Under Siege (35 page)

“The electric breaker switch box is usually on the outside of these houses,” Canzoneri said. “Let’s find it.” It was just in back of the garage, well out of the nearest street light’s beams. Canzoneri pushed the master switch to the off position, shutting off all electricity in the home. Then they waited in some bushes near by.

A man with a flashlight came out the side door of the garage. He stumbled over a box and fell to the grass. That made him drop the light and he swore. The light snapped off when it hit the ground and the man groped around trying to find it. Canzoneri moved quickly, jolted a hard fist into the man’s jaw, and knocked him flat on the ground. They used plastic strips on his hands and feet and a no-danger gag over his mouth.

“Barney?” Fernandez whispered to Canzoneri.

Canzoneri nodded. “Did you see that mail slot through the front door? Should be a hose around here somewhere.” They found it near the garage and a faucet just down from the front door. They pushed the open end of the hose through the mail slot and forced as much of the hose into the house as they could. The other end went on the faucet. Canzoneri turned the faucet handle three full turns that gushed water into Barney’s living room. Then they walked to the street and down to their car.

“I feel like a kid doing Halloween pranks,” Fernandez said.

“We’re just getting started,” Canzoneri said. “I did some investigating three years ago when he gave us a hard time, and I found out some things about him. He’s squeaky clean at his house. He keeps his stash in a small storefront down-town. Let’s see if he’s still operating there.”

The drive took twenty minutes. They cruised past the empty-looking store twice. No lights. Nobody around. It was just after eight o’clock. They parked a block away and came back to the store. It was in a light manufacturing district and the small closed building stood alone on the corner. The front door was locked. They checked the rear. The door was old and the lock older. One solid kick on the door knob jolted the door inward. They used mini flashlights to explore the back room. Nothing much there. A door led to a middle room. They found two paper grocery sacks on a high shelf. Each was stuffed with small bills, ones, fives and tens. They set them aside. A locked storage cabinet against the wall gave them more trouble. At last they pried the hasp off the top drawer and pulled it open.

“Ten kilos of cocaine in there,” Fernandez said. “Must be worth at least ten thousand a kilo. That’s a hundred thousand dollars worth.”

A cry came at them as a door to the front section of the place burst open and two men stormed into the room, each with a handgun waving in the air. The two SEALs attacked, slamming into both surprised men. The guns fell from hands and the SEALs had both men flat on their stomachs and plastic around their hands and ankles before they knew they were in trouble.

“Two keepers,” Canzoneri said. “Barney couldn’t trust just one.” They checked the other drawers in the cabinet and found a variety of pills and meth and a lot of marijuana.

“How about a nice little fire?” Fernandez whispered.

“No WP.”

“No, but we have newspapers and this old wooden building. I’d say it would go up in a flash. We get the two bodies out of here and then do it.”

It took them twenty minutes to lug the two inside security men out the back door and half a block down where they stashed them behind two wrecked cars.

They set the fire against an inside wall. The paper
caught fire at once, and soon they saw that it had enough fuel to catch the wall, then the ceiling and was off and roaring. They watched it a few minutes more. No windows here so it wouldn’t be seen for some time until it burst through the roof. They found a quart of paint and opened it and poured it on the fire. Canzoneri looked at the sacks of bills.

“Hey, no sense all this cash burning up. What do you think?”

Fernandez grabbed them. “I know just the place for this loot.” He carried the sacks as they slid out the back door into the darkness and walked a block away. They got the car and parked where they could see the building. Canzoneri dug through the sack of bills. He found one banded stack of tens.

“Must be a thousand dollars there alone,” he said. “My guess is over twenty thousand in these sacks. What did you mean you know just the place for the cash?”

“Father Joe Carroll’s place. He has a batch of buildings and shelters and facilities for the homeless down here. We can put them outside one of the places and ring the doorbell or something.”

Canzoneri nodded. “Yeah, good idea. Where is the stupid fire department?”

A moment later the fire broke through the roof and painted a red glow on the surrounding buildings.

“Now we’ll get some action.”

Seven minutes later two fire engines shrilled up to the scene. The men strung hoses and attacked the flames. It took them only ten minutes to put down the flames. By then the twenty-by-thirty-foot building was half burned to the ground. The roof had caved in and all of the pot probably had burned, but there would be plenty of the cocaine left for the inspectors to find.

Canzoneri grinned as they drove away. “I figure we just cost good old Barney more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars tonight. Not counting the fifty or sixty thousand he paid for the Lexus.”

“Think that he’ll leave Phyllis alone now?”

“He’ll have so much trouble getting his act back together that he won’t even think about her. Or about me. Nothing really happened to him. He isn’t dead, so my threat isn’t worth much. Especially since we’ll tie Barney to the half-burned building down there.”

“How do we do that?”

“On the phone.” Canzoneri took out his cell phone and dialed the emergency number for the San Diego Police Department.

“San Diego Police.”

“Good. Glad you finally nailed old Barney Givens. You know, the drug dealer. Somebody torched his stash house down on Fourteenth and G Streets. Damn glad. He’s been using that old building as his stash for years now. Get your drag busters down there in a rush.”

“Yes. Who is this please?”

Canzoneri closed the phone and chuckled. “Now let’s see him get out of this one. Those two inside guards will sing their heads off as soon as the cops find them.”

“Is that enough?” Fernandez asked.

“Yeah, I think so. And we still have two days of leave. You still have that tent?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s get our stuff and tomorrow morning go camping up in the Laguna Mountains?”

“Oh, yeah. First, we put this stash of cash where the right people will find it.”

They drove to one of the missions that Father Joe ran and carried the sacks up to the door. It was after-hours and the door was locked. They rang the bell. A speaker came on.

“We’re closed now. It’s after-hours. Please come back tomorrow.”

“No, wait, we don’t want to come in. We have something for you. A donation. Send out your night manager.”

“A donation?”

“That’s right. It’s cash. Come quickly.”

The men pulled down their floppy hats to conceal their faces. A moment later bolts were thrown and the door opened on a chain.

“Yes?”

Canzoneri held up the paper sack so the person inside could see the cash.

“Oh, my. Is that real money?”

“Yes.”

The door closed and the chain came off. When the priest opened the door, he found only the two sacks filled with greenbacks. The two men he had seen were gone. He smiled and went back inside.

Zahedan, Iran

The second day in the Naimullah Hospital, Murdock regained full consciousness. Until then he had been wandering in and out of reality, sometimes mumbling in English. Salama Masud stayed with him. When he checked Murdock during that first day he told them his name was Rashad and he was a wanderer who had saved Salama’s life in a shootout with bandits.

The doctors there were unconcerned with just who the patient was. Dr. Ghani had brought him in and that was enough. He had helped during the operations. They were worried about his wounds. They operated twice on him, first taking out the rest of the two shattered lead slugs that had struck his chest, narrowly missing his heart. They repaired his left lung, removed his spleen, and stitched him back up.

That second day, Masud told Murdock that his men had all been choppered out to Afghanistan and were safe. He didn’t tell him about the dead SEAL. Dr. Ghani visited them once more, then picked up his supplies and headed back to his home town.

“Your name here is Rashad, no last name, just Rashad,” Masud told Murdock. “It is enough. This hospital is famous for attracting some of the best doctors and specialist in all of Iran. Here they are not so closely watched and ordered around as in other large Iranian cities. They simply
don’t care about politics. The important thing is they won’t release you until they are sure that you can survive a trip.”

“How long?” Murdock asked.

“They say six weeks, at least.”

“You can talk to your contact who can tell them in the States that I’m okay?”

“Already done. The Company man here is excellent. He has contacts on both sides of the border. When it’s time, he’ll be the key to getting you out of here.”

For another hour, Salama Masud worked with Murdock, teaching him some basic Farsi phrases he would need. How to say “It hurts here,” “bathroom,” and “I’m hungry.”

Murdock tried to pick up the strange words. None like he had learned before like “Hands up or I’ll shoot.” He felt like a horse had kicked him in the chest. Two slugs dead center and he should be dead. He didn’t believe in fate. There was no all-powerful force out there guiding those bullets to spare his life. Life was what each person made it. Sure there was always chance. Sometimes events worked in ways a person had no control over. But for the most part, a person’s life was exactly what he made of it. That’s why he was lying there in bed recovering. He had asked to be a SEAL, but had asked for this assignment. He knew that Ardith back in DC would be worrying her heart out. He turned to the wool buyer.

“Salama, be sure that they tell Ardith in Washington that I’m okay”, that I’m getting patched back together.”

“Done. That was my first message. To her. The second was to my contact in DC. Now, don’t worry. Uh-oh. Here comes some trouble. This town’s head commissioner. Big boss. Close your eyes and be sleeping. No more English.” He switched to Farsi and pretended not to notice as the tall man entered the private room.

The man cleared his throat and Masud turned and stood.

“Oh, we have company,” he said in Farsi.

The visitor was six feet tall, broad shouldered, and carried
himself with a military stiffness. He had a full black beard and small dark eyes that bored out of a deep set. He watched Masud for a moment and then looked at Murdock.

“This is the one they call Rashad?”

“Yes, the only name I know him by. He worked for me as a guard on my trips into the bandit country.”

“And you are Salama the wool buyer? I have heard of you. But this one has no papers.”

“That’s right. He did, but we lost them when we were attacked. We couldn’t even get back to our camp and thought it wiser to bring Rashad here for treatment than worry about getting his papers.”

“How long has he worked with you?”

“Only during the buying season. We shear sheep once a year, and it takes me three months to contact all of the herders in my area.”

“Probably a wise choice to get him medical attention. But a man without papers …”

“Perhaps I can talk with him when he’s lucid again and get his family name, his history, birthplace, schooling, work history, all of that so we can do new papers for him. With your permission, of course.”

“I’ll consider it. Is your wool-buying season over?”

“We were on the last run when we were attacked.”

The head man of the large city nodded. “Yes. I have much work to do, but I’ll think about your suggestion. We have the need of every good man we can find. I’ll let you know soon.” The commissioner didn’t say goodbye, he just turned and walked out the open door and down the hall.

Masud didn’t like the way the man stared at Murdock. He was powerful and could take almost any action he wanted. Masud moved up close to Murdock. “Keep your eyes closed and listen. That was close. He could rout you out and shoot you dead any time he wishes to. There is little control over him.”

“Did I see Kanza here?”

“Yes. She’s working as a nurse until she can get new papers and her records from the university. She won’t expose you. At least we have the medicine here that is needed. Dr. Ghani left two days ago, so we’re on our own. I’ll stay with you.”

The days drifted by for Murdock, who was still on medications and often slept during the day as well as at night.

The third week he came out from some of the drugs and felt better. He touched Masud’s hand. “Hey, I’m mending. I can breathe better now. I don’t even wheeze anymore. When can I go home?”

A nurse came in, checked his chart, nodded to Masud, took Murdock’s temperature and put it on the chart and left.

“Not yet. When it happens, you won’t know in advance. I’ve talked to Kanza. She reads the charts for me and listens to the doctors. They are surprised how strong you are and how quickly you are healing. She says another week and your breathing will be close enough to normal that you can stand a helicopter flight over the mountains. But that presents us with a problem.”

“Didn’t the rest of the team chopper out into Afghanistan?” Murdock asked.

“They did, but not all the way to Kabul. They crossed the border and then went south into Pakistan to Karachi where they could get commercial air. The choppers my contact says that are available here now don’t have that kind of range.”

“So what do we do?” Murdock asked.

“We’re working on it. Don’t worry. Just get yourself well enough to travel. We’ll be going with Kanza’s help.”

“Is she coming along?”

“If she wants to. We’ll have to see. She may have to if she wants to stay alive.”

“You have a tough act here, Salama.”

“I know, and I wish it were better. Not for a while.”