed that there were too many shadows around him and his men. Instead, he was lathered in a rage. Kroll wanted the box.
Michael Dean wanted the box and wanted Kroll dead. Teddy wanted everyone but Dean and himself dead, and Gary and Harry were enraged because they knew that Kroll and Dean would be unbearable to be around for the next twenty-four hours. No one noticed as Dean sent a text message to the shooters. “Same time tomorrow,” it said.
Gamble’s two FBI men followed the shooters, who were, in turn, being followed by the NYSCC group. Two more of Gamble’s men tagged along behind the NYSCC group. The rest of the FBI group followed the Kroll group, even though there was a transmitter on the Kroll van. It had been planted at the rental location. Eventually they all reached their cars. The FBI spotters got license plates and called in the numbers.
The FBI was the first to recognize the situation. A trace on the commission’s van identified it as law enforcement. At 7:30 p.m.. Gamble studied the report that printed out on his in-room printer at the Holiday Inn. He decided he needed to talk to someone, and find out why there were other law enforcement men at the dig site. He called his office in New York, and they referred him to the police commissioner of New York City. The commissioner admitted there were several undercover operations going on, but only one group had enough authority to do a stakeout without submitting a report — the New York State Crime Commission group. He also supplied Gamble with a phone number.
***
Robert Spitaletta was sitting in his room, also at the Holiday Inn, with all five members of his stakeout crew. He was chewing on his cigar and muddling over the possibilities. What the hell is going on here? We follow the shooters into the woods, and five skinhead types show up with shovels. The shooters hide in the woods, and then about twenty other guys show up and everything stops. The skinheads throw their shovels in the woods and leave. The shooters leave another way and come to the very same hotel that we are in now. Was it a hit gone bad? And if so, why are the shooters still staying here instead of going back to the city for a little pasta?
The phone on his hip started to buzz and he grabbed it, expecting to be talking to the office about the license plates.
“Yeah, what have you got?”
“Is this Captain Spitaletta of the New York State Crime Commission?”
“Who the hell is this, and how did you get my number?” he blustered by way of answer. The rest of the crew quickly grabbed their guns and took up positions around the room. Conn peeked out the window but saw nothing. The group had been ambushed before, so no one was willing to take any chances.
“This is Special Agent Greg Gamble of the FBI. I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” Real concern crept into the captain’s voice.
“About today in the woods just south of here, that’s what. We were there, too, and need to know what you were doing there. This is a very important government investigation.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” the Captain bluffed.
“Don’t stonewall me. We’re staying at the same motel here in Riverhead. We just found you before you found us, okay?”
Suddenly very concerned, Spitaletta walked to the window. “Where are you now?”
“Right next door,” replied Gamble. “Meet me in the hallway.”
Spitaletta snapped his phone shut. He hand-signaled to his men to cover him. Then he opene
d the door and slipped into the hallway. Gamble was standing there with phone in hand.
“We have some talking to do,” Gamble said. “I don’t know why you are here, but maybe we can work together.”
“I generally don’t trust the bureau.”
“All right, then, I’ll buy tonight.”
“Okay, let’s go then,” said Captain Spitaletta. “Let me get the boys — you can buy for them, too.”
“Why am I not surprised?” said Gamble with a smile on his face.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Colton Banyon looked around his old house, and many memories flooded back into his mind. Not many of them were good ones, but the Patel twins wanted to stay in the old house overnight. He didn’t want to do that. Banyon suspected there was more to their desire to stay there than was mentioned, but couldn’t come up with a sound reason. To appease them, he agreed to stay late into the night at the house.
They had stopped at the hardware store for some flashlights and a lantern. They also stopped at Wal-Mart to get some blankets and pillows to sit on and a scrabble game to have something to pass the time. The twins decided they would camp inside the house and wait for the ghosts. Banyon hoped that no one would start telling ghost stories.
They were seated in one of the bedrooms upstairs, with the windows open. A cool breeze passed through the room. The lantern lit the room with shadow dancing light. It was just after dusk, around 8:30 p.m. Banyon had to admit that he felt cozy. The girls were even more alluring in the dwindled light. They pranced around the room, and attempted to cast suggestive shadows on the walls. Mitch was completely engrossed, and was enjoying himself immensely.
Then suddenly there was a noise.
Previne grabbed Mitch’s hand. They took off down the hall. Pramilla rushed to Colt’s side, and slammed herself against him. She said, “Do you think that it is a ghost? Are you scared?”
“I’m too smart not to be scared. But that noise sounded like a door slamming. It might be intruders,” he said.
“You do not believe?” asked Pramilla with wide eyes.
“Remember, I lived here. I’d rather believe there are intruders,” Banyon replied.
“Well, I can’t wait to see the ghost. That is why we came here isn’t it?”
“Okay, come on then. No sense waiting here, let’s explore,” a reluctant Colt replied. He grabbed a flashlight, and took her hand as they left the room.
***
It wasn’t a ghost who made the noise, it was Walter Pierce. He was irresistibly drawn to the house that night. He had been told there were visitors. But he had actually come to deliver the translations of the Aryan tablet from his safe, and wanted one more night to visit his past. He had Rogers drive him to the back fire lane. From there he walked through the familiar woods to the backdoor. He used his key to enter the house. He went immediately to the basement, and opened the hidden door in the furnace room.
He was relieved to find the box just where he had left it on Saturday. It was important that the Aryan tablet be located where Pierce had concealed it, or his plan would not work. He placed the translation in the metal box on top of the Aryan tablet, and then lugged the box to where he wanted Colton Banyon to find it.
He had collected the box after his bank closed for the weekend. He and Trent Rogers had gone there to meet the manager, who opened the vault. The box containing the Aryan tablet had been in the same vault for more than a half-century. Then they drove it to the old house, and hid it in the basement. It was all part of the plan for the next day, and everything was going according to schedule. Splendid, he thought.
Pierce suddenly heard noises in the house soon after he had deposited the box. He could hear people running up and down the stairs. He was compelled to take a peek but needed to be careful. One slip and all would be lost.
After some time on the old hidden ladders, he made his way to the front attic, and peeked through the dusty holes. There was no one in the room. Only a lantern and some blankets. Where are they? He let out a moan, and used the flashlight to send a stream of white energy through the hole and into the hallway — just as he had done so many years ago.
“In here,” he heard someone yell. The sound of running on bare wood echoed throughout the old structure.
Four people entered the room. and began to look all around. Pierce was delighted. The women were beautiful, and Colton Banyon was with them. There was also someone who could only be Banyon’s son. Pierce settled in to watch. He knew that Rogers would stay put. He had told him that he would be gone an hour.
After about twenty minutes of looking, listening, and calling out to the ghost, everyone seemed to give up.
“He’s here; I know it, I feel it,” said one of the girls.
“How do you know that it’s a he?” asked a suspicious Banyon.
She just stood there with her mouth wide open. Before she could answer, Pramilla said, “We should stay quiet, Previne. Maybe the ghost doesn’t want us to be too noisy. I have an idea — let’s play scrabble. That’s quiet, and maybe they’ll appear again.”
Pierce watched as she opened the box, and set up the scrabble board. Banyon seemed to be very entertained.
Previne went first. They all made a word, and then it was Previne’s turn again. She put down “devoor.” Banyon challenged immediately saying that the word was spelt d-e-v-o-u-r. “Oops,” he said. “Hey, we don’t have a dictionary to look it up.”
Pramilla quickly answered. “Well, I do have my PDA. It has a spell check. That would be good enough, won’t it? We all know what the word means,” she cooed as she stared at Banyon like a hungry lion.
They finished the first game and were about to start another when they heard a strange creaking noise downstairs. The hunt was on once again. As the people left the room, Pierce slipped out of the attic and down the ladder. A single voice spoke into his head. It told him everything was right. Pierce was in a good mood as he left the old house.
Part Nine
The Eight O’clock Show
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Meanwhile back in the bar of the Holiday Inn in Riverhead, Agent Gamble and Robert Spitaletta were getting to know each other over some exotic drinks. The FBI and the NYSCC team were sitting at tables sprinkled around the busy tavern.
“So, are you going to tell me why you were positioned in the woods?” asked the Captain as he twirled his unlit cigar.
“I think you should go first. I’m FBI, remember?” Gamble replied.
“I know the FBI is famous for stonewalling other law enforcement agencies.” It was a quick retort. “You are on my turf, you know.”
“The USA is my turf, my friend,” Gamble said with a chuckle. “And I’m not here to stonewall you. I’m chasing a bunch of white supremacists that have killed, conspired, threatened, and even carried guns across state lines. They are not nice people.”
Spitaletta asked Gamble why he hadn’t arrested them in the woods.
“Well, there is something else going on that I can’t tell you about yet. Tell me why you were there.”
“We work on Mafia crimes. Someone from your group called the local boss here, and asked for two shooters. We were following them. It looked like a hit was going down; then it stopped. That’s all I know,” the Captain said with a shrug.
“Yeah, well, they didn’t find what they were looking for in the woods, so they will be going back tomorrow night. As for the shooters,” Gamble said expansively. “I’m glad you told me. There could have been a blood bath.”
“Well, at least I now know why they had shovels,” Spitaletta retorted. “So who are my guys supposed to hit?”
“That, my friend, is a good question — I don’t know, but these supremacist types have a long history of killing each other over control of their organization.”
“My boys and I will be there tomorrow. We want the shooters. They could lead us to bigger fish.”
“Tell you what, you be responsible for the shooters. I don’t want t
hem anyway. I’m after a larger goal. Just stay out of the way, okay?”
“What time does it go down?” asked Spitaletta.
“Eight o’clock in the same location.”
“Okay, pal. Let’s have another drink.”
Chapter Eighty
Teddy wanted to hit the town, but Kroll had forbidden it. They were sitting on the back porch of a local white supremacist who had attended the meeting in Aurora. He had offered his home for the night. He also provided them with a couple of cases of beer. They had already finished the first case and were halfway through the second.
“So, what time is this going down tomorrow?” Teddy asked with a slur in his voice.
“I told you, eight o’clock in the same woods,” Joe Kroll exploded in rage. He could barely control himself. It was rage from being outfoxed by Walter Pierce. He knew he should be very excited about tomorrow — the most glorious day in history. But all he wanted to do was grab someone and rip out their heart.
***
Loni Chen and Carl Heinz checked into their hotel. It wasn’t easy to find one in the Hamptons in the middle of summer. Most hotels were booked as much as a year in advance, but they found a place in Quogue near Westhampton Beach. They could have stayed at the Holiday Inn in Riverhead, where all law enforcement agencies were guaranteed a room because the courthouse was less than a mile away. It was very popular with the guns and cuffs clientele, but they didn’t want anyone to notice them.
They had hardly slept in three days, they were completely exhausted. Dropping their bags in the room, they headed to the bed.
“You want sex?” Loni asked.
“Too tired,” Heinz replied.
“Good.”
“But I’ve got to call Agent Gamble and tell him we’re here before we go to sleep,” Heinz said.
He dialed Gamble’s cell.
“Greg? Hi, this is Carl Heinz. Sounds like you are in a bar?”
“Yeah,” said Gamble, with a slight slur. “What do you want?”
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