A cop’s job was never done.
And then at that point when it seemed most overwhelming, her thoughts would go oddly back to Blansky, a handsome guy who was determined to do his duty.
If she was a normal gal, she’d flirt a little and see what happened. But she wasn’t a normal gal and never would be. She was a cop through and through, just like her dad and his dad before him. After their parents had died, just within a few years of each other, Shaffernik’s only other close relative, her sister, had met a wealthy rancher, moved with him to Wyoming and gotten married. She only heard from her a few times a year, and even then it seemed as if their conversations were superficial and distant. It was probably why she had thrown herself into her work with such earnestness.
A rap at her door brought her out of her reverie. She gestured for the knocker, her day sergeant, to enter. When he poked his head through the door she said, “What’s up, Kabunuck?”
“Two men from the Defense Intelligence Agency are here, ma’am. They want to speak with you. They asked for Chief Meltrieger, but he’s ind—”
Shaffernik nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Send them in.”
She rose to greet the men as they entered, eyeing them studiously. They were G-men, no doubt there, with the polyester suits, patent-leather shoes and stock can-do-no-wrong swaggers. Shaffernik shook their hands in turn and directed them to the pair of seats in front of her desk. Once Kabunuck had closed the door behind him, the taller of the two men spoke.
“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” he said with a rather disarming grin.
Shaffernik just nodded and gestured for him to continue.
“We understand you’re busy, so we’ll get right to it. You’ve been informed of the military plane that went down early yesterday morning?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve heard about little else since it happened. Military shut down all traffic on and off this island. It was very inconvenient.”
“Sorry to hear that. I’m Special Agent Wexler and this is my partner, Special Agent Philbin. Unfortunately, I can’t be too concerned about your troubles since the loss of American military personnel under these circumstances must take priority.”
“I know,” Shaffernik said. “And I’m not really meaning to sound like I’m beefing about it or to be disrespectful. I have great respect for our military, and I assure you I’m just as distressed by what’s happened as I’m sure most everyone else is.”
“Thanks.”
“But we are rather busy right now, so if you could get to the purpose of your visit, I’d be obliged.”
“Of course. We’ve been assigned to investigate any events here on Unalaska that may have occurred that you would deem unusual. This includes any reports that were filed, and any and all information on the party or parties involved. We’d also be appreciative if you could provide us with any of your opinions as to the nature of these incidents, and any arrests.”
“And,” Philbin interjected, “we’d like to know of any suspects you held or currently are holding, and to talk to those individuals on a case-by-case basis.”
Shaffernik sat back and brushed a strand of hair out of her eye. “Well, now, that’s a pretty tall order, isn’t it? Most of that information will take some time to pull together, since it’s been nothing but chaos here since the no-fly zone was instituted. Not to mention we got a whole lot of detainees I had to release on PR since our jail couldn’t hold them.”
“Is that common?”
“Lawlessness isn’t normally common around here,” Shaffernik said. “Although there was recently a Marine battle cruiser parked off our shores, gentlemen. You have to admit that’s not exactly normal, either. Those kinds of things tend to make people nervous. And when a bunch of laborers from an Alaska native regional corporation start feeling nervous, they tend to get into trouble they wouldn’t normally get into. So, yeah, there’s been a bit of a change in climate here, and I’ve had my hands full.”
“What kind of trouble?” Wexler asked.
“Several brawls down at the docks, for starters.”
“In the bars?”
Shaffernik nodded and replied matter-of-factly, “Some. But we’ve also had one in the workplace. Like I said before, people are nervous.”
“There’s no reason for anybody to worry if they aren’t guilty of anything,” Wexler said.
“People get nervous around the police these days, gentlemen,” Shaffernik pointed out. “Or haven’t you been reading the newspapers?”
“Well, I—”
“Look,” Shaffernik cut in, “I don’t mean to sound uncooperative, but I don’t have the resources presently available to pull off policing duties and assist you. You can utilize anyone Sergeant Kabunuck can spare, but that’s about the best I can do.”
“We understand this isn’t the best timing,” Philbin said.
“Any cooperation would be greatly appreciated,” Wexler added. “There is just one other item we’d like to discuss.”
“What’s that?” Shaffernik asked, leaning back in her chair.
“It’s our understanding that some sort of shooting took place in Unalaska yesterday.”
Shaffernik chewed at her lower lip as she stared at Wexler, knowing her hesitation in reply already gave it away. How had he learned about that already? The details hadn’t been leaked to anyone in the press, and as far as she was aware, Meltrieger hadn’t communicated it because he really didn’t know anything. And he didn’t know much about it because Shaffernik had advised they were still looking into it.
“There was an incident involving firearms that took place yesterday, correct,” she finally said. “It’s still under investigation.”
“What happened?”
“The details are muddy,” she said.
“Could you summarize?”
“As I said, it’s still under investigation. I don’t want to speculate until I have the facts.”
Wexler smiled and shifted in his seat, visibly trying to hold himself in check to prevent an uncomfortable situation. Despite the fact they were within their jurisdiction to make these inquiries, it never helped federal agents to alienate local law enforcement. “Could you at least give us a summary of the incident?”
Shaffernik sighed and then folded her arms. “Several men in a truck were reported shooting what appeared to be automatic weapons into the air. We immediately dispatched deputies to the scene, and upon attempting to apprehend the suspects, a gun battle ensued. My deputies were forced to defend themselves and ended up shooting several suspects.”
“And where does the case currently stand?”
“I have a bunch of dead men slabbed at the coroner’s office, and we’re attempting to identify them right now. We’re also trying to piece together what happened, how they managed to smuggle weapons on to Unalaska, and why they chose to fire on my officers.”
“Is that it?”
“We also made an arrest, but that individual was subsequently released.”
“Why?” Wexler interjected.
“Turns out he was an innocent bystander,” she replied with a shrug. “He had nothing to do with those men. He just happened to be in the area at the time of the incident.”
“And so you released him?” When she nodded, Philbin pulled a photograph from his pocket and handed it to her across her desk. “Is this the man you arrested?”
The photo was a somewhat blurred image that appeared to have been taken from a security camera. Shaffernik did her best not to show any emotion if it was a picture of Blansky. She half expected it to be, and she turned out to be right. She looked carefully for a moment, desperate to decide whether or not she should admit it was him. On one hand, if she lied and they caught her in it, she could lose her job and her badge. They’d also charge her with interfering in a federal
investigation, and that could land her in prison. If she admitted it was him, however, what would happen to him and his cover? Would he go to jail? Would they try to apprehend him, or would they inform her he was actually a criminal and he’d neatly pulled the wool over her eyes?
Finally, she made her decision from something deep in her gut, some instinct.
As she returned the picture she replied, “I—”
There was a rap at the door. It opened a moment later, and Kabunuck poked his head inside. “Ma’am?”
“We’re in the middle of something here, Sergeant Kabunuck,” Shaffernik said.
“I know and I’m sorry, but we have a situation.”
“What now?”
“Some kind of disturbance on the docks. There’s at least a dozen men engaged in a gun battle, and the person who called it in states it sounds like automatic weapons fire.”
“Send everybody we have!” Shaffernik said, jumping to her feet. She turned to the agents. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short. I’m needed.”
“We’ll come with you.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Shaffernik said as she buckled her gun belt.
Philbin’s grin lacked any warmth. “We’d prefer we did.”
“In the spirit of cooperation and all,” Wexler added.
“Are you both armed?”
“Of course,” Philbin said.
“Fine, come on. You can ride with me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grimaldi landed the rented seaplane at Unalaska’s dock area, and Bolan was debarking when the trouble started.
Like the smaller wharf front at Unalaska, the docks were devoid of workers, so there were no bystanders in the immediate vicinity. It made for the perfect place to set up an ambush, and it seemed the enemy had decided to take advantage of the situation. This time, however, the gunners weren’t locals armed with pop guns. These individuals showed up with full-sized assault rifles and apparently plenty of ammunition to spare, because they didn’t hesitate to send sustained salvos of autofire in Bolan’s direction.
Only by diving off the pier did Bolan manage to save his skin. Despite the midsummer weather, there was no such thing as warm water in that part of the world. Bolan’s teeth instantly started to chatter as he gulped deep breaths of air to keep from passing out at the shock to his system. He immediately began to swim, powerful arms and legs propelling his body through the choppy water that lapped against the underside of the docks. Bolan spent several minutes in the water. It quickly started to sap his strength, but he would not allow his mind to succumb to the sleepiness. His conscious mind ebbed like an evening tide, threatening to overtake him with sweet darkness, and Bolan fought it with every fiber of his being.
Eventually, he reached a ladder along the side of the dock, used to access smaller boats, and hauled his body out of the water. His clothes and boots were waterlogged, and he knew the Beretta 93-R tucked beneath his left arm would be completely useless now that it was soaked. Firing a pistol that had been exposed to the elements in such a way was not only dangerous—it would most likely jam after he fired the first shot.
Fortunately, as Bolan risked a glance over the top of the dock, he saw that Jack Grimaldi had sprung to action and was laying down significant cover fire from an M16A3. Nestled beneath the fore-grips was a familiar cylindrical shape, and Grimaldi was using it with full effect. The first 40 mm HE grenade he triggered from the M203 landed squarely between two of the three vehicles that had been carrying the hit squad. It exploded in a fiery blast that took out a trio of gunners, blowing their appendages in every direction and consuming the effective range area with superheated gases in a dazzling, fireworks-style display of destruction.
Grimaldi ducked beneath the wing of the seaplane, slammed home a second grenade and came up just long enough to aim. He was poised to let it loose when several police vehicles rounded the far corner of the docks and sped toward the scene. Bolan waved him off, then ran for the cover of a stack of crate palettes nearby. The flimsy wood wouldn’t necessarily protect him, but it would conceal him from his enemies, and it was difficult for them to hit what they couldn’t see. As it was, the arrival of the cops had diverted their attention, and they no longer seemed concerned with killing Bolan.
Grimaldi saw the break, reached into the plane to grab the weapons satchel, then ran like hell to get to Bolan. He dropped behind the crates with his friend, setting the satchel between them and presenting the Executioner with a grin. “Cavalry to the rescue.”
Bolan nodded his thanks as he withdrew an M4A1, this one a carbine, sighted over the top of the crates and began to trigger controlled bursts. Two of the enemy fell under the soldier’s marksmanship before they realized if they stayed they’d be trapped in a cross fire. Grimaldi followed suit and managed to get one more man with a 3-round burst that included a head shot before the survivors piled into their vehicles and drove out of there in a big hurry.
A number of police vehicles that had closed the gap headed in pursuit, but two more stopped. Bolan ordered Grimaldi to stay hidden, confident the cops hadn’t seen the pilot, and then left concealment and started running toward the stationary police vehicles. He’d held on to his rifle, but he had it pointed up and away from the police, the grip resting on his right shoulder and his left hand high in the air.
Two uniformed officers jumped from the sedan and drew on him. Bolan continued his approach but slowed and kept his hands in a neutral position. A second vehicle, an SUV, screeched to a halt behind the first. The driver who got out was an immediately familiar face, and one Bolan had hoped to be seeing again. She had her pistol out, but she didn’t point it at him. The two men riding with her, however, were another story. Bolan pegged them immediately as federal agents, even as they drew pistols and sighted on him.
“Hold up!” Shaffernik said to them and the two uniformed officers. “Everybody, stand down! He’s a friendly!”
The officers immediately obeyed, but the two agents weren’t quite so accommodating. One said, “Friendly? Until we know better, this guy is a suspected terrorist!”
Shaffernik shook her head. “I know him, and he’s not a terrorist. The guys that just ran from here are the terrorists. Now, you’re in my jurisdiction, and I’m telling you to put your guns down.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Bolan told the two men. “If you won’t trust me, then at least trust her.”
The men exchanged glances and slowly nodded to each other in agreement.
As they lowered their pistols, Bolan took a few closer steps and said, “Nice to see you again.”
“You, too, Blansky,” she said with a smile.
“Any chance we can use your wheels?”
“Your chariot awaits,” she replied. She shouted orders to the other two officers to follow her, then they piled into her SUV and left, Bolan riding shotgun, with the two Feds in back. Shaffernik got the current location of the chase underway and then headed in that direction. She mumbled something about knowing a shortcut and told her passengers to brace themselves.
“The ride’s going to be bumpy,” she said, turning suddenly off the hardtop on to a rutted path that barely passed for the definition of a trail.
“I thought you said you didn’t know this guy,” one agent said to Shaffernik.
“I never said that,” she replied. “I was about to answer, then we were interrupted.”
“So, then who the hell are you, mister?”
“The name’s Mike Blansky,” Bolan replied. “And I’m on your side, you can be sure of that.”
“How do we know?”
“Because the crew that just tried to blow me away are Russian terrorists, most likely part of the Russian Business Network.”
“What?” Philbin shouted. “Are you talking the Russian—?”
“Yeah. A full-blown mercenary team trained and financed by top RBN leaders in St. Petersburg.”
Wexler said, “What kind of proof to do you have? Ouch!” He rubbed his head and yelled, “Dammit, lady, slow down a bit. So, Blansky, how do you know this is the RBN?”
“Because I’ve been up against them before, and I know how they operate.”
“You think...” Philbin’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you saying it’s the RBN behind the crash of 195B?”
Bolan nodded as he watched the rough ride ahead of them. “And the disappearance of the Llewellyn, too. It’s also possible that they’ve take the Coast Guard personnel prisoner.”
“And what about the ship?”
“I don’t think they sank it. It’s too valuable. I believe it’s hidden.”
Wexler snorted. “Ridiculous! The military hasn’t found one single bit of evidence to suggest anything of the sort happened. Not to mention the fact there’s been no response from any of the normal signals we should be receiving from the vessel.”
“Which is exactly the point,” Bolan said, pausing to grab the hand bar on the A-frame as Shaffernik went over a particularly nasty bump. “My contacts have already determined beyond any doubt the RBN was able to disrupt all signals to and from the Llewellyn. And in order to do that they didn’t act alone. One of the men we’re chasing may well have the answer to our questions.”
“If we can take one or more of them alive,” Shaffernik interjected.
“Right. That’s going to be the real trick. And if these are members of the RBN, they won’t go quietly. Your officers could be headed into real trouble.”
“I’ve already told them to proceed with caution.”
“So, Blansky,” Philbin said. “Exactly what agency did you say you were with?”
War Everlasting (Superbolan) Page 11