“Why didn’t you inform the other agents that you were going?”
“There wasn’t time. I notified Tina on our way out, but I did not tell her we were not taking a radio. Kent and I took the stairs and saw the Inglewood PD engaging approximately six perpetrators. We identified ourselves as federal agents, but at that point I cannot confirm if they heard us.”
“Kent?” Abbate asked.
“That’s correct. When I saw that Ray had the right field of fire covered, I engaged targets on the left. We were in the open and there was no cover we could take.”
Abbate nodded and made notes. Fuery continued.
“You have to cut De Angeles loose,” Abbate said at the end of their second run-through and after she’d informed them that she had enough information to brief the AD. “We’ve got nothing to hold him on.”
“We’ve got PC to sell the diamonds,” Fuery argued, though he knew it was pointless. He was making the case just to make it. “Unless he can prove that those diamonds are the property of his company, we can show they are stolen.”
“But you don’t have any diamonds, Ray.” Abbate’s tone softened. “Without those, there’s no probable cause to do anything.”
“Boss, I know it looks that way,” Reaves said. “But I’m not convinced it was Burton who talked to the Inglewood cop,” Reaves said. He and Fuery had gone over this on the ride over. Fuery didn’t think there was any other possibility, but Reaves wouldn’t let it go. Fuery said it was grassy knoll shit. He didn’t agree with the theory at all, but he wasn’t pissed that his partner offered it up. They were both convinced that Burton and De Angeles were dirty; they just needed time to work out how much and how deep.
“Say more,” Abbate said.
“I want to go on record and say that Ray and I discussed this on the way over, and he doesn’t agree with it. So, if it turns out to be bullshit, it’s on me.” Abbate nodded hastily and made the “get on with it” hand roll. “Burton wasn’t going to brave a firefight unarmed, not even for those diamonds. I think we was cutting his losses and decided to escape. All he had to do was look out the front door and see that place was swarming with cops. I think he went out the back. Hell, he probably took a different stairwell and we just missed him. The other piece that doesn’t square with me is that the Inglewood cop who talked to him, Sergeant Fulton, described the man as mid- to late-forties, dark hair, average height and build. The man presented himself as Customs. Burton is late sixties, gray hair, and a beard. The US Customs agent, Little, was in a gray suit and dark tie. Burton was in a tan jacket and black pants. There’s no way he did that kind of a quick change.”
Abbate nodded. That was the one part of this that Fuery couldn’t reconcile. When they’d talked about it in the car, he admittedly was thinking about how they were going to explain this to Abbate and hadn’t given Reaves’s idea much thought after he initially dismissed it. They already couldn’t explain how there was a shootout, and now they had to incorporate a third group into the calculus? That seemed like a long shot. But Kent did have a point, and Ray couldn’t ignore the physical differences.
“Okay, I think it’s unlikely that Burton was able to pose as the US Customs agent. And we’ve checked with Customs already?”
“Yeah,” Reaves said. “They don’t have an Agent Little assigned in Los Angeles and certainly didn’t have one in Inglewood today.”
“What if he’s a backup?” Fuery asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what if this guy, this Little, was there as a backup plan. If these guys really are smugglers, they’re not going to let a fortune in diamonds out of their sight. If they got wind that the buy was a setup, they’d want a way out. If they’re savvy enough that they can smuggle these things in from Europe and then con their way into an armored car delivery, they are a fairly sophisticated operation. The kind of group that would be able to fake federal credentials.” Fuery saw emerging head nods from the other two. He was feeling it now, that moment when the investigator’s instinct kicked in and the ideas started to flow. “They stage a guy in the parking lot. If Burton or De Angeles think something is off inside, either it’s police or a setup, they text Little and he goes to intercept the diamonds. Rent-a-cops aren’t going to question a warrant and probably couldn’t spot a fake, anyway.”
“Ray and I talked about the possibility of there being three separate groups involved,” Reaves added. “But we both agreed that seems implausible. It just doesn’t stick that people that appear to be as savvy as Burton and De Angeles would also have OPSEC bad enough that two other groups could figure out their plans and tail them.”
“That logic fits with me,” Abbate said, making notes. “Let’s go with that for now. Where are we with the shooters?”
“There were eight total, including the drivers. Both of the drivers and one of the shooters were Americans. LAPD Vice has already identified them as members of LCN.” Bureau shorthand for “La Cosa Nostra.” While they’d always maintained a presence, the American mafia had never been big in Los Angeles. During their heyday, MGM studio head Louis B. Meyer was asked if he was worried that the mob was ever going try to take control of the movie industry through the labor unions the way they had with other organizations. Meyer reportedly laughed and said, “We already got a mob.” La Cosa Nostra had seen declining influence everywhere following a nearly thirty-year campaign, led by the FBI and some courageous US Attorneys, culminating in the dramatic arrest and trial of crime boss John Gotti in the nineties. Here in LA, the mafia faced an uphill battle for territory and resources against other ethnic criminal organizations and, more prominently, the LA street gangs. Following the death of their last don, Peter Milano, in 2012, La Cosa Nostra’s presence here was believed to be less than twenty members.
Fuery continued. “Of the eight, we have four that were killed during the shootout, and all of them appear to be Italian nationals. We have the three Americans and one Italian national who survived. They are downstairs now. While Kent was talking to Customs, I got in touch with our organized crime squad. They’re getting their counterparts at LAPD Vice to come over and interview them.”
“We can hold De Angeles forty-eight hours. It’s Thursday evening now, so that means we hold him through the weekend. That’s plenty of time to soften him up. It also gets a little more time to see if we get anything back from the consulate.”
Fuery said, “I’ve got calls into our LEGAT at Rome, see if we can get their law enforcement involved.” Fuery knew it was the middle of the night when he’d called the guy; he also knew that was part of the job. “It’s a mess.”
“What is?”
“Italian law enforcement. Seems like a lot of overlapping jurisdictions and missions and he said they aren’t the fastest to respond. But he’s got De Angeles’s name and is going to run it down with them. As soon as I can get fingerprints on the two dead private security guards that were with De Angeles and Burton, he’ll run those as well. He also told me something interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a squad over there in Rome TDY right now that’s working on a joint operation with the Italian antimafia police.”
“Interesting,” Abbate said.
“Yeah, so the LEGAT gave me the name of the squad leader, she’s a Kristin Danzig. She’ll give me a call, hopefully later tonight, our time, once she’s up.” Fuery anticipated Abbate’s next question. “The time difference between here and Rome is nine hours. We’ll see if she knows anything about the Italian mafia sending any of their people over here. Doubtful, but everything helps.”
Fuery took a sip of lukewarm Philz coffee from the to-go cup in front of him. He suspected he’d need a lot more to carry him through the rest of the evening. It had been a long day already and far from over. Following the shootout, they’d had to debrief with Inglewood PD and their detectives to make sure that everyone had the same accounting of events. Then they’d had to interview each of the police officers involved
to find out what they’d seen. There were field interviews with the surviving shooters, none of which had born fruit, but a weekend in a federal holding cell had a way of loosening tongues. This generation of mafiosi were nothing like the old-school guys and their code of silence bullshit. They’d flip like a pancake to avoid prison time. The question was whether they knew enough to make it worth the Bureau’s time. They were just soldiers, so Fuery suspected probably not. Still, it was something to run down. Fuery and Reaves had then had to do an initial use-of-force review with the local agents who were tasked with that responsibility. Any time an FBI agent discharged their weapon in the line of duty, there was a formal process to go through in order to ensure that the agents exhausted all options before opening fire.
All of that happened before he and Reaves returned to the FBI building. In most cities, the FBI’s offices were downtown, usually in or near the federal buildings. LA, in nearly every way, was different. Their field office was on Wilshire about halfway between Hollywood and the ocean. They’d left just as the afternoon rush was getting into full swing and it had taken them close to ninety minutes to get from Inglewood to here. Once they wrapped with Abbate, Fuery and Reaves still needed to document everything that happened today so that an accurate record was made while the events were fresh in their minds. Fuery still needed to speak with Agent Danzig, probably between ten and midnight was when she’d call, depending on what their schedule was. His wife wouldn’t love that, but she knew what she’d married into and was pretty easygoing about that sort of thing. He’d already called her to let her know that he was okay and jokingly said that the tie she got him on Father’s Day last year was going to be on the five o’clock news.
Abbate looked down at her watch.
“I need to brief the AD in fifteen. I think I’ve got everything that I need from both of you, but let’s go through next steps. We’re linked up with the OC squad and LA Vice. They’ll talk with the suspects and see what they can shake out. We’re going to hold De Angeles for forty-eight hours, which will take us through the weekend. What’s the plan with him after that?”
“The other option,” Fuery said, “is we can try another interview now and start poking holes in his story. If it holds up, we can kick him loose now and see if he leads us to Burton. If not, then I say we hold him through the weekend.”
“I’m fine with that,” Abbate said. “You’re talking with Katrina Danzig, hopefully tonight.”
“That’s right. You want me to call you if it’s anything earth shattering, or hold until morning?”
“If there’s a direct link, you can call, otherwise let’s just plan to sync up first thing.” She looked over at Reaves. “Kent, you’re taking point on this US Customs agent, right?” Kent nodded. “Let’s get an artist over to that Inglewood cop and get descriptions out to local law enforcement.” Abbate closed her pen and slid it into the holder in her folio, then closed that and stood. Fuery and Reaves stood as well. “Gentleman, I’m not happy about the diamonds getting away, obviously. In all likelihood, those were stolen to begin with, but whatever the origin, they are certainly stolen now. We need to get a team looking into that. These things came from somewhere. I can pull Edwards and Moreno off that surveillance detail if we need to. Beyond that, I think you did well today. You made the right decision going to support the Inglewood officers, and I think your actions probably saved some lives. I will be very clear about that point with the Assistant Director. You should have had a radio with you, but I understand your reasons for not and I can’t really fault them. In the heat of the moment, I suspect most of us would make a similar decision.”
“Thank you,” Fuery said. Kent nodded in agreement.
“So, it appears that we either have two legitimate businessmen or two con artists who were attempting to sell seventy million dollars’ worth of diamonds of a currently undetermined provenance. We have members of the Los Angeles and Italian organized crime that attempted to take those diamonds by force. We don’t yet know how the mafia knew about the location of the buy with us. That’s something to run down with De Angeles, see if he’s playing both sides. Then we have a third actor, who was aware of this and impersonated a US Customs agent, presented credentials and a search and seizure warrant to an Inglewood Police Department officer who didn’t question it, and said that he was taking the diamonds inside for safekeeping and that he was part of the operation. He then disappeared, whereabouts currently unknown. Reginald Burton disappeared in the commotion. We have four KIA and four in custody, three American and one Italian national. That about sum it up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“K. Boys, you have either lucked yourselves into a career case or a shitstorm of biblical proportions.”
27
They ditched the BMW in the Burbank airport parking lot.
It took them farther out of their way than Jack would have liked, but he wanted to avoid the Van Nuys airport, even though it was right off the 405. Since Vito said that he and Reginald would be flying out of there when he tried to throw Jack off their trail, Jack couldn’t know that they hadn’t given that up to the authorities when they were arrested earlier that day at the office park. Assuming they had been. Jesus. There was a lot he didn’t know right now and that made him nervous. They stopped at a Circle K in North Hollywood and picked up Clorox wipes, which they used to scrub every conceivable surface in the BMW before ditching it. Jack assumed the cleaner would be enough to destroy any fingerprints, but he had no way of knowing for sure if there was any residual DNA that a forensics team might be able to scrape off of it. They had to assume Rusty was giving their last known location and vehicle descriptions to the FBI right now. They also had no way of knowing whether Rusty had planted a tracking device on either of the vehicles.
Jack used his corporate credit card, the one that was tagged to a dummy corporation offshore, and rented a car. Rusty, of all people, would know of Jack’s predilection for exotic cars (and his reasons for driving them), so instead, Jack chose a red Tesla Model S. With a 390-mile range, he couldn’t get home on a single charge, but he could get close and charging stations were common throughout California. The Tesla was a perfect vehicle for this. They were now ubiquitous throughout eco-conscious California and would blend in. It also had a top speed of two hundred miles an hour and could accelerate to sixty faster than most production sports cars.
Jack looked off to the mountains to the east, just above the 5. The sky was dark with ash and smoke from the Wildwood Canyon fire and he was suddenly reminded that Reginald LeGrande, Vito Verrazano, and former Special Agent Scott Donners were not the only problems he had today. Jack powered up the Tesla, texted Enzo, and left the airport. They drove about a mile to a shopping center on Empire and left the Malibu in the parking lot outside of a Target. They wiped it down as well. When that was done, they tossed both sets of keys in a trash can, along with the can of wipes, and got back on the road. It was just about two o’clock in the afternoon. If traffic wasn’t bad, Jack could be home by dinnertime.
They needed to split up. The FBI would put an APB out for two men traveling together and that would most certainly go to Highway Patrol to check the interstates. Unfortunately, dropping Enzo at an airport would mean doubling back, which Jack wasn’t willing to do. Interstate 5 was the riskier choice, but it was also faster. They turned their phones off before getting on the road. Jack wasn’t going to trash his until he knew he had a way of wiping the information on it. But he at least had his Frank Fischer phone so that Megan could get in touch with him if there was an emergency. Rusty didn’t have that number. Still, he didn’t call her to let her know he was on his way. He didn’t want to tip his hand. If the authorities did call, better that she knew nothing.
No one spoke until Bakersfield.
“What do we do?” Enzo asked.
“What do we do about what?” Jack said, unable to muster any emotion for it.
“About fucking Rusty? He knows the plan.”
“I k
now. But our choices are, we can hide the diamonds and pretend that Rusty is lying, see how far that gets us. Or we proceed with the plan and sell them to Cannizzaro. I don’t see any other options, other than turning ourselves in. If we weren’t going to do that back there, I don’t see why we’d do it now. If you have other ideas, I’m open to it.”
Enzo looked out the window at the sun-scorched central valley rolling by.
“That requires us to go to Italy,” Enzo said.
“Yes, it does. I have two passports left, and Rusty got them both for me. I also have a federal conviction for passport fraud. If I get caught with a forged passport again, I’ll get twenty years in prison.” Jack stated it like it was a box score. “Cannizzaro made some kind of deal with a Russian gangster and is in over his head. That guy apparently needs a shitload of diamonds. If Cannizzaro doesn’t get them, he keeps sending people after me until he does.”
“Us, Jack,” Enzo corrected. Jack could see out of the corner of his eyes that Enzo was looking at him. “Remember, I’m the one his people saw at Vito’s house.”
“Yeah, and most of those people are dead,” Jack said, but that was a throwaway comment. They had to assume Cannizzaro knew about Enzo. For the first hour in the car, they’d listened to local radio news and learned nothing new. Jack suspected that the FBI wouldn’t start leaking information to the press until later that night or possibly tomorrow, once they’d figured out their strategy. “Enzo, short of giving these things away and hoping Rusty has a change of heart, I don’t see what other choice we have. I spent six years looking over my shoulder, waiting for Nico to jump out of a shadow. I’m not doing that again.”
Jack assumed that Reginald and Vito were arrested, though he wasn’t sure what they could be charged with, seeing as the FBI didn’t have the diamonds. Neither of those two could finger Jack as the likely thief without implicating themselves. Legitimate businessmen wouldn’t know the name of the world’s leading jewel thief. Jack believed there might actually be a kind of insulation there. Reginald would only give Jack up if he was looking to burn everything down around him and believed there was no way that he could get the diamonds for himself.
Once a Thief (Gentleman Jack Burdette Book 3) Page 28