by Bob Hamer
"Trust but verify," said Jason Barnes.
"It worked for Reagan," said Matt.
"Good point," said Barnes. "Tim and Bill, do what you can as fast as you can, and let's see where we stand by close of business today."
MATT MADE IT HOME by eight, somewhat miraculous considering the events at the warehouse. Caitlin begged his presence so he made the effort. The sun had long set, but he welcomed the serenity of the condo regardless the hour. When he walked in the door, he was greeted by the sights, smells, and sounds of dinner, candlelight, and soft music.
Caitlin walked out of the kitchen and looked radiant. Without saying a word, she threw her arms around him, and they kissed forever.
When he finally stepped back and looked at her, he said, "Do you have an announcement?"
A tear rolled down her cheek, "You're going to be a daddy."
He grabbed her again, and the embrace lasted a lifetime.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Driving a borrowed Honda, Dmitri moved slowly along a crowded Ventura Boulevard. The curb was thick with parked cars, and he was seeking an opening. From a block away he spied a man exiting the club, crossing the street, and entering a pickup. Dmitri arrived at the spot just as the pickup pulled out and maneuvered the Honda to the curb.
Dmitri exited the car and waited for traffic to clear before running across the street. Jesse was working the door on another beautiful L.A. afternoon. Dmitri hesitated at the entrance long enough for Jesse to spot the newbie.
"You interested? We've got some beautiful women inside," said Jesse.
Dmitri looked at him without saying a word.
"Better step in now, pal. At five we start a ten-dollar cover charge. Right now it's free. But in an hour you'll wish you would have saved that ten spot to put toward a lap dance."
Dmitri walked in and was immediately drawn to a girl dancing on stage. She was beautiful and athletic. His eyes fixed as she maneuvered around the pole in a suggestive, rhythmic dance, but there was a vacant look in her bleak, dark eyes. The kind he saw in men who spent too much time on the front lines of war. The woman was going through the motions in a detached, orderly way. Six men sat along the edge of the stage, beers in hand, lusting at a woman just an arm's length and a few dollars away.
Dmitri took a few steps toward the bar, still concentrating on the dancer. He bumped into a waitress carrying drinks for several patrons.
"Hey!" she said trying to prevent the drinks from spilling, spills that would come out of her paycheck not Boris's profits.
"I am sorry," said Dmitri in strongly accented English.
The waitress provided a weak smile and replied in Russian, "It is okay."
Dmitri walked over to the bar, "What do you have?"
The bartender picked up on the accent as well and answered in Russian, "Probably anything you want. You are new here, no?"
Dmitri nodded and ordered a Zhigulevskoye. The bartender extended his hand across the bar and introduced himself, "My name is Peter."
"I am Dmitri."
"You must be true Russian to order Zhiguli. How about Baltika?"
"Yes, Baltika is fine. Do you have Krepkoe?"
"No, just Klassichesko."
"Then the classic will do."
"What brings you to Los Angeles?"
"I have important business."
"Everyone has important business," said Peter as he wiped down the bar. "While you are in here, you should meet many beautiful women who work in bar. They are all from Ukraine and Russia. They very good. Boris let me try out many. It is included in my salary, what Americans call part of compensation package." He winked.
"So where is Boris?"
"He around. He often stay in back room. Sometimes he come out. You know him?"
"I hear of him. Some friends say to look him up when I get to America. They say he big man in U.S."
Peter laughed, "Boris is big man wherever he is. He weighs maybe 150 kilograms."
"I was told he built like bear."
"In fight I think he beat the bear," said the smiling bartender.
"They say he drive big important car."
"He drive a black Escalade Cadillac, a big car for a big man. Is your business with Boris?"
"I would like to meet him."
"Let me call back in office. Maybe he come out. It still early. Maybe he not busy."
Peter picked up the phone behind the bar next to the register. Dmitri couldn't hear what Peter was saying. The loud music blaring from the speakers made eavesdropping difficult. When Peter hung up the phone, he turned to Dmitri. "He said he has someone in office, but he would come out soon."
Dmitri nodded, picked up his beer, and moved to the stage. He sat at the only open seat which gave him a clear view of the door to Boris's office. The seat next to Dmitri was occupied by a man who spent more on alcohol than personal hygiene. Even his desert travelers smelled better, but Dmitri needed the vantage point and took the seat next to the Unwashed.
The dancer spotted Dmitri, a new patron at the stage. She made her way to him, undulating to the music as she moved closer and closer. Dmitri's neighbor began hooting as she moved ever so slowly. In between shouts his breathing increased, huffing like an asthmatic sprinting toward the finish line. Before the dancer could get close, the Unwashed lurched forward, grabbed the young dancer, and pulled her toward him.
A near panic ensued as the other dancers screamed. Two bouncers sprang from the shadows. They grabbed the Unwashed and began to rip at his extremities. His cries meant nothing to the security team. The beating was quick, savage, and public. Its purpose was to not only convince the attacker he was never welcome again but to serve as a lesson to any observer: you must pay before you play.
Dmitri was content to watch the savagery, his focus on the patron getting a lesson in strip-bar etiquette. When Dmitri looked up, he realized the yelping of the Unwashed caught the attention of management. The door to Boris's office was open. Dmitri quickly scanned the room and saw the behemoth giving orders, a man from the Middle East by his side.
Enough. Dmitri left fearing the police would be called. His immigration status didn't allow for interaction with the authorities. He would wait to meet the Bear.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Matt arrived at the undercover off-site around four-thirty preparing the final steps for tomorrow's betrayal. He spent most of the day at the JTTF catching up on the mounds of FBI paperwork accompanying every investigation. He also got what he believed to be a well-deserved workout at Gallo's Gym. Fernando Perez was working out at the same time. Matt wanted to thank him for the third round knockout at Caesars which brought a great deal of credibility to the undercover op but decided to let the future champ learn of his contribution when Matt published his memoirs in about fifteen years.
Matt was in the warehouse examining the seven-ton. Tim and Bill replaced the C-4 with Play-Doh and rewired the det cord using the training substitute. The lighter was disabled. It looked perfect. The SIXCONS were still filled with fuel, but without some type of detonating device, the truck was relatively impotent. The tech agents concealed a tracking device and kill switch, Caitlin was pregnant, and all was right with the world.
Matt decided not to liquidate his retirement account but assumed Boris had, hoping the Russian had created his own financial quicksand with enough of a paper trail to connect him to the conspiracy.
SOG would be set up first thing in the morning, and the plan was for the surveillance team to follow the driver until the target was identified. Everyone still agreed the Staples Center made the most sense, but nothing being reported by the CIA or NSA identified an event or a venue.
Matt was admiring the work of Tim, Bill, and the tech agents. He double- and triple-checked to ensure no one left any telltale signs demonstrating the
plot had been uncovered. He spied nothing out of the ordinary. The phone in his office rang, and Matt ran from the warehouse to pick it up, assuming it might be Boris. It was Dwayne.
"Steve just heard from Houston. They located Dawn Platt."
"She's alive?" asked Matt.
"Yeah, she said Jesse was ordered to kill her, but Andy, the guy you call Stump, grabbed Jesse's gun and said he would do it. He drove her around back of an abandoned building. He fired a round into the car, cut his arm, and smeared his blood on the seat. Then he kissed her and said he'd have to keep the car. He told her he would tell Jesse and Boris he disposed of the body in an elevator shaft in the building. He gave her some money for the car and for a plane ticket back to Houston. He said if she kept her mouth shut she'd live. He also told her he was going to move to Houston in a few months to be close to her."
"Amazing, ain't love grand."
"Not quite. She's willing to testify against Jesse and Stump. Detective Ames over at North Hollywood said the slug they found in Dawn's car matched the ones that killed Annika and Benjamin Hobbs. Ames is putting together the paper to pick up Jesse and Stump later this evening. Danny Garcia will be a part of that. You don't by any chance have an idea where our boys will be?"
"My only guess would be the Veil," said Matt, then with sarcasm dripping from every word, "Are they picking up anything on the wiretap yet?"
"Don't be a smart aleck."
"Did you ever get any word from headquarters on getting up on the phones or Boris's office?"
"They said maybe by tomorrow we'll have the approvals."
"Will that be before or after the Staples Center blows up?"
"I hear you."
"If I hear from Boris, I'll see if I can pick up anything on the whereabouts of Stump and Jesse. What about Boris and the murders? Does Ames have enough to connect him?"
"It's still weak. Maybe if either flips, we can tie him up. It sounds like Stump has an incentive to cooperate. We may be able to link it all up into a RICO indictment, but we'll let LAPD have the first shot. Ames has been very cooperative. I want to make sure she gets all the credit she deserves. We can always use another friend at RHD."
"Did she get selected for Robbery Homicide?"
"No, but Danny says this puts her over the top?"
"Good, that takes me off the hook. I was the only common denominator for a couple of 187s."
"Yeah, 'homicide suspect' doesn't look good on your resume."
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
The Thursday afternoon sun was preparing to set, and there was a touch of cool wind blowing through the open driver-side window. Dmitri lowered himself in the seat and was barely visible from a distance beyond the width of the street. His mission was singular in nature. He needed to speak with Boris without the henchmen who often accompanied the Russian. Dmitri was patient. He traveled half a world. He would wait however long it took for the one-on-one meeting.
He watched the men as they walked up to the door. Jesse stood out front, sometimes acting as the roper, always as the gatekeeper. Men reached into their pockets pulling out tens, paying the fee for an evening of gawking. His country was no better. Many were exploited in his country, but why would men living in the freest nation on earth sanction the virtual imprisonment of teenagers. Where was the populace rage?
Dmitri spotted the black Escalade as it pulled from the back lot, down the side driveway, and prepared to turn onto Ventura Boulevard. Boris was behind the wheel, his Middle Eastern friend in the passenger seat. At least he wasn't in the company of his regular entourage. Dmitri started the engine and prepared to follow the Russian to his ultimate destination.
He watched the Cadillac lurch forward as Boris gunned the engine, pulling out into traffic. A horn blared, the driver unhappy with Boris's attempt to enter the crowded commuter traffic pattern. As soon as the Russian pulled into the lane, he slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting the car in front. Now it was Boris's turn to sound the horn, as if car horns ever did anything to improve rush-hour traffic in Los Angeles. Boris and his passenger began a journey inching their way down Ventura Boulevard. Dmitri pulled into traffic and followed from a safe distance.
At one point Dmitri fell too many cars behind and was stopped at a red light as Boris continued through the intersection. Dmitri kept a close eye on his target. Thick traffic prevented Boris from escaping. Thanks to the stop-and-go traffic, by the time Dmitri's light changed, Boris was stuck at the next light.
It made little difference whether you traveled by side streets or freeways; the traffic moved at a snail's pace. Rush hour in L.A. started decades earlier and would end when the car joined the likes of the dinosaur. Dmitri feared being lost at another light so he crept ever closer to the Cadillac.
After Boris drove several miles, he signaled and turned. The traffic moved faster as the two cars headed north. Boris would often race from one green light to a red one at the next intersection. Regardless of how fast he drove, he never outdistanced Dmitri's Honda.
They made their way through the San Fernando Valley. Dmitri had no idea where he was and paid little attention to the street signs. He just knew Boris remained a few cars ahead. After several miles the Escalade signaled again and turned left onto a dead-end street leading to an industrial complex.
MAINTAINING AN UNDERCOVER MIND-SET for months at a time was exhausting. Fighting bad guys and bureaucrats took its toll. Matt was drained and not excited about battling bumper-to-bumper traffic in the evening commute. Before heading home, he decided to pull out the Bible from the locked bottom drawer. He was working his way through the Old Testament, the Minor Prophets, and the verse from Amos practically jumped off the page, "But let justice flow like water, and righteousness, like an unfailing stream."
The phone rang before he could fully digest the words. He assumed it was Dwayne calling back and started to answer with a smart remark when he spotted the caller ID.
"Hey, Boris."
"I am glad you are still there. I'm bringing a potential buyer to view the truck."
"I was just getting ready to leave. Can this wait until tomorrow?"
"No, leave the back door unlocked. We will come through the alley. It won't take long. We are just down the street," said Boris abruptly as he hung up the phone without waiting for a response.
Matt raced out to the warehouse and unlocked the back door. He stopped briefly to scan the truck one more time to ensure no evidence of the FBI's tampering was visible. When he returned to his office, he punched in Dwayne's number. "Boris just called. He's on his way and bringing someone with him. I couldn't put him off, and before I could ask about Stump and Jesse, he hung up."
"With this traffic I'm not sure I can get anyone over there to cover the meet. SOG is set up for tomorrow. All their teams are at LAX this afternoon helping to cover the Israeli basketball team."
"I'll be okay. I'll call you after they leave."
"I'll still try to get a team over there. This obviously has something to do with tomorrow."
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Within a minute of ending his call with Matt, Boris entered through the alley door of the warehouse and raised the garage door. He pulled the Escalade in and both men exited. They began to circle what once was merely a military truck but now a mobile weapon of mass destruction. Boris pointed out the plastic boxes attached to the base of both SIXCONS and the det cord running along the belly of the vehicle.
"Once he activates the cigarette lighter, he has only minutes to clear the building. If he runs, he will live to fight for your cause another day. If he walks, he martyrs himself. Personally, I would work on my sprinting between now and tomorrow."
"We will have our shahid on the inside locking the exits blocking the escape of the infidels," said Dr. U.
"I guess they will be the martyrs if they don't escape."
"You understand our beliefs."
"So when are you joining them and taking the bridge over Jahannam to Paradise?"
"When I am called."
Boris smiled, "I like your deep pockets so I hope you aren't called anytime soon. The primer cords are timed to ignite simultaneously. The entire truck will explode in an instant. The explosion alone should bring down the building, but the fuel will splatter throughout the lower level. Fire will spread with the fuel."
A dark smile overtook Dr. U's face, "Many will die from the explosion, many from the fumes, and many from the flames. It is the perfect device to bring maximum devastation to a weak nation. With twenty thousand dead, the World Trade Center will be a mere footnote in their history books."
"I can't guarantee the number but many will die. A message will be sent."
"And received," said Dr. U almost giddy with anticipation.
"And received," Boris repeated the words slowly. "Who is your driver?"
"We have a man who is experienced. He needs the money but also supports the cause."
"A win-win. If he lives, he gets to spend the money with his family. If he dies, he gets seventy-some virgins."
"Yes," said Dr. U, not sure he appreciated the Russian making fun of his religious beliefs.
"Aren't you guys running out of virgins? It seems like you've been sending a lot of martyrs to their deaths."
"Do not make light of Allah and our beliefs. You will need him someday."
"You mean when the Mahdi returns? Assuming any of you religious zealots are correct, I'll enjoy my time on earth and take my chances in hell."
Matt entered the warehouse and crossed the room. "Sorry, been on the phone."
He looked at Boris and spied his visitor. Matt continued walking but his stomach twisted. He was face-to-face with Dr. U.