Vanek, Darlington and Sebastian all looked at each other, confirming for Campanelli that the three of them had already discussed that possibility. Chief Sebastian’s face was blank as his eyes passed over Frank’s. Deputy Alonso’s anger masked any other facial expression.
“We agree that the helicopter is only part of the journey,” Sebastian interjected. “What is alarming is that few subjects suspected of attempting to leave the Earth have been apprehended at our domestic spaceports. This suggests that there are international flights taking these people to foreign spaceports. After which, they are never heard from.”
“The Comm officers could make no contact with the aircraft used last night,” Alonso took up, “which is an indication that it was not equipped with a flight computer. There was no chance for them to hack into it and land it.”
Chief Sebastian held a hand up and silenced his deputy. Leaning forward in his chair, he addressed the two detectives. “Gentlemen, we understand that it is more than just distasteful to open fire on an unarmed aircraft which is carrying children, but the federal law is to be enforced. What you should have done was order your officers to bring down the aircraft by any means available, not while it represented a danger to yourselves or the officers, but as it fled.”
Sebastian halted, hinting that some sort of reply was warranted. “I understand, sir,” Frank said.
“The Sentinel program is the responsibility of all officers, Frank, Marcus,” Jack Dehner began. “It is not just up to OCD or any one department. It is a national effort of the highest priority.”
“I understand, sir,” Campanelli said again, “but what happens now?”
“You’ll face no disciplinary action, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dehner went on. “This meeting is merely…a step in educating the both of you.”
“I see.”
“So consider yourselves educated and carry on,” the Superintendent surmised and sat forward, giving one of his ample eyebrows an absent minded tug. The OCD men made it clear by their body language that they had expected something more of their supreme commander, but neither said a word.
Frank and Marcus wasted no time. Williams had the door open before Campanelli had even turned fully around. In moments, they were back in the cruiser.
“Well, that sucked,” Marcus said and gave a chuckle.
Frank shrugged. “I’ve been chewed out worse.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Cute.”
“Now where?”
“There’s not much else to do until the stakeout of the yard tonight,” Campanelli explained. “I figure we can work on whatever we need to until then.”
“Paperwork?”
“Yeah, well, whatever.”
Williams sighed and fell silent. The two men used the rest of the day wisely and went home for a rest and a meal before showing up to the yard after dark. Frank took the early shift, sitting inside a stripped out pickup truck. Other, younger and less experienced detectives under Campanelli’s command were nearby, all watching the burned out Lincoln kit car. Williams showed at two in the morning to relieve Frank, but the first night yielded nothing.
The second night in the impound yard went by without intrusion by any creature beyond the occasional raccoon.
It was on the third night when, at the prearranged shift change, that Williams entered the wrecked truck and sat next to his Captain. The former Navy SEAL did so in utter silence, startling the older man with the sudden closing of the passenger door.
“Good morning,” Williams greeted.
“Yeah,” Frank returned, not making a move to exit. He was tired from the past three nights of fractured sleep, almost too tired to leave the truck and go home.
Williams studied the white gangster car for a moment, taking in its faux antique shape so tortured and twisted by the intentionally set fire. The hulk’s sixty-year-old design harkened back to a more complex but comfortable time in man’s history, well before planet Alethea was discovered. Its heat distorted shape seemed to define the decline of civilization on Earth since then, while its lack of functionality foreshadowed mankind’s destiny.
Frank snored lightly, snapping Marcus out of his melancholy. The nighttime could do that, anyway, he realized, but on a moonlit, clear and comfortably cool night like this, the impound lot was downright depressing.
Marcus was about to tap on Frank’s shoulder and send him home when an audible note came in from a detective hiding in another car on the other side of the Lincoln. “I’ve got two men in sight, approaching the subject car.”
The message woke Frank, who sat straight up, appearing alert and fresh. Their artificial vision adjusted for night, he and Marcus both spotted the crouching figures make their way toward the Lincoln.
“Everyone, prepare to take these two,” Campanelli sent out over his implant. He opened the truck’s driver’s side door and slid out as Marcus exited from the passenger side. Neither man could be heard unless the intruders were equipped with implants.
The two raiders separated once they had made it to the gangster car. One started to take the driver’s door apart to take out the window, while the other worked on the glass on the other side.
Campanelli received each detective’s acknowledgment of readiness. He took a deep breath and glanced over at his partner. Marcus looked sharp and menacing with his handgun drawn. Removing his own from its holster, Frank sent out the order to take the scavengers.
Spotlights were triggered on Campanelli’s next order, putting what amounted to daylight in a rough circle around the bait car. Shifting his vision to daytime conditions, he did not wait for Williams to follow him. Frank ran toward the Lincoln and shouted for the intruders to freeze.
The one closest to him did not, choosing to run instead. The thief saw the other detectives moving toward him so he turned away, accelerating to a sprint in the opposite direction. The perpetrator was blinded by the spotlight over Frank’s shoulder and before he could repeat his warning, the fleeing man collided with him, getting a face full of the detective’s handgun and sending the both of them to the ground.
Campanelli, though knocked flat, popped up first and put a knee into the prone intruder’s back. “Don’t move!” he shouted as he looked about for his partner. Marcus approached with his gun covering their catch. Frank took the opportunity to holster his own weapon and place the cuffs on the man’s hands. The trespasser groaned in pain from the contact, but answered in the affirmative when asked if he had understood his rights. To Frank, the voice was familiar.
“Come on,” he grunted as he and Marcus hoisted their catch to his feet. Turning the man around for a look at his face, Campanelli found that he was right. “Well, hello, Diego.”
“Diego DeAngelo,” Marcus added, “alias Diego ‘T’, Angel Alvarez and whatever you’re birth name is, I forget.”
“I think he forgot, too,” Frank agreed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the other detectives had collared the other intruder. “And this must be Carlos DeAngelo. Bring him over here, guys.”
The detectives guided their catch to stand next to Diego. No matter what their birth names had been, the two were brothers and their facial features confirmed it. The pair was a product of an Italian father and a Puerto Rican mother. Both were handsome, with dark hair and eyes over olive toned skin. They were both very talented when it came to fixing and building custom cars, but unfortunately, they also liked to steal them. Frank and Marcus knew these two well, both detectives having arrested them on a half a dozen capers.
“Something about this Lincoln interest you two?” Frank asked as he and Marcus watched their facial expressions closely. Diego’s eyes darted to the car and then to his brother. Neither said a word.
“What do you think, Frank? Are we looking at the coach builders, here?” Williams asked.
“I think so. You and your brother build this ‘one-off’ for a client?”
The DeAngelos remained silent. Campanelli ordered them to be taken into th
e station for interrogation and processing. At the very least, he figured, they could be charged with trespassing.
As was procedure, Diego and Carlos were placed in separate rooms and handcuffed to the tables within. Cameras watched their every move. Diego was the older brother at the age of twenty six, while Carlos was twenty four. Neither man sported bio-electronic implants, so the jamming equipment did not need to be activated. This suited Frank and Marcus just fine as the policemen could remain in contact during the interrogations.
Frank stepped into the room where Diego sat. The repeat offender’s eyes darted about the walls and mirror and he was already sweating. Closing the door with his foot, Campanelli handed the young man an ice pack. With a shaking hand, Diego grasped it and placed it on his swollen right eye, the part of his face that had impacted Frank’s gun. The detective placed the two cups of coffee down upon the metal desk and pushed one toward Diego as he took a seat across from him.
“Diego,” he said with some disdain, “when are you going to learn?” The young man said nothing as he repositioned himself to hold the ice pack and take a drink of the coffee at the same time, which was difficult given the short chain. “What is this, the seventh time you’ve been arrested?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this time’s gonna hurt, kid and you know why,” Frank asserted.
“All you got me on is trespassin’,” Diego said, “I didn’t steal nothin’. I barely laid a hand on that car.”
“Yeah, about that. I have to admit, I should have known that you and your brother would be picked up on this one. You two knuckleheads built that ride, didn’t ya?”
Diego just stared, but in a way that Frank judged to be in the affirmative.
“There aren’t many people talented or connected enough to put together such a car. I have to admit, your outfit is good. What was that car, a sixty? Sixty-one?”
“It’s a sixty-two Mark Ten,” Diego answered. He had thrown in the towel early, figuring on a light charge for criminal trespass. To question why he was being interrogated at all for such a slight infraction did not occur to him.
Frank repeated the year and model. “Very nice. That’s first rate work, Diego. The only problem is that it hasn’t been registered with the state. There’s no VIN.”
Diego squirmed in his seat. He had not known that. “Hey, when it left our shop, it had one. I register all the cars myself.”
“Oh? So, your shop records will have that and who the client was?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I want you to know something else. I know that you saw the car on the news. You knew what it was used for before it was abandoned and set on fire and you knew where it would be tonight so that you could reclaim as much of the materials as you could.”
Diego said nothing. He had blinked several times as Frank spoke and, at the end had looked down at the table.
“So, never mind your records for now. I don’t have the time. You tell me the name of the client that ordered that twenty sixty-two Lincoln Mark Ten, or I’ll see that you and your brother get charged with criminal trespass, obstruction of justice, assaulting an officer…”
To this, Diego removed the ice bag from his swelling eye socket and gave Campanelli an exaggerated look of incredulity.
“Yeah, that’s right. Assault. You attacked my gun with your face!”
“Aw, come on!”
“Who had the car built?” Frank went on, ignoring the protest. “Our forensics team discovered that the bulletproof material stuffed in the doors is from China. The stuff is just about priceless. I’m willing to bet that the client supplied that to you with instructions to fortify the vehicle with it. I’m also willing to bet that Lei Wong of the Triads ordered the car.”
“No. I never met him.”
“Oh? Who did you meet? Who ordered the car, Diego?”
DeAngelo seethed and shot his eyes to the ceiling in frustration and fear. The young man’s thinly mustached upper lip was beaded with sweat. He blinked hard and stared at Frank. The Captain of Detectives knew that he was close to breaking him.
“You know,” Frank fished, “I have the forensics team tearing that kit car apart right now. I’ll bet anything that we find some fingerprints somewhere. Under the dashboard, under the hood, maybe somewhere on an unpainted bit of the frame. If I can tie the car to the murder, and a fingerprint ties the car to you or your brother, or maybe one of your apprentices…” Campanelli trailed off. He had made his point.
“You…you’re talkin’ ‘bout charging one’a us…with…the murder?!”
Frank sat back and was quiet. A hint of a grin crossed his lips as he lit a cigarette.
“You can’t! We just build cars, man!”
“You know, I’m getting tired of busting the both of you. You make a lot more money than me on top of it. How much did you get out of the client for that Lincoln? Two hundred thousand? Three?” Frank went on and pushed out a cloud of smoke. “You know how long I gotta work to make that?”
“All right! All right!” Deigo shouted, dropping the ice bag to the table. “Baojia! We built the Lincoln for the Triads and Baojia’s the one we dealt with.”
“Well, thank you for your cooperation, Diego,” Campanelli said as he stood. “Tell you what. Get me that paperwork regarding the Lincoln and I’ll let you and your brother go.”
“What? Really?” Diego blurted and some of the color returned to his face.
“If…the paperwork checks out,” Frank warned from the door. “If not, well...no deal.”
Frank left Diego to stew in the interrogation room and found Marcus. Carlos had been harder to get anything out of, but after hearing what his older brother had said, Carlos broke down and confirmed it.
Just after nine in the morning, Campanelli asked for and received a search warrant.
Frank’s cruiser led the procession of police vehicles to Wong’s condominium complex. The same young guard was on duty at the gatehouse, this time looking less complacent than the day after the murder. Without much conversation, the gate was brought up and Frank, through his side view mirror, watched the guard place the telephone to his ear.
Campanelli sent a message to the officers in the squad cars and Rothgery’s forensic truck to be on alert. He wished that additional units had been given to his task, but there were none available. He hoped there would not be a firefight, as he did not know the true number of Triad men in Wong’s building.
The cruiser parked, he and Marcus hopped out and strode through the front doors. Both detectives heard the footsteps of their fellow officers rushing to keep up. Baojia and his bodyguard met them in the lobby.
“What is this?!” the Triad elder screeched. He was furious, Frank could see, but there was something else. It occurred to the Captain of Detectives that Baojia was angry at something or someone other than the sudden visit by the police.
“Baojia, I have a search warrant here,” Frank began as he handed the paper over, “to search your residence and the residence of one Mickey Wong.”
Baojia said nothing. He did not even look at the warrant. Other Triad men, well-dressed and rather severe in facial expressions, began arriving from other hallways. They looked to Baojia, but the automatic rifles in the hands of the uniformed officers kept them away.
Campanelli did not wait for anyone’s assent. He had a warrant and he was serving it. He strode to the bank of elevators and pressed the button. Frank casually straightened his tie and crossed his arms.
“You’re going to want to accompany us,” Marcus said and touched Baojia’s arm. To this, the bodyguard surged forward, gripping Williams’s arm. He found himself at the short end of the exchange, however, as Marcus placed a leg behind that of the large gangster and pressed his other hand into his face. With a hard follow through, the bodyguard was flung over Marcus’s leg and onto his back.
The Triad muscleman, now enraged, struggled frantically to regain his feet, only to find several guns thrust into his face by the small crowd of
uniformed policemen.
“It’s all right!” Marcus shouted and waved to his colleagues. “He slipped. Right, guy?” To this, he pointed a finger of warning into the embarrassed guard’s face. Though red and flustered, the big man nodded. “Good. Baojia, this way, please.”
Williams and the elder Triad man joined Campanelli in the first elevator. Two uniforms came in with them while Rothgery, Wilkins and the other officers waited for the other car.
Frank and Baojia exchanged stares. Baojia’s was hot and filled with anger while Frank’s was serene and emotionless.
“Okay boys, cover the door as it opens,” he sent out to the squad of policemen both in his car and the other just a few floors below them. “We’re outgunned here.”
Frank grabbed Baojia by the collar and pressed his body to the door. Drawing his gun, he placed it flat against Baojia’s shoulder. The other officers and Marcus took it as proof that their Captain was serious. They were in a powerful gang’s home base and, if the Triads wished it, their small group could be repelled. Frank had been involved in similar instances back in New York where, overwhelmed by superior numbers and weapons, the initial wave of officers failed to serve the warrant and had suffered severe losses.
Campanelli watched the lighted numbers above the brushed metal elevator doors. A bell rang out for every one they passed. Despite the memories of death and horror spinning around in his mind, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
One last ring of the bell announced their arrival to the top floor. The doors slid open.
Two Triad men awaited the arrival of the elevator. Armed with submachine guns they shouted for the release of their boss. The hallway became a cacophony of angry voices when the second car arrived. A third gangster came out of one of the apartments and joined the other two. He was armed with a handgun that he pointed at Campanelli’s head.
Frank suddenly became angry with these men. How dare they think they can oppose the law? he thought as he pressed Baojia forward. He brought his semi-auto up and pushed its barrel into the gangster boss’s temple.
Campanelli: The Ping Tom Affair Page 7
