Evarts scrambled back to the body of the man he had used as a shield and quickly found his pistol. He gave Branger a glance and saw that he was holding his chest and gasping, so he whirled toward the second guard in time to see Harding’s great fist smash into the face of the already unconscious man.
“Steve, stop. He’s out.”
Harding hit him once more before the words penetrated his dark fury. He pulled his fist back and stared at the bloody, bone-shattered flesh that had been a face. When he saw no life in the slack features, Harding rolled off the body and slowly stood. After he reached full height, he kicked the man furiously in the head. “Fuck you.”
“Get his gun, Steve,” Evarts said.
“That’s the asshole who drugged me in the gym.” Harding picked up the gun from the floor and came at Branger with such intensity that Evarts thought he was going to kill him.
“Stop!” Evarts yelled. “We need him.”
“That son of a bitch.” Harding shook with anger.
Evarts grabbed him by both shoulders. “Get a hold of yourself. This isn’t over. Do you hear me, Steve?”
“You’re not going to let that bastard live are you? Our team’s coming in. We don’t need him.”
“Goddamn it, Steve.” He shook the bigger man. Evarts understood that Harding felt guilty for not protecting Trish, but he needed his brain as well as his brawn. “Listen. She’s here. If we don’t fuck up, we can get her out. Pull yourself together.”
Harding looked at him with recognition for the first time. “Breathe,” Evarts ordered. He looked over his shoulder at the other three men in the room. Both guards looked dead, and Branger still held his chest and groaned.
A sixth sense suddenly raised the hair on the back of his neck. Releasing Harding, he leveled the automatic at Branger. With his other hand, Evarts gave Harding a shove toward the door. “Check the hall … be careful.” He moved to the side to get a clearer view of Branger. “Stand up.”
Branger continued to groan, but Evarts now knew for sure that he was faking. “Stand up or take a bullet to the leg. Now!” There was only one moment of hesitation. When Branger got fully to his feet, Evarts said, “Drop it.”
Branger smirked and theatrically opened his palm to let a small black object clatter to the floor.
Without looking at the device, Evarts yelled over his shoulder, “Steve, he’s set off an alarm with a remote. Can you secure that door?”
“No,” Evarts heard from behind him. “The deadbolt requires a key on the inside.”
Branger’s smile turned sickening. “I raised an alarm and now that door can’t be locked, even with a key.”
Evarts stepped further away from Branger and glanced at the doorway. Harding had been peeking through a crack and opened the door enough to poke out the barrel of his gun. He fired two blind shots down the hall.
“That will give them pause for about twenty seconds,” he said with disgust. “And the fucking door opens outward so we can’t pile shit in front of it.”
“We’ve considered every scenario,” Branger said.
“Don’t move,” Evarts ordered as he sidestepped toward the door at the rear of the room. He opened it and stole a quick glance. He had hoped to find Baldwin in the room, but still he swallowed hard when he saw her. Reclining in a huge leather swivel lounger as if taking a nap, she looked inert, and her pasty white face displayed the slack features of the seriously ill. He scanned the apparent emergency bedroom and returned his attention to Baldwin. Despite her unconscious state, she was bound hand and foot. Evarts shouted at Harding, “No exit from the back room! Trish is here and appears drugged!”
As Harding marched across the room, he effortlessly grabbed Branger by the scruff of the neck and threw him toward the back room. “We can’t defend that door. They can come at us from two directions. I’d throw a flash-bang grenade into the room.”
The slight jerk of Branger’s head told Evarts that’s exactly what they intended to do. “Quick, into the back!” he yelled.
Harding literally threw Branger through the door frame and then took up a position on his knees, with one hand ready to slam the door shut when he saw the grenade fly into the outer room. Evarts decided he didn’t have time to babysit Branger, so he pistol-whipped him unconscious. He next went to Baldwin, untied her feet, and used the rope to tie Branger’s hands behind him. Damn, how much time did they have? “Buy me time!” he yelled at Harding.
As he ran into an adjoining bathroom, he heard a single shot. The bullet couldn’t penetrate the steel door or the concrete wall, but hopefully the assembling assault team could hear the shot and would stop to try to figure out what it meant. Then he heard Harding yell at the top of his lungs, “Open that door and I kill your paycheck!”
Evarts rummaged around in the bathroom and found some cotton balls. He ran back into the bedroom and knelt behind Harding. While Harding kept his gun aimed at the door, Evarts stuffed two cotton balls in each of his ears. After he plugged his own ears, he stuffed Baldwin’s ears and untied her hands so he could use the rope to tie Branger’s ankles. Then he inspected the room. No exit, but he found a fully automatic rifle under the bed. He ran over and gave the weapon to Harding, who nodded in appreciation.
The plan they had devised yesterday called for them to try to isolate Branger while a small assault team broke into the house from the lake side of the mansion. With luck, their assault team should have taken the perimeter by now, but Evarts didn’t know how long it would take them to find their way to the basement. They had to hold off until help arrived. That meant securing their position—not worrying about Baldwin. He ran back into the bathroom and soaked two washcloths. He stuck one in his shirt collar so he could pull it over his mouth quickly and threw the other one at Harding, who felt the wet cloth hit him and tucked it into his collar. They were as ready as they could get with the limited resources at hand, so Evarts took a position with his back against the wall next to Harding.
He had no sooner gotten in place, when the outside door opened a crack, and a grenade rolled into the outer room. Harding fired a three-shot burst and then slammed the door. Despite the cotton, the blast deafened them, and the reverberations shook the wall. Harding almost immediately opened the door and blindly spayed another three-shot burst. Evarts stood behind the kneeling Harding ready to fire, but he could barely see through the smoke. He soon made out two charging men, wearing full body armor and face shields. Both he and Harding opened fire, aiming for the unprotected legs. After that he couldn’t recount what he did, only that his next conscious thought was that the .45’s slide had locked back in the open position because the gun had run dry of ammunition.
After he picked up the other automatic from the floor and took aim, he saw the two men writhing on the floor. “Back off,” he yelled at the men he assumed remained hidden in the hall.
The answer came immediately from behind the outside door. “There’s no exit. Throw out your guns.”
“We have Branger!” Harding yelled.
“And we have our orders. Next comes a bazooka. Throw your weapons across the floor so we can hear them!”
“Think they’re bluffing?” Evarts asked, but Harding didn’t answer.
Evarts ran to the recliner and lifted Baldwin to his chest. If they retreated to the bathroom, maybe help could still arrive in time.
Harding saw what he was doing and yelled toward the outer door, “Give us a second.”
“No! Now!”
Damn. Evarts wondered how long it had been since they had first knocked on the door. He tried to glance at his watch as he carried Baldwin to the bathroom, but his wrist was wrapped around behind her. Time had stretched out so much that it seemed like they had been in the house forever. Evarts heard a gun clatter across the floor, and at first he thought Harding had surrendered. A glance showed him that he had thrown only the empty .45.
“I only heard one gun!” someone yelled.
Evarts unceremoniously threw Baldwin on th
e floor of the bathroom and ran back to the door to tap Harding on the shoulder. Harding immediately shot another three-round burst and grabbed Branger by his shirt, dragging him into the bathroom. Evarts leaped in just behind him and slammed the door. They each took a breath before they heard an outrageous explosion. No bluff.
Evarts heard someone shout “fuck” and realized that it came from him. Harding opened the door to rubble, smoke, and flying debris. Stumbling over pieces of wall and fractured furniture, Harding charged toward an upturned mattress. As soon as he hit the ground, he fired a single shot.
Evarts thought he was conserving ammunition until Harding turned around with an expression that told him he was dry. Damn, damn, damn. All they had left was the automatic in his hand. No target was in sight, so he ejected the magazine, made a quick inspection, and slammed it back into the butt. Seven shots. He handed the gun to Harding and started rummaging around for additional weapons. Branger must have another gun squirreled away somewhere.
Gunfire. Lots of it. Evarts frantically increased the pace of his search. He threw over a nightstand and the drawer fell out to reveal another automatic. Then he heard the bark of a .45 much closer than the other gunfire. Harding was shooting. Evarts leaped back to what was left of the doorway and plopped behind the mattress with Harding. Without an instant of hesitation, he fired at the legs of one of the attackers, because his body armor and faceplates made a killing shot all but impossible.
Just then, the firing became unbelievably more intense, and the charging men fell spasmodically to the floor. After a moment, Evarts saw that his own assault team had arrived and taken positions in the outer hallway. Branger’s men had been caught in a wicked crossfire.
It was over.
Chapter 60
Only the firefight was over. The next hour was chaotic. The team secured the house and confirmed that no neighbor had raised the alarm with the police. The only audible gunfire occurred in the basement, which had been soundproofed because of the shooting range. The team quickly gathered up the bodies and hauled them to a storage area. The wounded received first aid in a barracks area next to the range.
Evarts carried Baldwin to an upstairs guestroom and laid her carefully on a bed. She remained in a drugged stupor, but her pulse seemed almost normal. He checked the bullet wound to her leg and discovered that someone had attended to it properly. He groaned audibly when he saw puncture marks on her arm. He hoped they had used only morphine to deaden the pain in her leg. Even so, she would probably have some trouble with withdrawal.
Unfortunately, he had other things to tend to, so he let her lie in the bed, keeping the lights on in case she regained some consciousness. This time he wanted her to sleep off the drugs naturally.
When he descended the stairs, he found Harding and Matthews waiting for him in the kitchen.
“Any coffee?” he asked, rubbing his ears.
“Brewing. How is she?”
“Out. We have work here, so I think we should let her rest.” Both men just looked sympathetic in response. “What have they found?”
“An office with a secured computer,” Matthews said. “That will take time. We also found a vault in the basement, but Branger won’t give us the combination.” He looked uncomfortable. “He insists on seeing you. I think he’s got another card.”
“Where’d you put him?”
“In the library. Tied up and under guard.”
Evarts thought a minute. “Let him stew. I want a cup of coffee first.”
“He acts as if it’s urgent.”
“He thinks he holds an ace, but unless I’m mistaken, it’s a deuce. That coffee ready yet?”
Harding poured him a large mug of black coffee and then poured another for himself.
After an appreciative swallow, Evarts said, “Thanks.” When Harding just shrugged, Evarts added, “I meant for the help here today.”
“I know.” He looked uneasy.
“What is it?”
“We lost someone.”
“Who?”
“Gary.”
“Shit.”
“We all volunteered,” Matthews offered.
Evarts turned his back to them and leaned against the island counter. After a few seconds, he muttered, “This isn’t the way he should’ve died.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s Branger’s fault, not yours.”
“Did he have a wife?”
“No. But a bevy of NASCAR groupies will be grief stricken.” Evarts felt a hand on his shoulder. “Gary insisted on being a part of this, and I’m told he handled his part expertly.” Harding paused. “He saved our lives. He’s the one that charged the basement.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No … but I thought you should know.”
Evarts drained the coffee mug before turning around and facing his friends. “We’ve got to do the rest of this right so people know he died a hero.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Rick, break into that computer but be careful. If I know Branger, he left worms in there that can be tripped with the slightest mistake. Don’t underestimate the sophistication of these people.” Matthews left immediately. “Steve, take control of the interrogations. Focus on drug connections. We need proof that these people were criminals. Next, try to get the hierarchy of the union. Since they only meet here quarterly, they’re probably scattered all over the country.”
“Which country?”
“Good point. Get some Mexican connections so we can justify our actions to the State Department. Push hard but keep it clean. At least for now. Work the wounded first and promise relief from their pain if they cooperate.”
“Gotcha. What are you going to do?”
“Get the combination to that vault.”
Chapter 61
“Hello, Chet,” Evarts said as he entered the library. With all the planning activity in the last two days, he hadn’t had time to meet face to face with all of his old comrades. “I see you’ve made our guest of honor comfortable.”
Branger sat in a brown leather club chair with his hands and feet bound. He held a glass of water with both hands, and as Evarts approached, leaned over awkwardly so he could set the glass on a side table. “Tell this hireling to leave,” Branger ordered. “You won’t want him to hear what I’m about to tell you.”
“This hireling, as you call him, just beat the snot out of your crew, so treat him with a little respect.”
“I won’t talk in front of this boy. Tell him to leave us.”
Chet showed no reaction to Branger’s racial slur, so Evarts tried to suppress his own irritation. When Evarts had planned clandestine missions, the army had allowed him to pick his own team, and Chet’s name had always been at the top of his list. On two separate occasions, his life had depended on this black man’s courage and wits.
Remaining outwardly calm, Evarts said, “Chet, can I borrow your cell phone?”
Chet reached into his pocket with his left hand while keeping his gun aimed at Branger with his right. Chet flipped his cell phone over to Evarts, who caught it with a smooth motion. He punched in a number and waited for an answer. When he heard a voice say hello, Evarts said, “Detective Standish, this is Greg.”
“Yes, Commander,” he heard her reply.
“Have you arrested Lieutenant Clark, and are my parents under protective custody?”
“Yes, sir. To both.” She gave a brief recap of what had transpired on the West Coast that day.
“Excellent. I’ll talk to you again in a bit.” Evarts snapped the phone shut. “Now, what did you want to tell me, Mr. Branger?”
No smirk this time. In fact, the look of paralyzed dismay confirmed for Evarts that he had been right. Branger had left his parents alone so they would be available to use as hostages if all else failed. The examination of the calendar for the entire Santa Barbara Police Force had revealed that Clark had been the mole inside the department for the Rock Burglar. After his interrogation,
Clark had turned state’s evidence, and a combined task force of three police departments had made seven arrests and captured the entire gang. Evarts guessed that Branger hadn’t needed to apply much pressure to further corrupt an already dirty cop. Fortunately, Evarts had figured out a few days ago that his parents’ safety posed a personal risk if he ever managed to get close to the union. He had delayed Clark’s arrest until the raid had been set so that Branger wouldn’t be forewarned.
“If you have nothing else on your mind, Mr. Branger, I would appreciate it if you would give me the combination to your vault.”
He gave Evarts and Chet a disdainful look. “I seem to have a lapse of memory.”
Evarts pulled the leather ottoman out of Branger’s reach and sat down. He stared at him for about twenty seconds before speaking. “Mr. Branger, you’re a smart man. You’ve climbed to the top of one of the most powerful organizations on earth and—”
“Soon to be the most powerful.”
“No, you’re wrong about that. Let me explain why. You’re sitting here under the presumption that there will be no hard evidence against you and that with your hundreds of millions of dollars—”
“Billions.”
“That with your billions of dollars you can buy your way out of this mess. Let me explain why you can’t. First, we assume that you planted worms deep inside your computer system that will erase all the data if we try to break through your security network. You know we’re army intelligence. We penetrate these systems for a living. Right now, I have the best hacker on the face of the planet working on your computer. It may take him days, maybe even weeks, but he’ll penetrate whatever safeguards you’ve put in place.”
Branger looked smug. “He’ll never get in.”
“I should also mention that he’s a black man.”
Branger actually roiled with laughter, and only the binds seemed to keep him from bouncing out of the club chair. When he finally caught his breath, he said, “I can’t imagine how you got this far. One of those cretins will fry my system and turn the records into gibberish. You’re so naïve; I can’t believe I’m tied up in my own library.”
The Shut Mouth Society Page 33