His optimistic prediction did not pass the dire test of reality. An unfortunate coincidence put everything upside down. As the agents emerged in front of the hotel, the gangsters were getting out and the two sides engaged in a furious confrontation.
Seeing the bandits, Joshua yelled at the top of his lungs, “Here they’re... Go… Go…Get them…” He could not wait to receive the big prize. A bullet fired by Chapotto smashed his left shoulder and he was evacuated toward the city’s General Hospital.
Assisted by the FBI agents, the local police chief led his troops. From the onset, three Trinidadian policemen collapsed on the pavement. With his submachine gun, Peter had opened fire, killing them with one burst.
The Police blasting response stopped the bandits’ momentum. Riddled with bullets, Peter fell like a puppet. The three other gangsters hid behind a car and fired frantically toward the forces of law. Chapotto took the last grenade and threw it over the barricade, killing Bogatt instantly.
The stunning explosion caught the officers off guard and caused a moment of confusion. The bandits took advantage to flee. “Split, Joe, split…” Jonass screamed vehemently. “Go east…. We’ll go west…”
Jonathan waved and took place in the Datsun. Jonass and Chapotto entered the Chevrolet and bolted away. The bodyguard drove the car.
After a heartbreaking look at Bogatt’s disarticulated body, Galiss jumped in a Jeep and hastened behind the fugitives. Sitting alongside of him, Canamera and the local chief seemed aghast. The Trinidadian troops rushed after them. They went east, behind Jonathan.
As they disappeared in a cloud of dust, a taxi stopped in front of San Marco hotel and a disheveled Miriam stepped out. Running around like a lunatic, she crossed the street and rushed toward the entrance. Suddenly, she noticed Peter’s corpse down on the pavement, weltering in a pool of blood. Stopping abruptly, she remained motionless for a few seconds. “Oh…Oh, my God…” she shouted stridently.
Dashing toward her lover’s body, she bent down and hugged it desperately. A policeman approached and ordered her to leave. She jumped on her feet and ran away.
In the meantime, the authorities had caught up with Jonathan. Cornered in a dead-end, the baby opposed no resistance. To the police ultimatum ordering him to surrender, he answered by tossing his gun through one of the car’s windows. Raising his arms, he stepped out and was brutally handcuffed.
Galiss stared at Canamera and remained incredulous for a moment. “Jesus…” he mumbled alarmingly; “he is alone…”
“The two other men must have gone west…” the Trinidadian commander answered anxiously.
The driver engaged the clutch, made a U-turn, and drove west.
* * *
In Port of Spain, it was now ten o’clock in the night. Winter was ending and a cold wind blew through the air. Tiny stars hung in the sky but their pale reverberation could not light up the city.
Sitting alongside Chapotto, Jonass scrutinized a map, try-
ing to find the easiest way toward the Virgin Forest, a few miles west to the capital. After crisscrossing narrow streets, they emerged in a large avenue and drove around a park. His hands tightened on the wheel, Chapotto tried to quickly leave the conspicuous area. The bodyguard was entering a dark alley when Jonass asked him to stop.
“What is it?” the Jamaican man asked worriedly.
“Back up… Go around the park…” the ringleader was extremely anxious.
“Why?” the bodyguard stared at him.
“Stop asking questions….” replied Jonass angrily. “Do what I tell you to do…”
The man shut up and obediently complied. “Park here…” Jonass ordered him. “Right here…”
Chapotto parked the car. The ringleader stepped out and ran toward a vagrant who seemed to be sleeping under a tree. Chapotto saw his boss vividly awakening the poor devil; he then observed them talking for a moment. Suddenly, Jonass pulled some money and gave it to the vagrant. Grabbing the man’s hands, the ringleader dragged him toward the car, opened the front passenger’s door, and pushed him in. “Sit down... Come on… Sit down…” Jonass closed the door and went promptly to lie down on the backseat. “Go…” he brutally ordered Chapotto.
“Where should I go?” the bodyguard asked timidly.
“Virgin Forest… Santig will guide us…” Jonass pulled another pack of dollars and gave it to the man. “Virgin forest, do you understand? Take us to Virgin Forest…” he was out of control.
“Don’t worry, boss…” Santig clapped joyfully. “We’ll be there shortly… Hey, you, go to the right…”
Chapotto obeyed silently. “To the left…” Santig yelled as Chapotto drove through a narrow path.
They were going like that for about ten minutes when a blend of police sirens blared behind them. The Trinidadian cops had finally caught up with them. Galiss’ Jeep and three other vehicles filled with troops could be seen, their lights glittering in the night. Chapotto jerked and almost collided with a car going in opposite direction.
“Calm down…” Jonass was still lying on the backseat. “Santig, are we far?”
“We’re right there…” the man answered wildly. “Look in front of you…”
“Go on, Chapotto…” Jonass was in a state of extreme agitation. “Please, go on…”
The bodyguard dashed to the left, out of the pavement, and stopped abruptly on the forest border. The cops rushed after them.
“Get out…” Jonass ordered frantically. “Quick…Quick…”
Chapotto and Santig opened the front doors and tumbled on the grass. Jonass got out furtively and hid in a bush.
“Fire…” he yelled at Chapotto. “By god, man… Fire all you can…”
The bodyguard obeyed recklessly. Favored by the night, Jonass slipped surreptitiously in the forest. Chapotto and Santig followed close behind.
It was dark as ink. With projectors, the cops tried to light up the area. Lying on his back, Jonass ordered Chapotto to continue the shooting.
“What are you doing, man?” the bodyguard asked him feverishly. “We’re going to be killed… Why don’t you help me?”
“I’m thinking, you, son of a potato…” the gangster replied with a biting voice. “Fire and pay no attention to me…”
Flat on the ground, Santig did not say a word, and, indeed, had no clue on what was going on. Jonass scanned his surroundings and crawled slowly around the perimeter. After a moment, he sneaked back toward his companions. “Fire… Goddammit, fire…” he screamed at Chapotto.
“I’m almost out of ammunition…” the bodyguard retorted nervously.
Face down, terrified, Santig remained mute. Police had surrounded the area and the trio seemed hopelessly trapped. Then, Chapotto’s last bullet detonated in the night. Turning toward his boss, the bodyguard bellowed outrageously, “It’s time to surrender, man… I’m getting out...”
Still on his back, Jonass waved, asking him to approach. The ringleader had a gun in his hand and looked like a ghost. The projectors created a dim light and Chapotto could vaguely distinguish his face. His finger tightened on the trigger and the barrel of the gun aimed at the bodyguard, Jonass appeared horrific. Chapotto had a jerk and mumbled, “What…” He could not finish the phrase. Stricken by gunfire, he staggered and collapsed on the grass.
Jonass turned toward Santig. His gun ready to fire, he ordered the poor man to take off his clothes. Trembling and desperate, Santig promptly obeyed. Jonass undressed and threw his own clothes to the beggar. “Get dressed…” he instructed brutally.
Santig quickly complied. Without the slightest hesitation, Jonass fired two shots in the man’s head. The poor devil collapsed on the ground.
In the darkness, something incredible happened. Firing
blindly, Jonass unbuckled a belt around his waist and fastened it under Chapotto’s vest; he then searched and cleaned up the bodyguard’s pockets.
The cops had encircled the perimeter and were closing in. The ringleader picked up
Santig’s clothes, put them in his bag, and placed his gun in the beggar’s right hand. His eyes dilating and his face shrinking, he crawled in a gully, about five feet away. Lying on his back and holding his breath, he covered himself with a bundle of straw and waited.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, the hunting is over… The Trinidadian forces of law and order had stopped the bandits’ bloody odyssey… Exhausted and in complete disarray, they fought to their last breath. Our elite troops finally ended their horrible criminal career.”
Standing on a podium, in front of city hall, the police chief addressed the crowd. A large number of reporters and cameramen were in attendance.
“How many of your men were killed?” an American journalist asked mockingly. “Why haven’t you published the data?”
“We didn’t want to repeat the Jamaican experience,” Galiss replied with a hint of impatience in his voice. “We’ll release information as needed...”
“You’re in Trinidad, sir…” the reporter replied forcefully. “You must obey the law of this country...”
“The crime was committed in the United States,” said Canamera. “It falls under US jurisdiction. Trinidadian authorities understand and help us… Without their dedication, nothing would’ve been possible.”
“What about the quarter-million-dollar prize?” a Trinidadian reporter inquired feverishly. “Will Joshua receive it?”
“We must follow the American judicial process,” Canamera winked at Galiss. “There is no doubt Joshua will receive a prize when everything is done.”
“What do you mean?” asked the journalist.
“We must first identify the corpses,” said Galiss. “That will be done in the United States where the bandits’ criminal
records and fingerprint specimens are kept.”
“How long will it take to make positive identifications?” insisted the reporter.
“A plane will soon transport the corpses to Miami,” answered Canamera. “The medical examiner will then proceed with identification and autopsy. Those guys have criminal records and it’ll be simple formality.”
“Will Joshua receive the prize after that administrative procedure?” asked another journalist.
“Yes; but he will not be sole beneficiary...” replied Galiss.
“Did someone else help the Police?” inquired the journalist.
“A Jamaican man named Marlon Golin should share the prize,” answered Canamera. “Mr. Golin was the first informer. He and his brother had transported the bandits in Trinidadian territory. Thanks to Marlon’s help, we’ve been able to follow their trail here. Unfortunately, he was recently killed in Jamaica. His brother will receive his share.”
“Where will you proceed with the prize-giving…?” asked someboby in the crowd.
“In Miami, during an official ceremony,” Galiss answered without hesitation.
“Where are the bandits’ corpses?” a reporter asked impatiently.
“At police headquarters,” the local chief replied with confidence. “In a few hours, they’ll be flown to Florida.”
“Who will go with them?” continued the journalist.
“Canamera and I,” Galiss answered calmly.
“One of your colleagues was killed during the confrontation. Where is he now?” asked the journalist.
“He is also at police headquarters and will be transported
to Miami,” the delegate smiled and shook his head.
“Will they be flown in a Trinidadian airplane?” inquired the journalist.
“No,” answered Galiss. “The American government sent a Boeing.”
“One of the gangsters was captured. What’s his name?” asked another journalist.
“Jonathan Conway…” Canamera answered in a rush.
The police chief intervened brashly, “Guys, it’s a proud moment for our department… Our officers rose to the occasion and brilliantly turned the situation around. Their heroic action rid the world of dangerous murderers… Please, pay tribute to them!”
From the crowd, the voice of a disheveled citizen resounded in a racket. “Hey, chief, take off your fake teeth and go play dominoes…”
The outburst caused an explosion of laughter. The chief struck the man with a terrible look and yelled outrageously, “Hey, you, vagabond… Come over here!”
The individual made a lewd gesture with his finger and ran away.
“It’s time for us to leave,” said Galiss. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again… I’ll not forget Trinidad’s impressive cooperation. The city’s law enforcers have been formidable in action. It’s a happy ending, thanks to them.”
Some reporters wanted to ask more questions but the local chief turned them down. “They must go now…” he yelled stridently. “Keep your questions for another occasion.”
Waving, Galiss and his companions vacated the premises.
* * *
Standing on the airport’s esplanade, a number of Trinidadian police officers assisted to the FBI agents’ departure. First, the bandits’ corpses were placed aboard. Lying on a stretcher, Bill Bogatt was next. In impressive silence, Jonathan appeared, tightly shackled and surrounded by the detectives. Suddenly, an astounding round of applauses resounded. Clapping joyfully, the Trinidadian cops hailed to their American counterparts. A moment later, there was a huge sound followed by hear-splitting tire squealing. With stunning impulse, the plane ran up.
The detectives stayed silent during the whole flight. Sitting side by side, they contritely stared at Bogatt’s corpse lying on the stretcher. Closely watched, Jonathan appeared very worried. A flight attendant came and offered foods and drinks to the detectives. They accepted some orange juice.
There was a moment of apprehension when the plane landed at Miami International Airport. Knowing they would have to deal with the media, Galiss warned his companions, “We won’t say much... Those sharks are insatiable…”
In effect, they faced a real hurdle. As questions rained down on them, Galiss screamed resoundingly, “The gangsters were killed or apprehended... There will be a press release...”
Suddenly, some reporters backed off and ran toward Jonathan. The marshals saw them coming and quickly drove away.
Placed in a hearse, Bill Bogatt was transported directly to the mortuary. The bandits’ corpses were hastily put in a van
and taken away. Disappointed, the reporters rushed back and cornered Lee Ziang Pyen. Galiss and Canamera were in the coroner’s car.
“What are you going to do with the corpses?” a reporter yelled in a burst of confusing words.
“First, we must identify them,” answered Canamera. “We’ll see after that…”
“What’s the prisoner’s name?” asked another journalist.
“Jonathan Conway,” replied Galiss.
“Is he the sole survivor?” inquired the journalist.
“Yes,” answered Galiss.
“What about the other brothers? Are they dead?” continued the journalist.
“We had to catch them…” Galiss answered with a faint smile. “Dead or alive, no…?”
“How many of your officers were killed?” asked a young woman.
“There will be a press release,” Lee screamed nervously. “You’ll have the details…”
Stepping on the gas, the doctor accelerated and crossed the melee.
They went to the FBI Regional Headquarters for a summary report. The Field Office Director received them with lukewarm cordiality. After congratulating Galiss and Canamera on behalf of the Justice Department, he started talking about the horrible casualties. A number of officers were killed and the authorities needed verifiable answers. They were already setting up inquiries for each case. Relatives of the fallen victims craved for financial settlements.
The most burning topic was Graham’s physical condition. Despite their insistence, Lee did not want to talk about it.
Grievously wounded on John Crow Mountain, the investigator was transported to Miami
and they had little news about his situation.
The Director reluctantly got unto the subject, which alarmed the two men. They ran to the hospital. As soon as they entered the room where he was being treated, they knew Graham’s condition was dire. Lying on his back, the FBI agent breathed through a device and did not recognize his colleagues.
They approached and contritely stood before the inert body. For a long moment, they remained in the same position, staring at their colleague. A doctor walked in, looked at them, and said, “He just received some injections… It would be better to come back another day.”
“When will he leave the hospital?” Galiss asked apprehensively.
“We don’t know yet...” replied the doctor. “He must receive intensive care for at least a year before being able to lead a relatively normal life.”
“Relatively normal life…?” Canamera sounded incredulous.
“Oh, you didn’t know…” the doctor stared at them.
“What…?” Galiss stayed wide-eyed.
“Graham will be paralyzed the rest of his life...” the doctor replied calmly. “We’re stimulating his kidneys…”
The two detectives looked at each other and smiled sadly. What they feared had happened: their colleague will spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
PART III
CHAPTER 11
Jonass’ Subterfuge
“I’m Galiss Vaughan, special FBI agent, in charge of the probe on the Hauss and Caust Affair. About a year ago, together with my colleagues, Canamera Rodriguez, Graham Isaacson, Garibaldi Bonaparte, and William Arthur Bogatt, I began the daunting task of finding and arresting the murderers who had disturbed the peace in our community. Heavily armed, they showed formidable resistance. We were forced to go through hell and fight the battles of our lives. Bill and Gari are dead… Grievously wounded, Graham is now in a wheelchair…”
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