Forced to Kill (18 page)

Nathan stepped forward for a closer look. “May I?”

Phelps backed up a step. “If you’re planning anything more than just viewing, I’ll have to log it.”

“No, nothing like that. I’d just want to see if they have any tattoos or other distinguishing marks.” He unzipped the bags. “Harv, take a look.” He pointed at one of the bodies, specifically at a tattoo on a shoulder. The letter
S
was written across the outline of a dagger.

“Does that tattoo mean something to you?” Phelps asked.

“Yes,” Nathan said. “Can you tell us what you know about this case?”

“At this point we don’t have much, but it seems to have the attention of some very important people. The director of the FBI called me last night just after the bodies arrived. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that as far as the media are concerned, this shooting is nothing more than a random armed robbery attempt.”

“Interesting,” Harv said.

“Would either of you care to enlighten me?”

Nathan removed his ball cap and turned his head to the side.

“Is that what I think it is? That was
your
house? You were there with Sacramento’s SAC?”

“Look, David,” Harv said, “like the FBI director, we need to keep this under wraps. A very dangerous person tried to kill Nathan last night. We think he’ll try again.”

Phelps frowned, his body tightening.

“We weren’t followed.”

“Is my staff in danger by having these bodies in here?”

A reasonable question
, Nathan thought.

“No,” Harv said, “absolutely not. The man these dead guys worked for doesn’t give a damn about them.”

Phelps said nothing.

Nathan zipped the body bags closed. “I’m sorry we can’t tell you more.”

“I can’t share everything on cases I work on either. We have to keep certain aspects of crimes secret to rule out false confessions. You know the drill.”

“We do,” Harv said. “You’re a stand-up guy, David. I appreciate it. Will you please keep our visit here confidential?”

Phelps said he would and escorted them to the exit. They thanked him again and stepped out.

Walking back to Harv’s Mercedes, Nathan spoke quietly. “At least this confirms they were Montez’s men.”

“Versus federal agents?” Harv whispered back.

“I know, it wasn’t likely, but I needed to be sure.” Nathan paused. “Don’t look at me like that. Do
you
believe everything Cantrell told us?”

Harv sighed. “So far, yeah, I do. But only because she told us so damned little. You know the CIA.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Chapter  25

On the drive back to La Jolla, his phone rang. Holly.

“Hey,” Nathan said. “I’ve got you on speaker. Harv’s with me.”

“How’s your head?”

“Okay. How’s the arm?”

Holly sounded excited. “No complaints. We have a hit, maybe the break we’ve been hoping for. We weren’t able to ID any of the dead mercenaries at the scene, but we got a positive hit on the severed finger through Interpol’s fingerprint database. Do you remember telling me to take it?”

“Honestly, no.”

“Well, the finger’s owner is Julio Domingo Ramirez. Eight years ago he was arrested in Chile on drug smuggling charges. He only served four years in exchange for his testimony. Given he was our only hit, I had Henning dig deeper. Ramirez has a brother who owns a small business specializing in exotic textiles from Africa. He leases a small warehouse in Long Beach.”

“Sounds promising. Good work, Holly.” He looked at Harv. “We’re going up there. Tonight.”

“I’d feel a whole lot better if you didn’t go alone. I can get you SWAT support from our L.A. field office.”

“I appreciate it, Holly, but we have to be sure this operation doesn’t leak, especially to the press. There’s no way to do that if an FBI SWAT team gets involved. Reporters can sniff that stuff out. Plus, we don’t know if this will even pan out. It could be an empty building. It’s not worth Lansing finding out that you’re feeding us this information.”

“He already knows. We had a chat on the flight up to Sacramento. He’s okay with my helping you guys as long as it doesn’t involve direct physical support, but I have a feeling he’d make an exception if I pushed.”

“We appreciate the offer, but we have Grangeland. The three of us can handle it. And if we determine otherwise, I’ll call.”

“Nathan.” She lowered her voice. “If Montez captures you…”

“He won’t. Harv and I have an understanding.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“We won’t take any unnecessary risks. We’ve got years of experience and dozens of ops under our belts.”

“Be careful tonight, and call me afterward.”

“I will.”

“Montez isn’t worth your life.”

“I’ll call you.”

***

Nathan and Harv rendezvoused with Grangeland, then stopped by their security company garage to pick up the supplies, tactical gear, and equipment they’d need for tonight’s operation, including tools for splicing into video lines. If they encountered anything other than standard coaxial, they’d have to improvise.

“I know we’re in a time sensitive situation, but let’s go over some things,” Nathan said. He handed Grangeland a spare ballistic vest and black sweatshirt. “We’re not going to get too detailed because everything could change depending on what we actually find up there. But if anything comes to mind, we want your input, okay?”

She nodded.

“What’ve you got, Harv?”

Harv had always been the primary planner for their scout sniper missions, and he’d done the same tonight.

“We’ll take two vehicles. Having an extra set of wheels could come in handy for lots of reasons. You’ll follow Nate and me.”

Grangeland nodded again.

“If we lose you somehow, pull over and we’ll call you on the radio. If you’re out of range, we’ll try your cell. While I’m thinking about it, let’s all put our cells on vibrate right now.”

Grangeland pulled hers from its cradle and made the change.

Nathan’s was already in silent mode.

Harv continued. “I asked my assistant to print us the best Google Earth photos he could. They’re not too bad, but they’re not current.” Harv spread the sheets on the counter and pointed at the warehouse. “This is our target building. We don’t have any street views, so we’ll need to reconnoiter once we get there. I think we should park here. It’s far enough away to avoid headlight detection. Grangeland, ideally I’d like you to cover the rear of the building when we gain entry. Do you see a good place to station yourself?”

Grangeland pointed to a specific spot on the aerial photo. “I’d say here, the northeast corner of the property. It gives me the best view of the dock. It looks like there’s a tall fence along the rear of the property. You can see its shadow. The gate seems to be open in the photo, but it may not be when we arrive. I’ll find a place to conceal myself in case a car drives by.”

“Excellent,” Harv said. “If the gate’s closed, that could work in our favor if anyone bolts. The building has a loading dock, you can see the pedestrian ramp next to it. Most docks like that have one or more roll-up doors for freight and an emergency fire exit, so if anyone runs, they’ll come out of that door.”

“What are the rules of engagement?” she asked.

“We need prisoners. Deadly force only if warranted.” He looked at Nathan. “If Montez is in there, we want him alive.”

“Understood,” she said.

Harv locked eyes with her. “I don’t need to say this, but I will anyway. If things get heavy, we shoot first and ask questions later. Your weapon doesn’t have a laser, so shoot center mass. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Okay, let’s think about our entry,” Nathan said.

“Shock attack?” Harv suggested. “Ram the door and rush the interior?”

“Surprise usually works as long as the numbers aren’t too lopsided.”

“But what if they aren’t completely surprised?” Grangeland asked. “It’s reasonable to think they might be more nervous because of the botched raid at your house.” She paused for a few moments.

Neither of them spoke.

She smiled. “I need a pair of scissors.”

“For what?” Harv asked.

They listened while she laid out her plan.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Harv said. “Nate?”

“Let’s do it.”

Chapter  26

Nathan checked his side mirror again, making sure Grangeland stayed with them. The surveillance detection route detoured them through the grid-like maze of bland, dimly lit industrial streets. This area surrounding the port of Los Angeles had countless rows of tilt-up warehouses with rail spurs serving rear yards. A perfect place for Montez’s men to blend in and be invisible among the many Latinos who lived and worked here.

If they
were
being tailed, it wasn’t from the ground.

Just to be sure, he keyed the radio. “Grangeland, I’m going to pull over and check for a helicopter. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Copy.”

He pulled to the curb, climbed out, and scanned the sky. Nothing. He cupped his ears and listened. Again nothing. He supposed there could be a blacked-out helicopter way up there, but gave it long odds. Better to be certain.

“I’m a little uneasy about tonight’s op,” Harv said.

“I am too, but if we don’t get Montez, neither of us will ever sleep well again. We have to think about your family. And the Daltons.”

“I also don’t like the lack of intelligence. We have no idea what’s in that warehouse, or if it’s even the right place. We also don’t know its floor plan. There could be booby traps. It might be empty or full of armed mercenaries. When we went after Leonard Bridgestone, we had satellite images and live intelligence.”

“We’ll fall back on our training.”

“Nate, we’ve already made some big mistakes. Not to mention you’re seriously lacking adequate sleep and recovering from a nasty concussion.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“Look, Nate, I‘m not trying to put a dark cloud over this, but I have to wonder if we’d be taking this kind of risk if we weren’t pursuing Montez.”

“Nichole Dalton and her girls could be in the warehouse. Montez could be torturing them right now.”

“You already said that, and I get it. But we can’t help them if we get ourselves killed.”

Again, Nathan said nothing. Didn’t need to. His friend was doing his job, being the voice of reason and good sense.

Harv turned left onto a street lined with smaller warehouses. Streetlights at every intersection threw lifeless, orange light onto oil stained asphalt. Up ahead, a semi pulled onto the street and headed toward them. Dual columns of smoke belched from its pipes. Nathan lowered his ball cap as it passed by.

“If it comes to it,” Harv asked, “will she hesitate at the moment of truth?”

“No way, not Grangeland.”

“I concur. If this goes to hell tonight, how do we protect her?”

“As far as I’m concerned, she was never here. She can beat feet outta here with no one the wiser. It’s one of the reasons to have a second vehicle. If she fires her weapon, let’s make sure we pick up her brass.”

Harv glanced at him. “You know Grangeland. She won’t like bugging out and probably won’t do it.”

“This isn’t a suicide mission. We’ll do the same thing if it gets too heavy. There’s no shame in fleeing an overwhelming enemy. We had the same policy as an echo team.”

“I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

Nathan answered his friend’s unspoken question. “She’s an FBI special agent. We can’t let our personal feelings get in the way.”

“I guess I’m being overprotective. I hate the idea of her being killed, or worse. The thought of her being in Montez’s possession turns my stomach.”

“We’ll never let that happen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Are we talking about what
I think
we’re talking about?” Harv asked.

“Yes.”

“The same goes for us?”

“
Especially
for us.”

Harv pulled to the curb and killed the engine. Behind them, Grangeland parked and joined them in the rear seat.

They all donned ballistic vests and pulled on black sweatshirts over them. Nathan and Harv secured thermal imagers, night vision monoculars, and suppressed Sig Sauer pistols in their belly packs. Predator knives were strapped in sheaths just above their ankles. Before climbing out, they ran the wiring for earpieces and lapel mikes under their vests. Next, they powered the radios and clipped them into place. Nathan checked his belly pack. Zipped tight. He applied black skin paint to his face. Harv did the same. For what they had planned, though, face paint wouldn’t work for Grangeland.

Nathan looked at his watch: 2247 hours.

They grabbed dark ball caps and started down the sidewalk.

On both sides of the street, cargo containers, flatbed trucks, and stacks of pallets occupied fenced storage yards. A few boats on blocks were scattered among them, most not looking seaworthy. Along the western fence lines, windblown trash had built up like snowdrifts. Graffiti glared everywhere.

Nathan whispered, “Harv, radio check.”

“
Good.
”

“Grangeland?”

“
Good.
”

“Okay, we’ll make a pass on the opposite sidewalk and look for cameras.”  

 He studied the building as they rounded the corner. Constructed of concrete block with small slotted windows near the roofline, the building looked to be approximately one hundred feet square and twenty feet high. Basically a giant box. It probably had a second-level loft or office above the bathrooms. Most small warehouses had floor plans like that. He wouldn’t know until they gained entry. As Harv predicted, the rear wall of the warehouse employed two roll-up doors serving a loading dock. A camera mounted on the roof’s parapet was aimed at the loading dock. They kept going down the sidewalk.