by Frank Perry
Sharon Wallace.”
“Hello, my name is Luciano Peña, I’m one of the Senator’s constituents and contributors.”
“Yes, Mr. Peña, I recognize you.”
“Good, Ms. Wallace. Now I need to speak to the Senator, it’s urgent.”
“That won’t be possible at the moment, Mr. Peña.”
“Look, I’m getting tired of the run around. Where is he?”
She paused. “Sir. Have you seen the news?”
Peña had a sense of foreboding. “No. Tell me.”
“Well, sir. We’re still trying to get details, so I can’t tell you any more than what we see on the news here in DC.”
“So, what’s that?”
“Mr. Peña, the Senator was arrested yesterday morning. We don’t know the circumstances, but we expect him back in the office at any time.”
Luca was furious, “When!”
“Well, sir. We can’t say for sure.”
“Tell him to call Luca Peña immediately when he comes in.”
Peña was too upset to be rational, too upset for his morning coffee with Roxanne. He called a number that only he knew.
Number One answered, “Hello, Luca.”
Luca had a nasty tone. “Tell me you got them!”
“Not yet.”
“Well, get them!”
“It’s not that easy, Luca. This place has tight security, tighter than your house.”
“So what are you doing, just sitting costing me money?” Luca was feeling pressure on several fronts. His money was extended in two unpaid shipments, and his whole business was in jeopardy with Jenson out of the picture.
Number One remained calm. “Look, Luca. We’ve been sitting here on our ass checking everyone that comes and goes. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I don’t have time!”
“Luca, there’s nothing more that can be done. I hope we will have good news today.”
“Good, I’m sending my plane. Bring them to me today.”
“Do what you want, Luca.”
Luca had become irrational. Even if Hunter Kohl could do something, they were out of time. Kohl was just a symbol at this time, someone to be the target of his frustration. He would enjoy torturing and killing his women in front of him. He would have them cut into bait for the sharks. Kohl would see it all. Kohl would plead. Peña would savor every minute of it. The thought of his revenge eased his anxiety slightly, “Roxanne, get in here!”
In San Jose, Hunter tried to piece together what he knew and didn’t know. He didn’t know if the strategy to create a war between drug pushers had worked. He didn’t know for sure that the drug language would pass. He didn’t know if Jenson would be released in time to stop the legislative process. He didn’t know where Laura and Claire were hiding. He didn’t know for sure if Sue Ann and John were alive or dead. He didn’t know anything. His future planning was based only on his intuition. He had no facts. The women were in danger. He was sure of it.
He spent the day doing more on-line research about Luciano Peña. Amazingly, the man had never been arrested for anything. He was a pillar of society. He lived in Pacific Heights. He was friends with the Mayor and state politicians. He knew all the Bay Area elites. How could such a monster maintain this façade?
According to Leigh, Blithe and Stubbs were using their influence to perfection. The Senate Defense Bill, the last of the Appropriations Bills had gone to the floor of the whole Senate for approval with the redefinition of “substance control” embedded. The House Bill was very similar to the Senate in most respects and identical in the drug language. The House Bill had passed the floor vote and was waiting for the Senate to act on it. There would be a conference between the houses, but it wasn’t expected to be lengthy or difficult. The President could have the final Appropriations Bill for signature within forty-eight hours.
Hunter hoped that passage of the Bill would finally end Peña’s dominion. The man would return to being a fisherman, or leave the country, or go to prison. Any way, it would be over unless the man was a vindictive bastard. The sun had fallen in the late fall evening, and the coastal fog had rolled in over the mountains. Then his phone rang, it said J. Richards. “Hello.”
“Well Mr. Kohl, it’s time to settle some scores.”
“Look, Peña, it’s over. You lose.”
“I am MISTER Peña to you, you puny civil servant! You think you can win against me! Well, I have a little surprise for you. You know a young lady, an attractive young lady named Laura Malone?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I have her.”
“Look you two-bit drug dealer, if you harm her...”
“Shut up! You do not make threats to me. No one does that!”
“What do you want, Peña?”
“I want you, that is all. I will take you in exchange for the girl.”
“Look, you maniac. It’s over. You have no more argument with me!”
“Oh, you’re wrong. I have a debt to collect. You have been warned. I always collect my debts”
Hunter didn’t say any more. The man was irrational. Peña continued. “You will come to my boat docks tonight at midnight. That is the only instruction you will be given. It is quite lonely there at night, so come alone. We will know if you are followed.”
The plane with Laura aboard would land around nine and Ramon would bring her to Peña. Hunter had less than four hours to act.
Earlier that day, Laura had been impatient and went out of the complex on foot to the local mall for lunch. The Service had recommended against unnecessarily leaving the compound, but it was the middle of the day, and she wasn’t going far. Chances of anyone recognizing her were a million to one.
Actually, her statistics were wrong. A white windowless van with three men had her picture and her address. They were waiting for her to venture out. They were waiting for both women. One was as good as the other and almost as good as two. Peña wanted a hostage, and she walked right into their trap.
There had been a struggle on the sidewalk, which many people witnessed. Two men jumped from the van and attacked her. She screamed and fought back. She wasn’t easy for them to abduct. Before anyone could react they had her inside and drove off. Some of the witnesses said she was injured in the attack, but was still struggling violently when the van sped away. It was a plain white van, but no one got a license number. In an hour, the van was abandoned on Stafford Airfield, south of Quantico with their cargo wrapped like a mummy in duct tape.
Hunter knew what he was going to do, and he hated it. It wasn’t the danger; it was the moral principal. He’d had the plan in his mind for days, or weeks but never brought it to the surface. Now he had less than four hours to act. The one thing Peña would value was his family. That was clear from some of the publicity and the donations, but it also made logical sense. Paternal instinct trumped all. This is what Peña was using against Hunter, love of family. Peña forced Hunter into an action he dreaded.
The plane landed and taxied to the hangar where the doors were closed. Laura’s restraints had been removed in the air. She was sitting with three mean-looking men who forbid her to talk and basically ignored her except to hand her a first-aid kit for minor cuts. She was mostly suffering from large bruises over most of her body from the rough treatment and collision with the van door when they were throwing her inside. She knew who they worked for and that he killed people.
As the plane crossed the California border, they gave her the option of cooperating as they applied new restraints, or they would do it by force. She allowed them to wrap her arms and feet in duct tape. They also taped over her eyes and mouth. She was helpless and scared. When the plane stopped, she could hear the echo from inside the closed hangar and smelled the residual jet fumes filling the air. Two men carried her down the stairs and laid her on the backseat of a large car. She couldn’t see any of it, but it was a long car seat.
Almost immediately, it started rolling.
Hunter gathered his equipment, including some things acquired since he came back to California. With the awful things he needed to do now, he wouldn’t use conventional weapons. He had an idea where Laura would be, but he couldn’t take a chance on being wrong. He needed leverage on his side too. He was dressed in black BDUs disguised by a light windbreaker getting into the car. Forty-five minutes later, he was on the outskirts of Pacific Heights reconnoitering. After driving by, he parked one street away from Peña’s house, across Lafayette Park. He waited until sure that no one was strolling in the cold damp evening before leaving the car and moving into the shadows of the trees, carrying a long black bag with him. It was late and most residents were already in bed. There was no traffic. The park’s lush foliage made it easy to remain hidden, moving along the fringe to the edge of Peña’s estate.
He could see that the front fence of the property was built like a fortress, and he assumed there would be guards on the inside, all Peña’s murderous men. Near the west side of the house, the fence was an eight-foot concrete wall, plastered in stucco to look like the adobe walls surrounding California missions. The house was about fifty feet beyond the fence with manicured evergreens planted along the wall from inside the estate. He laid the bag on the ground and attached his Beretta holster to his black utility belt. The black Velcro holster was designed to split open if he needed to draw quickly. He hoped that it wouldn’t be needed in