by Tom Fugate
“This is M. R. Go ahead,” he used his initials and not his name since someone could be listening in.
“Have you been brought up to date on the soap opera?” I released the push to talk button.
“Yes I have. Is he still with you?” The man’s speech was slightly slurred. Probably on some weird drug combo again.
“Yes unless I decide to toss him overboard. What do you want done?”
“Overboard sounds neat and final. If you do not tie his feet he might last for hours. Of course that is best when you can stay and watch.” Yes, he had probably done that before. The man was psycho. “Do not bring him back. Better for my family if I have nothing to do with his death. There will be a bonus for you. Return to the location that you left from.”
“Affirmative. See you there.” I signed off the radio and turned it off.
Vincent was just short of soiling himself. I bet he had seen his boss/brother-in-law do something like this. He began to sob.
“Sylvia, do you want to tell him?” She nodded and grinned evilly. “This is your lucky day. Not only do you not go swimming but you get a chance to get even with him.” She got a very serious look on her face and said, “We’re Feds. You can become a witness or become very good at treading water. Which will it be?”
“I will tell you everything I can possibly think of about him,” he was almost hysterical with relief.
Now I just had to get him picked up before we made landfall. John arranged for a Coast Guard chopper to lift him right out of our boat. I took his wallet, watch and wedding ring before he was hoisted into the helicopter. Well except for who her brother was Vincent’s wife was possibly better off. We headed for the dock that we had originally loaded the money on board. Only two cars were waiting for us when we headed in.
As we neared the dock our guns were visible. Jacob had gotten a grease gun from one of the shielded lockers. I had my thirty caliber carbine and Sylvia was cradling the shotgun. Robertson was alone at the dock, but you could see his body guards in the cars.
“Why the show of firepower? Don’t you trust me?” He looked almost a little upset.
“As our president says, trust but verify. I thought we should be ready in case you had changed your mind. We dropped him about five miles out. If they find a body,” I tossed him the billfold with the watch fastened around it to hold it closed, “there is no id on the body. His wedding ring is in the billfold.”
“Your bonus for extra duty.” He tossed me a large manila envelope. “There is $150,000 in there. Split it anyway you like. Call me early in the week about more work.” He walked to his Mercedes, got in and was driven away. We headed back to our transportation. Jacob would take the boat back to Key Largo and then return north. Before we got to the car I got opened the envelope Robertson had given me. I split the money in half and handed 75K to each of my partners.
“For your retirement or contingency fund.” Jacob nodded and Sylvia looked at me with a puzzled expression. “You don’t have an escape fund?” Jacob shook his head at her ignorance.
“What are they teaching people at the FARM now days?” He shook his head dramatically as he spoke.
“What is he talking about,” she said looking at me.
“Most people in covert ops have a safe deposit box somewhere. Inside is some money and false identification. Enough to get you away from a bad situation or to disappear on. Most of us have several scattered around. This is perfect money for that. No one knows about it. Do you understand now?” She nodded assent. “This is dirty money. Maybe it will get used for a good purpose sometime.” She said nothing and I left her alone with her thoughts. Me? I had the 50K he had given us before we left.
We got back to the car. Jacob headed out the channel and south. We took a round about route to the safe house. All in all it had been a good day. We had met the Russian and knew where he was. We had gained a willing informant and Melvin Robertson thought we had committed murder for him. So he either thought he had something on us or thought we were like him.
Chapter 26
There was an awkward moment at the house. We had gotten back and decided to settle in for the night. I thought about knocking on her door and actually started into the hall. Her door was opening as mine was. The moment disappeared in a puff of smoke. I made excuses about checking the alarm and she headed for the bathroom. So nothing happened that night. I guess it was just too embarrassing to admit that we had possibly been thinking the same thing.
The next few days were spent in debriefing, planning and keeping up appearances. We went to some clubs but never stayed long. A time or two we saw Melvin and politely waved, but had no other contact till early the next week. When that week started we settled into something of a routine. Jacob and I made at least two trips a week to Cuba with bags full of money. I was beginning to have quite the stash of Cuban Cigars. I had gotten Yuri to switch to rum from the vodka.
Now the money we delivered was treated before delivery with an ultraviolet dye. Our people wanted to be able to see where it surfaced. Someone came aboard offshore and treated the money on the way to the delivery. The dye was a fascinating concoction. There was a second chemical added to the dye that kept it non ultraviolet visible for two weeks. Once the second chemical evaporated out the money would glow under an ultraviolet light. This way we had a trace method and the people we delivered it to would not find it. Most people will check for something like ultraviolet dye when they first get something. No one expects it to change after it is in their possession.
We studied more of the layout in Cuba with each visit. Our new informant was a regular songbird. Things began to come together. The one thing that some of the DEA people and others wanted was to catch Robertson in possession of drugs. Drug enforcement officers are sometimes too focused on their specialty. The old saying goes that to a hammer everything looks like a nail. They wanted a drug bust for the front pages of the newspapers. Never mind that the money laundering, conspiracy and other stuff would put him away at least as long. They were drug enforcement and were thinking about their appropriations from congress.
We started trying to set something up. After a couple of weeks of hauling for our quarry he relaxed around me. He knew I did not move drugs or use drugs. We got the ball rolling by taking down some of his mid level distributors. Vincent may have been stupid but his memory was excellent and he ratted out a lot of people. Some of them we left in place and some of them we took out of action. The end result was making product stay off the street. When your sales force is gone, product sales go down.
One of the days when I was at his dealership to get instructions I mentioned that the word on the street was that a lot of his people were being pulled in. The arrests were scattered around and not happening on a regular basis so he was not sure if it was bad luck or good police work. I asked if he knew anyone who could help him move product in a different area. Since the idea seemed to appeal to him that made sense as a way to bring in new people and get that front page drug bust for the concerned parties. We took two weeks to find the people to help and to get everything set up. Then it was show time.
A young cop named Fred Jenkins was one of the new faces sent in from a department outside of Miami. He had done no undercover and had been out of the academy for a short time. He did not reek of the cop attitude yet so he would work. His job was strictly as a driver. Fred drove the pickup vehicle for a couple of DEA types from the west coast that I introduced to Robertson as old acquaintances. The story is that they needed product for some places in Tennessee. The first exchange went without a hitch. That first buy was small about 3 kilograms (about 7 pounds for you non metric types). I was not at any of the early buys. They bought three to five kilos about four times. Robertson got paid and all was good.
The time came to make the big buy of about 20 Kilos. Melvin asked me to come by the exchange. I was not sure why but I could not think of a good reason to say no. We needed to keep the man happy. The deal was going down on a Saturday aft
ernoon at the airport in West Palm Beach. Security in the parking lots well away from the airport was much laxer then than now. I briefed General Fleming on the upcoming operation. This was the one where Robertson would be arrested. He was like me and had a bad feeling but not so bad as to abort. You cannot eliminate all risk in my job. A package arrived at the command center the next day. It was for me.
Inside the small box was what looked like a thin, short sleeved sweatshirt. There was something inside the shirt that was not quite as flexible as a shirt should have been. There was a note from Sarge. “Lee, this is a new protective vest that some old friends of mine have come up with. Please use it. I have a bad feeling.” I have said it before but it bears repeating. When a man who lived through WWII and a lot of other very bad situations has a bad feeling you pay attention. I tried the protective shirt on when I got back to the house. It was relatively light and very comfortable. There was a slight stiffness but it was very flexible. If Sergeant-Major Samuel Johnson, US Army retired, thought it was a good idea to wear that vest that was all that I needed to know.
The plans came together. Jacob would be a sniper on over watch and Sylvia would be his spotter. The exchange was supposed to go down with someone delivering cash to Robertson and then Fred driving off a van full of product. It was a simple exchange that should go down smoothly if Mr. Murphy stayed home.
Chapter 27
This was the day of the big takedown. I was armed to the teeth, with two pistols, a knife (or two) and the small revolver. I put the small gun in the left hand front pocket of my jacket. My attire was as usual, screw style and go for comfortable and practicality. I was even wearing running shoes. The jacket was not for style but to give me some extra pockets and cover my guns. In my right jacket pocket was a device that looked like a garage door opener. This was my sole means of sending a message to Jacob. In my ear I had a small earpiece that was an almost invisible radio, but it was receive only. You just could not put a transmitter with any power in a package that small. The ones you see in TV and movies were not real in the mid 1980s.
This meeting and transfer was not really my mission. I was only here because Robertson had asked me to be since I introduced the parties. Something was leaving a bad taste. My gut was telling me that something was wrong. The way that my gut felt had made me double sure to wear the vest that Sam Johnson had sent me. It was light and comfortable. If nothing happened then I was wearing extra clothing and if things went south I was a little better prepared.
I parked my car well away from the appointed meeting place. I wanted to walk in and make sure that all of the various local LEOS (Law Enforcement Officers) and FEDS were no where to be seen. Many an arrest has been blown because some came out of their hiding place for a smoke or to do something else trivial. Things looked good. I knew that sweating away in some vans were a lot of heavily armed men waiting on a signal that I would be giving. The device in my pocket was not for that, the move in signal was me stretching both arms over my head as if I was stiff. The button would only be pushed if things went wrong. After that Jacob was in charge of whether or not the shooting started. Some FED had argued that he should make the call. I took him aside and had a talk. I explained that while he might be a fine man I had no idea how he would react under pressure. I trusted Jacob with my life. He came around to my way of thinking when I threatened his life.
The exchange was a simple one. Fred would drive up in a medium sized car with a bodyguard. Robertson would show up with his security and then when he gave the okay a van would pull up. I would verify the money and the contents of the van. Then they would exchange the car keys for the van keys and everyone would leave happy. Simple, clean and should not draw a lot of attention. Not that drawing attention would matter. I do not think anyone in that parking lot was a civilian.
The van was already there when I walked up, so were some of Robertson’s men. I went ahead and checked out the van to get that out of the way for when Robertson arrived. The entire batch of product was in the vehicle. I would wait until Melvin showed up to check the money. The wait was a short one. Robertson was not wearing his sunglasses when he first got out of the back of his Mercedes. His eyes seemed wrong and then I realized that his eyes seemed normal and I was used to seeing them messed up with drugs. My spidey sense began to tingle. If this man was sober then something was very wrong with this entire day.
I put my hands in my jacket pockets to have them near a gun and the go switch. Sylvia must have seen me tense up through the spotting scope.
“Is something wrong?” I heard her voice in my ear. My position was facing their location.
“OH YEAH.” I mouthed silently.
“You just do the Kool-Aid guy?” This voice belonged to Jacob. No matter what part of the country you are from, Detroit or the Blue Ridge Mountains, you shared Saturday cartoons and their commercials if you grew up in the sixties. I had not chosen that style of reply consciously, but it did convey my feelings that something was about to crash down. The Kool-Aid guy crashed through walls. “Bad vibe boss?” I nodded slightly. “Ready when you need me. Just give the signal if you can.” I bobbed my head slightly again. “Message understood.” Jacob was now into the extreme professional mode.
Robertson put on his sunglasses and walked over to me. “Have you checked the money?”
“I was waiting for you. I did verify the contents of the van. Everything there looks good.” He nodded at me. He and I walked to back of the car that Fred had driven up in. Fred popped the trunk. I noticed but it did not truly register that Robertson was not really looking at the money. He was looking at someone but it was not me.
“The money is all there,” I said as I turned to him. I could see Robertson almost shaking with rage. I closed the trunk, put both hands back in my jacket pockets and saw Sammy the door guard from the party house swing a pistol grip shotgun from under a jacket. I had pressed the button under my right thumb as soon as I saw the shotgun. The shotgun was not pointed in my direction but at Fred.
“God damned cop,” was coming out of Robertson’s mouth as Sammy raised the gun. I saw Robertson’s hand move inside his jacket.
“Gun,” was one voice that I heard in my ear, “going hot” was the next thing I heard. Someone was yelling “GO, GO, GO,” on the radio net. I do not know if the voices were the same or not.
My brain went into that hyper speed mode and things around me began to move through molasses. As my right hand went to my right hip for a big pistol my left hand brought the .22 magnum revolver out and after thumbing back the hammer I snapped a shot at Sammy. I was aiming center mass on him and saw the bullet impact. His arm dropped and the shotgun began to point downward. The blast of the twelve gauge going off seemed monstrously loud. Sammy’s head disappeared as Jacob got into action with his sniper rifle. I remember thinking how that was okay with me. I did not like that guy. My right hand came clear of my holster with the .45 pistol. I pumped two shots into the remaining bodyguard as he tried to get a weapon up. Robertson swung a large revolver in my direction and pointed it at my chest. My slowed down perception of the world allowed me to see the muzzle flash as the revolver went off. I sometimes think when I look back at the incident that I saw the bullet coming at me, but I know that is impossible.
I thought that I was a dead man when I felt the impact. It felt as if I had been struck by something large and flat, like a shovel. Black out? Not quite. I was still awake but groggy when I saw smoke grenades begin to billow. I could see men in swat gear running toward the scene. A moment later I felt a concussion that could only have come from a flashbang. That concussive blast was more than I could stand and I faded to black.
Chapter 28
I woke up not in a hospital but on a stretcher outside of an ambulance at the scene of the shooting. Jacob and Sylvia were on either side of the stretcher. I tried to raise up. Jacob put a hand on my shoulder and held me down.
“Stay put. You just took a .357 round at almost point blank range. That vest th
at your friend the Sergeant-Major sent you saved your life. The impact trauma alone should have killed you.” He was grinning but still looked concerned. Sylvia was worried too.
“The vest is a prototype. Kevlar with a fine titanium chain mail in the middle.” I could not speak long sentences. My ribs hurt bad.
“That was not enough to spread the force to make it nonlethal. I know some physics.” Sylvia was speaking now.
“I called him after I got the vest. There is some special wiring through the chain mail, piezoelectric crystal wiring. When it gets hit really hard it generates a current. Somehow that locks the chain mail into a solid mass. So it is like shooting armor plate and the force is spread across the whole vest.” I may have said this before, but when people want to be on the good side of your agency you get some really neat toys before other people do. Someone trying to curry favor had just saved my life.
I did raise myself up enough to survey the scene. There were four or five covered bodies. Jacob answered my unasked question, “None of our people are dead. That young cop, Fred may loose a leg but you saved his ass. Robertson got away. I did see you fire shots at him but I don’t think you hit him.”
“Those shots must have been pure reflex. I do not even remember him running away.”
“Get this man to a hospital,” Jacob said to one of the ambulance personnel. Just before they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance Jacob put something into my hand. It was the spent and expanded slug that my vest had stopped. “A souvenir. I will see you soon.” He waved as they loaded me up. Sylvia waved also.
At the hospital they x-rayed and poked and prodded. They seemed amazed that there was no bullet wound, especially when I showed them the slug. I did have some cracked ribs and some bruising that was going to be widespread and spectacular. At least there was no bullet hole that I would have to explain to any of the family. I think my mother was beginning to think that I was not really in a public relations job. While I spent a few days in the hospital, mostly as a precaution, I kept a check on Fred. Somehow I was going to make things right for him or at least get justice.