White Death

by Philip C. Baridon

  Fifteen minutes later, the captain’s private line rang.

  “I’m sorry, Tom,” said the assistant chief. “They found a dead intruder mauled by a German shepherd. A second intruder apparently shot the dog and kidnapped Mrs. Stone. The only good news is the blood seems to be concentrated around the dog and the dead guy. We have his prints, and we will run them as quickly as possible. Witnesses report seeing a white van with D.C. tags beginning with the letter R. So, they’re driving a rental car for now. We can help more if we knew where they are headed.”

  “Probably south, but I need to phone the FBI anyway.”

  “Tom, please let me know what else we can do. Our forensic people just arrived. We did find duct tape.”

  “Call us after your forensic evaluation with any new results. I expect the FBI will be knocking on the door shortly.”

  The next phone call was to Ray.

  “Ray, this is Captain Larson. Do you know Jake Stone’s cover is blown, and they kidnapped his wife about an hour ago?”

  “Tom, I’m sorry, and I don’t understand how this happened. The takedown last night went smoothly, with Stone led away in handcuffs. Sterling, Ortiz, and one of their professional killers escaped – a communications breakdown. Later, they gunned down two state troopers in pursuit about twenty miles south of the airport. I can imagine them guessing Sixkiller fingered them, but how they got from there to Jake Stone, much less Karen is hard to understand.”

  “Although the FBI has the lead on any kidnapping, please keep me informed about new information and progress,” said Captain Larson. “Unfortunately, we know a serious lapse in judgment by one of my officers provided them the address of Mrs. Stone. How they got from Sixkiller to Stone remains a mystery. I’m going to call the Special Agent in Charge of the Miami field office to ask what he can tell me, and to make damn sure that the FBI tells Stone about his wife – not a gloating Marcus Sterling.”

  Miami, Tuesday afternoon

  “Jamie, I can’t find the safe-house addresses. More than likely, he mentioned the two generally. We need those addresses. Time is slipping away. Can you check on whether the judge signed the search warrant for Ex-Pat Reality? Sterling probably put them in the folder I made with information on his cash and offshore accounts. Also, ask your office to prepare an arrest warrant for his bitch secretary. She’s up to her eyeballs in the criminal side of his business. She needs to go down anyway. We can squeeze her and promise her anything. I’m sure she’ll break easily and give us the safe houses.”

  “Good plan,” said Jamie. “Let me jot down the secretary’s full name, and I’ll get an arrest warrant for her while I check on searching the realty company. Probable cause to arrest her should move a lot faster than a review of what we want in the business, its location, and the relationship to the case.

  “Also, you gave me an idea,” continued Jamie. “A heavy patrol presence would deter him from going to either of his safe houses. He’ll run counter surveillance before he commits to parking and entering. If he’s returning back to Miami, we want him to go there. He needs something, the folder perhaps, or he wouldn’t take the risk. Once we have the addresses, let’s ask the plainclothes FDLE officers to form a loose perimeter that’s not intimidating around both houses. Later, you and I split up, one covering each house. When he shows up, we can make the arrest and legally search the place.”

  A loud knock on the door startled both of us. Instinctively, we drew our service weapons.

  “It’s SAC Wainwright. Open up, Jamie.”

  Jamie stared at me. We knew the news had to be especially bad. The Special Agent in Charge does not make house calls. Jamie opened the door and Wainwright nodded politely to her and said, “Officer Stone, please take a seat,” gesturing to one behind me.

  “This is extremely difficult for me because we do not know of any security breach. Nevertheless, members of the Barranquilla gang kidnapped your wife this morning and are driving south. No law-enforcement agency has received any communication from them. They are heading south because they abandoned the first car they used near the Virginia – North Carolina border. We’re sure it’s the correct car based on witness identification and other evidence. At this point, no evidence suggests your wife has been injured. I’m sorry, Jake. In partnership with the other agencies, we’ll throw every resource we have at resolving this so that she is not harmed.”

  He stopped talking. My mouth moved, but made no sound as tears filled my eyes. I felt Jamie’s hand rest on top of mine.

  He was talking again. “Please, you both may know something that seems insignificant, but might help us.”

  Jamie spoke. “Sterling employs a mobile phone in his car. For this to happen so quickly, he probably used the phone to call one of Tyrone’s lieutenants in Washington. I think those calls go through an operator. Since each call generates a separate item on the monthly invoice, we can demand a record of when and who from Ma Bell.”

  The SAC was taking notes.

  Jamie continued, “One more thing I recall is the doctor who brought Jake from Barranquilla had given him plenty of morphine to help him make the trip. After we arrived, Jake gazed directly at me and called me Karen. Both of them noticed because they stopped speaking for a moment and half-turned. At that time, they probably paid no attention; the morphine was talking about some woman somewhere. Later, they most likely deduced the name belonged to his wife. But I still don’t understand how they converted Sixkiller to Stone and found the address of Karen.”

  “We do know how they did it, and that officer will face Trial Board and probable dismissal from the D.C. Police.”

  Incredulous, I asked, “How could a patrolman know what we’re doing here?”

  The SAC replied, “He knew nothing about this operation and was duped by one of Tyrone’s men into providing the information to an old friend of yours passing through town.”

  As I tried to absorb this, I remarked, “Sterling has millions in Grand Cayman. Why does he want Karen?”

  The regular phone rang, and Jamie answered and listened for a moment.

  “You know, Marcus, the FBI Special Agent in Charge of the Miami field office is here, and I’m sure he would like to chat with you.”

  Wainwright took the phone, “You killed two state troopers,” said Wainwright. “Then, you ordered Tyrone’s lap dogs to kidnap a policeman’s wife. We’re not off to a good start here unless you like our electric chair.”

  After a pause, Wainwright turned and said, “Jake, he says you can talk to Karen now.”

  I snatched the phone from him, “Karen, have they hurt you? …Polite? Okay, that’s good. Follow his instructions until we can rescue you. Where are you?”

  Sterling’s voice returned, but the sound quality from the conference call was poor. “Now, you know we can’t let her tell you that, Jake. I’ll call tomorrow afternoon with more specifics on the trade. Goodbye.”

  Jamie and Wainwright each had an ear on either side of me. A trade? For what?

  “Sterling escaped the net; he got a lucky break Monday night because of the interoperability problem,” said Jamie. “So, instead of running to his millions, he orders a No Name to kill the troopers and heads back to Miami. It must be a trade for both him and Tyrone, free passage to George Town.”

  “I’ll tell you what else he wants,” I added. “For security reasons, I convinced him to make all of his accounts in George Town numbered. He can’t walk in and show his driver’s license or passport. He needs those codes. The only places they could be are his office, the two safe houses, or a bank safe deposit box.”

  “Sir,” began Jamie. “There are two things that would really help us out. One is a flyer to area banks regarding the safe deposit box. Second, we need the locations of those two safe houses, and a search warrant for each. If we can break Sterling’s secretary, then she is the one person who can give us the information. She was fully cognizant of and participated in his criminal enterprises. We need to arrest her on an intimidating l
ist of charges, state and federal, and promise her the moon for cooperation. The U.S. Attorney would never blink later at our false promises. If you happen to have a judge in your back pocket…”

  Wainwright stiffened visibly at this comment.

  Treading more carefully, Jamie continued, “…that is to say, on good terms with, agents could put together an interrogation team with the primary purpose of getting those addresses. A secondary purpose would be to fill in the gaps on Sterling’s crimes, especially if another reason exists for him to take the gamble of returning here.

  “Also, the search warrant for Sterling’s office is on track. I was planning to call when you arrived. Do we know anything regarding the car or van they are currently using?”

  “No, but I’m dedicating four additional agents to this case. I’ll tell them to contact all rental companies along the likely route between North Carolina and here. In addition, I’ll ask them to coordinate with police agencies for reported stolen cars from the same area and to the south. One more task for tonight: If they don’t stop, it’s twenty-four hours of hard driving to Miami. The warrants should be ready by morning, and I will walk them personally over to a friendly judge. Finally, I’ll negotiate with or threaten the phone company to obtain information regarding Sterling’s mobile phone.”

  As he got up to leave, both of us thanked him, and he gave us his direct line.

  I sank down in the sofa. Everything seemed so unreal. Jamie sat down next to me and hugged me tight.

  “You’re going to hug Karen soon.”

  I hardly reacted to her encouragement. “She’s only a pawn to him – dead the moment Sterling believes she’s no longer useful.

  “James, you talked to her, and she was fine. You know SAC Wainwright and the state police will take every necessary measure to ensure her safe return. She is a policeman’s wife. This is not another routine kidnapping case.”

  “Thanks. Let’s get some sleep. I can’t deal with tomorrow right now.” I went to my room, but sleep did not come. Sure, Karen was fine during my conversation with her. But what came next? Anything might happen.

  Miami, Wednesday morning

  Jamie and I were drinking coffee after an early breakfast when the secure phone rang.

  “The secretary has been picked up? Great! Yes, we’d like to go with the team to the realty office. We can be outside in forty-five minutes. Thank you, sir.”

  Jamie turned to me. “He said they are already interrogating the secretary, threatening her with a list of real and bogus charges good for about one-hundred-and-fifty years. He expects her to fold quickly.”

  “Jamie, one No Name is dead, another is with Marcus, a third is probably in a safe house, but I haven’t seen Number Three for a while. We need to make sure Wainwright understands how lethal these goons are. He got a taste of their methods when the troopers were shot about twenty times.”

  Jamie and I, plus four other agents, assembled on a side street near Ex-Pat Realty to go over entry and clearing plans. I glanced over at one of two agents carrying AR-15s with thirty-round, box magazines.

  “The SAC warned us about the No Names,” he said. I nodded in reply.

  We burst into the front door as a team yelling “FBI,” and ordered everybody onto the floor. I saw Number Three in the corner, partly shielded by the opening door. My weapon was out, but he already had his in hand. We traded shots, both missing. The agent behind me fired an eight-or nine-round burst, ending the career of one more professional killer. After confiscating a few weapons, the agents cuffed several persons working in the real estate office and set about filling paralegal boxes with potential evidence.

  Personally, the question of who was a legitimate realtor and who was part of the criminal enterprise could be sorted out later. I understood, however, FBI agents are investigators trained to build solid cases for prosecution. My goal at this point was much narrower: We needed the two addresses.

  Three agents began their work of cuffing and frisking employees. Jamie and I, along with the agent who brought tools, headed straight to Sterling’s office. We pried open everything that was locked while another carried in empty boxes to help collect anything useful. We trashed Sterling’s office to no avail. Neither the addresses nor the bank account numbers was here. I had put them in a special file for him, which was gone.

  Sterling’s private line rang. I looked at Jamie, and she pointed at me like the ringing phone could hear us if we talked.

  “Yes,” I said into the phone.

  “Jake? It’s Floyd Wainwright. How did the raid go?”

  “One dead, No Name, but no other injuries. The addresses aren’t here.”

  “No problem. The secretary broke, and we have them.”

  “Yes!” I shouted, pointing to Jamie with a thumb up.

  “By the way, Sterling called me and wants free passage to George Town for him and his pal Tyrone, in exchange for Karen. I told him everything is negotiable. Give me a number to ring you later. He laughed, and said he would call back soon and expected a favorable answer.

  “Ultimately, the approach we use is up to me. I’m open to ideas from you two as how to handle this.”

  “We had an idea. As a demonstration of good faith, we actually send Tyrone to George Town. At the same time, we request the Justice Department to send Interpol a ‘red notice’27 which authorizes his arrest later. Without the account codes, Tyrone will not attempt to run until Sterling arrives. Sterling, in turn, releases Karen, and we give him a ride to the nearest jail.”

  “We can try that as an opening gambit, but I don’t think he will agree to release Karen, even if Tyrone calls him from George Town. The new offer buys us time, however, and I’ll see how he reacts.”

  Chapter 28

  Showdown

  Miami, Wednesday afternoon

  “Try this on for size, Jamie. I know Marcus better than anyone. He has a thin veneer of polish and culture, but he is very self-centered, and only one cut above the No Names he employs. He needs the brainpower and organizational skills of Tyrone to get back in the business again. This is not about loyalty; accordingly he will reject the proposal because of a lack of ironclad guarantees. I doubt he would tell us where Karen is, even if he and Tyrone were in a bar together in George Town knocking back a few. She is not part of his plan. Once he believes she’s irrelevant to his escape, she is dead. I fear we are rapidly approaching that point.

  “Moreover, I presume he’s in the house near the Opa Locka airport with a No Name; and Karen is in the West Miami house with the other surviving No Name. The Fixed Base Operator of Opa Locka is a crook with a long history of doing favors for Sterling. He could put Sterling in a private jet, and he’d be over international waters in minutes.

  “I propose we split up. You and two heavily-armed agents free Karen, and I’ll leave with two agents to arrest Marcus, and make certain Karen is not there. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement should tighten the perimeter around both houses in case things go south.”

  Jamie gave me an enquiring look. Avoiding her gaze I continued, “Karen might be with him after all, and my plan is based on assumptions. If she is not in either safe house, I’m more likely than strangers to get Sterling to tell me where she is. At this point I would persuade him that cooperating and freeing Karen offer the best chance of avoiding the electric chair.” Jamie nodded her head; the last item seemed to resonate with her.

  SAC Wainwright called to say Sterling had rejected the proposal, saying it had no safeguards for him. Wainwright proposed he bring Karen with him to the airport and release her on the steps to the plane. Sterling asked how many FBI snipers he planned to deploy on the adjacent rooftop. He also advised Wainwright that time was running out.

  I laid out the plan to Wainwright as I had with Jamie, and suggested we implement it tonight, given the implied threat by Sterling. I added that Sterling might be wondering whether we had located the houses through land records, or by some other means. If he feels cornered, I warned, Kare
n is dead, and he is on a plane at Opa Locka. A long silence passed.

  “Normally, we would go in with such a large show of force that surrender is the only option. Why do you want just two agents at each house?” asked Wainwright.

  “Each house, I believe, uses a No Name to protect the primary occupant. These killers will not surrender. From the shell casings found near the dead trooper we can expect a firefight with automatic weapons. Forgive my directness, with more cops or agents being shot at from the house, the more return fire it will receive. It’s human nature to hold down the trigger during a gunfight. With all that lead flying, we still have no idea where Karen is within the house.”

  “I agree in principle to your main point. We could bring night-vision equipment if necessary with a smaller, simultaneous entrance to the front and back.”

  “That sounds good,” I said. He was clearly mulling over the size of the teams.

  “I insist on a team of three at each entrance, and each house has two entrances. Don’t forget you are still a federal agent. Are you ready for this?”

  “Is there a choice?”

  “Yes. We can handle this.”

  “No. I know and get along well with Marcus. Despite his anger at my betrayal, I need to negotiate with him in private if Karen isn’t at either house. He may disclose her location to me after he realizes how hopeless his situation has become. Can I say the death penalty is off the table if he releases Karen?”

  “Sure,” said the SAC. “It’s not off the table, but what you tell him has no legal relevance.”

  “Can we hit West Miami a few minutes before Opa Locka?”

  “Okay. We have the phone numbers. Call the Opa Locka house and me with a report after securing West Miami. I’ll coordinate with the police. You and Jamie meet me in my office in one hour.”