“Good idea,” Kintrell said, as he watched his partner checking something out.
“What’s up, Alvarez?” he called to her.
Alvarez had moved to the opposite end of the roof. She peered over the edge.
“Rope here,” she replied.
A dark nylon rope was attached to a pipe that was set against the edge of the roof, dangling down to the ground.
“Rappelled four floors, probably has some military training. It looks kinda like what the Seals use,” said Stryker.
“That’s a Rothco,” said Kintrell, “probably the best rappelling rope on the planet. Special Forces and Seals use them, expensive stuff.”
“You with the Teams?” asked Stryker.
Kintrell nodded, still looking at the rope.
“Over there?” said Stryker.
“Before I knew better,” said Kintrell, adding, “Lanny, see if there were any reports of stolen ordnance from military bases recently.”
“On it, Tom,” said Alvarez taking out her phone.
“Well, if there’s a bright side to this, leaving the rifle behind may be a sign this was just a one-shot deal, maybe a personal gripe,” said Kintrell.
“Or maybe the shooter wanted us to find the rifle for some other reason,” said Stryker.
“What other reason?” asked Kintrell.
“Not sure, but this guy’s a pro, a planner,” said Stryker.
“Explain.”
“The fact that he chose this weapon, which isn’t the easiest weapon to obtain and conceal the fact that he obtained it. He abandoned it, which says he wanted us to find it. Why?”
“Maybe he didn’t want to lug the weapon as he rappelled down the building,” said Kintrell.
Stryker shook his head. “The scope alone on that rifle costs north of three thousand dollars, not something you’d want to leave behind.”
“All good points, hopefully forensics will come up with something.”
“How far of a shot was it?” Alvarez asked.
“Estimate it at close to four hundred yards,” Stryker said. “A good shot, but not exceptionally difficult. A competent marksman could make that shot with a good deer rifle with the right scope, which is one more reason I believe whoever it was, wanted us to find the rifle for reasons not yet apparent.”
“Why would the weapon be altered?” Alvarez asked.
“Maybe it had to be fit in something that wouldn’t accommodate its full length,” said Stryker.
“Norm, do me a favor. Have a few of your guys check the alleyway behind this building in both directions for something that rifle would fit in. Have them check for two or three blocks,” said Kintrell.
“What are the most likely ex-fil routes from here, Norm?” asked Alvarez.
“If he wanted to avoid detection by traffic cams, he would have made his way through the neighborhood and avoided Cottman Avenue. Fastest way out of the city would be north or east into New Jersey. The neighborhoods on the periphery will have to be canvassed for any suspicious traffic seen in the last four or five hours. Especially any vehicles or motorcycles parked near this warehouse.”
Alvarez’s phone vibrated. As she listened, she pursed her lips.
“What?” said Kintrell.
Alvarez spoke into the phone. “Hold on a second.” She looked up again. “There was a break-in at one of the armories at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina, three months ago. Three MK13s with scopes were stolen along with eight M-4s, a crate of fragmentation grenades, two thousand rounds of ammunition, four M-79 grenade launchers and … fifteen Claymore mines.”
Kintrell and Norm looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“Get the serial number from the piece and see if it’s on the list,” said Kintrell.
“On it.” Alvarez stooped over the weapon and renewed her conversation on the phone.
“If I can swing it, Norm, would you be willing to work with us on this thing?” asked Kintrell.
Stryker didn’t hesitate. “Sure”
“I’ll clear it with your people. Maybe you could check your files on the congressman, see if there were any threats, anything out of the ordinary. Lanny and I will do some digging on our end. I probably don’t have to tell you this, but don’t say anything to the press if they come snooping around. Refer everything to our office, without mentioning any names.”
“Understood.”
Chapter 3
After returning to FBI Headquarters at Sixth and Arch Streets, Kintrell learned that the rifle was, in fact, one of the ones stolen from Camp Lejeune.
Kintrell and Alvarez met with Dede McGriff in her office.
“Tom, what have we got?” asked Dede.
“Forensics is at the scene where we recovered the weapon, a Marine sniper rifle. It was stolen from Camp Lejeune three months ago, along with other ordnance, including fifteen Claymore mines. We have asked Philly PD to canvas the area for suspicious vehicle sightings. Our people are analyzing area traffic cams. We will be questioning the congressman’s aides and family members to see if there have been any threats of note. Ballistics will more than likely confirm the weapon found on the roof is the murder weapon. Norm …”
“Stryker,” interjected Alvarez.
“Thank you. Stryker’s a sharp guy, knows weaponry and can think on his feet. Believe he’d be an asset.”
“Okay, I’ll arrange it through the Commissioner’s office. You mentioned Claymore mines. Refresh my memory,” said McGriff.
Alvarez answered. “A Claymore mine is an anti-personnel device about the size of an old VCR tape. It’s packed with C-4 high explosive and ball bearings. It has retractable legs that allow it to stand upright and be aimed. When fired it can pepper advancing enemy from knees to necks for forty yards across.”
“Shit,” said McGriff.
“Well, hopefully this goof just bought the rifle and doesn’t have the rest of the ordnance,” said Kintrell.
Both Alvarez and McGriff nodded their heads, but they all thought the same thing. Not bloody likely.
“Tom, get on the horn with ATF and see what they have on the robbery at LeJeune.” McGriff turned to Alvarez. “Lanny, see if you can light a fire under forensics to get us some details as soon as possible. I think it might be a good idea for you to give the first press briefing on this.”
“But I—” Alvarez started to say
McGriff cut her off. “I know, Lanny, you’d rather stay in the background and hunt down this goof, and you will have the opportunity to do that. I just want you to do the first press briefing. How can I put this diplomatically? Tom is… Tom is not overwhelmingly tactful.”
“I’m crushed, Dede,” Kintrell said.
***
Later that day Kintrell received a call from Stryker. “Listen, Tom, one of our patrol guys found a black nylon guitar case in a dumpster, a block or so east of the building. Don’t know if it’s anything, but I’ll messenger it over to you.”
“Would the rifle fit in it?” said Kintrell.
“We didn’t want to handle it too much in case of prints or DNA, but just eyeballing it, I think so.”
Kintrell thought for a minute. “Maybe that’s why the weapon was altered. If the shooter was on something like a motorcycle, he could strap that case on his back, and no one would be the wiser. A motorcycle would also make an excellent getaway vehicle. The rider would be wearing a helmet, and a tinted visor would defeat any facial recognition software. If he was on a motorcycle, it would probably be one of those speedy, crotch rocket types.”
“I’ll inform the guys canvassing that we suspect a motorcycle was used,” Stryker said.
“I’d like to sit down with you and Lanny for a couple minutes, could you come over here?”
“Why don’t we meet on neutral ground. It’s getting toward quitting time and I’m a little thirsty.”
“Okay, how about Murph’s over on Girard Avenue, in Fishtown,” Kintrell asked.
“Great place,” replied Stryker. “They got Flying F
ish on tap and some of the best Italian food in the city.”
They agreed to meet at 6:30 PM.
Kintrell made his way to Alvarez’s office and told her about the meeting set up with Stryker.
Alvarez sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Sounds good, Tom. Listen, I’ve been going over Storchin’s background. He’s a left-winger but not a fanatic. I couldn’t find any direct threats. There are a few things from the pro-life crowd of note and a couple things from the Second Amendment crowd, but nothing that stands out any more than what most of the people on the left side of the aisle receive. He comes from a wealthy family. He lived in Lancaster County till he was sixteen, then the family pulled up stakes and moved to Philadelphia, possibly for access to better schools. He attended St. Joe’s Prep as a junior and senior, was on the debate team and the drama club. He did undergrad at Penn, then went to Harvard Law. He spent a few years at one of the older law firms in the city and then made a run for Congress. He was able to outspend his opponent in the primaries, aided and abetted by his old man’s money and the incumbent’s predilection for Congressional aides—the allegations mysteriously popping up on three Philly news programs at the same time. He was married and had two children. No indication of any trouble with the wife, though he spends most of his time in D.C., and she spends most of her time in Philadelphia. She evidently is on the boards of various philanthropic organizations and is a Patron of the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Philadelphia Ballet Company. His parents, Spencer and Marion Storchin, were in Sarasota, Florida at the time of the shooting and are en route back to their home in Center City.”
***
As they entered the pub, they spotted Stryker seated at the bar, brew in hand, flirting with a youngish, pretty bartender.
“Let’s find a table,” suggested Kintrell, as the bartender walked to the other end of the bar.
“Hey, Pops, don’t forget your check,” the bartender called after them, drawing laughs from Kintrell and Alvarez.
“That’s, that’s uh, just my nickname here,” said Stryker, leaving a ten spot on the bar.
When they were seated Stryker said, “I pulled some info on Storchin. I found some notations that there was a charge against him from Lancaster County, but the record was expunged. He was sixteen at the time and shortly thereafter the family moved to Philadelphia.”
Kintrell spoke up. “He comes from a wealthy family, so you know how that goes. It coulda been anything, a fight, a car accident, probably nothing to get concerned about.”
“That’s what I thought too, then I remembered the sheriff out there, Jay McNamee. He’s been there forever, and he happens to be a friend, so I called him and asked him about it. He started to get cagey, asking why I wanted to know, why drag up old news etc. So I told him I was working with you guys and he hemmed and hawed for a while, then agreed to talk to me, but not over the phone. I set up a meet for ten thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Hmm,” said Kintrell, “maybe there’s something there. Let’s not crowd the guy. Take Lanny with you tomorrow, Norm. I’ll hang back, maybe try to talk with the wife.”
***
The next morning Stryker and Alvarez set out for Lancaster County. Stryker, claiming he knew the way, drove. An hour and thirty minutes later found them on a country road, fields all around them.
“Eh, Norm, ever hear of GPS?” asked Alvarez.
“If you’ll pardon the expression, that’s for pussies that don’t know where they’re going.”
“Agreed,” said Alvarez pulling up Google on her phone.
They arrived at the Sheriff’s location twenty-two minutes later. They entered the courthouse building and found the Sheriff’s office. A youngish looking man buzzed them into the office after they flashed their creds. Another deputy showed them to a small conference room, asking them if they wanted liquid refreshments. Stryker replied, “Coffee, straight up.” Alvarez replied, “Just water, thank you.”
A short time after receiving their respective refreshments, a man entered bearing a folder and a coffee cup. The man, Alvarez estimated as mid-fifties, wore a dark well-cut suit and tie, had military short dark hair going grey, and the harried look of a busy administrator. He smiled when he saw Stryker and then nodded at Alvarez. Extending his hand to Stryker he said, “How the hell are you, Norm?”
“Good, Jay, sorry we’re late, got behind a couple of those Amish buggies. This is Agent Alvarez from the FBI.”
The sheriff offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Agent Alvarez.”
Alvarez shook his hand. “Likewise, Sheriff.”
“This rascal here helped us shut down a vicious biker gang that were extorting local businesses and terrorizing the local citizenry and almost got his head blown off saving one of my deputies,” said the sheriff.
“Ain’t I a peach,” said Stryker.
“You sure are … Pops,” said Alvarez, to which Stryker laughed and the Sheriff looked from one to the other, perplexed.
“Private joke,” replied Stryker.
“What have you got for us, Jay?” Stryker asked.
“I know you’re looking for something that will help you with your investigation and this may have a bearing, but I don’t see how, as it happened a little over twenty years ago. The Storchin family, as you are probably aware, are very wealthy. They still have a lot of powerful friends in these parts. These friends, if they wanted to, could end my career, so I can’t really say what happened with young Emory, and I’ll swear on a stack of bibles that I didn’t say word one about the events that precipitated his arrest.”
The sheriff then placed the folder on the table and asked each of them for their cell phones, to which they complied. He then said he had a pressing matter he had to attend to. He exited the room, leaving the folder on the table.
Alvarez opened the file and started scanning the documents, her eyes getting wider and wider. After finishing with the file, she gave it to Stryker.
“Nice guy,” said Stryker, after scanning the file.
***
A few minutes later the sheriff reentered the room, gathered the file up, then said, “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Norm, and by the way, how’s the shoulder doing?”
“It’s fine, Jay, thanks.”
As they rose, the sheriff said, “You know, a lot of old files around here should have been shredded once records have been expunged. They may have missed a few. I’ll have to correct that. Good to meet you, Agent Alvarez, and good luck with your investigation.”
Alvarez offered her hand. “Thank you, Sheriff, and if the Bureau in Philadelphia can ever be of help, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, Agent Alvarez, seeing as how I couldn’t really help you with your investigation,” said the sheriff.
***
Once they were in the car, Alvarez asked Stryker, “What’s with the bit about your shoulder?”
“Stray bullet caught me in the shoulder as I was assisting in an arrest out here.”
“Sounds like there was more to it than that,” said Alvarez.
“Bunch of biker assholes,” said Stryker. “I was just along for the ride.”
“Come on, Stryker, don’t be modest.”
“You want the whole story?” asked Stryker.
“It’s a long ride back.”
Stryker thought about it before replying. “A bunch of local goons, Hells Angels wannabes, decided they could have their way with the city of Lancaster. Three or four of them would enter a bar, harass the patrons, throw bar stools around breaking liquor bottles, mirrors. A day or two later a guy would show up and ask to see the owner. He would then tell the owner they could protect him against any further violence by unwanted guests. The fee would vary depending on the size and business of the bar. They also would stop en masse, by way of intimidation, outside places that were mostly cash businesses—dry cleaners, convenience stores, et cetera and offer the same protection scheme. They congregated at a run-down saloon
just north of the city. Most of the business owners in Lancaster reported the extortion but were afraid to testify because these goofs threatened not only them, but their families. A daughter of one of the local bar owners, who refused the extortion demands, was kidnapped after closing the bar one night. She usually parked behind the bar. As she tried to enter her car someone placed a hood over her head and forced her into a van, took her to an unknown location, and three or four of them took turns with her, then dumped her naked on the highway. The father of the girl agreed to testify against the men who approached him. A search warrant was issued, and I went along for the ride. Twelve deputies decked out in SWAT gear arrived at the bar. Four of them and me circled around to the back of the bar. Out front, twenty-one motorcycles were clustered together in the parking lot. As the deputies in front approached the bar a shot rang out. The deputies took cover and returned fire as did the four out back. They virtually destroyed that bar. Two of the bikers ran out the back door of the bar and one of the younger deputies went Matt Dillon on them, standing up with gun drawn, walking toward them and telling them to freeze.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope, couldn’t believe it myself,” Stryker replied, chuckling.
“Anyway, one of the goons promptly shot him, then retreated back into the bar with the other one. The kid that was shot was exposed to fire, so I ran over and tried to drag him back behind the car and caught one in the shoulder for my trouble. Anyway, the deputies out front continued to poor fire into the bar till a white flag was poked out a window and the Sheriff told his men to stand down. He ordered those inside to come out, hands on heads. A voice from inside yelled ‘How do we know you fuckers won’t shoot us?’ to which the Sheriff replied, ‘This is the last time I’m going to say this. Come out with your hands on your head. You have thirty seconds.’ I don’t think Jay wanted them to surrender after what they did to the girl. A few seconds later, ‘Okay, Okay motherfuckers we’re coming out.’ Eight of them filed out of the bar, hands on heads. Jay told them to kneel down, then asked where the rest of them were. Killed or wounded they replied. Jay then told them that his men were going to enter the bar and if they received any fire, he would assume that the men kneeling were part of the ambush and his men would act accordingly. Jay coordinated with the deputies out back. Four deputies entered the front of the bar and two entered the back, where they found four dead and eight wounded bikers, three of which wouldn’t survive their wounds. The young deputy and I were transported to the hospital along with the wounded bikers. Fortunately, the deputy survived his wound. Till this day, nobody knows who fired that first shot, but I’d bet a dollar to a donut the Sheriff had something to do with it. That action effectively ended the reign of terror of The Bad Seed motorcycle club.”
Termination Limits: Tom Kintrell Book 1 (Tom Kintrell Thriller Series) Page 2