Ten seconds later Virgil lay behind a tree, holding the two prepositioned electrical detonators. The wire from each led to its claymore mine, which had been set up alongside the road thirty feet away. Virgil heard the vehicles approaching but could make out only their headlight beams. Heart thudding in his chest, he rose to his knees, holding a clacker in each hand. Okay, Virgil, be cool; you got to ride this train out. Be cool, be cool, be cool, he whispered to himself.
The first dark Suburban appeared, followed closely by the second. Virgil pressed himself against the tree, lifted his right hand, and waited for one more second to ensure the lead vehicle was in the kill zone, then he squeezed. For an instant night became day in a brilliant, blinding flash of light.
Then the world seemed to end. The violent, ear-shattering explosion ripped through the forest like a monstrous screaming runaway train. The first Suburban disappeared in the debris cloud. Then Virgil squeezed the second clacker.
As soon as they heard the second explosion, Ted and Glenn got to their feet. The ground still shook beneath them.
Holding their pistols, they ran into the choking dust cloud.
The first Suburban had run off the road into a tree. The vehicle's right side was peppered and all its windows were shattered by the claymore mine's hail of steel ball bearings.
Ted swung open the left passenger door, where a screaming man was trying to get out. Ted jerked the blinded man out and was ready to fire at any surviving passengers but he saw none that were a threat. The two men who had been seated on the right side had taken the full effects of the mine and were dead. The driver was bleeding from the face and neck and was shaking as if having a fit. Holding his breath because of the overwhelming reek of C-4, blood, urine, and feces, Ted grabbed the driver and pulled him from the vehicle.
Inside the second Suburban, Glenn held his breath as he swung his Beretta and minimag flashlight left then right, checking each occupant. Two were dead, two were wounded and stunned. Both were bleeding from the shattered glass.
He grabbed the first and dragged him out of the stink and blood. Virgil appeared out of the darkness and pulled out the second moaning man. Vehicle headlights suddenly sliced through the darkness and the smoke.
Ted yelled, "Don't shoot; it's ours coming in. Can he get by that Chevy?"
Glenn yelled back, "Yes, it's off the road. We've got two live ones here."
"And I've got two here. Get 'em tied up, then get to the cabin to load!"
Still wearing their black hoods, all four men were soaked in sweat as they loaded the last trunk into the rental truck.
Bonita walked up to the men and motioned to the wounded men trussed up beside the cabin. "We can't just leave them here like that."
Ted grabbed her arm and marched back to the truck. "I told you to stay in the damn cab--Jesus, they've seen you now."
Bonita worriedly looked over her shoulder at the wounded.
"You're not like them, Teddy. Don't kill them."
"Just get in the damn truck--we're not goin' to hurt them." Once she was in the cab with Baby, he walked over to the first wounded man and nudged him with his boot.
"Yo, shithead, we're leaving you all here. None of ya look like you'll bleed to death. You're lucky we're not like you and your buddies or we'd cut your throats. We'll call the police in about thirty minutes and tell them where you are so you'll get medical attention. I know you won't tell them about us because it would mean you'd have to explain what happened, and you can't do that, can you? I guess you can say you were ambushed by deer hunters. The police will love that one." Ted turned and patted Glenn's shoulder. "Get me their cell phone there on the porch. I'll use it to make the call to the police. Let's get out of here, people. Time to move!"
Minutes later, seated in the back of the truck, Ramon looked at the stacked trunks before shifting his gaze to Virgil. "Virg, are they all really full of cash, man?"
Virgil smiled. "I told ya this train had better benefits, Ray.
We're ridin' high and fast now."
"Ohh, man! I was scared shitless when I saw them coming down the road, man. I had just got to the truck when I saw them drive by. Good thing we planned for a Murphy, huh?"
"Piece of cake, Ray. Those claymores stopped 'em cold."
"Man, the next op isn't going to be a piece of cake, I can tell you that. Carlos has serious people who don't smoke and joke, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, Ray, but we're sophisticated dudes who don't smoke or joke either. The C-man is goin' down."
Ramon shifted his gaze back to the trunks and spoke in a whisper. "No piece of cake next time, man. Uh-uh."
.
3:10 A. M.
In the darkness, an FBI agent walked with a roll of yellow crime-scene tape toward a tree to begin sealing off the area.
Near the cabin, local police and FBI vehicles were parked with their headlights shining toward a line of handcuffed men all seated on the ground. On the road, ambulance lights flashed while paramedics worked on the wounded. Just off the gravel road, Ashley and Ed Faraday followed Eli, who was using a mini flashlight to examine the faces of the dead men laid out on the road embankment. Eli stopped and leaned over the last body.
"I don't know any of them."
Ashley shined her light into the dead man's face. "This one is a Caucasian."
"Mendez must believe in equal opportunity employment." Eli turned off his minilight.
Ed Faraday stepped closer. "What in the hell are all these armed guys doin' out here?"
Eli motioned to the handcuffed men seated on the ground in front of the cabin. "Let's see if Bowlan has found the answer to that."
Agent Bowlan, the case agent in charge, met the three people as soon as they walked into the headlight beams.
"None of them are talking, and neither are the wounded.
They all have fake IDs, and we found automatic weapons in the vehicles and in the cabin."
Eli motioned toward the bodies. "It looks to me like a hit went down here. But what I don't understand is why the rest of these guys are still alive. It isn't these types' style to leave people who could talk."
Bowlan nodded toward the cabin. "You'd better take a look at what we found. I think I know what the raiders were after."
Inside the cabin, Bowlan pointed at the broken hinge on the floor. "I'd say that's a trunk hinge and lock, and take a look at those scratch marks. Doesn't that look like somebody dragged heavy objects toward the door?"
Eli squatted down, shining his light on the lock hinge, then the scratches. "They dragged something heavy all right . . . yeah, I think you're right. The money from the bank was here."
Bowlan nodded. "There's more. Just outside on the road, we've found four sets of fresh impressions made from military-style boots. And get this. There's another set that appears to be made from a pair of woman's Reeboks."
"A woman's shoe prints? Are they sure?" Ashley asked.
"My boys tell me the impressions were made by fairly new women's size-eight shoes. Based on the depth of the impression, the wearer weighed somewhere between 115 and 130 pounds--it was a woman, all right, or a small guy with narrow feet."
"Do you think a competitor of Mendez made the hit and took the money?" Ashley asked.
Bowlan shook his head. "Agent Tanner was right. A competing rival would have capped everybody. But I'll say this--whoever made the raid was good and knew what they were doing. My military vets tell me it was claymore mines that hit those two vehicles where we found the bodies."
"Claymore mines?" Ashley repeated, as if not understanding.
"They're directional mines," Eli said. "Electrically detonated by a handheld trigger mechanism called a clacker.
Each mine is crescent-shaped, with a plastic plate of steel ball bearings laid over C-4 explosive. When it's detonated, the blast blows the balls out in a fan-shaped pattern. You saw what it did."
Faraday pulled on his chin. "Looks like we have some independents in the game that we didn't know abo
ut . . . and I'd say it's pretty obvious the fellas outside didn't know about them, either."
Ashley leaned over, studying the scratches. "Whoever they are, they must know how Mendez operates; they knew where his money was and knew when to strike."
Bowlan looked at Eli with a worried frown. "Could it be a mob score?"
"Maybe," Eli said. "They've got crews that are capable of doing something like this. Trouble is, the mob is like the Latinos--they wouldn't have left anybody who could talk.
The other thing is, I don't think the wise guys would start war with the Latinos over ten or eleven million dollars-it's chicken feed. Plus the mob wouldn't use a woman on something like this; they're still into sexual discrimination. I think Ed hit on it when he said independents. The only trouble is, how'd they get the information about Mendez's laundry operation? They'd have to have an inside man."
"Or inside woman," Ashley added.
"What about locals?" Ed Faraday asked. "Could be the Yona guys weren't very discreet about having the player's money. Could be local cowboys found out about it and decided to make a lot of easy money."
"I don't think so, Detective," Bowlan said. "We've learned that Henry Cobb and Congressman Richards were very discreet about their secret dealings with Mendez.
Nobody else in the group nor anyone in their families knew about the money laundering. And I don't think locals would have attempted taking down eight armed men. This score was done by pros who planned and executed a near-perfect operation. The claymore mines tell us they even had a contingency plan. I'd say we've got an independent crew made up of four men and a woman who know what they're-"
Bowlan looked out the open door and growled. "Ahh shit, not now." He stormed out the door and barked, "Agent Hardy, stop that damn news crew vehicle! Sheriff Owens, what happened to your road guard? I told you not to let anybody into the crime scene area, damnit!"
Eli walked to the door just as the Channel 2 van door slid open. He wasn't surprised when Stacy Starr stepped out with a cameraman and a light man. She pointed and commanded, "Pan those shattered Suburbans and get those men seated on the ground, and get those bodies over there."
Stacy lifted a handheld mike as Agent Hardy approached her. "Can you tell us what happened here, Officer?" She jabbed the mike up toward his face.
Hardy stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the mike as if it were a pistol barrel. "Ma'am, get back in the van.
Hey, stop filming, you! Both of you get back-I said stop shooting!"
Bowlan stepped in front of the video camera, covering the lens with his hand. "You heard my agent. Get back into the van; this is an FBI crime scene."
Stacy held up the mike in front of him. "What happened here, Agent?"
"No comment. Please get back into the van this instant or I'll charge you with interfering with the investigation."
Stacy backed up but held up her mike. "Is this connected to the money missing from the Dahlonega bank?"
Bowlan's face tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do, Agent. We talked to the husband whose wife was arrested this morning at the bank. He said she called him and said she was in trouble because millions of dollars are missing from the bank. What is your response to that? Is this crime scene connected to that missing money?
Was the bank laundering that money, Agent?"
Hearing Stacy's barrage of questions, Eli approached and took hold of her arm. "Come on, Stacy, you know he can't respond to your questions. Please do as he says and get back into the van."
"Well, if it isn't Agent Tanner himself. Okay, Eli, we'll back off. I have enough for a spot anyway. Get in the van, John. . . . Eli, I talked to the assistant bank manager's wife.
She said her husband had told her he believed the dirty money was drug money from Miami. If it was drug money then I have to assume the e-mail I received was correct--it was a Cuban player who ordered the deaths of Senator Goodnight and all the others to cover his involvement with the Yona Group."
"I can't comment on that, Stacy."
"I have contacts in Miami, Eli. I'll find out in a matter of hours the most likely Cuban candidates capable of letting the contracts."
Eli stepped closer, pinning her with his eyes. "Stacy, you'll get yourself onto very dangerous ground if you start asking questions about those people. Listen to me, I know what I'm talking about. The players take it personally when anyone digs into their lives, and that goes double for the media. Some of your colleagues have tried before, but they all backed off when members of their teams began disappearing. The players don't mess around, and they don't warn you first."
Stacy patted his arm. "Thank you for the warning. I'll be careful." She walked back, got in the van, and commanded, "Back it out, Fred. John, keep shooting through the window."
Bowlan stepped up beside Eli as the van began backing up. "You know she'll do it anyway, don't you?"
"Yeah, she smells a Pulitzer in this one--I saw it in her eyes."
"I'll call the SAC and warn him she's not listening. A team will have to keep her shadowed."
Ashley heard the conversation and stepped closer. "Do you both really think she could get herself into danger by just talking to her contacts?"
Bowlan exchanged glances with Eli before responding.
"Agent Sutton, she doesn't understand who she's dealing with. Mendez and the others like him all survive because they're invisible to the public, and even to us for the most part. It's a very small and very sensitive community. They know when somebody starts asking questions. To answer your question more directly, if she pursues the leads she thinks she has, yes, she could be in great danger. I'm going to make that call to the SAC and brief him on what we found here and also warn him about Miss Starr."
Bowlan pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and was about to push the keys when an oncoming car's headlights blinded him. "Jesus Christ, now who's driving into my scene? Sheriff Owens!"
The small Ford stopped and four men got out. The tallest of the men growled, "Who's in charge here?"
Bowlan stepped forward. "Me, and who the hell are you?"
"Sanders, DEA. What have we got here?"
Bowlan shook his head. "This is my scene, so don't say we."
Ignoring Bowlan, Sanders slipped a minimag from his shirt pocket and, with the three other DEA agents, approached the prisoners. He nodded as soon as he shined his light into the first man's face. "You got yourself a Cuban crew here. This one is Inez and that one there is Palmia. Let's see . . . no, I don't make any of the others. They're not talking, correct?"
Bowlan made a shooing motion. "Go on and check the dead and wounded by the road and see if you can ID any of them. I've got a call to make to my SAC."
Sanders raised his chin. "Good. You can tell him we'll take over from here."
"What?"
"You heard me. The administration has the lead on player involvement. Don't worry, I'll cooperate fully with you, but I must insist you turn over the scene to me."
"Horseshit! Look, Sanders, you go look all you want but don't touch a damn thing. This is my scene and I call the shots."
Sanders glared at Bowlan as he took out his cell phone.
"We'll see about that," he said as he pushed at the keys.
Not to be outdone, Bowlan hurriedly did the same to his phone.
Eli backed away with Ashley and Faraday, then whispered, "This ought to be good, a turf fight over who gets the scene."
"Who's going to win?" Ashley asked.
"Possession gives us the advantage, but they have the drug players' cases. I'd say it's too close to call."
Three minutes later Bowlan's jaw muscles rippled as he lowered his phone in defeat. Sanders smiled broadly.
"Agent Bowlan, be so kind as to inform your people that I am now in charge of the scene. I'd like each of the agents and local officers who first arrived to meet me on that cabin porch so I can go over notes they may have taken. I also would like you to give me a quick run
down on what you think happened here."
Bowlan hissed, "I don't think. I know what happened here."
"Okay, what happened?"
"An unidentified crew of raiders made up of four men and possibly a woman snuck in and caught those eight over there off guard. Then the crew in the two Suburbans showed up, but the raiders were ready for them and blew claymores in an ambush and stopped them in their tracks. Then the raiders took the money and left."
Sanders's eyes widened. "A woman--and what money?"
Bowlan threw up his hands. "I knew it! I knew you damn guys didn't know. The money, Mr. DEA! The money from the Dahlonega bank . . . the money, like in eleven million in trunks."
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