by Ken Benton
The President’s speech was reminiscent of the desperate appeals from the financial celebrities on the business stations over the last two days. He blamed the crisis on a “panic snowball effect” that would seriously damage the country unless it reversed immediately. He implored the American public, especially fund managers and professional traders, to embark on a patriotic campaign to save America by buying stocks, bonds, and U.S. Dollars with everything they had during tomorrow’s session. It was no less noble a cause than our troops overseas picking up an assault rifle and moving into a terrorist-dominated town to rescue civilian hostages, according to the President, and no less important occasion than the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
The President kept his composure and delivered a convincing appeal. The members of the press gave him an inspiring standing ovation afterwards. The President nodded, smiled, waved, and took the opportunity to walk out on a high note without being subject to any difficult questions that might undermine his speech. It was all extremely well-orchestrated.
Malcolm wasn’t buying it, but he realized the average American probably was. This is what they were all hoping for. The President, admittedly, came through the best anyone reasonably could have, considering the country was suddenly experiencing the greatest financial crisis in modern times.
But the average American had no real influence on the financial markets. It was people like Malcolm who held the power, though Malcolm knew darn well he was a tiny fish, even now. If there was one thing Malcolm was sure of, it was that he wasn’t about to risk his bankroll buying stocks and bonds tomorrow. He wasn’t going to be the guinea pig.
Who would? See, that was the problem. Everyone was hoping everyone else would listen to the President, do their patriotic duty, and rush the markets with an onslaught of buy orders, instantly bringing the current crisis under control.
Patriotism was one thing; money was another. A scene from the movie Jaws came to Malcolm’s mind, where one of the city officials was ordered by the Mayor to be the first one to go in the water on the Fourth of July. Even if Malcolm hadn’t hung up his trading hat, he sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to test the water. For that reason he couldn’t imagine anyone else volunteering, either. Certainly not a major hedge fund manager responsible for hundreds of millions of dollars.
Malcolm turned the TV off and tried calling both Hannah and Ryan one last time before going to bed. Still no luck, but this time was different. He didn’t even get a ring on either one of their phones. Both attempts only garnered a generic message that the system was currently overloaded, and to please try back later.
Malcolm fell asleep thinking tomorrow would be the most interesting Wednesday in the history of America.
Chapter Eight
“Mid-morning on Wednesday,” Alton said, “and we’ve already scoured all of Morgantown. They’re not here, unless they’re operating out of a residence—which I find unlikely, with all the machining equipment recovered from the delivery truck.”
“There must be more industrial parks in this podunk town,” Hannah replied.
“Easy there,” Agent Darian Smith said. “I played football here, for the Mountaineers.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Darian shrugged and grinned at Hannah.
Agent Steve Schneider remained quiet as he fooled with his tablet computer, leaning against one of the two conspicuous black Chevy Tahoe’s in the Denny’s parking lot.
“Got any ideas, Steve?” Hannah asked.
Steve looked up. “I was reading the local news. Hard to get to, buried under all the financial crisis crap. Markets are tanking again today. The way this is going, we may all be recalled. Riots are beginning to break out in all the major cities, including Pittsburgh, over a resulting shortage of food and basic necessities. I can’t see them keeping us on this case when thousands of new criminals are materializing on an hourly basis.”
“Then we better find our culprits fast,” Alton said. Hannah smiled warmly at him.
“What of the local news?” Darian asked.
Steve scrolled his finger on the screen. “A nasty home invasion robbery over the weekend, up near Cheat Lake. Husband and wife found murdered. They had a safe, which was opened.”
“Does it say what the man did for a living?” Hannah asked.
Steve kept reading. “He apparently owned most of the vending machines in Morgantown, among other things, including the ones at Mountaineer Stadium.”
“That’s a cash business,” Alton said. “The empty safe figures to have been full of it. Interesting.”
“Hmm,” Darian said, suddenly walking in circles.
“What?” Hannah asked.
“There’s one more industrial park up that way. I forgot about it, probably because it’s called Coopers Rock Business Park. It offers some nice little warehouse units next to the lake.”
“Let’s go,” Hannah and Alton said in unison.
Moments later, the two black SUVs were on the road north of town headed towards the lake. Alton drove while Hannah used her tablet to zoom in on the satellite photo of their target industrial complex.
She looked up when Alton merged onto Interstate 68, where she happened to catch a glimpse of an odd sight. A horse was tethered to the rear of an old wooden wagon off the roadside. Hannah giggled.
“What?” Alton asked as he followed Darian and Steve onto the long bridge in front of them.
“Putting the cart before the horse.”
Alton grunted. “Let’s hope headquarters doesn’t do the same thing. I’d hate to be recalled because of a financial crisis. These guys we’re after have played hell with us in New York. I don’t care if the dollar does crash. They’re still counterfeiters, and particularly grievous ones at that. It’s our job to stop them. And we both need a successful completion to this job in our file. Especially you.”
“Yep.” Hannah set the tablet down. “Although, if there’s widespread civil unrest, we might all get moved into protection work. But that will be temporary, in all likelihood.”
“Let’s sure as hell hope so.”
Hannah gazed out over the long arm of the lake as they crossed the bridge. It narrowed before vanishing around a bend in the distance. According to the map it continued a ways beyond, through rural lands, before gradually turning back into Cheat River.
“There’s our complex.” Hannah pointed as they came to the other side.
“Nice location. Right on the lakeshore.”
“I have a strong feeling about this one, Alton.”
“Hope you’re right.” He followed the lead car off the bridge at the first off-ramp and circled around to the Coopers Rock Business Park entrance.
“Fancy sign,” Alton muttered.
A voice spoke into Hannah’s right ear. She reached up and adjusted the volume on her earpiece. “Can you repeat that?”
“Let’s make a drive through to the far end,” Darian’s voice responded, “and see what’s in here. We can start at the rear and work our way back. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will run.”
“Sounds good, Darian.”
The two black SUVs slowly made their way through the parking lot.
“There’s a tool and die place,” Alton said motioning left with his head.
“Archers,” Hannah replied reading the sign. “Could that be our phantom Ackman Tool and Die of Columbus? Not a very imaginative name change.”
“They’re counterfeiters, not poets.” Alton continued following the front SUV until they reached the end of the lot.
There they parked. Darian and Steve came out of their vehicle and pointed to the end warehouse unit. Hannah and Alton got out and followed.
“This one’s unnamed,” Steve said, “but obviously occupied. Looks like a good place to start. Who wants to stay outside?”
“I will,” Darian said. “You guys have fun.”
Steve pulled on the front door. It opened. Alton and Hannah followed him inside.
“Hello!” Steve yelled. “Anyone here?”
No answer. Hannah wandered into the office next to the warehouse. There was a desk and chair inside, with an old-style computer monitor and some notebooks sitting atop a large desk calendar. But it wasn’t the desk Hannah was interested in. It was the window to the warehouse.
“Police!” Steve shouted. “Federal agents! Can someone please come up front!” He and Alton then joined Hannah in the small office. Six highly trained eyes scanned the portion of the warehouse that was visible through the window.
That’s when the world exploded. Or so it seemed. The window shattered before them in concert with the eruption of gunfire. Hannah felt an instant seizing pain in the center of her chest and doubled over involuntarily.
It took her a moment to come to her senses. When she did, Steve was sprawled on the ground amongst a sea of glass shards to her left, motionless. Alton sat against the opposite wall of the office with his hand on his shoulder, grimacing in obvious pain. Hannah drew her pistol and crouched under the window.
Darian’s voice boomed from the entryway: “Who’s okay in there?”
“I am!” Hannah yelled back. “But I’m the only one.”
She turned around and saw Darian in the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his weapon drawn in one hand, satellite phone to his ear in the other.
“Police emergency,” Darian said. “Officers down in a gunfight at Coopers Rock Business Park in Cheat Lake. The last warehouse on the right. We need emergency medical response. I repeat, peace officers requiring urgent assistance. Federal agents. No, Secret Service. Officers down and in need of help. Thank you.”
Darian pocketed his phone and gripped his gun with both hands. “That was pistol fire, Agent Lane. I’m going through the warehouse door. Can you cover me?”
Instead of answering, Hannah popped her head and arms up over the open window and began firing. The warehouse was partitioned off in places with shelving and cubicle walls, so she didn’t see anyone—but placed several shots in a wide pattern through the cubicle walls.
Darian came through the door on her right, fired two quick shots himself, and then shouted: “Federal agents! Drop your weapons and come forward!”
Now Hannah saw some movement. Several human forms made a dash in the rear for the open bay door. As they did, three or four shots fired in her direction. They were all high.
Hannah and Darian returned fire. But at least three suspects made it out the back.
Hannah looked down at Steve. He was still motionless.
She scurried over to Alton. “They get one past your vest?”
“Yeah,” Alton replied through clenched teeth. “Lucky freaking shot. I’m okay. I’ll take care of Steve. You, go!” He motioned with his head towards the warehouse.
“Help is coming.” Hannah patted him on the other shoulder as she scampered past him out into the hallway, where she straightened up and ran through the door to the warehouse.
Darian was backed up against a row of metal shelving with his gun pointed up, waiting for her.
“They ran out the back!” Hannah said. “At least three of them.”
“All right. Be careful, Agent Lane. Could be a wounded wolf back there.”
Hannah nodded, stepped out from the shelves, spread into a wide stance and covered the area. Darian went forward, rounded the next bend, stopped and did the same. Hannah then took the next section. In this fashion they leapfrogged their way through the maze until they came to two open tanks, both of which had bills soaking in a pungent chemical solution. They looked like fives. This was their gang all right.
They kept going, through a section of high-end printers, past a wooden table, and finally to open warehouse at the rear—where they encountered a body.
The body was face down on the cement and motionless. A pool of blood surrounded the man’s partially-shaven head, and a revolver lay less than a foot from one of his hands. Hannah stepped closer, kicked the gun to the far wall, leaned down and felt for a pulse on his neck.
“This one’s dead,” Hannah said. “The rest escaped out the back. Come on!”
Hannah and Darian carefully peeped outside the bay doors at the narrow parking lot behind. Sirens could now be heard in the distance. The only human in sight was a UPS driver parked behind the second warehouse over.
Hannah ran to the UPS truck and shouted at the startled driver.
“Federal agents in pursuit of armed suspects! They just ran out of the end unit! Did you see where they went?”
The UPS driver pointed to the thin strip of woods separating the business park from the lake.
Hannah surveyed the trees. They were thick in places. Too easy to get ambushed running into that. She knew the correct thing to do was wait for assistance before attempting to flush them out.
“They have a boat,” a voice said from inside the warehouse. Hannah looked back over and saw a young man standing next to a cardboard box with a tape gun in his hand. He pointed at the lake. “Those guys at the end warehouse,” he explained. “They keep a boat down there.”
At that moment the sound of a loud boat motor starting roared from the shoreline.
“Hannah!” Darian said. But Hannah was way ahead of him and already running towards the dirt. She and Darian made their way through the trees and to the shore just in time to see a fast center-console powerboat speeding away from them.
Several shots fired from the boat. Hannah and Darian ducked and returned fire. But the suspects had all crouched low. The boat was quickly across the lake and headed towards the narrow south bend.
Twenty minutes later the parking lot was filled with police cruisers as Hannah and Darian watched a medevac helicopter take off with Agent Schneider inside, headed for the trauma center at West Virginia University. At the same time, an ambulance carrying Alton drove out of the business park for nearby Mon General Hospital.
“I’m glad your partner’s still alive,” Hannah said. “I didn’t think he was.”
Darian put his hand to his face to cover his eyes. “I don’t think he’ll make it, Hannah. Dammit! We should have been more cautious. I thought it was going to be the tool and die shop.”
“We all did. Steve might make it.”
“How’s Alton?” Darian asked.
“In a lot of pain, but stable. Not bleeding too badly. They think he’ll be okay.”
“How are you?”
Hannah rubbed her chest. “Hurts like hell. Gonna have a big welt, but that’s all. Will have to sleep on my back for a while. Whenever I actually sleep again, that is.”
Darian squeezed Hannah’s shoulder as a blue FBI helicopter landed where the medevac craft had been a minute before. In another thirty minutes, the two of them found themselves participating in a half-circle of police responders around the body of the fallen suspect at the back of the warehouse. An aging local homicide detective examined it, along with a young crime scene investigator.
“You both carry five-sevens?” the detective asked.
“That’s right.”
“And you two are the only ones who returned fire?”
“Correct,” Hannah said.
“Then you didn’t shoot him. The hole in his head is too big. That’s a .38 caliber slug impact at the very minimum, and fired from short range. Probably from just behind him during the gunfight.”
“Maybe these guys don’t shoot so well,” one of the policemen said.
“Maybe.” The detective stood up.
“They print well,” Hannah said. “That’s all we know.”
“Let’s take a look at that.” The detective led the procession up to the printing area, where two FBI agents were rummaging about.
“There’s roughly $100,000 in freshly-printed bills here,” one the agents said. “And enough in the washing tanks to add at least that much more. You caught them in the middle of a production run.”
“A small one,” Hannah said.
The
agent nodded.
“Lieutenant,” the CSI said to the detective, “we have a preliminary digital match on some of the prints. Same ones that were found in the Waller residence, by a 92% probability.”
The detective looked at Hannah. “I thought these were counterfeiters. What are they doing committing home invasion robberies?”
Someone yelled from the front office. “Agent Smith! Phone call on the land line.”
Darian pulled his satellite phone out of his pocket, looked at it, frowned, put it back, and walked up front.
“This is interesting,” one of the FBI agents said as he stood over the wooden table. His partner raised his eyebrows as if to query further, but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He answered it and stepped away.
“What?” Hannah and the detective both said.
“This notebook they left behind has some addresses written in it. One of them is the Waller residence, I think.”
“Let me see.” The detective went to the table. “Yes, that’s it. That other one is in Morgantown, too. Looks like a business address. I’ll bet my back teeth it’s the nightclub that was burglarized early Monday morning, and that the safe on the shelf behind you is the missing safe from the bar there.”
The CSI began coating the safe for prints.
“How many other addresses are on that page?” Hannah asked.
“Just one other. It’s in Salem. That’s a town 50 miles southwest of here.”
“Oh?” Hannah took four steps backwards so she could see Darian through the shattered glass window. He was just now hanging up the phone. He then stood there, frozen in place for a minute, holding his head. That couldn’t be good news.
Ten eternal minutes passed before Darian returned to the gathering in the warehouse. Hannah filled him in on everything he missed.
Darian then spoke to the detective in a sullen voice.
“You can add one more homicide to this gang, Lieutenant. That was my Director on the phone. My partner was dead on arrival at WVU.”
After a long moment of silence, everyone present offered Darian their individual condolences. They were heartfelt and soul-piercing, the type of which could only be given by fellow law enforcement officers.
