Predators and Drones

by Richard Herron

  Turner was now only a ripple, recent history. The existential threat—ripples become waves, and that wasn't good for the Alliance. The Colonel's grip wasn't as tight as I'd thought it was. Subtle nuances regarding family safety might have lost impact over time. Maybe not his fault, but there was a cost for failure.

  Moore picked up his in-house phone and buzzed Robbie Hamilton’s desk. Robbie picked up before the second ring.

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “Do you have a few minutes for me, Robbie?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be right there.” Ninety seconds later, Robbie was tapping on Moore’s inner office door.

  “Come in, Robbie… sit down. I need to chat with you about the Turner situation. How did the insurance policy meeting go with his girlfriend?”

  “Oh, easy, Sir. She appeared surprised, embarrassed. She's on board with not saying anything about it to anyone.”

  “Excellent. We've got a bit more of a problem brewing, and I need you to provide some critical cleanup. You able to shift focus to this right now?”

  “Yes, Sir. Anything you need me to do.”

  Moore talked with Robbie for an hour, reviewing the events that had taken place, as far as he knew. His conclusion, his rationale he shared–An asset’s value dropped in proportion to growing liabilities. In this case, the liability had increased dramatically. At the end of their chat, Moore gave Robbie the ‘go ahead’. He'd travel to the Virginia/Maryland border, work out the details to take care of the issue once and for all.

  91. PERSON OF INTEREST

  The drive south didn't include conversation. Lyle figured that'd be best. That general idea was communicated clear enough when the cap got pulled down tight over his head and face. At one point, he'd asked, "Do I have to wear this hat?"

  "Yup. If it gets loose, I’ve got tape."

  Lyle could only think about, hope for any explosive opportunity to get free. He'd need just a moment to overpower this man and hurt him badly, before killing him. At the moment, he could see only little shards of light through the cap’s meshed fibers. He thought he could shimmy it up a little on one side, leaning against the passenger window, but he was wrong.

  Lyle stayed silent, occasionally adjusting in the seat to attempt to improve his comfort. His hands still bound behind the back, with little room to move. He stewed in his discomfort, his anger.

  ◆◆◆

  Dan drove the highway and while he appeared focused on the road, his brain was playing, re-playing and playing again the course of the last many hours. The replay exercise helped him to recall little bits of information. These might provide new light on what was hidden from plain sight, hovering in the shadows.

  When they arrived in Santa Barbara, Dan drove around, scouting for an appropriate location. He decided that Shoreline Park would suffice, if everything went smoothly. He figured Simmons would be flexible. As for his package, he might need further inducements, in order to get his complete cooperation.

  Dan found a parking spot close to a bench along the green belt. He got out of the driver’s seat, walked around to open the back hatch, picked up the towel, shoved the roll of tape into his waistband, then came around, opened Lyle's door.

  "Sorry. You have to have this towel again. Just for a few minutes. Open your mouth."

  Lyle obeyed, opened his mouth, and Dan stuffed the towel into the gap, then the hat was pulled down to cover it. Dan pulled the tape, began to wrap a band of it around, from the chin, behind the head, back to the chin. His passenger wasn't totally still.

  "Don't wiggle!" Doesn't seem to like the tape so much. Dan's smile crept back. He broke the tape, patted it close. It wouldn't go anywhere without help. "Now don't move. I'll be watching you."

  He shut the door, stepped away from the car, called Simmons. Dan provided the detective with the location, informed him that his person of interest would be bound and wrapped in a blanket on a bench along the shore.

  Returning to the car, he grabbed up the blanket from the back, and the pistol he'd taken from the man. As a last moment thought, he also picked up the marker in his bag, then opened Lyle’s door and pulled him out to standing.

  He walked him to the bench, then quickly wrapped the blanket around Lyle's body, after stuffing the unloaded gun into his waistband at his back. The wrap included a layer up, around his head. He used the tape in long, circular loops to secure his bundle into a large, burrito-looking package, then pushed him down, to sit on the bench.

  He leaned in, wrote "Cops on the way" across the face area of the blanket, then moved around behind the bench, whispered close to an ear, "Nighty-night, now.”

  His strong arms wrapped around Lyle’s neck to perform a choke hold, using extra pressure to overcome the blanket's bulk. It took a bit longer than normal, with the padding, but in about fifteen seconds, Lyle’s struggles stopped and he slumped.

  Even if a passerby stopped to see what was going on, Dan counted on them to call the P.D. He doubted they would presume to un-bundle him, and even so, that'd take some time.

  He returned to the car, fired it up,and as he drove away, his thoughts returned to the nagging questions surrounding what Simmons had said earlier on the phone, about a suggestion of government agency involvement. That led him to call Tony.

  92. TONY's HOMEWORK

  The appropriate connections were key—People, resources, devices. Tony approached them all in much the same way. He maintained and kept clean contacts in the government, refreshed them as needed. It wasn’t difficult for him to learn some interesting details about JCT, LLC.

  On the cover, a producer of electronic control systems for automotive and agricultural equipment. Those were a thin veneer on the cake. Window dressing to provide benign business dealing bona fides. The big cake, the gravy that filled the boat on Turner’s table were the contracts held with several big hitters. Among them: General Dynamics, General Atomics Aeronautical, General Electric, Lockheed Martin, Raytheon. These were the big bones. The framework of the military industrial complex, as referred to by Eisenhower in his farewell address to the American public in 1961.

  A small detail he picked up from an industry insider; JCT’s products were not the best product options out there. Their big boot was wedged in the door, however, and competition was nowhere in sight. JCT rode in the groove with clear sailing skies, as far as Tony was able to discern. It seemed that Turner had a tiger by the tail.

  A Defense Department source went further. Turner’s role was sensitive, and he had people high up in the D.O.D. who looked after him, provided security. Tony passed along to Dan that the way it sounded, if the Senator had been put down, either he'd crossed some very powerful people, or he was the victim in some unlucky fluke of a robbery.

  As far as Dan was concerned, his gut was tuned correctly, after this insight that Tony had been able to produce. Turner had connections, and it seemed that he stepped on some of those toes and was now merely a part of the biological food chain.

  “Boomer, thanks for the time you have spent looking into this mess.”

  “Hey, Man, piece of cake, but I gotta tell you, it has only whet my appetite. I'm thinking that you've got some dangerous waters ahead, think we should tag team to get through it.”

  Dan was happy to hear this, because as he thought about a confrontation that loomed on the horizon, he was certain that some diversionary tactics would be needed.

  “How about I come over so we can do a little planning?”

  “Burgers'll be on the grill and the beer's always ready.”

  93. DETECTIVE SIMMONS

  He wasted no time in getting to Shoreline Park and had Miguel follow him in a patrol car. Just as Mr. Smith had said, they found a blanket-wrapped, man-sized bundle on the ground in front of one of the benches. There were two sweat-stained joggers standing nearby, and one was talking into a cell phone. Dispatch had sent out a radio call and Simmons let the dispatch operator know that he was on scene and had back-up.

  After a quick interview wit
h the runners, who had not seen how the bundle arrived, Miguel thanked them, asked them to be on their way, and to discourage them from hanging around, he informed them that this was an ongoing investigation and he needed them to leave the area.

  Meanwhile, Alex began to pull away tape from around the upper portion of the bundle, and Miguel came over to assist, holding the package securely, informing the occupant that he was in police hands and that he was safe.

  As the bundle’s head emerged, and the cap and gag were removed, Simmons could easily recognize that this was one of the men he'd seen in the drone video clip.

  “Good afternoon, Sir. What the heck led to you being bundled up like this?”

  “I was kidnapped by some guy. Cut me loose, will ya?”

  “Well certainly, Sir. We’re working on that but I need to know what’s going on. What's your name?”

  “Uhh, Bandahl, Lyle Bandahl.”

  "Do you know who did this, Mr. Bandahl? Why'd it happen?” As he watched the man’s face, he signaled Rivera to back off of further unwrapping.

  “No! I don’t know who he is. Cut me loose!”

  “Sir, Mr. Bandahl,” Simmons continued with a soft, patient voice, “we'll get you free of all this stuff, but I need to ask if you have any weapons or dangerous items that might harm us.”

  The man denied having weapons but was clearly anxious and upset, which Simmons used to his advantage.

  “Sir, you're safe now. Whoever did this is long gone, so I need you to relax…”

  “I'm not going to relax 'til I get free.”

  “Will you spell your name for me, Sir?” Simmons continued, and the man didn’t respond. “I tell you what. I'm going to free up your legs so that you can walk. We're going over to that patrol car," he nodded over his shoulder. "We'll get you downtown and make certain you don’t have injuries, and we’ll see if we can figure out who did this to you.”

  “I don’t want to go with you. Let me loose.”

  “At this point, Sir, we're going to detain you until we can make certain you're okay. Maybe see about who might have done this.”

  “Am I under arrest?” the man bellowed, and Simmons assured him that he was only being detained for now. That seemed to be enough. The man stopped talking and looked away, avoiding any other eye contact with the policemen.

  Simmons stood facing him, holding his shoulders, while the patrolman unwrapped tape binding the blanket, pulled it loose. As the blanket fell away, the cop saw the pistol tucked into the back of the waistband.

  "Gun!"

  He saw that the man's wrists were bound. "Don't move," his voice terse, grabbing the wrists, he pulled up on the arms to force the man to bend at the waist, hands up and away from the grip of the gun. He cautiously extracted the weapon, pinching the grip.

  "You said no weapons!" Simmons had his face up close.

  "That ain't mine."

  “Really!?" Simmons paused, nodding at Miguel. "You're under arrest."

  "On what charge?"

  "For now, failing to report a weapon in your possession."

  "I told you. That ain't mine!"

  "We'll see." He looked at Miguel. "Officer, read him his rights."

  94. BURGER, BREW, WHAT TO DO?

  As soon as large burgers came off the grill and went inside on a platter, the two men fixed them up with condiments, grabbed two cold beers from the fridge and went into the living room to chow down.

  Dan quickly summarized that from the way things appeared, his cover, his contact in the agency had compromised his safety and possibly targeted him.

  Tony concurred. He'd attended security briefings run by Col. Faulkner twice, and reminded his friend that the colonel had been a weasel on both occasions, when Tony had asked for back-up information pertinent to their action.

  In Tony’s words, the colonel had “acted like I was asking for his first born” and wasn't interested or willing to delve deeper into specific intelligence issues. He seemed to take offense at the requests, as if it had been suggested that his debrief was inaccurate or inadequate, and responded defensively in order to protect his own position, whatever that was.

  Dan asked Tony how he felt about taking a trip to the D.C. area and Tony said he was on board. Dan verbally sketched out a plan that would include Tony’s presence for some diversion. He made it clear to Tony that he wanted his assistance, but that helping in this might get Tony close to the heat of a fire.

  Tony smiled and responded that it was getting a little cool in southern California anyway. They mapped out a strategy and took their first steps on the arrangements the next day.

  95. COP SHOP INTERVIEW

  Rivera escorted Lyle into a holding room, sat him at the bare table, told him to sit tight. A few minutes later, a man came into the room with a small duffel. He opened a clipboard, pen in hand, ready.

  “What's your name?”

  Lyle looked away. The man began pulling out a blood pressure cuff, stethoscope and other things from the bag.

  “Hey. I'm fine. I don't got any injuries.”

  “Would it be alright if I measured your vital signs?”

  “No. I don’t want any medical attention. I want to be free to go.”

  "Well, Sir. Okay. I can’t let you go, but I’ll indicate that you refuse medical attention.”

  As he exited through the door, Lyle yelled, “Get that god-damned detective in here.” On the other side of the two-way glass, Simmons and Rivera watched.

  ◆◆◆

  “Miguel, let’s let him stew for a while. I think he doesn’t like being here too much. Maybe that'll help. I'm going to review the video we received and in about an hour, I want you to see if our friend would like some coffee, a soda, or something to eat. Let’s see what we can get going. Maybe we’ll find some common ground.”

  ◆◆◆

  Minutes dragged slowly over the next hour as Lyle simmered. Rather be a kidnap victim than be in a fucking jail cell. While this wasn't a cell, it was jail. For a brief moment, the image of that little stucco cottage off of a sunny beach popped into his visual cortex, reminding him that he shoulda, coulda, woulda, and “FUCK!” bounced through the walls into adjoining rooms and echoed out down the hall.

  ◆◆◆

  Where they stood watching, smiles crept onto the faces of the two cops. About ninety minutes later, Miguel brought a hoagie sandwich and a soda into the holding cell. He apologized profusely for the detective’s poor behavior, but had to report that the detective had left the station and he wasn’t sure where he had gone.

  He listened attentively to Lyle’s ranting and angry diatribe, in between bites of his sandwich and slurping at the soda, including threats of lawsuit for false arrest, civil suits that would cost them their jobs, retirements.

  For his part, Miguel told their guest he was astounded at the way an upstanding citizen was being treated. He assured Mr. Bandahl that he would speak to the captain about this, and that it was only a matter of time.

  Miguel continued to listen, maintained a straight, sympathetic face, shaking his head and making ‘tsssk’ sounds at appropriate moments. When all that remained of the sandwich was a corner of bread on the wrapper, and the soda can sat next to it, he stepped close, scooped up the trash.

  “Hey, there’s some cake in the break room. I’ll go grab some for ya, get you another soda.”

  He turned, exited the room. As he entered the hallway, closing the door behind him, he handed off everything to Simmons, who had emerged from the next room.

  ◆◆◆

  Simmons hustled those items to his lab guys, who'd received heads up that he was coming. They'd assured him that they could have a simple match, if one existed, between blood and saliva within a couple days.

  96. VISE JAWS OPEN

  VIRGINIA

  Looking into Faulkner’s eyes would be critical. Questions about the Senator, about Dan’s home visitors. They'd need to get him away from Langley and alone. Shouldn't be difficult. If the colonel was rotten,
he’d be dangerous and in a defensive mode, so they had to hold cards that would keep the colonel from acting out.

  Tony convinced Dan that it would be smarter if Tony did the face to face and Dan stayed back, behind the curtain. If they worked it right, once they had the colonel in a neutral mode, they could join up and bring pressure to bear.

  With verifiable identifications in their respective alias covers, they flew to Baltimore, rented a car and secured a motel room.

  Dan called Faulkner using the satellite phone and asked for a meeting. The colonel suggested an out of the way place, and they agreed to a time and location. Perfect!Unbeknownst to Dan, it happened to be the colonel’s favorite bowling alley bar.

  Meet time at 1500. Tony and Dan pulled into the parking lot at 1415. They parked away from the building’s main entrance but with a clear view, and spent the time exploring ‘what if’s’ that might take place. At 1450, a car pulled into the lot and they could recognize the colonel driving, and alone. Dan stayed in the car while Tony, dressed in loose sweats, a ball cap and sunglasses, walked in.

  ◆◆◆

  After allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker interior, Tony walked through the bowling alley and into the cocktail lounge, spotted the colonel sitting at a booth. He walked over and sat down on the opposite side.

  By the time he'd finished saying, “Good afternoon”, another man approached, pushed himself onto the same bench seat, pressed something hard into Tony’s ribs, whispered, “Don’t move.”