The Connecticut operation, involving dangerous radicals, more than qualifies for a SWAT team operation. The Connecticut raid called for an Enhanced FBI SWAT team, with a force of 40 officers and heavy duty weapons, including MP5/10 machine guns, M4 carbines, and rocket propelled grenades.
Chapter 52
FBI Agent Neil Bonner met with his team of 40 SWAT team members in a rented house in Waterford, Connecticut. Bonner was a former Navy SEAL lieutenant, and had experience with house raids in both Afghanistan and Iraq. It was a large ranch house, and all of the team had been transported there over the course of a week. Also in attendance was CIA agent George Atkins, aka Agent Akhbar, but known to most as Buster.
The house was located 200 feet from an al-Qaeda “safe house,” a meeting place that the radicals considered secure. It was a Monday, and a meeting of al-Qaeda leaders would be held on Friday. The CIA, having been tipped off by an inside operative, knew of the plans in advance. Over the course of the previous few days, small tunneling robots drilled up through the floorboards of the safe house, and cameras were in place in 12 locations throughout the structure, along with listening devices.
Buster stood before the group.
“Agent Bonner will talk about the operational plans for our raid, but I’m here from CIA headquarters to let you guys know what’s so important. I know that often you people aren’t let in on the overview of a mission, and sometimes you learn about a battle just before it happens. But I’m here to tell you that the raid you men will soon conduct is one of the most important operations America has ever been involved in. Ever.”
Buster took a sip of water to let his words seep in. The men glanced at each other after he said spoke those words.
“This Friday,” Buster continued, “the senior management of al-Qaeda will meet here to finish planning for a nuclear attack on three American cities. We have located the bombs, we know the targets, and we know who’s in charge. And you men are going to take out the senior management. This will be a military operation, not a law enforcement matter. We have solid evidence, and this operation has been cleared by the Director of the CIA and the Director of the FBI. We’re not looking to arrest anybody; we’re looking to kill people. This will be an attack. Agent Bonner, the floor is yours, unless anybody has any questions for me.”
Officer John Lupino raised his hand.
“Agent Atkins, are you able to tell us what cities are targeted for the nukes?”
“I can’t tell you the target cities, I’m sure you understand,” said Buster. But As soon as you folks secure this place, we have simultaneous raids planned at the locations of the nuclear weapons.”
“How did we find out about these plans, Mr. Atkins?” said Bonner.
“Good question, and by the way, everybody please call me Buster. Like a lot of conspiracies, luck played a big part in discovering these plans. A very brave woman came forward with a backup of her late husband’s computer. The guy was an investigative journalist, and if we didn’t have the data she brought to us, we may never have known about this plot. In other words, dumb fucking luck. Okay, I’m going to turn this meeting over to Agent Bonner.”
“Okay guys. As Buster said, although we’re cops, this will be a military operation. If someone puts his hands up and appears unarmed, sure we’ll take him alive, but I don’t expect that to happen. We will launch at 4 a.m. on Friday under cover of darkness. We have cameras in place around the house, and we also have satellite surveillance. We’ll begin with rocket-propelled grenades and we’ll follow up with two rifle teams. Because the jihadis picked a house that’s relatively isolated, it will make our job easier. We don’t have to worry about collateral damage to nearby civilian houses. The closest structure is the one we’re in right now, 200 feet away from our target. Okay, we go this Friday at 0400 on my command. Lock and load, gentlemen.”
Chapter 53
Diana and I met with Rick Bellamy on Monday morning, having worked through the weekend. We got a lot of work done, adding 35 more names from Jim Spellman’s hard drive. I wondered if those names would appear on the list of the dead. Al-Qaeda is thorough, I’d discovered. We filled Rick in on our weekend findings, and discussed the plan for the upcoming few days. Thursday or Friday was the target date for completion.
“You two have been busting your butts, and I thank you,” said Rick.
“Well, Matt and I have a somewhat propriety interest in getting this done, Rick. But thanks for your thanks,” said Diana.
“My wife Ellen has a great idea,” said Rick. “We have a vacation home in East Hampton, a couple of hours from here out on Eastern Long Island, and we’d love to invite you folks out for a couple of days of rest and recreation. We’ll go in separate cars of course. You two will be in disguise and will have a bodyguard with you. This crap will be over soon, I promise you.”
“Can I ask when?” I said, “or is that beyond my need to know.”
“Let me put it this way. Buster told me just the other day, and I’m quoting him exactly, that he looks forward to the day that ‘Diana and her husband will be able to walk in the sunshine.’ Meanwhile, keep your wigs and disguises handy.”
***
By Wednesday we completed phase one of our project. All of the names from Jim Spellman’s hard drive had been entered into the database. Rick suggested that Diana and I head out to his vacation home in East Hampton on Friday. An armed guard (of course) would let us in. Rick
would join us Friday evening, and his wife Ellen, who had a meeting with an architectural client, would come out on Saturday. Diana and I had heard of the Hamptons, but neither of us had been there before.
The car drove us down a winding driveway to a large shingled house perched on the water. The place was beautiful. Our guard mentioned that the body of water was known as Georgica Pond, and its shores were lined with the summer homes of celebrities, including Steven Spielberg. It was 1 p.m. and the sun was high in the sky, turning the pond into a shimmering lake.
“It’s really lovely,” said Diana, “just like everything I ever heard about the Hamptons. But I’m sorry, Lake Michigan is prettier.”
You can’t take the Midwest out of a Midwesterner.
The guard let us in, and I found it comforting that there were two other armed FBI agents at the house. We introduced ourselves and chatted with our sentries. Diana took her blond wig off and shook her hair.
“God, I’m getting to hate that thing,” she said.
Jack Fleming, one of our guards, showed us upstairs to our room. A large window overlooked the pond. “This window is bulletproof,” Fleming said, “but I suggest that you don’t stand still in front of it for a long time. It will protect against bullets, but not armor piercing shells.”
Diana looked at me.
“On this wall,” said Fleming, pointing toward the left, is a video monitor that can view every location on the outside and inside of this house. Standard FBI security, even though this is a vacation house.”
“Matt, did you ever in your life think that we’d discuss the armor characteristics of a window? How about a game of catch on the deck.”
“You’re on, honey.”
Although it was August, a cool breeze wafted over us from Georgica Pond. We were off to a relaxing weekend, and I’m playing catch with my wife. Perfect.
“Hey, Matt. We should get a place on the water when this crap is all over,” Diana said as she threw the ball to me.
“I agree, hon. When this crap is all over.”
Chapter 54
“Good morning Mr. President,” said Mike Delancy as he walked into the Oval Office. Although he’s second in command of the president’s security detail, it’s rare that he’s included in an Oval Office meeting. He had a knot in his stomach. Also present was Sarah Watson, Director of the FBI, and Derek Johnson, FBI agent.
“Actually, Mike, it is not a good morning,” said President Reynolds.
“Sir?”
“I think I’ll let Agent Johnson explain.�
��
“Place your hands behind your back. Michael Delancy, you’re under arrest for violation of various federal laws, including conspiracy to commit murder and conspiracy to commit acts of terror,” said Johnson as he placed handcuffs on Delancy’s wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you.”
“Can you give me an idea of what federal laws you can possibly be talking about?”
“I’ll leave that to the arraignment judge. It may take him all morning to read the laws you’re accused of violating,” said Agent Johnson.
Johnson led Delancy out of the Oval Office, and was met by three other agents in the hallway.
“I think we may have dodged a bullet, Sarah,” said President Reynolds.
“He’s just one bullet, Mr. President. We have a few more to go.”
“Sarah, keep me posted minute by minute as to what’s going on. Call me personally.”
***
Dwight Conklin, Vice President for Facilities Management at Gulf Oil, had just entered his office at 8:30 a.m.
Three men in light-weight gray suits awaited him, all with their pistols drawn and pointed at him.
“Good morning, Mr. Conklin. My name is Agent Joshua Spruance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Kindly place your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for violation of federal law, including murder, conspiracy to commit murder, suborning perjury, and conspiracy to commit terrorist acts.”
Spruance read Conklin his rights and the three agents escorted him to a waiting car. The car was parked in back, out of view of the public. Before they left the building, Spruance put a hood over Conklin’s head.
“What the fuck is this all about?” yelled Conklin.
“At the risk of repeating myself, Mr. Conklin, you have the right to an attorney. You also have the right to shoot your mouth off. Take your pick, dickhead.”
***
Deputy US Marshall Phil Brandt had a full day ahead of him. Under orders from the FBI, he and his team had a list of 25 people to arrest, all to be charged with perjury. Each of the men had testified in court in cases involving car accidents. Each of them had lied under oath about what they had supposedly seen.
Brandt’s first arrest target was a man named Roger McDougald. When he accosted Mr. McDougald in his office in Evanston, Illinois, Brandt was surprised that the guy sounded like he was from the Ozarks, not a suburb of Chicago.
“Land o’ Goshen” said McDougald as Brandt cuffed him behind his back. “Dear Lordy me, what can the problem be?”
Brandt had been alerted to Mr. McDougald’s strange speech habits. He read him his rights.
“I’m sure the arraignment judge will be fascinated to hear your questions, Mr. McDougald.”
Chapter 55
“Hey, Jack,” yelled Phil Bollin, one of the guards at the East Hampton house. “Did you order food from PeaPod? A truck just pulled up.”
“No I didn’t” said Fleming. “Maybe Rick placed an order.”
“I don’t like this,” said Bollin. “The cupboards are full, and Rick always tells us if he expects deliveries. I...”
We heard a blast of automatic gunfire, and heard a thud at the bottom of the stairs.
Diana and I ran into the house and up the stairs. The video monitor on the wall in our room showed the entire perimeter as well as all the rooms of the house.
Fleming ran to a closet and took out two assault rifles, handing one to me. Diana ran by him and grabbed a third.
Fleming held his finger over his lips. He was right, we needed to listen. We looked at the video monitor. We saw two men walking along the right side of the house. A third was still in the truck. Another monitor screen also showed three men on the inside of the house.
We heard the stair boards squeak. I fired a burst at the man as he climbed the stairs, hitting him mid-torso. I knelt at the top of the staircase with my rifle trained on the foot of the stairs.
Fleming went back to the closet, reached up, and came down with a stun grenade.
Diana tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the monitor. A man was trying to open the door on the left side of the house. “There’s an overhead deck,” he whispered, as he stepped through the door. He took his shoes off so as not to make any more sounds than the already creaky floor provided. We couldn’t see him from our room, but we heard a burst of gunfire and saw the man on the monitor as he fell.
“Where’s the guy in the truck?” Diana whispered. “Which way is the front of the house, Jack?” He pointed to the other doorway.
Diana kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot slowly toward the front end. We heard shots. I ran to Diana but she waved me down. She had just shot a guy on the deck at close range. He was the guy from the truck.
“I think there’s another one who’s probably inside,” Diana said.
Jack Fleming walked over to the stairway, pulled the pin and tossed the stun grenade to the floor below. A stun grenade does just that—it stuns. No shrapnel, little physical damage, just a heavy explosive shock wave through the air.
“Let’s go,” I said. My training and combat experience came back to me. After you toss a stun grenade, the last thing you want to do is give the enemy time to recover from the shock.
“Watch the monitor, Dee,” I said. “and stay down for Chrissake.”
I walked to the staircase to go down to the first level. As I walked slowly to the first floor, the stairs creaked. A guy jumped into view with his pistol raised, pointed at me. I heard a loud burst from behind me and saw the man fall. I turned and saw Diana standing behind me at the top of the stairs with her assault rifle. She had just saved my life.
I walked slowly down to the first floor. Fleming blasted a guy kneeling on the kitchen floor, and I opened up on a man next to the doorway. We heard another burst of gunfire from above. Diana had just shot a man on the rear deck.
We stood still and listened. Fleming positioned himself next to the refrigerator, and I crouched by the kitchen center island. We had perfect firing lines toward the back and front of the house. I saw a vehicle pull into the driveway, which I recognized as Rick Bellamy’s car. I heard a shot from my right and saw Rick dive behind his car. The shooter lay down, aiming his gun toward the underside of Bellamy’s car. I stepped through the door that opened to the side deck. I dropped to a knee and fired a burst at the man who was about to fire another round at Bellamy. He fell to the deck
I saw two agents running toward the house from Rick’s car. Gutsy, I thought. Gutsy but stupid. Never run into a firing zone until you know the status of the zone. Fortunately for them, the status seemed to be secure.
Rick walked slowly into the house holding his side. A bulletproof Kevlar vest can save your life, but you can expect a lot of pain, maybe even a couple of fractured ribs, from the impact of a bullet. He walked over to me and grabbed me in a friendly headlock.
“When I invited you folks out here, I didn’t expect you’d wreck my friggin house.”
Everybody’s nerves needed some relief, and we all cracked up—except for Diana. We actually got hysterical laughing in a room that smelled of gunpowder and death. But still, Diana didn’t laugh, smile, or show any emotion at all. She sat down on a couch. A dead body lay on the floor a foot away from her.
“You guys are used to this shit,” she said. “I’m not”
It’s difficult to describe a thing called the “stench of death.” A lot of people, including me, agree that the smell is a combination of a butcher shop and corroded green copper. It’s a horrible odor.
I sat next to Dee and put my hand on her knee.
“You saved my life, honey,” I said. “Nice work, professor.”
She didn’t cry or react, but just stared ahead. I’d seen that look on a non-combatant’s face before, sometimes called the “two-thousand-yard stare.” The phrase c
ame from World War II, named after a famous painting of a Marine after a battle. Diana was right. The rest of us had gone through intensive training, either in the military or the FBI or both. We had all experienced live gunfire before. I had just learned something about Diana. With no training, no experience, Dee had just gone through a firefight on raw courage alone. No preparation, just bravery. Her emotions were trying to sort out what she’d just experienced. I put my arm around her. She looked at me with her beautiful eyes, but they seemed oddly vacant.
“Matt, look at my pants legs,” she said in a bland voice with no expression on her face. “Are those specks of brains and blood that I’m seeing?”
***
“Jack, please give me a report,” said Rick Bellamy.
“Phil Bollin took a hit, but he’ll be okay, said Fleming. A bullet hit him at close range but the Kevlar saved him, just like it saved you. Bill Jenson, lucky for him, wasn’t here. I asked him to run into town to pick up some supplies. So none of our people are down. We’ve got six enemy dead. From what we could see on your security monitor, we’re sure we got them all. Deputy FBI Agent Diana Blake over here earned her new title. She took down three of the bad guys. And Captain Matt showed us why he got so many decorations in Iraq.”
“Okay, you know the drill, guys,” said Bellamy. “This is now a crime scene. Tape it out and please don’t step into any blood. The forensics people should be here shortly, but in the meantime, we can use help from the East Hampton Police Department. It’s not like we have a mystery to solve. The East Hampton cops are good guys, but they don’t see this kind of stuff in their quiet town often. Okay, let’s go into the den. Has that been shot up, Jack?”
Sideswiped: Book One in the Matt Blake legal thriller series Page 16