Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  * * *

  Lenny told me over the open cell line to come down to the delivery garage we were using as a staging area. I checked the thermal imager one last time. Nothing had changed in my room. All three were in the same positions as before, with one pacing. I slipped out of Lenny’s room as quietly as I could and went down in an elevator to the delivery garage.

  When the doors opened, I saw Lenny, five SWAT guys in full tactical outfits and three other guys in FBI windbreakers, one of whom was Agent Ross. I shook Ross’ hand warmly and thanked him for being there. He said, “It’s what we do.” I let that one go because, today, that was in fact what he was doing. Be humble and thankful, I reminded myself.

  Ross introduced me to the commander, a tall guy, mid-fifties, who had the weathered look of someone who had been through several real wars and survived. He also had the kind of eyes you see in cops on the beat for years: always moving, knowing and serious. I was comforted when he offered his right hand to shake mine while keeping his MK machine gun close to his chest with his left hand.

  “You’re the guy going in,” the commander said.

  “Yes. I can do this,” I responded, keeping eye contact with him as much as I could—it was difficult because he had such strong eyes. “That woman in there, she’s been through way too much with these criminals. I’ll do whatever you want to get her out.”

  “We understand. Hank will set you up,” he said, pointing to one of his men. “We don’t work with civilians, but Ross tells me this is different. This is Cat 1 NatSec. So, you’re the guy. We’ll have your back, I promise.” His words were a salve to my fears.

  I walked over to Hank, who took me to the back of one of the Suburbans. He introduced himself and opened the back hatch. Inside, there were different shelves and compartments, and lots of what looked to be electronic equipment and comm units. It was organized, labeled, and embodied organized effectiveness.

  Hank produced several items and fitted me with a video/audio unit, a button camera and mic which he placed mid-chest. It was wireless and about the size of a nickel. No wires or transmitter unit that would get me shot dead in the first minute. It did not match the button on my shirt, but he had chosen one that was close enough. He pulled out another device, about the size of a carton of cigarettes, pushed some buttons on it, and told me to walk over to the other side of the garage and start talking. As I walked about twenty yards to the other side of the delivery area, I started talking aloud, “‘Now is the time for all good men…’” Hank gave me a thumbs up, so I went back to him.

  “We’ll need a trigger word or phrase. What’s the plan on that?” he asked me as he strapped the device around his neck and let it hang at chest level; he moved his MK so that it was slung behind his back.

  I thought for a moment. Lenny and I had gone over this, so I laid it out for Hank. “Lev wants his money. He took Lauren to motivate me. I would need my laptop to make an electronic transfer.” I paused to catch my breath, also thinking that there was no transfer possible of his money since I had already dispersed it to worthy recipients, such as Lenny and myself. I continued, “That would be the opening. I’ll tell him that it’s hidden under the couch where we think Lauren is sitting.”

  I started to go up into my head—Lauren, tied up—when Hank said, “That will work. Your trigger words will be ‘let me get my laptop; it’s under the couch.’ You gotta do the full trigger phrase. Anything less, we won’t breach. When you say it, you have five seconds to get the woman down. Throw your body over hers; just get your back to the cart and cover your ears—hers too if you can. After five seconds, all hell will break loose, as they say. But it’s true: it will be hell for the people in that room. You need to protect yourself and her too. Don’t worry about us—we’ve done this a thousand times. We know what to do.”

  “I can do this,” I said.

  “I see that you’re armed,” he said. I nodded. I still had the Glock on my hip. “That’s good. Let them see that and take it from you. It will make them feel more confident if they take your gun. In fact, show it to them when you first go in, kind of as a good-faith gesture.”

  “I can do that too,” I said, feeling the fears about what was going to happen. I can do this, I said to myself and repeated it. Use a mantra, control the mind. It was working as Hank pointed back to the commander, who was forming up his guys. He said something to Agent Ross, who came over to Lenny and me, and Sherman and asked us to move over to the doorway leading to the stairs.

  The commander was having last-minute words with his team. Agent Ross left us, walked over to the group, and said a few words to the commander. Maybe it was something about their objective in the room, their mission. At least we had voiced our concern for Lauren. We could not hear what was being said, but they had the look and feel of professional guys at the highest level going into battle; injury and death were clearly on the table. The commander made some final remark and finished, and the SWAT guys touched hands like a sports team. It was action time.

  * * *

  Hank pointed away from the group and said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where will you guys be?” I asked as we started walking toward the elevators.

  “Don’t worry about us, just do your job in there. Size it up, stay calm, and give us as much information as you can verbally. We’ll be listening; we’ll be ready. Remember the trigger words… What are your trigger words?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

  “Okay… Let me get my laptop; it’s under the couch,” I said, a little nervous.

  He saw my anxiety, stopped, and grabbed my arm forcefully, his eyes locked on mine.

  “Don’t overthink this, just do it. Stay focused, stay present. You can do this, sir,” he said. He paused, looking deep. “I can tell: you can do this.”

  “I can do this,” I said. And in that moment, I knew I could. It clicked in.

  “Give her a call. You’ve got the food, you’re coming up in the elevator, you can’t wait to see her.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and tapped her in. It rang four times… and went to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I said. “I’ve got the food and I’ll be right there, just coming up… Are you there?” My chest tightened.

  Hank signaled for me to get off the call, which I did.

  “Okay, call again,” he said. “You never know what’s going on in these situations.”

  I tapped her in. On the third ring, she answered. “Derek.” I could hear it, the fear—it was unmistakable. The call was on speaker.

  “Hey, I’m coming up,” I said.

  “Derek,” she said again… then it clicked off. My chest tightened more. She was in trouble.

  “Let’s go,” Hank said.

  We got to the elevator. The door was open. Sherman’s colleague was in there, holding a key in the elevator control panel. One of the other SWAT team members was also inside; he was standing at the back of the elevator next to a serving cart. I caught the aroma of some kind of meat, perhaps a finely cooked steak, and other delicious smells. Four large coverings rested on the top of the table. A tablecloth with a red-and-white checkered pattern like you would find in an Italian restaurant extended over the top and down the sides of the cart.

  Hank touched my arm as I entered the elevator. I turned. He was giving me the thumbs up, and he silently mouthed the words You can do this. The colleague turned the key, the doors started to close, and I saw Hank take off in a sprint.

  The door closed. The SWAT member asked me, “What’s the trigger phrase?”

  “Let me get my laptop; it’s under the couch,” I answered. They were true professionals. I could see how much they believed that training and practice were integral to success.

  “Good,” he said. “Remember, you have five seconds to get down, to protect yourself and the woman. Five seconds. The cart will go off. It’s a flashbang-type device, mostly flash.
It’s designed for rooms. You won’t be hurt. Five seconds,” he repeated, looking at me with the same seriousness as Hank had. These guys were scary professional.

  We arrived at my floor, and the elevator stopped. The SWAT member faced me and placed his hand on my chest like he was manually checking my heart rate. “Stay calm,” he said.

  “Right,” I said. “I can do this.”

  “Good. Now listen. Walk the cart with the food down the hallway. Use your key just like usual to open the door. Say something nice when you walk in. Check out as much as you can. They’re going to try to take you down. Just go with it. Show them you have the Glock. Give it up as soon as you can. Just go with it. Wait for your opportunity. You’ll know it when you see it.” He looked me in the face. “Got it?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it. I can do this,” I said.

  “Okay, what’s the trigger phrase?”

  “Let me get my laptop; it’s under the couch.”

  “Open the door,” he said.

  The colleague turned the key; the doors opened. One of the other SWAT team guys was already there. The one in the elevator pushed the food cart out, and I followed.

  I looked right and saw an older couple standing next to the wall. Once the cart was out, the SWAT guy outside signaled to the couple and rushed them into the elevator, and the doors closed. It was me, the food cart, and two SWAT guys.

  The elevators were situated in a recessed niche. You had to walk about ten feet to the full hallway. One of the SWAT guys peered around the corner down the hallway to my room, then waved us forward. I pushed the cart and stopped just before turning left into the hallway. One SWAT guy walked on each side of me.

  “Just do what we discussed. Get to the trigger phrase when it’s the right time. You will know it. We’ll be there; we know what we’re doing; we’ve done this a thousand times,” the one on my right said. “Go!”

  I pushed the cart along the hallway. I was walking into a situation that was like nothing I had ever experienced. A woman I cared deeply about was in that room. A killer was in that room, too, with one of his killer buddies. A serious SWAT team was ready to come busting in after an explosion of some sort in the room. And I was the center of the whole operation. I can do this, I repeated silently as I approached the door. I stopped the cart in front and glanced back down the hallway… Nothing. Where were the SWAT guys? Why weren’t they right behind me? Oh man. My chest tightened. I can do this, I can do this.

  I reached into my pocket, took out my key card, and inserted it into the door lock. The light flashed green. I turned the handle, opened the door a little, and said, “Lauren, it’s me.” I pushed the cart into the door to fully open it and followed it through. I saw Lauren seated on the couch. Her face was all fear, and her eyes were wide as saucers. Her hands were tied in front of her.

  The door closed behind me. Then something smashed me on the side of the head. I went down into a blackness littered with stars. I folded to the ground… but I was aware, not unconscious. I can do this… I can do this.

  23

  I lay on the floor. Voices, guttural sounding; some speaking in English, some in a foreign language. I even heard Lauren yelling. And my head hurt, a pounding pain near the top. I felt something liquid on my cheek.

  I was getting my bearings and some understanding of my situation, then, wham: I was jerked up and thrown across the room by someone who was super strong. I landed on the floor near the couch where Lauren was sitting with her hands bound. I tried to open my eyes, but the incoming light hurt.

  I finally got them open, only to see Lev staring right in my face, mere inches from me. His face was flushed red, and his eyes were popping with anger or hate or something else from that category. He held my Glock. He was ready to smash me in the face with it. I ducked my head down and brought my arms up to protect myself. He said something in a voice even more guttural than his usual one, then whacked me on the shoulder.

  I stayed down. I was in trouble.

  Then, hands with vice-like grip picked me up and threw me onto the couch. I crashed into Lauren. She cried out, and I opened my eyes. She was right there, right next to me.

  “Isn’t this cute?” Lev said, standing in front of us. I scanned the room through half-opened eyes. There was Lev, along with two other large, beefy guys—three of them total, not two as we had seen on the thermal imaging device. “I’m going to mess you up,” he said, getting closer and holding the Glock like he was going to hit us, or one of us. Please, not Lauren, I thought.

  One of the men walked toward the door, grabbed the food cart, and flung it against the wall. Like a toy, it hit the wall in the kitchen area. Food from the plates splashed over the wall, and the dishes and covers crashed off the wall and settled on the floor. The cart flipped onto its side. He stood over it and picked through the food and the cart, looking for you-know-what. These guys were stupid, but they weren’t stupid.

  “Nothing,” he said, grabbing a towel to clean off his hands. He picked a piece of steak off the floor and took a bite, then offered it to the others. Lev waved him off.

  “I want my money back. That was my money,” he yelled as he looked at me in a highly angered state, waving the Glock in front of us, pointing with it and emoting something deeply internal. I got his point. Don’t hit Lauren, I thought. Don’t hit Lauren. I needed to be active.

  “I can do that,” I almost yelled, trying to lead him to the trigger phrase. I flashed momentarily on the cart; was that disabled? Had the plan gone down in the first minutes?

  “How, asshole?” he said, his face not more than a foot from mine. He was looking into my eyes, boring in, bending over and waving the gun, ready for another strike.

  “I need my laptop, it’s—” I started to say, but he pushed the Glock into my cheek and pushed me back against the couch before I could finish.

  “Stop!” Lauren yelled. Lev waved the gun close to her face. One of the goons walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a towel and walked it back to Lauren; he wrapped it around her face, pulled it tight against her open mouth, and gagged her. I feared that she couldn’t breathe but saw her taking exaggerated breaths through her nose. Fear filled her eyes. I had to do something.

  “There’s no laptop here. We searched. You lie, I’ll kill you—right here and now!” He was ready to explode.

  “It’s here. I hid it,” I said. I was running a mental subchannel of rapid thoughts. Was the cart disabled? Could the SWAT team hear me through the button mic? How exactly did I have to say the trigger phrase? What if I messed it up and went for Lauren, and they didn’t show up? I was starting to freeze up with fear. I took a few deep breaths to unlock the tension building in my chest.

  Lev gestured with the Glock to one of his men, then toward Lauren. This man was big and had thrown the cart like it was a small toy. He walked over to Lauren, grabbed her by the shoulders, and yanked her up to standing. He muscled her by the neck to get her walking toward the bedroom. I turned to see him forcing her, in case the button mic was still working.

  “Wait, it’s here,” I said loudly. I had to stop this or start the SWAT attack—I had to act. “I hid it. I can wire your money back.”

  “Where?” Lev drew back the Glock, ready to strike. The big guy pushed Lauren into the bedroom, then closed the door. “Where’s it hidden?” he yelled, holding the pistol, ready to strike me. I saw his hand start to move; it would be a crushing blow from that distance with that weight. Fear spiked.

  “Under the couch!” I yelled back. “It’s under the couch. I need—” I tried to say.

  “There’s nothing under the couch. We checked the room, asshole,” he said, lowering the Glock a little, probably thinking of some other way to hurt me.

  * * *

  The SWAT team was in ready position in the stairwell just beyond the room. They had a clear signal from the button mic and could see what was directly in front of D
erek from the perspective of his chest. The commander kept the team in check with constant dialogue through their individual comm units. He saw the man take Lauren into the bedroom.

  “Hank,” he said, “go into the next room. Check through the balconies.”

  Hank came from the stairs door into the hallway and eased past the room. He used a master key, opened the door to the adjoining room, and entered. “I’m in,” Hank said softly.

  “We’re going in seconds. Standby,” the commander said calmly. “Ready to execute. Standby.”

  * * *

  “I hid it inside the couch,” I said. “It’s up inside.”

  Lev brought the Glock down to his side. He appeared to be considering this ridiculous statement, or maybe recalculating how best to shoot me.

  I saw the opening and took it. “Look, I can get you your money. I need my laptop; it’s hidden under the couch,” I said, starting to stand up. One thousand one.

  Lev raised the Glock. One thousand two.

  “What the fuck?” he said, bringing the Glock up toward me. “Where you going?” One thousand three.

  I hoped the SWAT guys were listening. One thousand four. Lev and his man were in front of me. Lev had the Glock at a horizontal angle, aimed in my direction. One thousand five.

  I dove over the back of the couch and grabbed my ears. I hit the floor hard. And it happened like magic.

  Bang! An explosion from the kitchen. Blinding white light attacked every inch of the room, some kind of floating phosphorous material.

  The door smashed in. Pfft, pfft—silenced shots, lots of them; no yelling “FBI” or “Hands up” or anything else. Just lethal gunshots from high-level professionals carrying out their mission that day.

  I stayed down behind the couch. It was all over in seconds.