Witness Protection 9
S.N.A.F.U.
Holly Copella
Copyright © 2021 Holly Copella
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
ISBN-13: 978-1-947694-22-4
To Attila Hajnal –
My favorite Szekler Warrior and for providing inspiration for my beloved Zack
&
To Robert Tyler –
For answering all my “stupid questions” so the FBI won’t question my browser history
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Copella Books: First Paperback Edition 2021
Cover Artist: Daniela Owergoor
Dani-owergoor.deviantart.com
Model by Grafvision
Model: Attila Hajnal
Stock Photography by NeoStock www.neo-stock.com
Printed by KDP, an Amazon.com Company
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content..
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Other books by Holly Copella!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
Colorado, eleven o’clock in the morning Mountain Time. The mansion’s security office wasn’t much larger than a closet with bland walls containing security monitors, a small desk facing them, and no windows. A moderately heavyset guard in his late thirties sat at the desk with his back to the door directly behind the swivel chair. The many monitors revealed different locations around the estate. Since there were more security cameras than there were monitors, the images shifted from location to location every few seconds. The security guard dressed in a dark gray uniform barely scanned the monitors before him. Most rooms within the mansion were empty, and there appeared to be nothing going on anywhere around the estate. The guard drank his second cup of coffee while flipping through a magazine on the desk before him. There was a light knocking on the door directly behind the guard.
“It’s open,” he called out with little care or concern, having seen his visitor approaching within the corridor before he ever reached the office door.
The door opened, nearly clipping the swivel chair, and the mansion’s newest security guard entered. The guard, Bogart, was a tall, well-built man in his late twenties. The charming country boy was ‘hunky actor’ handsome with flowing golden-brown hair and sideburns that were a shade darker. Since he was one of the mansion guards, he didn’t need to dress in uniform like those who worked in the office. He dressed casually in jeans, a light blue flannel shirt, and his worn cowboy boots.
“You bored too?” the guard in front of the monitors teased the new guy.
Bogart sat on the edge of the security desk and watched the monitors showing the various locations within the mansion. Although there were none in the bedrooms, cameras were set up in most of the corridors and the common areas. There were also many outside the mansion, including the front acreage, the back property, the swimming pool, and the detached, eight-car garage.
“That has got to be the best security system I’ve seen in a long time,” Bogart informed the guard seated behind the monitors, “and I’ve seen my share.”
“Not only can I rotate the camera,” the guard informed him while grinning, “but I can zoom in as well.”
“How close can you get?” Bogart asked and eyed the monitors with a little more than a passing interest. He seemed to be secretly gauging the camera range around the estate.
The guard chuckled and chose the pool and patio area out back where a beautiful young woman in a bikini was sunning herself on a large, round lounge bed. The young woman at poolside, Zoey, was possibly in her early twenties, if that. She was a petite, slender woman with her long dark hair cascading down her bikini-clad chest to her large, firm breasts. She was a vision to behold. The guard zoomed in on the young woman’s cleavage, getting surprisingly close. Bogart chuckled at the camera's ability to zoom in and shook his head.
“I’m guessing this job has its perks, huh?” Bogart teased and then indicated the attractive, young woman. “Better not let the boss catch you sneaking a peek at his daughter. Reeves will have your head for sure.”
“When a man is stuck in this room all day,” the guard announced, “he has to find ways to entertain himself.”
“No volume, though, huh?”
“No, there’s no way to listen in on conversations,” the guard replied and frowned. “Some of the things I’ve seen would have been incredible with dialogue.”
Bogart tapped the one screen in the lounge with a gorgeous woman not much older than the boss’s daughter. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall with some of her more heated conversations with the staff. The boss’s new, young wife is quite the spitfire.”
“That she is,” the guard replied.
The boss’s wife, Casandra, seen on the lounge camera, was the classic trophy wife from her perfectly bleached, long blonde hair to her high-quality boob job. She was never seen without perfectly applied makeup, slinky clothes that revealed more than enough of her assets, and stiletto heels. In the six weeks Bogart had been working at the mansion, he’d never seen Casandra in the same clothes or possibly even the same shoes. Whether it was first thing in the morning, relaxing at poolside, or dining with her millionaire husband, she was always dressed to kill.
“Between us,” the guard reported and cast a sly look at Bogart. “I’m convinced Casandra is getting it on with the boss’s second in command.”
Bogart cocked his head and eyed the guard, who now smirked and leaned back in his chair. The guard grinned and nodded, confirming what Bogart was thinking.
“Casandra and Decker?” Bogart asked with surprise, then appeared curious. “Have you said anything to the boss?”
The guard suddenly laughed and sat forward. “Hey, you mind your own business around here,” he insisted. “You’ll live longer. I cause waves for Decker, and he takes it out on me. You don’t mess with these guys. I don’t make enough to risk my life.”
“I hear you,” Bogart announced. He continu
ed to scan the monitors then noticed something interesting. He pointed to the lower screen. “What’s that?”
The guard focused on the image and rotated the camera. Once he did, they could easily see a man with a hood over his head. He was tied to a sturdy chair in a bland room with stone walls and a concrete floor. Judging by the walls and floor, the room was located in the basement.
The guard groaned and shook his head. “That’s another one of those things we pretend we don’t see around here,” the guard informed him. “No idea who the poor bastard is, but he won’t be there in the morning, that’s for sure.”
Bogart stared at the screen a moment longer, but he couldn't identify the prisoner with the hood over his head. Bogart then nodded and managed a tiny smirk. “You mean when the ‘clean-up’ crew arrives tonight.”
The guard cast a look at Bogart and grinned. “Well, they certainly have you up to speed for the new guy.” The guard then frowned. “Around ten o’clock tonight, the camera will go out. They manually switch it off whenever they ‘interrogate’ men in that room. When it comes back on around midnight, the room will be empty.”
“Well, at least you’re not an accessory by being a witness to anything,” Bogart assured the man.
“Tell me about it,” the guard remarked. “Most things that go on around here, I don’t want to know about.”
A few minutes later, Bogart walked along the basement corridor while keeping close to the left wall. The mansion basement closely resembled a dungeon with its concrete floor and stone walls. There were many corridors, and all seemed to be lined with old, wooden doors. Bogart paused near one of the doorways and glanced at the security camera mounted on the wall's upper corner. Since it wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art, he was able to watch the direction it turned. When it rotated left, Bogart crossed to the right and stayed out of its line-of-sight. He continued along the corridor until he reached the detention room. Bogart examined the lock on the door then removed a lock pick from his cowboy boot. He inserted the pick into the lock, hesitated a moment, and then tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked. He snorted a soft laugh then looked back at the camera. It was coming back his way. Bogart gently pushed open the door and took a moment to peer into the room.
The room was empty except for the bound man seated and tied within the heavy, wooden chair resembling an old-fashioned electrocution chair. The stone walls and limited lighting gave the windowless room a creepy appeal. The old, concrete floor retained remanences of blood from past prisoners. Bogart slipped into the room, keeping close to the door, and looked at the camera installed just within reach. As he had seen within the security office, the camera rotated across the room and only occasionally caught a view of the doorway. He reached up and flipped the switch, stopping the camera from turning, keeping it angled toward the empty corner. Bogart quietly closed the door behind him and cautiously crossed the room toward the tied man whose hood-covered head hung down.
“Hey,” Bogart announced while attempting to keep his voice down despite that the camera angled away from them had no audio.
The hooded head lifted as Bogart approached and paused before the bound man.
“It’s okay,” Bogart announced. “I’m just going to remove the hood. Just keep quiet. Okay?”
The man muffled a response. Bogart carefully pulled the hood off the man’s head, revealing duct tape covering his mouth to keep him from making any sounds. Bogart stared in horror at the prisoner. It was Federal Agent Blake Harris, his brother-in-law’s boss at the Colorado Springs Bureau. Blake was an athletically built, distinguished-looking man in his forties with light brown hair peppered with gray. Judging by his condition, his captors had roughed him up a little, leaving bruises on his cheek and jaw.
“Jesus, Harris,” Bogart gasped and hurried closer to the man he’d recently befriended while on a case.
Bogart crouched in front of Blake, who stared at him in surprise. He pulled the duct tape from Harris’s mouth, revealing his swollen and split lip, covered in dried blood.
“Bogart?” Harris gasped in response then quickly cast a look at the camera by the door as if attempting to warn him of it. “We’re being watched.”
“I took care of it. I’m going to get you out of here,” Bogart insisted with sympathy in his voice, “but I can’t do anything just now. There are too many killer types crawling all around this place. I have to come up with a plan, but it could take a few hours. You need to sit tight until I can clear a path to get you out.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Harris reported and seemed to breathe easier now and even managed a tiny smile. “Is the rest of the team with you?”
“No, just me,” he replied. “I’m flying solo on this one.”
“I won’t ask,” Harris replied.
“Why did they nab you?”
“One of my informants told me there was sensitive information on undercover agents and their families being shopped around,” Harris informed Bogart. “My search brought me a little too close to Reeves.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of what brought me here too, except I came willingly,” Bogart remarked, then glanced at his watch. “Give me until six o’clock tonight. I’ll have a plan to get you out by then. If I can’t get you out safely, I’ll call the Bureau and have them raid the place.”
“I’m concerned someone at the Bureau may be compromised,” Harris informed him. “There’s no telling how deep this goes.”
“Then I’ll get you out myself, even if it means blowing my cover,” Bogart replied.
Harris panted and nodded, appearing relieved. “Thanks, Bogart.”
Bogart patted Harris on the shoulder. “I won’t let Twinkie lose her father, I promise.”
Once he returned Harris the way he’d found him and restored the security camera to its original condition, Bogart hurried back upstairs before he’d be missed. Once a conman, Bogart wormed his way into the inner circle of Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, his father’s former Navy SEAL team turned independent contractors. It wasn’t so long ago that Bogart discovered his father’s team and the sister he never knew he had. It was his affiliation with the team that eventually brought him undercover to Reeves’s estate. As Bogart made his way to the kitchen to grab some lunch with the others, he saw the boss’s second in command, Decker, approaching. Decker always looked as if he was about to kill someone. He was a tall, burly, and intimidating-looking man in his early thirties with short, dark hair and a day’s worth of stubble on his face. Women seemed to find him attractive, but all Bogart saw was a merciless killer. In a way, he reminded Bogart of his teammate, Kirk, but without Kirk’s charming personality.
“You were supposed to be patrolling the estate grounds,” Decker scoffed while giving Bogart a less than pleasant once-over. “Where were you?”
“I was checking in with the security office,” Bogart replied being oddly truthful for a change. “Checking last night’s activity logs.”
“That’s not your job,” Decker retorted while seemingly staring through Bogart.
Something about Bogart seemed to rub the second in command the wrong way. Maybe it was because Bogart was still relatively new, but there was something about how he reacted to the country boy, seemingly sizing him up, which made it feel personal. Bogart was certain his cover hadn’t been blown. If it had, Decker probably would have tortured him by now. Decker maintained eye contact in an intimidating manner, and Bogart was intimidated. The man wouldn’t think twice about shooting him in the head just for kicks.
“I’m in charge,” Decker reminded him. “You do what I tell you to do. Your job is to patrol the grounds.” Decker straightened proudly as if attempting to make himself seem taller than Bogart. “Get some lunch to go and check out the back perimeter.”
“Yes, sir,” Bogart replied.
Bogart was about to leave when he saw the boss’s young wife approaching from the front room. Casandra looked stunning as always in her casual, pale blue, form-fitting dress and matching stiletto heels. The f
amiliar sound of her high heels clicking on the areas of uncarpeted floor alerted Decker to her presence. He immediately turned his focus away from Bogart and onto the beautiful, young woman. Casandra smiled through ruby red lips while casting a sly glance at her husband’s second in command. She then eyed Bogart while maintaining her smile.
“Being a little hard on the new guy, aren’t you?” Casandra teased almost seductively, then looked back at Decker.
The moment her eyes connected with Decker’s, Bogart saw the hardened man’s reaction to the beautiful woman. Bogart wouldn’t have noticed the lust in Decker’s eyes if the security guard hadn’t drawn his attention to it. Now that he was made aware of a possible affair, Bogart could almost see the fireworks between Casandra and Decker. Decker’s eyes were locked on the woman, watching her every move and studying her every feature. Her eyes again shifted to Bogart, and she offered a somewhat wicked smile, one Bogart easily recognized. And there it was! Casandra was checking out Bogart, and Decker was crazed with jealousy. Was it possible it wasn’t just an affair? Could Decker actually be in love with Casandra? Somehow, that made him even more dangerous in Bogart’s mind. Bogart immediately tensed and avoided looking at Casandra. He didn’t need to fuel Decker’s jealousy.
“I’ll be patrolling the back grounds, if you need me,” Bogart informed Decker, then headed for the kitchen.
Casandra seemed slightly surprised by Bogart’s sudden and somewhat rude departure. She then offered a sly grin at Decker, seductively walked past him, and entered the library. Decker waited only a moment then followed her, shutting the door behind him.
Chapter 2
Coastal Maine, one o’clock in the afternoon Eastern Standard Time. A massive, three-story hotel sat nestled on the tall, secluded cliff overlooking the ocean. The old hotel had been painstakingly renovated to its original grandeur from decades past and offered a spectacular ocean view that seemed to extend for miles. A commercial, fourteen-passenger Bell helicopter sat in the meticulously manicured lawn between the hotel and the woods. The helicopter’s massive rotors thumped loudly as they revved faster, preparing for take-off. The hotel’s few occupants stood on the back patio and waved to their departing friends. The helicopter finally lifted off, circled over the ocean, and was soon on its way. The young female pilot, Jackie Falcone, skillfully flew the aircraft and her sole passenger away from the remote hotel.
Witness Protection 9: S.N.A.F.U. Page 1
