At this moment, the telephone rang. It was Josef Conan, a supervisor at the Commercial State Bank, in Palm Beach. Ganoot said that everything was going on as planned.
“Are the policemen with you?” asked the supervisor.
“Who…?” Ganoot sounded quizzical.
“The two policemen,” repeated Conan.
“What are you talking about?” Ganoot stayed agape.
“We’ve sent a couple of officers to secure the transfer with Jensen & Jensen,” said Conan. “You were not informed?”
“No...” answered Ganoot nervously.
“Oh, Martinez…” exclaimed Conan. “He forgot to inform you... Wait a second…”
A moment later, the supervisor was back on the phone.
“That’s it...” he mumbled timidly. “Martinez forgot to inform you… Can you wait? They should be there soon.”
“Okay,” Ganoot agreed reluctantly.
* * *
Martin Garrett and his colleague, Matt Alfonso, had left the Miami Police Headquarters at 5:30 AM. Dispatched on a request from the Commercial State Bank, they had to accompany the Jensen’s armored-car to its destination.
Garrett was a ten-year veteran, married father of three. Several times decorated for heroism, the thirty-nine-year-old cop was a champion in the defense of abused children.
Thirty-four-year-old Alfonso was in the force for five years. He was a calm and reasonable man, always ready to help. He was also married and the father of a five-year-old girl. A second child would be born soon. His wife was eight months pregnant.
The two cops were en route, on Interstate 95, driving toward the Hauss & Caust Bank, when one of their tires flattened.
“Oh, dammit…” said Alfonso. “We’re going to be late…”
“Let’s call the headquarters,” Garrett replied sheepishly. “We still have time…”
“Why don’t we replace the tire?” answered Alfonso. “If we call, they’ll send another team and…no fees for us…”
“You’re right…” Garrett winked mockingly.
They tried to replace the tire but the jack could not function. They had to call the headquarters. The officer on duty asked them to wait for a moment. He soon returned and said
that the precinct did not have two other cops to replace them. “I’m sending help… Do your best!”
Thirty minutes later, the rescuer arrived and replaced the tire.
In their gully, Peter and Jonass could not understand what was going on. As their two other brothers, they wore disguises and modified berets hid their faces. It was now six-thirty in the morning and the security guards were still inside the bank. Jonass wanted to retreat discreetly but Peter refused to give up.
“Don’t worry…They’ll come out…” he muttered to his brother.
“Garry and Ed…” Jonass moaned fearfully, “we should warn them.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Peter shook his head. “Somebody could see us.”
“The employees will soon begin to show up,” Jonass complained nervously. “Joe will be here in a few minutes...”
“We’ve to wait…” insisted Peter.
Hidden behind the wall, Edward also could not understand. All kinds of thoughts paced his mind. “What’s going on? Why are the guards still inside the bank? What about my brothers?What are they doing?”
He wanted to run toward Peter and Jonass but feared to make a costly mistake. The fact they sent no signal made him believe everything was all right. The guards would come out and things would go on as planned.
Inside the bank, Ganoot was very jumpy. He wanted everything to go on incognito and was upset that the police officers were so late. Five times he had called the Commercial State Bank but could not get a straight answer.
“Anyway,” he grumbled apprehensively, “you can never trust cops… Let’s go, guys… It’s time...”
Jackson and Charles grabbed the bags. “Good luck…” the Vice-President winked at them.
Stiff and vigilant, the two men walked toward the door.
When they saw the impressive outline of the Hauss & Caust bank, Garrett and Alfonso congratulated each other. They were fifty-five minutes late. The flat tire had caused them to waste a lot of time. They wondered if the security guards were still waiting. The Police Headquarters had called numerous times. The Commercial State Bank was not happy and had threatened to withdraw the stipend.
They were doing their best. With sirens blaring, they violated several road blocks and almost got involved in an accident. At last, they arrived and hurried up toward the side entrance.
Jonathan had left his residence at six-thirty. He drove slowly, listening carefully the radio. That day, dawn broke in a cloudless sky and a morning breeze refreshed the city of the sun. Spring awakened the environment and trees and flowers were adorned with bracing colors.
Downtown abounded with visitors. A swarm of people went back and forth, trying to find their way around the commercial hub. A dynamic crowd covered the area and was an ideal source of victims for predators.
In the picturesque surroundings, a short distance from that lively horde, echoes of gunfire moved the people down and
the city froze for a moment.
There were three detonations; then, an isolated shot; finally, a hail of rifle fire.
Jonathan was in front of the bank and saw one of the security guards collapsing on the ground. It was Jackson. A round had hit him in the throat. The other agent staggered with two bullets in his abdomen. He then heard the isolated shot. Hit in the back, Charles collapsed as well. Jonathan saw Peter and Jonass impelling forward and taking the bags.
Then, an unexpected occurrence threw him in turmoil. His heart pounding, he saw a car stopping on the side of the bank and two policemen rushing out from the vehicle.
With Jonass close behind, Peter ran like a madman. Garrett, one of the policemen, ordered them to stop. At gunpoint, the cop yelled at the top of his lungs, “Freeze…”
Suddenly, the poor man crumbled on the ground. From the hillock, Garry had lodged a bullet in his head. Hidden behind a car, Alfonso, the other policeman, fired frantically toward the bandits. A bullet brushed Jonass’ left shoulder and the ringleader dropped one of the bags.
Jumping up, Alfonso ran after them. A bullet smashed the rear window of the car the two men had entered; but Alfonso was killed. Trapped in a crossfire, the officer tumbled down, his body riddled with bullets. In a flash, Jonathan saw Edward picking up the bag left behind by Jonass and fleeing through Goma Lane.
There was a huge brouhaha of people screaming and employees running around; then, the sirens of police and ambulance. Jonathan pulled a handkerchief, wiped his forehead, and entered the bank.
As everybody rushed to help the fallen officers, in the car driving them toward safety, the bandits were in a state of confusion.
“Please…” said Jonass; “don’t drive too fast…”
“How do you feel?” Peter touched him on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alright...” he waved feverishly. “They missed me by an inch…”
“Did you leave the bag behind?” Peter stared at him.
“Yeah...” he answered with a remorseful voice.
“How could you…?” Peter shook his head. “You should’ve kept it…”
“I didn’t want to stop...” he replied humbly.
They arrived in Condor Avenue, abandoned the vehicle, and jumped into a black Toyota Corolla parked at the corner of Jasmine Street. A moment later, a blue Ford Taurus stopped behind them and two men stepped out: Garry and Edward. They rushed inside the Toyota. Seeing Edward with the sack, Peter cried jubilantly, “But... that’s the other one…”
“I recovered it,” his brother answered proudly.
They drove away. Peter congratulated Edward while Garry examined Jonass’ shoulder. “It’s nothing… Just a scratch...”
“It’s bloody,” moaned Jonass. “I hope it’s not too bad...”
With a towel, Garry bandaged the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Nass…” he said nicely. “Everything will be fine.”
After a short distance, Peter stopped and parked. The four men got out and took place in a white Chevrolet Corsica, with Peter still driving. Twenty minutes later, they arrived in front of a building, at 3377 Stavisky Street.
“Let’s go ...” said Edward. “We’ve to move fast…”
Garry carried the rifles in a red sheet. Peter and Edward
had the bags, wrapped in large pieces of tissue. They took the elevator to the third floor.
“The key…?” Peter asked impatiently.
Garry gave it to him and he opened the door of apartment 303. Inside, they hid the rifles in a closet; then, Garry sprinkled Jonass’ shoulder with alcohol and bandaged it again.
They undressed, took off their gloves, and began a methodic operation. Garry, Edward, and Peter pulled sixteen modified military belts from three drawers and filled them with 100-dollar bills. After an arduous labor, eleven million disappeared into the pockets. Naked, the brothers buckled four belts each, from upper stomach to lower abdomen. They then examined themselves in a mirror and began getting dressed, with brand new clothes and shoes.
A short-sleeved shirt, an undershirt, and a long-sleeved dress shirt covered the belts; then, ties and ample costumes.
The brothers inspected each other. Peter and Edward helped Jonass who had a hard time using his left arm. Garry corrected the outgrowth of Peter’s abdomen. Edward was impeccable.
After that slow-going task, they took four handbags placed in a corner of the room and walked toward the door. As they were getting out, Jonass stopped. Returning inside, the ringleader went to a table, took a page from a notebook, and wrote down, “Wear gloves to clean up the mess... We love you.”
* * *
At the Hauss & Caust Bank, it was a melee. Reporters, photographs and cameramen were everywhere; policemen above
all. Firemen and paramedics tried hard to provide first care to the victims.
The bodies of Charles Becker, Jackson Collins, Matt Alfonso, and Martin Garrett were transported to the hospital. Members of their families had run onto the scene. With a quivering voice, Ganoot told them what happened: bandits had killed the four men. They ran to the hospital.
In the meantime, a large number of cops crisscrossed the area. With canines, they searched frantically; so well, the Police Department had to face several accusations of harassment. At that hour, nobody thought about it. They had to catch the killers. In the heat of the moment, they arrested and quickly released a few innocent bystanders, which added to the number of cases the city had to settle.
The officers picked up all they could and a detective questioned members of the bank’s management. The President, the Vice-President, and the Head Teller were particularly pressured. They were supposed to be the only ones with knowledge of the operation.
They quickly answered all questions, which, somehow, troubled the detective. Their easy going way was apparently suspicious. As the interrogation went on, the policeman became worriedly inquisitive.
Standing alongside the manager of Maintenance, Jonathan followed the events intensely. From time to time, he turned toward the red armored car still parked in front of the back door.
Calva and his son, Amilcar, were also on the scene. With a couple of employees of their security firm, they moved back and forth, gesticulating and screaming. They had to answer many questions from the detective and harshly vituperated
against the police.
“Why are they grilling us?” yelled Calva. “While they waste time, the bandits are getting away.”
Amilcar replied it was the ordinary venue. “Everybody knows those policemen always beat around the bush…”
Those derogatory words upset the detective. He had just lost two of his fellow officers. “What are those idiots talking about?” he said to one of his assistants.
Father and son were questioned more aggressively. Finally, they refused to answer and asked the detective to contact their attorney. With a pipe in his mouth, the cop noted on a writing pad, “The Calvas are intense… suspicious...”
Amilcar stared him down and walked toward the armored car’s front passenger door. The detective screamed, “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re taking back the wagon,” Calva answered arrogantly.
“Don’t touch it, man…” yelled the cop. “You’ll get it later.”
“Why?” asked Amilcar with a threatening nod.
“It’s part of the crime scene,” the detective replied restlessly. “The police must first search it...”
Amilcar looked at him, said a contemptuous word, and left with his companions. Jonathan saw them taking place in a black Cadillac and disappear.
Soon, the investigation took a turn for the better. The specialists arrived and started working. With the patience of Tibetan Monks, they picked up the pieces. Based on deductive reasoning and comparative data, their inquiry impressed Johnson, the playboy bank’s Vice-President; but their fussy attitude annoyed Ganoot. All that science seemed pathetic
when the killers were on the loose.
Granola, the Head Teller, was eager to talk and answered fluently. She elaborated too much and irritated Ganoot.
“Stop talking…” the President ordered her harshly. “You’re answering questions they don’t ask you…”
She moaned and retired into her shell.
Jonathan walked timidly around the building. A journalist threw a pack of paper on the ground. He picked it up and threw it in the garbage. It was a reflex acquired during four years of maintenance.
CHAPTER 3
Jonathan
On April 17, 1977, Jonathan left the Hauss & Caust Bank at eight o’clock in the evening. That day, something extraordinary happened: the carefully planned holdup had succeeded in a huge upset.
He was ecstatic. The idea for which he risked his life had turned into a bloody but tangible reality. Five brothers had dared to challenge the system and get it their own way.
His eyes glued to the space, he envisioned his brothers going up toward the sky in a terrifying ascension. Their belief in a better fate and the courage to forge it made him feel proud and deeply gratified. But what a turmoil in his heart! What a scary confusion in his mind!
The effort to master his alarming thoughts and be calm and reasonable gave way to overwhelming emotional outbursts. He was afraid to being overpowered by trepidation and anguish. From time to time, he felt the urge to blast and proclaim his guilt. At other moments, he seemed on the verge of losing his sanity.
The weight of that formidable action had what it took to unleash his natural instinct and he was confused by the ambivalence of his vital perception. He was educated enough to understand the nature of his reactive impulse, which proba-
bly resulted from freak trepidation.
He quickly regained his composure and thought about the daunting task of erasing the trails of the crime. He tried to remember the steps prescribed to accomplish that important mission and felt a deep desire to move on.
Jonass had said a man should never take his desire for reality. Jonathan had great faith in the ringleader’s wisdom. Nass had given proof of astonishing providence. To defer to the sacrosanct union, as the brothers called their criminal enterprise, he slowed down and surveyed the area.
Arrived in front of the building, at 3377 Stavisky Street, he saw the white Chevrolet Corsica his brothers had used for their daring escape. The car was parked in the lot, at the yellow spot reserved for tenant of apartment 303.
Jonathan stopped in front of the building and stayed in the car for a long moment; he then sneaked in and took the elevator. On the third floor, he hesitantly stepped toward apartment 303. Pulling a key, he opened the door and entered.
* * *
At the FBI Regional Headquarters, Mark Connoley, the Field Office Director, was not in a good mood. Local authorities had requested their assistance t
o solve an apparently complex case: bandits had held up a bank and killed four agents. They were still on the loose.
In Washington, DC, the President of the United States had appealed to society to help apprehend the vicious murderers. The Governor of the state of Florida had expressed deep concerns about a dirty plot hatched to satisfy the bloody appetite of a band of criminals.
Because the Hauss & Caust Bank was an international consortium, the United States Attorney General had personally called Miami to demand that federal law enforcement agencies took speedy action to arrest the bandits. Every paper had a special for the exceptional circumstance.
Pictures of the murdered agents were everywhere. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was the prize offered for arrest and conviction of the gangsters. The Hauss & Caust affair, as it was dubbed, passed in history and became favorite national and international subject. From Madagascar to Haiti, Switzerland to Zaïre, the world talked about it. Fascinating conspiracy, it became a topic of routine discussions.
The representatives of Florida safety departments met with the FBI and they agreed that a federal delegate should take charge of the investigation. They proposed names with impressive backgrounds but could not concur on someone.
Shatten Brown, Director of State Law Enforcement, pronounced the name of Galiss Vaughan, special FBI agent with an illustrious career. The detective’s stellar record was well known in the world of police enforcement.
Born in Kansas City, Galiss was married and father of two. He was a twenty-five-year veteran with memorable police achievements. The dismantlement of a gang of human traffickers in Liberty City and the complete annihilation of several networks of heroin smugglers in Homestead were among his most famous accomplishments.
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