by Henry Hack
27
They met at the county sheriff’s office at two a.m. and began to suit up. Four state police units and four deputy sheriff units would position themselves along the two main roads leading to the cabin. An unmarked state police unit would lead the two black vans containing the assault team up the road to within two hundred yards of the cabin. The rest of the way would be traveled on foot, led by the two bomb sniffing dogs, whose handlers were closely shadowed by two technicians outfitted in steel mesh bomb suits.
The dogs began their search at four a.m. after a reconnaissance team reconfirmed the findings of the previous surveillance – no humans present and only one heat signature detected. A half hour later the dogs reached the area about twenty-five yards from the cabin and one of them stopped at a mountain laurel bush and took a few extra sniffs. “Got something there, Jesper?” his handler whispered, the other handler and two bomb technicians now suddenly alert.
If Jesper had the ability to verbally communicate his thoughts to his handler he would have said, “No, no bomb here, but unusual to have a strong smell of pine under a mountain laurel bush with only a few dead pine needles scattered around.”
Jesper took one more sniff, and then moved on. When it was determined there were no explosive devices planted around the entire perimeter of the cabin, the dogs and the team eased back to join their comrades and wait the coming sunrise.
As the first ray of sunlight struck the roof of the silent cabin, Jesper's companion German shepherd, Faustus, sniffed around its perimeter paying special attention to the front and back doors. His lack of response indicated all was clear. Two agents peered in through the downstairs windows into a neat, but vacant first floor. Binoculars trained on the three second-story windows revealed no movement.
The team leader nodded to an agent who had a two-pound stone in his hand. He threw it hard at the front door and it bounced off harmlessly. A bomb-suited technician tried the front door. It was locked. He was handed a pry bar and popped the lock easily. The handlers let the dogs inside. They sniffed all around the area and detected nothing. Four agents remained outside the cabin and the rest moved inside and commenced the search.
After the first floor was secured, the handlers sent the dogs upstairs. A few minutes later the second floor, with the exception of a room behind a closed door, was also secured. The bomb technician carefully opened the unlocked door and stepped inside. Jesper followed him in and began sniffing around the baseboards. Across the room, about eight feet away, sat a computer upon a small wooden desk. Only one light, amber in color, burned steadily on the face of its console. Jesper put his front paws up on the desk and sniffed at the computer.
The cabin exploded in a series of huge blasts over no more than a three second period reducing it, literally, to a widespread field of splintered debris. The only consolation that would be available to the families and friends of the twelve human victims and the two magnificent dogs was the poor bastards never knew what hit them.
The state police and sheriff units on the perimeter roads all had heard, seen and felt the tremendous blast. As they neared the spot where the cabin once stood they stared in horror. Fortunately, there were no fires only smoldering debris. The two vans were ripped to shreds and not one of the twelve agents could be found. A state trooper called in to his headquarters and informed them what had occurred. He then said, “Better call the Denver FBI office. They just suffered a terrible tragedy.”
The Apostle Peter knew the public’s reaction to his bombing and killing of twelve federal law enforcement agents would not be well received. He had taken the risk on the chance the explosion could have killed those who had killed the Savior, but not one of them, or any other New York Task Force member, was among the dead.
“Should we be concerned about the negative reaction in the media, which is sure to come?” asked the Reverend Phineas when the Apostle had informed him what had just occurred in Idaho.
“I don’t think it will damage our cause too much,” Peter replied. “We’ll gauge the comments for a few days and then respond appropriately.”
The reaction among the law enforcement community, predictably, was one of outrage. The four current and former members of the New York Joint Terrorist Task Force silently thanked Jim Driscoll and Randy Newton for forbidding their presence at the cabin. But with their gratitude came a heavy burden of guilt – four other men had died in their place. The guilt was accompanied with rage and hatred directed at the Apostle Peter and his band of Romens. And their hatred could not be assuaged; with the destruction of the computer in the cabin no one had the vaguest idea where the murdering bastard was.
One of the first calls Harry Cassidy received was from his daughter Lizzy in New York. Right after they exchanged hellos she said, “Dad, I want in on this.”
“In on what?” he asked.
“The Task Force group that’s going to go after that fucking Apostle. I worked with most of those guys in the Denver office for almost two years.”
Harry heard the bitterness and determination in his daughter’s voice and was also certain Lizzy had never before used the F word in his presence. He said, “No decisions have been made on how we are going to proceed. We have no idea where he is.”
“Goddammit, get some ideas! You and Walt Kobak are sitting in your fancy offices in Washington, Nick is behind a desk in police headquarters, and John McKee has no manpower assigned to him. What the hell is wrong with you all? Put the Task Force team back together and get your brains working again. And like I said, I want in.”
During this vehement diatribe from his first born child Harry’s mouth dropped open wider and wider. Where did this come from? What had transformed his beautiful daughter into a ranting shrew? For Christ’s sake she sounded like… she sounded just like… him! He took a deep breath and said, “If you are quite finished, my dear daughter, let me say your suggestions have much merit and I have been thinking along the same lines. But forget about your participation…”
“Why not? Don’t you think I’m capable?”
“You may be capable, but your mother would never speak to me again if I allowed you to join this fight.”
“And if you don’t bring me in, I assure you I will never speak to you again. You will not be invited to my wedding. You will never see your grandchildren. You will…”
“Whoa, hold on their daughter. You’re getting married? You’re pregnant?”
“No, of course not. I mean in the future.”
“I see. So you’re forcing me to choose between you and your mother?”
“Give it up, Dad. Mom is your ex-wife and she divorced you because she hated your job. She’s not going to change her views on you, or me. You’ve lived your life. Now she and you have to let me live mine.”
“Let me think it over,” Harry said as a great swell of pride rose in his chest. “I’ll get back to you as soon as some decisions get made.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m preparing to fly to Denver for the memorial services. Are you going?”
“Yes, we all are. And right after we mourn those brave agents we’re going after the Apostle with all we’ve got.”
“I’ll be with you, right?”
Harry smiled and said, “See you in Denver,” and hung up the phone.
It was a week after the media furor over the mass murder at his cabin in Idaho and Peter was putting the finishing touches on the document he would send out in response. He and Wilt had read many of the op-ed pieces and listened to the talking heads on the all-news channels and had come to the following conclusions: The Romens positive image developed in their handling of the nuclear power plant campaign had suffered a heavy blow, but not heavy enough to have anyone call for the stoppage of the closures; a surprising percentage of the public was just as outraged, in some cases substantially more outraged, by the death of Jesper and Faustus, the two German shepherds, than they were by the death of the human agents; and there were no significant clamors to find and destroy the Romens.
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Wilt finished his final reading of the document and handed it back to Peter saying, “This is good. It’s a go as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thanks, Wilt. Let’s run it by the Reverend.”
Reverend Alton Phineas, who had expressed reticence over the Apostle’s plan to wire the cabin with explosives took the sheet of paper from Peter, but before reading it he said “Peter, wouldn’t you have accomplished the same thing by just removing or destroying the computer?”
“Yes, Alton, but it was necessary to teach the law enforcement community a lesson, a lesson they will suffer severe consequences if they attempt to stop the Romens. I think we accomplished that, and with any common sense on their part, no more deaths will be necessary.”
Seemingly satisfied, the Reverend adjusted his glasses and read – My fellow American citizens, the deaths that occurred in Idaho were unfortunate, but necessary. The law enforcement community should have left us alone. After all, the initiation of the final phase of the Savior’s third campaign against the nuclear power industry is moving along effortlessly with huge popular support. And let me take this opportunity to thank you for that support. We had hurt no one. We had killed no one. Nor did we ever wish to do so. But the FBI and their partners cannot be allowed to deter our mission and I vow they will not. My advice to them is to back off and let our plans proceed unhindered. Remember, we are helping our great nation enjoy a cleaner, healthier, happier future as we rid it of those who would bury us in pollution, filth and garbage.
We will soon unveil our fourth campaign and that campaign will be against the oil industry, specifically against one facet of that industry – power plants that use oil to generate electricity. A wise move – right now – would be to immediately convert those plants to natural gas or to close them and seek alternate energy production. You have been warned. On behalf of the Romens, the Apostle Peter.
Harry Cassidy passed a copy of Peter’s missive to the media to all those assembled in the conference room next to his office in the Homeland Security Department’s headquarters. After they had all read it, Nick Faliani was the first to speak. “Are we going to respond to this? Are we going to tell the murdering prick the JTTF is coming after his ass?”
“Harry and I had a brief discussion about that,” Walt Kobak said. “We feel it’s better not to let him know we are coming after him.”
“Shouldn’t we announce that the same team that took down his beloved Savior has been put back together for the sole purpose of tracking him down?” Joe Ramos asked.
“We would love to,” Harry said, “but right now that would be an idle threat, because we have no leads on his whereabouts.”
“And the public still seems sympathetic to the Romens’ cause,” Kobak said. “It’s probably better to lay low and not let him know of our existence. Let him get comfortable and maybe he’ll let his guard down.”
“Since this is our first formal get together,” Harry said, “we should set the partners and the ground rules of our operation. Deputy Inspector John McKee will be in charge.”
Several faces showed surprise and Joe Ramos said, “That’s terrific, but I thought you or Walt…”
Harry interrupted Joe and said, “My boss, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and Walt’s boss, the Director of the FBI, went to the wall to reconstitute this group and get you all transferred down here posthaste.”
“But,” Walt said, “under the one condition that Harry and I limit our parts in this operation to advisers only.”
“I hope they didn’t try to tell you two they thought you were too old,” Nick said, with a big smile.
“No,” Walt said, “but they did mention we both had been shot in the past, and maybe we should act as the bosses we are and not the hotshots we think we are.”
“And you’re going to abide by those conditions?” John McKee asked.
“As far as our bosses are concerned we are,” Walt said, “but we’ll play it as the situation demands.”
They all smiled thinking how lucky they were to have a couple of stand-up, tough bosses as Harry and Walt. “Okay,” Harry said, “the four teams are: Mike Morra and Joe Ramos; Spider Webb and Alicia Johnson; Danny Boyland and George Washington; and Nick Faliani with our newest member, Elizabeth Cassidy.”
Only Walt, John and Nick knew who Lizzy was and before she had a chance to introduce herself Alicia said, “Cassidy? I saw you a few times in our building back in New York, but I never knew your name.” Alicia’s eyes flicked back and forth between Harry and Lizzy. “Are you two related?” she asked.
“She is my number one daughter,” Harry said knowing what was coming.
“Your daughter is an FBI agent?” Agent Joe Ramos asked with a big grin on his face. “A lousy Fed as you used to refer to me when we were partnered up way back when?”
“You, the former NYMPD police commissioner, allowed your daughter to become one of us lousy Feds?” George Washington asked, slapping his knee and laughing out loud.
“All right, knock it off – you… you lousy Feds.” Harry said, unable to suppress a big smile. Lizzy, please introduce yourself and say a few words to this group of wiseasses.”
After Lizzy finished her biography she added, “I specifically asked for this assignment based on my close friendships in the Denver field office. If you’re wondering why my father allowed me to become a member of this group it was because I insisted on it and threatened him to the point where he caved in. I’m here to get the bastard who murdered my friends, and I’m not leaving until we get him – dead or alive – preferably dead.”
As she sat down the rest of the team thought, Holy Shit! She sounds just like her old man!
Harry had thought the same thing and whereas the rest of the Task Force thought the “chip off the old block” was a great addition to their group, a stab of fear went through Harry’s body as he envisioned Lizzy dead after a shootout with the Apostle Peter.
28
When a week had passed and the Apostle had not yet seen or heard any announcement from law enforcement in response to his challenge, he began to wonder what they were up to. “Wilt,” he said, “I was hoping to read they were forming up the Task Force to come after us, but all I see are some vague comments from the FBI’s press office they are doing all they can and investigating all leads. What do you think is going on?”
“Maybe they have put the Task Force on to us, but are keeping it under wraps. And maybe they won't announce their presence until they feel they have something to go on.”
“I tweaked them for the main reason of drawing them out into the open. I want to finish those rats off once and for all.” Peter said.
“How are you planning to do it?”
“I’m not certain yet, but I have some ideas swirling around my mind. It’s time to find out what’s going on. It’s research time again.”
“What’s your time frame?”
“We have plenty of time before we go after the oil-fired plants – as long as the nuclear plant shutdown continues smoothly. I want to use that time to eliminate the Task Force, especially those four bastards who killed our Savior. If we are successful not only will we have our just revenge, but we will have sent a strong message to all law enforcement we cannot be stopped by them.”
Wilt wasn’t so sure that by stopping the Task Force all the rest of law enforcement would give up the chase, but he kept those thoughts to himself and said, “How can I help?”
The Apostle turned to his file cabinet and pulled out a thick pile of newspaper clippings and news magazines. He said, “The names of the members of the Task Force are listed on this top sheet. These are the ones who were responsible for the attacks on us and the Savior. I want you to find out everything you can about them – addresses, ages, phone numbers. Then prepare a dossier for each one and delve deeply into their personal lives. I want names, addresses and phones numbers for all their parents, children, brothers and sisters and close friends.”
“I’ll get on it righ
t away,” Wilt said.
“If you run into any road blocks make a note of it and I will follow up on it later. In the meantime, I’m going to do some research the old-fashioned way – on the telephone.
“Homicide, Detective Gallagher speaking,” boomed a loud voice.
“Detective Wilson from Central Detectives looking for Danny Boyland,” the Apostle said.
“He ain’t here no more. They just transferred him back to the Task Force.”
“Shit. How about Webb? I gotta talk to one of them about a case they handled.”
“Webb went with him. Sorry.”
“All right, I’ll track one of them down in Manhattan. Twenty-six Federal Plaza, right?”
“They went there first, but then they shipped the whole bunch of them to D.C.”
“No doubt to look for the Apostle Peter.”
“Yeah, and the sooner they put that prick on a slab in the morgue, the better.”
“Right on, Gallagher. I’ll see if I can reach them down there.”
The Apostle smiled. His Disciple’s hunch had been right. The Task Force was back together and working out of Washington. Now to draw them out in the open – and kill them all.
A few days later Wilt presented Peter with a thick stack of computer printouts. There were ten individual folders in the file. Across the top of each folder was a name lettered in black marking pen – CASSIDY, KOBAK, McKEE, FALIANI, BOYLAND, WEBB, WASHINGTON, JOHNSON, CARVER, MORRA. Peter nodded in appreciation and said, “Any problems?”
“Not a one,” Wilt said with a smile. “You taught me well.”
The Task Force assembled the following morning for their first brainstorming session. They reviewed the past actions of the Romens and the former locations of the apostles and disciples, looking for any clue that might lead to the present whereabouts of the Apostle and his unknown Disciple. Although they concluded they could be anywhere, they decided to focus on the far western area of the country for the sole reason that the cabin with the slave computer had been in Idaho. Joe Ramos said, “He would have to be within a few hours driving distance, a day at most, I’m guessing.”