Lady Justice and the Candidate (Lady Justice, Book 9)

by Robert Thornhill

  "Once the barge is secured to the dock and the first dozer starts to unload, we'll hit them."

  One of the senior members of the DEU spoke, "Do we have any idea how many men we'll be facing?"

  "Our best estimate is fourteen. There will be four men on the barge, four dump trucks with a driver and a wingman and probably two high-ranking members of the cartel overseeing the operation.

  "A word of caution --- Mexican cartels employ hit men known as 'sicarios' and the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration reports that these men are far more sophisticated and dangerous than any other organized criminal group in U.S. law enforcement history.

  "They use grenade launchers, automatic weapons, body armor, and sometimes Kevlar helmets. Some groups have also been known to use IED's, improvised explosive devices.

  "We'll have our hands full so be careful out there!"

  Ox and I, along with the other ten officers from our precinct piled into one of the troop carriers that the National Guard had supplied.

  Ox and I had been together as partners for my entire three years on the force and I trusted the big man with my life.

  I hated the fact that he couldn’t know that my impending death was not real. You just don’t lie to your partner.

  I tried my best to come up with something I could say to him to convey how I felt without tipping him off.

  Finally, I just said, “Sounds like it could get pretty rough out there today. I just wanted you to know that if anything should happen --- you’ve been the greatest partner ever.”

  “Geesh, Walt, that’s pretty gloomy. What could possibly happen? After all, we’re the Dynamic Duo.”

  I resisted the urge to give him a hug.

  The troop carriers stopped a few blocks from the dock.

  Ox and I were the only advance men in the squad. We were to make our way onto the barges on either side of where the Mexicans were to dock and just stay out of sight until the attack began.

  I crossed the open parking lot and climbed aboard my barge.

  There were bales and bundles of stuff loaded on the barge. I found a 55-gallon drum that looked pretty solid so I hunkered down beside it to wait for the action to begin.

  Then I noticed the words stenciled on the side of the drum, 'diesel fuel.' I made a mental note to ask Mark if he had any say-so as to what I might be hiding behind when the bullets started flying.

  As I waited, I watched the muddy water of the Missouri wrapping around the barge and I wondered what it was going to be like, diving into the swirling current.

  In about a half hour, four huge dump trucks pulled into the lot and backed up to the dock.

  A black SUV pulled in after them. I guessed those were the guys in charge.

  A few minutes later, I heard the chug-chug of a tug boat and saw the sand-laden barge plowing through the river current.

  I kept low and out of sight until the barge was moored to the dock.

  I heard the belch of the diesel engines as the front loaders came to life.

  The moment that the first loader buried his scoop into the sand, I heard the squeal of tires and the sound of sirens as the task force descended on the cartel.

  Moments later, what I was witnessing could have been a scene from Apocalypse Now.

  Automatic weapons from both sides erupted and I could hear the bullets as they impacted the troop carriers and the dump trucks.

  The most frightening sounds were the screams of the men when one of the bullets found its mark.

  I saw one of the sicarios come from behind a dump truck with a funny looking rifle that he held on his shoulder.

  Then I heard the cry from one of the task force, “TAKE COVER! GRENADE!”

  If that grenade was as powerful as I suspected it might be, I could see that our guys were sitting ducks behind those troop carriers.

  Ox and I had been ordered to just lay low and watch for anyone trying to escape by water. The plan, of course, was for me to slip into the water when no one was looking.

  The sicarios didn’t know that Ox and I were behind them, and I realized that I had a clear shot at the guy holding the grenade launcher.

  Mark had failed to give me any instructions about the situation that presented itself, so I figured I was on my own.

  I knew most of the guys crouching behind the troop carriers and there was no way that I was going to let them be blown away if I could help it.

  I knew I probably had one shot before the sicario launched the grenade.

  I took my pistol in both hands which I rested on the top of the 55-gallon drum, said a quick prayer and squeezed the trigger.

  I was elated when I saw the guy drop to the ground, but my elation turned to horror when I saw one of his companions pick up the launcher and aim it directly at my barge.

  HOLY CRAP! This certainly wasn’t part of the script!

  I figured that I had maybe five seconds before the barge I was standing on would be kindling.

  I raced across the barge and dived headfirst into muddy water just as the grenade hit the drum of diesel fuel.

  When my head broke the surface of the water, debris was falling from the sky, covering the choppy waves.

  The current was carrying me swiftly downriver and I frantically searched for the boat that Mark had promised.

  When I had been carried out of sight of the dock, I heard the roar of an outboard and saw a jon boat with two men heading my way.

  They fished me out of the river and as I lay gasping in the bottom of the boat, I began to feel my body parts.

  It was reassuring to know they were all still there.

  “You okay?” one of the Secret Service guys asked.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “That wasn’t exactly the scenario we had planned, but I’ll have to admit, it was certainly effective.”

  “So now I’m dead?”

  “Yeah. Congratulations!”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Secret Service guys guided the jon boat to an area where a gravel road ended in the water. I guessed that this was a favorite launching site for the fishermen that plied the river.

  A black cargo van with its engine idling was on the shore.

  As soon as my drippy feet hit the mud bank, the door flew open and Mark Davenport motioned me inside.

  “Hurry, Walt! Before someone sees you!”

  I climbed into the van and Mark wrapped a fleecy blanket around my shoulders.

  “Jesus, Walt! What in the world were you thinking back there? You nearly blew the whole operation!”

  “Hi Mark,” I replied with all the sarcasm that I could muster. “Good to see you too, and yes, I’m okay. Thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “I suppose I was a bit insensitive.”

  “You think!”

  “The good news is that no one would ever believe that you survived that blast. Oh, and just so you know, the task force wrapped things up right after you went into the water.”

  “No one else was hurt?”

  “Nope, just you.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Now we get you back to the hotel and get you cleaned up. You have a lot of prepping to do. If you’re going to be Ben Foster’s double, you need to know what the man stands for.”

  “Where is he, by the way?”

  “He’s coming into town tomorrow. He thought he ought to get to know the guy who might be taking a bullet for him and he figured the best way to find out about him was to go to his funeral.”

  Naturally, the first thing that I wanted to do was call Maggie and tell her that I was still breathing.

  Of course, I couldn’t. This operation was like being in Witness Protection. There could be absolutely no contact with anyone from the past.

  It was bad enough in Wit Sec, with the U.S. Marshals trying to hide witnesses from the criminal element. In my situation, I was being hidden from forces within the government itself --- and I knew all too well the sophistication of the government’s intelligence
gathering capabilities.

  One screw-up and my life as well as Foster’s wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

  I was relying on Captain Short who would be delivering the bad news of my death, to tell Maggie that I had survived the ordeal.

  Once I was settled into my suite at the Marriott, I was handed reams of paper and told to read.

  The lengthy manuscript was Ben Foster’s plan for a new and revitalized America.

  I read the first few pages and realized that I was in way over my head.

  If I had to pass a quiz later on, I figured that my political career might come to a screeching halt.

  It didn’t take long to realize that, aside from being away from Maggie --- and being dead --- this gig definitely had some perks.

  I was being boarded in a suite in one of the nicest hotels in Kansas City, I could order from room service whenever I wanted since I couldn’t go out in public and I was given a whole new wardrobe, right down to the scivvys, to match those of Ben Foster.

  All compliments of the U.S. Government.

  Our tax dollars at work.

  I was told that my funeral would be in two days.

  Maggie and I had taken part of our last days together to plan the funeral arrangements so that she didn’t have to carry that burden by herself.

  We decided that the service would be held at the Community Christian Church and that Pastor Bob would preside.

  While I didn’t attend regularly --- or even irregularly for that matter, Pastor Bob was my guy when I needed a moral pick-me-up.

  More than once his counsel had helped me through difficult times.

  Ben Foster arrived at the hotel the night before the service.

  We had a lovely dinner together, just chatting and getting to know one another.

  I had been curious to know how Ben was going to attend my funeral when we weren’t even supposed to know each other --- and especially since we looked exactly alike.

  I was informed that closed circuit TV cameras had been installed in the church and that we would have a live feed directly into the hotel suite.

  Apparently I was going to be able to witness my own funeral service.

  Not many folks can say that.

  Ben, Helen, Mark and I gathered in front of the TV a half hour before the service was to begin.

  I was amazed to see the long line of people waiting to enter the sanctuary.

  Naturally, officers from the Kansas City Police Department had turned out in force to honor one of their fallen brothers.

  I had done the same several times during my three years wearing the uniform.

  While danger is an everyday part of the job, it doesn’t really hit home until you see a grieving widow or kids who no longer have a father.

  Ox was seated between Officer Judy DeMarco, whom he had been dating for almost a year, and Vince Spaulding, my first recruit in the City Retiree Action Patrol. It’s tough to see any officer go down, but doubly so when it’s your partner.

  I had been a realtor for twenty-five years before trading my briefcase for a badge and during that time, I had helped hundreds of families buy or sell a home.

  I was surprised to see many of the families that had been my customers, waiting in line to find a seat.

  Dave Richards, my old broker at City Wide Realty, along with thirty or more of my fellow realtors filled three of the pews.

  When the camera panned the back row, Mark said, “Who’s that mope and who’s the gal with him?”

  My mouth dropped open when I saw Louie the Lip and Maxine seated as close to the exit as they could possibly get.

  “If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it to yourself.”

  “Promise,” he said.

  “The guy that looks like Mick Jagger is Louie the Lip. He’s a street hustler and con man. Willie knew him from his days on the street and he’s helped me in a couple of our tough cases. He’s sort of an unofficial CI. Maxine is a hooker. She works Independence Avenue. We shared Thanksgiving dinner with her a couple of years ago.”

  “I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, shaking his head.

  As was the current custom, a screen in the foyer was displaying images of me from my childhood to my last days as an officer.

  Maggie and I had gone through our albums and selected the photos we wanted displayed.

  I figured this couldn’t hurt since there was a distinct possibility that such a video might actually be needed if this assignment suddenly took a disastrous turn.

  As I watched the photos flip across the screen, it reminded me of the old 1950’s TV show, This Is Your Life, hosted by Ralph Edwards.

  I was about to go get a soda since I had seen most of the photos dozens of times, when a crystal-clear image of me in drag flashed across the screen.

  It was followed by my candy-striper photo and finally by my impression of a dying man.

  Apparently, my buddies at the precinct couldn’t resist poking fun at the old man one more time by adding photos of my undercover assignments that I had hoped were long forgotten.

  Ben doubled over laughing. “Looks like you’ve had quite a distinguished career. After doing all of that, being me should be a breeze!”

  When the guests were seated, Maggie came from a room behind the sanctuary followed by Dad, Bernice, Mary, Willie, Jerry and the Professor.

  They were seated in the front row that had been reserved for them.

  I could see that their eyes were swollen and their faces were puffy.

  It was obvious that my death had been hard on all of them and I hated that I had to put them through such pain.

  Everyone’s eyes were on the photo of me in my dress blues on the day I received my first Medal of Valor. It sat atop the flag-draped casket that, of course, was empty since my body hadn’t been recovered.

  The sanctuary fell silent as Pastor Bob took his place behind the pulpit.

  “My friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Walter Williams.

  “I knew Walt pretty well --- not because he was a regular at my congregation, because he certainly wasn’t. In fact, I can’t remember seeing him in the congregation listening to one of my sermons more than a couple of times. Maybe that says something about my sermons.”

  That brought a smile to some of the very sad faces.

  “I knew Walt because he came to this house of worship when his soul was troubled and when he felt that his burden was more than he could bear. He sought counsel and guidance and left knowing that he was not carrying his burdens alone.

  “On one of the rare occasions that I did see him in the congregation, I had said that 'sitting in church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.' Afterward, he told me how much he liked that.

  “I think he liked it because he was the embodiment of it.

  “Although Walt rarely attended services, I can truthfully say that the life this man lived came as close to the teachings of the Master as any man I have known.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. I had no idea he felt that way and I knew that I certainly didn’t.

  Pastor Bob picked up his Bible, “Reading from the seventh chapter of Matthew, ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?

  Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.

  A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.

  Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.

  Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.

  Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.’

  “The worth of a man is known by the fruits of his labors. Rather than me sermonizing further, which I’m sure would bore Walt to death --- pardon the pun, I think it would be appropriate to hear from some folks whose life he has
touched.”

  Pastor Bob took his seat and Ox came to the pulpit.

  “In my twenty-five years on the job, this is the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. Walt was more than my partner --- he was my good friend. More than once he has saved my life and I his, and that forms a bond between men that is difficult for most folks to understand.

  “The motto of our department is ‘to serve and protect’ and that is exactly what Walt did, day in and day out.

  “I was proud to serve with him and I will miss him very much.”

  A tear ran down my cheek as the big man left the pulpit.

  The next person to come forward was Willie.

  “I ain’t much on speakin’, but I wanted folks to know how I felt ‘bout Mr. Walt.

  “Ain’t many men dat would take a black man who had lost his way off de street an’ give him a home an’ a job.

  “Mr. Walt done all dat and even mo’, he be my best friend. I gonna miss him too.”

  Dad was the next to step up.

  “I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t there for Walt when he was growing up. I was a terrible father, but Walt somehow managed without me. Maybe it was because I was such a bad example.

  “A parent isn’t supposed to have to bury his child and today I regret all of those years we could have had together, but as I stand here today, I can say that I’m proud of the man my son became in spite of me.

  “These past two years since he took me into his home have been the happiest of my life and I will treasure them forever.”

  After Mary and the Professor said kind words that brought tears to my eyes, I thought that this part of the service was about over, and I was surprised when a figure rose from among the officers --- Lincoln Murdock!

  Murdock had been my nemesis from my very first day on the job. He resented an old guy carrying a badge and he went out of his way to make my life as miserable as possible.

  It wasn’t until Ox picked the guy up by the collar and slammed him against the wall that he began to back off.

  While we never became buddies, his sarcastic remarks had diminished over the years.

  “I can be a real ass sometimes --- oh, sorry, pastor, --- and I wasn’t very kind to Walt Williams. I thought the department had made a mistake starting the City Retiree Action Patrol. I couldn’t have been more wrong.