A Dubious Position (A Colton Banyon Mystery Book 7) Page 14

  “Yeah, and I want these bodyguards to blend in and not draw too much attention to themselves. No flashy clothes or carrying anything that people could remember.”

  “They need to hide in plain sight,” Banyon agreed. He was about to say more when Eric’s next appointment came through the door.

  He was an African-American that stood about 7 feet tall.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  While Banyon waited for his screen to boot up he found himself thinking of Loni. His first thought was that she could never be allowed in the office. One look at Mandy and she would immediately see the similarities and become uncontrollably jealous. And, if she ever saw Heather, well, all hell would break loose. He decided he needed to coach Eric on what to say around her. He also decided he missed her. She had been gone just twelve hours and was probably still in flight to Odessa, but he wanted to talk to her. She always gave him good advice and comforted him like no other woman could. He needed some advice now. While, so far, his work for the President had been fun and rewarding, Banyon wondered if he could keep up the pace, or even if he wanted to. Did I make a mistake by agreeing to work for the President? He thought.

  He was not ashamed about the constant sexual titillation the women at work provided, in fact, he thought it enhanced his relationship with Loni. But how long could he live two lives, one at work and one at home? Loni was everything to him. “Nothing compares to you,” he said to himself and realized his thought was actually a lyric of a popular nineties tune.

  His reverie was broken as the tall black man got up and left. He was immediately replaced by a roly-poly man in a chef’s hat and garb. He had a large handlebar mustache. Banyon could see several tattoos peeking out from his sleeves and neck. Banyon was pretty sure Eric would not hire him.

  Banyon realized he was feeling slightly uncomfortable in his chair. He glanced at his watch and was relieved to find he had enough time to find a bathroom and make it back before he was connected to the situation room. He got up, for the first time that day and headed out the door.

  Part Four

  Solutions

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Banyon returned to the office in five minutes. Eric was sitting on the couch alone and deep in thought. He was wrestling with his choices for their bodyguards Banyon figured. He decided to wait until Eric approached him, with the decision. He already had his choices, but was a little concerned about them. He hoped that Eric concurred.

  “We are starting the operation to take down the gangbangers in about three minutes,” Banyon said to him. “Want to watch?”

  “Absolutely,” Eric replied and jumped off the couch. He followed Banyon to the back of the office and his desk.

  “You can watch, but you can’t be seen by the camera,” Banyon told him as he pointed to the opening on his monitor. “The President is ticklish about who is looking in.

  “I’ll stand to the side,” Eric quickly replied.

  “No talking either,” Banyon ordered.

  Timmy entered the room carrying a laptop. Banyon gave him a questioning look as he slid into one of the chairs in the front of the desk in a slumped position. He was not his usual smiling self.

  “I had to get out of my office,” he said as a reason to for his early arrival.

  “It’s okay,” Banyon replied.

  “You guys watch the takedown. I’m just going to work on the Slezeck project right here,” he continued in a subdued tone.

  “I think you will be more comfortable on the couch over there,” Banyon pointed. He didn’t want Timmy near his desk as he might have to contact Wolf and Timmy might hear him talking.

  “Whatever,” Timmy replied displaying teenage attitude. He got up and moved to the couch.

  “Is something wrong, Timmy?” Banyon recognized he was not in his usual jovial mood.

  “It’s the damn witch-bitch,” he yelled across the room. Banyon could see that Timmy seemed frustrated.

  “What’s happened now?” Banyon was sorry he had given Timmy some advice about women. He was no expert himself.

  “The witch-bitch was just in my area and was talking to one of the girls there,” Timmy replied angrily.

  “Uh oh, what did Heather do now?”

  “I heard her talking. She used me as an example of someone to not to get involved with. She said I had too many sexual hang ups and would only disappoint a women. Colt, I have been working on the girl for nearly a year. I was almost there. That witch-bitch ruined it all,” Timmy lamented.

  “Wait, maybe Heather said that on purpose,” Banyon told him. Eric shook his head in agreement.

  “Yeah, she wants to destroy me. Just like always,” he said vehemently.

  “Timmy, maybe you are actually getting to her. She may be pissed that you are ignoring her. Women like Heather can’t stand to be ignored.”

  “Really,” Timmy replied hopefully.

  “I think you are making progress,” Banyon proclaimed as he recognized he was once again giving Timmy advice.

  “You think so?” Timmy said, as he perked up.

  “Keep ignoring her,” Eric agreed. “I’ve found that when you ignore them, women think they have lost their attraction, and will want to get it back. Believe me, I know. I have to deal with three beautiful women, every day.”

  “Right now, dudes,” Timmy exclaimed. “I’ve got her right where I want her,” he said as he clinched his boney fist. Banyon hoped he was right.

  Suddenly, the monitor blinked and the situation room came on screen. As before, the big screen was divided into four smaller screens. The first box showed an overhead view of a house. It was fairly small and was on a postage stamp sized lot, just like all the other houses around it. The neighborhood seemed rundown and depressing. The house was surrounded by a chair link fence with only a few scruffy bushes for cover. The view also showed a utility van across the street, with workers opening a manhole cover.

  The second view was from the utility van. The picture showed fourteen heat signatures in the small house. One looked female. The other two boxes on the monitor were empty. As Banyon looked to the screens that showed who was watching the takedown, he was surprised to see only his own image, the other screens were blank.

  He could hear voices on communications links and people giving orders off screen. The Presidents voiced suddenly boomed. “I want this to look like a rival gang hit them. Make sure the police see it that way,” he ordered. “Make it fast and final,” he continued. “This country doesn’t need any trials where an ACLU lawyer could have a chance to get these guys off. What these assholes want to do to this country is treason. They must pay the price.”

  Banyon quickly whispered, “Wolf, who is the additional two people in the house?”

  “They are the leader of the gang and his girlfriend. She is as dirty as the rest of them,” Wolf replied. Banyon quickly relayed the message to the situation room.

  “Thanks, Colt,” he heard the President say.

  “Are they expecting trouble?” Banyon whispered.

  “Most are still asleep, but their guns are nearby.”

  “How many are asleep?”

  “Eight,” Wolf immediately replied. Banyon passed the information on to the situation room.

  The two men watched the screen as a black SUV pulled up on the street behind the gang house. With surgical precision, six SEALs, dressed all in black, piled out and with guns aimed ahead. They charged across the adjoining lot, leaping over the chain link fence. They lined up on the back wall of the white stucco house.

  “Team one in position,” Banyon heard the leader report. The SEAL then activated his head camera and the third box on the monitor came alive.

  Two more vans quickly pulled up on the front side of the house. One on each side, but far enough down the street to not be seen by anyone looking out the window. Six more SEALs lined up on both sides of the lot. One carried a battering ram. They slithered in single file along the side fences and crossed over to the front of the house. F
our men broke away to block the windows on each side of the house. When all entrances and exits were covered, the second team leader spoke.

  “Team two in position,” he said and activated his camera. A third and four camera view came from the men by the side windows. At the same time four more SUVs pulled up in the front and two on the street behind the house. Agents with DEA and FBI in windbreakers now lined the streets.

  Banyon could feel a bead of sweat travel down his back. He wondered how the SEALs could put their lives in jeopardy, in the line of duty, every day. He always respected men like them, but today he was even more thankful someone could do this work. He glanced at Eric, who now stood tall and proud. Eric had been one of them.

  “On my mark,” one of the leaders spoke. “Three, two, one, go.”

  Like they had practiced many times, a SEAL broke the glass on each window in the house with their guns. Other SEALs tossed stun grenades through the holes. Everyone then hunkered down and waited for the concussion.

  The blast blew out the glass in all the windows and doors. Banyon could clearly see glass flying over the heads of the cameras. The glass barely landed on the ground when the SEALs were up and executing the break in. The battering ram broke the door right off its hinges. Two SEALs leaped through the now open windows and the rear team ripped the back door open. Then the shooting started.

  The agents on the street closed ranks in the yard surrounding the house. All had their guns drawn and Kevlar vests visible. They set up a killing field of firepower. No one was getting out of the house.

  The roar of gunfire was then continuous. Bullets were flying everywhere in the house. The four head cameras were in constant motion and the tips of the firing machine guns could be seen, as they spewed out a fiery death to anyone that came into view. Some of the gang members managed to fire back and Banyon heard two SEALs utter, “I’m hit.”

  But it was soon over. All fourteen gang members were dead or dying in the small house. Banyon watched as the SEALs quickly exited the building and ran to their vehicles. One was holding his arm while blood dripped down his sleeve, and one was carried by two other SEALs. It looked like he had taken a bullet in his leg. In seconds, they loaded up and the SUVs sped off. There was no trace of them left behind.

  The DEA and FBI agents swiftly moved into the house, blocking anyone from entering, until they had done their canvas. Police cars immediately began to fill the streets with unneeded ambulances arriving right behind them. Police Officers began to bring out rolls of yellow tape and block off the area. Officers started knocking on doors in an attempt to find anyone that might have witnessed something. Those people would be quickly taken downtown before the press arrived. Anybody that asked what happened was told it looked like a skirmish with another rival gang. The whole operation was a lesson in effectiveness.

  Suddenly, Banyon heard more gun fire. It sounded like just one machine gun and then everything was quiet. A DEA agent quickly reported to the situation room that there was one perpetrator still breathing, but they had subdued him. Banyon knew what that meant.

  Within minutes, several large white trucks with dish style antennas screeched to a stop just outside the yellow tape. News helicopters hovered overhead. Reporters and video crews exited the trucks, even as the reporters were still combing their hair. Several ducked under the yellow tape and headed to the front door, with crews trailing behind. They knew they were not allowed into the crime scene, but believed that until they were thrown out, they might get some exclusive footage.

  Banyon watched as a DEA Agent stopped them at the front steps by using a stop gesture with his hands. The President suddenly ordered someone off screen to put two of the live feeds on the front monitor and to turn up the volume. He wanted to see, to what extent, the news people were fooled.

  “Can you tell us what’s happen in the house?” A cute reporter asked as she pulled her long blond hair away from her photogenic face.

  The DEA agent was from the Public Relations Department of the DEA. He was accustomed to dealing with reporters, which was why he was assigned the task of providing them with disinformation. “We have only arrived a few minutes ago, ourselves,” he deflected the question.

  “What can you tell us?” she persisted.

  “We have found several dead bodies in the house. There appears to have been a shootout,” he confirmed.

  “Why is the DEA here?”

  “We received an anonymous phone call. The house is a known center of a gang that deals drugs,” he replied.

  “So, is this shootout drug related?”

  “I’d rather not speculate at this time,” he said.

  “Did a rival gang do the shooting?” another reported asked.

  “At this point, your guess is as good as mine,” he replied.

  “How bad is the carnage?”

  “It will take us several days to collect all the evidence. We’ll let you know then,” the agent assured them.

  “How many are dead?”

  “I can’t tell you that right now. I’m sorry, but you are contaminating a crime scene. You must return behind the yellow tape now. I can’t answer any more questions.” He motioned to several police officers nearby. They herded the reporters behind the tape.

  Everyone in the situation room continued to watch the monitors as the cute blond attempted to spin a recap of the news story.

  She stood facing the camera, with the bullet ridden house in the background. She, once again, pushed the hair from her face before she started.

  “It appears that the violence caused by drug dealers, fighting over turf, has once again erupted in this quiet suburb in San Diego. With the current problems along the Mexican border, it seems likely that a drug gang has attempted to eliminate their rival. According to a DEA spokesperson, there are many bodies and much carnage inside the drug house. It will be days before we know the full extent of the devastation. This is Katie Foss reporting live.”

  A banner suddenly appeared on the screen. It said “More gang violence in San Diego”, a picture of the gang house loomed in the background.

  “That’s my girl,” the President cheerfully exclaimed. “I love yellow journalism,” he added. “By tonight, every other drug gang in Southern California will have taken credit for the hit.” Banyon silently agreed with him.

  The President’s face appeared on Banyon’s monitor. “That went well, Colt,” he remarked.

  “Yes, sir,” Banyon replied.

  “You know a takedown only pays $200,000 dollars, right?”

  “I’m just glad I could help,” Banyon answered diplomatically.

  “I’ll message Bart to cut you a check. You’ll get it sometime today, when he is back in the office,” the President continued.

  “There is no hurry,” Banyon replied as he noticed Timmy disagreeing.

  “Now get back to work on the rest of the plan,” the President ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Banyon replied as the screen turned blank.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Paul Slezeck pulled up to the large Marina in Baltimore and parked his car. He scanned the area, looking for any watchers, but couldn’t find any. The guard at the gate, who was actually one of the watchers, let him through and told him Ms. Moore expected him. He pointed down the long dock to direct him. Slezeck ambled up the walkway looking for a fifty-foot luxury yacht called the “DOJ”. He knew Marlene had bought the expensive toy as a getaway. When her husband had suddenly died five years ago, she had inherited his substantial estate. It was her replacement for a husband.

  Slezeck was worried about the information she would share with him. He was sure Werner had planned the operation secretly and well, but he needed to know what information she had and what she could possibly pass on to others. He wasn’t too worried about her and Werner though, after all, they would be eliminated as soon as the President signed the executive order, in about four hours.

  He found her boat slip. He was impressed with the gleaming white ship with i
ts trim, in green. A man was dressed in a white outfit, standing on the dock, by the gang plank. He greeted Slezeck and told him Marlene was waiting for him in the lounge area, He pointed to a sliding door aboard ship.

  Slezeck made his way up the entry way and slid open the door. The inside was cool, elegant, with top of the line leather furniture, and modern décor. Marlene sat on a chair in the back of the room. She was dressed in a pink top complemented by white shorts which showed off her long legs. Slezeck wondered if she had dressed that way to entice him. She looked up from the book she was reading, slid off her reading glasses, then stood, to greet him. She looked straight into his eyes with her hand out as he crossed the room, but said nothing.

  Slezeck and Marlene Moore were not friends. They were rivals, controlling the two largest intelligence agencies in the Federal government. They had never collaborated on a case before and Slezeck was very leery of the polished DOJ. Why now? He wondered as he raised his hand to shake Marlene’s.

  But instead of shaking his hand she continued raising her hand, suddenly slapping him hard across his face. He was caught completely off guard, exactly as she intended.

  “That’s for insulting me in front of the President,” she admonished him. “If you ever do that again, I’ll cut your balls off.” She then stared at him with loathing in her eyes.

  Slezeck was now squarely on the defensive side of the ball. He struggled to gain control of his own emotions. He wanted to punch her in the face, but reasoned it might be exactly what she wanted him to do. He decided to be conciliatory instead. He needed to know what she had learned about his operation.

  “I’m sorry, Marlene,” he said sincerely through gritted teeth. “We have all been under tremendous stress lately. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Now that we have that in the open,” Marlene drove home the advantage. “Let’s sit down and discuss the current crisis.” She indicated that he should sit down — right now. It was more of an order than a request. He perched on the edge of one of the couches. She sat across from him, crossing her bare legs.