by Marvin Wolf
“How do you plan on getting dozens of agents, with vehicles and equipment, into a small town like Dothan without everybody and his cousin hearing about it? Especially when the county sheriff’s office will leak?”
“I have a hunch that you’re gonna tell me.”
“Have ICE ask the Dothan police to seal off a mile-square area around the target house, but not until right before the midnight shift change. That way they’ll have both shifts to deploy, but they won’t have to call anybody in. Conduct your raid as soon as they’re in place. Don’t use tactical radios, not even secure ones, until the raid begins. Coordinate by cell phone.
“A few hours before, maybe around 1800 hours, starting bringing your troops into different parts of Fort Rucker. Put together three or four small groups and have each one arrive at Rucker from a different direction. Space out individual cars, five minutes or so between vehicles. They can gather at various small heliports around our base. Then, they should take different routes to the target area. Stop at the police checkpoints and then proceed to the target simultaneously—but stay off the air until everyone is in place. Intercept one of their vehicles and put your own people in it. The driver will have a device that opens the door that leads to a basement garage. Snatch up the roving security guard, then the fixed door guard. They’re in three houses, two side-by-side on one street, and the house across the alley from the other two. By the way, each of those houses is owned by a holding company chartered in a different state. All three are subsidiaries of a Cayman Islands company.
“You’ll want to execute no-knock warrants on all three houses simultaneously with entry into the garage.”
Lockwood rewarded Will with a big grin. “You’ve been thinking about this for how long, Spaulding?”
“An hour. Since you confirmed that a bill was counterfeit.”
“I’ll pass that along.”
“I should leave now. I’ve got to make one stop on the way to the airport. Does Bourassa have a go-bag here?”
Lockwood shook his head. “He’ll need to go home first.”
“Have him meet me at Redstone Army Airfield—the terminal, in one hour. We lift off at 1500 hours.”
“He’ll be there—but give me your cell phone number just in case."
Chapter 55
Pulling a wheeled suitcase, Special Agent Frank Bourassa entered the terminal at Redstone Army Airfield and looked around.
At the far end of the terminal, near the doors leading to the runway, a man wearing a flight suit and aviator’s helmet with sun visor pulled down over his eyes, waved, then beckoned to Bourassa.
Bourassa headed for the aviator and stopped in front of him.
“Are you Special Agent Frank Bourassa, US Secret Service?” said the aviator.
“Do you need to see identification?” Bourassa replied.
“No. Come with me,” said the aviator and turned toward the door.
Bourassa followed him through the doors and turned left, where he found a Lakota helicopter. The aviator opened a small door in the fuselage, then grabbed the suitcase, collapsed its handle, and hefted it through the door. Then he closed the compartment door and twisted the lock shut.
The aviator said, “Ride up front, in the co-pilot’s seat?”
Bourassa smiled. “Sure.”
The pilot moved to the front door, opened it for Bourassa, and after he was in the chair, fastened the retaining straps and pulled them tight. Then he shut the door, walked around the front of the aircraft, and began a preflight inspection that took about five minutes to complete.
Meanwhile, Bourassa twisted in his chair, glancing around, looking for Agent Spaulding.
When Will completed his preflight inspection, he climbed into the front seat and began to go through his pre-flight checklist.
“Excuse me, sir,” Bourassa said.
Will turned his helmet-clad head toward Bourassa. “Yes?”
“I thought Agent Spaulding was coming with us?”
Will said, “Give me a minute,” and continued the checklist.
When he finished and had found everything in order, he turned to Bourassa, handed him a headset to put on, then and showed him how to use the intercom.
“We’re going to hover over to the fueling facility and fill the tank,” he said.
“What about Agent Spaulding?”
“He’ll be along,” said Will, then pulled his door closed, strapped in, and started the engines. He peered at the gauges until he knew that the engine was performing as expected, and that it was safe to take off.
Then he called the tower and asked permission to hover to the fueling point.
“Roger, Army 7714. Use the near taxiway and report when ready to depart.”
“Copy near taxiway and report departure readiness.”
Will eased back on the collective and the aircraft lifted gently a few inches into the air. Riding on a hurricane-force cushion of air bouncing off the Tarmac, a phenomenon known as ground effect, Will maneuvered toward the runway, then turned right and continued at a few miles per hour down a narrow strip of concrete adjacent to the runway. Near the end of it, he headed toward a line of fuel pumps, turned the helicopter 180 degrees and slipped sideways until the aircraft was within reach of the hoses, then gently set the bird down. He shut the engines off and waited until the rotors whined to a halt.
An enlisted soldier appeared and approached the pilot’s side of the aircraft. Will rolled his window down and handed the man a credit card. “Top me off,” he said, and the man nodded.
Pumping 183 gallons of JP-6 took eight minutes. The soldier returned the card, held up a clipboard for him to sign, then left.
Will looked around, started the engines, let them idle for several seconds, then called the tower. A minute later he was hovering toward the runway.
“Hold on!” Bourassa cried, tapping Will’s shoulder. “Where the hell is Agent Spaulding?”
“Agent Spaulding is at the controls of this aircraft,” replied Will. He raised his tinted faceguard and smiled. “Welcome to the United States Army, where CID agents sometimes know how to fly helicopters.”
Bourassa burst into laughter. “Holy shit! You really had me going—wait, you’re going to fly this thing?”
“Watch and learn, and stay off the intercom until I tell you. Take-offs and landings are when most accidents occur.”
Will called the tower for permission to take off, then hovered over the runway, turned the aircraft until it was aligned with the long strip of concrete, and flew down the runway, gaining speed. When he reached 80 knots, he pulled back on the collective and the bird leaped into the air, climbing rapidly. At 4,000 feet, following tower instructions, he turned south.
“Okay, you can talk to me. But this is crowded airspace, so I’d like you to keep an eye out above and below to your right. If you see any aircraft that isn’t miles away, sing out.”
“This is fucking amazing,” Bourassa said. “I had no idea that Army CID flew helicopters.”
“I’ll tell you a secret, but you can’t share it with anybody, including your boss. Do we have a deal?”
“Sure.”
“The secret is, only my Special Agent in Charge at Fort Rucker knows that I’m a helicopter pilot. Not even my partner knows—although I intend to tell her soon.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. Explain how this happens, Spaulding.”
“I was a police detective before I enlisted for aviation training. I worked a couple of cases for CID before I started flight school. When I finished flight training, I was detailed to this office to conduct a special investigation. My boss might share the subject of that investigation with you, but I cannot. Orders.”
“So you’re investigating another agent?”
“Nothing like that. It’s just a case that stymied my colleagues, and I was brought in to have a fresh pair of eyes. When this investigation is over, I’ll go back to flight duty. So my orders are to maintain proficiency by flying a few hours every
week.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Spaulding.”
The intercom went silent and Will relaxed into the joy of pure flight, the aircraft serving almost as an extension of his body. Scanning the horizon, listening to air-to-air traffic, he flew south.
Bourassa said, “I guess I’m slow but are you the same Spaulding in that YouTube video—flying through fire, down in Florida, to rescue a kid and his dog?”
“Yup. And everything you need to know is in the video. I don’t discuss it. No hard feelings, but that’s the way it is. Are we good?”
“We’re good. But please don’t pull anything like that with me aboard, because I hate it when I shit my pants”
Chapter 56
With Alvie Landon in the passenger seat, Ash pulled into a parking space marked VIP behind a storefront next to the sheriff’s station.
Alvie said, “This can’t be a coincidence. The guy who pulled a knife on me said his name was Walter, and the missing man, also Walter, went to play poker.”
“But you’ll be able to ID his photo, right?”
“I think so. Depends on how old the picture is.”
Ash said, “If it is the same guy, that ties a second vic to that location—Idelle Richardson’s home.”
Landon said, “Which is owned by some mysterious corporate entity headquartered in the Caymans.”
Ash cut the engine and got out, and with Alvie trailing, knocked on a door marked “private.”
Half a minute later, Sheriff Taliaferro opened the door and looked around before escorting the two CID agents through a long, narrow, passageway into her inner office, where she waved them to chairs as she slid behind a small desk.
“This is where I meet people that I don’t know and never met,” she explained. “So, Ash, all this cloak-and-dagger better be worth my time.”
Ash nodded. “Andrea, Sheriff Taliaferro, meet Special Agent Landon.”
Landon stood and extended his right hand, which the sheriff gave a single hard shake.
“Agent Landon was undercover last night at an illegal casino, where he thinks he met your missing person.”
Taliaferro’s eyelids went up in surprise.
Alvie said, “If you have a recent picture, I might be able to confirm that it was the same guy.”
Taliaferro took a folder off the desk and passed it to Landon. Inside were three photos of a burly man in his middle years.
Landon nodded. “That’s him.”
“Tell me about your meeting.”
“Not much to tell,” Landon said. “I was there undercover, playing poker. He came late and when the deal came round to him, he wanted to play Texas Hold ‘em, which was his privilege under the casino rules. I declined to play that hand, my privilege under the same rules. He got rude and nasty. I told him that if he wanted to fight, we could meet downstairs. I cashed in my chips, and was in the parking garage, when he appeared, holding a Bowie knife. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t turn over my money belt.”
Taliaferro blinked. “Go on.”
“He came at me, I took the knife away, dislocated his left shoulder. Then casino security came and took him away.”
“Alive?”
“Nobody dies from a dislocated shoulder.”
“Then what?”
“Then I was blindfolded, placed in an SUV hybrid, and driven back to Fort Rucker.”
“Where is this casino?”
Ash spoke up. “It’s in three contiguous houses owned by three different holding companies owned by the same Caymans Islands entity. In one of those houses, the ground floor, and maybe the floor above it, is the residence of Idelle Richardson.”
Taliaferro opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Ash said, “That’s two disappearances linked to her house.”
Landon said, “I’d like to show you a few pictures, Sheriff.”
He got to his feet, took out his cell phone, and brought up a gallery of the photos he had made at the casino.
“I took these with a hidden camera. Recognize any of these people?” Landon placed the phone on the desk.
She picked it up, and as she scrolled through the pictures, one by one, her face grew pale.
“Judge Edgar Sewell, US Representative Lawrence McCutcheon, District Attorney Calvin Monroe, and Captain William Anderson, my boss of detectives. Holy Mother of God.”
Ash said, “Because they like to gamble in an unlicensed casino, doesn’t mean that any of those officials had anything to do with our missing men.”
“No, but it stinks to high heaven. I should call the Alabama LEA.”
Ash said, “I’m thinking more like the FBI. But not yet.”
Ash’s phone, set to vibrate on incoming calls, tickled her hip. She pulled it out and spoke quietly for several seconds, then broke the connection.
“That was my partner, Spaulding, calling from the office of the Secret Service in Huntsville. Seventy-one hundred dollar bills that Landon left the casino with are counterfeit. The Secret Service will be in touch with you about this, Sheriff, and until you’ve spoken with them, I must ask you to do nothing and say nothing about this casino business.”
Taliaferro nodded. “I understand. I’ve got a crooked casino passing counterfeit hundreds and visited by a who’s who of Dothan, and I’m gonna wait until the Secret Service decides what our next move is. I’m not gonna fire my no-good detective captain. Not yet.”
“Thank you, Andrea,” Ash said. “There’s one more issue.”
Taliaferro sighed and sat back in her chair. “The hog farmers?”
Ash nodded. “Any progress on that front?”
Taliaferro shook her curls. “It’s too soon, probably.”
Ash got to her feet, followed by Landon.
“Thank you, Andrea. Very much appreciated.”
“Likewise, Ash. I will arrest every swinging dick connected with that casino if I have to, but I’m very, very happy to let the Feds do it. I hold an elective office, and politics makes very strange bedfellows, as a wise man once said.”
Chapter 57
Ash stopped at the door of the Midori Steak House. A sign on the door said “Closed for a private party,” but when she peered through the glass door most of the lights were off. Movement in a corner booth caught her eye, and she opened the door and headed for the booth, where Mrs. Yang, clad in a pair of dark slacks and a pale silk blouse, sat across from Will.
“You look very lovely tonight, Mrs. Yang,” said Ash, by way of greeting.
“And so do you, my dear,” replied the older woman.
Will smiled but said nothing.
Ash turned to her partner. “So, what’s the surprise?”
Will looked at Mrs. Yang.
She said, “The surprise is that tonight I will serve you and Agent Will a complete Szechuan dinner.”
Ash’s face lit up.
“How wonderful!” she said.
Mrs. Yang stood up. “I will return with your meal in a few minutes,” she said.
Ash slid into the booth next to Will.
“How did this happen?” she said, not sure whether to be happy or angry.
“I have a confession to make,” replied Will.
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought that you should know that I’m a fully-qualified Army aviator, and I flew a Lakota aircraft to Huntsville and back to liaise with the Secret Service.”
“Of course you did,” she replied. “What is there to confess?”
“You knew that I was a pilot?”
“I’m a detective, Spaulding. Why do you think I was pissed when you showed up on my case? Your aerial exploits are all over the Internet. I know about Pensacola and all that. I knew that you are one crazy helicopter jockey, but lately, I’ve found that you’re not too bad at the detective gig, either. So what?”
Will took a deep breath.
“So while I was in Huntsville I had lunch at a Szechuan restaurant. It was really good food. I bought an insulated coo
ler and filled it with the specialties of the house and brought it here. I hope you enjoy it.”
Ash gave Will a long, appraising look. “So your real confession is that you think you’re in love with me?
Smiling, Will shook his head.
“I wanted you to know that I listen to you and that I have begun to care about you. And that I think that IF comes the day—should it ever come at all—that I sense that my feelings are reciprocated in some measure, I would look forward to what might come next. Meanwhile, I say that you’ve got a lot going for you, and I like being around you.”
“It was that kiss, right?”
“That helped a lot.”
Before Ash could reply, Mrs. Yang returned, pushing a small cart, upon which were dishes heaped with food.
“Won’t you join us?” said Ash.
“Yes, please eat with us,” added Will.
“Only if you will not be bored with an old woman’s musings.”
“Of course not,” Ash said. “I’d love to hear about your life in Yunnan.”
§
An hour later, unable to eat another bite, Will regarded the mounds of food remaining on the cart.
“I’m stuffed,” he said.
“That was wonderful,” said Ash, and beneath the table rubbed her knee against Will’s. “Truly the best meal I’ve had in years.”
Will said, “I’m glad you liked it. Mrs. Yang, would your staff like the leftovers?”
Yang smiled. “Of course. But wouldn’t it be better if I took them to Momma Tina’s Mission House? That’s what I usually do with leftover food.”
Ash said, “Yes, that’s better. Much better.”
Yang smiled and sat back. “Will you find Sharon’s murderer, do you think?”
Ash nodded. “It has become a very complex investigation that will take more time.”
“Dēng bù bō bù liàng, lǐ bù biàn bù míng,” she replied.
“An oil lamp is brighter after trimming the wick, a truth is clearer after being discussed,” Ash translated.