Moss pointed toward the complex entrance as a black Cadillac rolled down the main road. "We got company. I thought your plan was to have us in position before Scalini arrived."
"It was."
"Well, we're not," said Moss.
"Scalini's early."
Moss turned to Kaplan. "This is not only going to cost me a witness but a career as well. And it might land my ass in jail. Your plan just keeps getting worse."
"Relax," Kaplan reassured. "It'll work."
Kaplan knew the plan was risky. If Moss had known how risky, he was sure the inspector would never have agreed to it. And he knew Tony wouldn't have gone along with it either. But it was too late to back out now.
The limo pulled to the loading door. A heavy-tinted window rolled down and one of the guards leaned over and spoke. The window rolled up. He saw the other guard lift up the retractable door on the building. The Cadillac drove in and the guard immediately closed the metal door behind it.
"Looks like the clock just started ticking," said Kaplan.
"Just started ticking?" Moss's voice sounded agitated. "The clock started ticking the moment I agreed to let you hand Tony over to those two goons. I can't believe I went along with your harebrained scheme. What was I thinking? We need to call for backup."
"Don't chicken out now." Kaplan stared into Moss's eyes. "We can do this. I've been in situations a lot worse where the odds were stacked against me far more than this. We need to move quickly and not hesitate. Hesitation kills."
Moss looked at his watch. "How long should we wait?"
"We need to move now," Kaplan said. "Or else your witness dies."
* * *
Senior Inspector Pete Moss watched and listened as the wino staggered toward the two men guarding the warehouse entrance. He wore a dirty brown trench coat and a longshoreman's cap with a hole in it. In his left hand he carried a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.
"Beat it," one of the guards said. He stepped forward holding up his hand like a traffic cop.
The wino kept staggering toward them.
Based on Kaplan's reconnaissance, Moss calculated there were at least five of Scalini's men inside and now, Martin Scalini himself. Kaplan had counted one man already inside plus Angelo DeLuca and his companion, Bruno the Rat. Then he had to account for the limo driver and one other. And of course, the two men at the entrance. Best case scenario—eight against two. He hoped Gregg Kaplan was as good as Tony said he was during the interview in the quiet room.
"Are you deaf or just plain stupid?" the other man said. "Don't make trouble for yourself. Translation…beat it or I'm going to put a bullet in your head." He turned to his buddy and laughed.
The wino stopped less than ten feet from the men and placed his bottle on the ground. He swayed as he said something to the men. The wino turned, faced the building, and unzipped his pants as he prepared to urinate. Both men pulled their guns and rushed to stop him.
The wino attacked with lightning speed. He grabbed the gun barrel of the first man with his left hand pulling the guard closer as his right hand smashed into the man's neck. The man gasped and clutched his windpipe as the wino delivered a knockout blow to the man's head. The guard slumped toward the wino and fell to the ground.
The second man never had a chance. He hesitated, stunned, as his friend fell to the ground. And in that moment of hesitation, the wino delivered a roundhouse kick to the man's head. The second man crumpled to the ground. The wino grabbed both men by the collars and dragged them around the side of the warehouse.
When he returned, he wasn't wearing the overcoat or the longshoreman's cap.
Gregg Kaplan gave Moss the all-clear signal.
Tony was right, Moss thought, Gregg Kaplan was a machine. Perhaps the best he'd ever seen. Certainly the fastest. A dangerous man. His brutal combat martial arts skills made Moss glad he was on his side.
* * *
Kaplan had placed the unconscious guards in the shadows against the dark side of the warehouse. He flex-cuffed and gagged both men and laid them side-by-side. He poured the five-dollar wine he'd paid fifty dollars for over their bloody faces and dropped the bottle between them. He removed the tattered overcoat he'd paid the homeless man a hundred bucks for and draped it over them.
He motioned for Moss to join him.
When Moss arrived, he handed him one of the weapons he'd taken from the men he'd just immobilized. "Here."
"Uzis," Moss said. "Just like the guy inside?"
"Yep."
After watching you handle those two." Moss motioned with his head. "I'm not sure we'll need reinforcements after all."
"I only need one thing from you Moss." Kaplan said. "I need to know you got my back."
Moss smiled and held up his Uzi. "A hundred percent."
"Good to know. This won't be easy. When we go through that door, you can't think like a cop. From here on out, this is self-preservation. If you hesitate, you're dead. We're dead. It's kill or be killed."
36
The front doorway to the warehouse opened beneath a wooden catwalk overlooking the unlit warehouse floor. On the upper level behind the catwalk was a suite of offices or rooms, or something, which occupied roughly a third of the warehouse's footprint and was built at the waterfront end of the mammoth-sized building. The only light inside the warehouse emanated from those rooms. The dim warehouse provided Kaplan and Moss better cover.
Kaplan looked up and saw a man through the spaces in the catwalk. He gestured to Moss, his finger over his lips and then pointed toward the man above.
Moss nodded.
The black Cadillac limo was parked next to the silver Buick and both bumpers were right in front of a wooden staircase leading to the rooms upstairs.
Kaplan took in his surroundings. The floor was covered in sawdust, probably used to absorb spills from the contents of the dozens of metal drums, some with transfer pumps, crates, and wooden boxes that occupied most of the warehouse floor beneath the upstairs offices. Bending low to his knees, he moved silently, inspecting each item while remaining mindful of the guard overhead. There were oil drums and solvent drums with chemical labels he'd never seen before, and some he had, including lead azide, a highly volatile explosive and one he'd used before to set off an explosion at a factory outside of Moscow. At the opposite end of the warehouse he noticed a large fuel tank he assumed was filled with diesel or gasoline.
He and Moss had just invaded a powder keg.
His first order of business was to disable the guard on the catwalk without alerting the others in the rooms upstairs. He gave hand signals to Moss who understood and took up position under the stairs.
Kaplan found a wooden support column beneath the midway point of the catwalk and shimmied up as far as he could without exposing his presence to the man above. He pulled out his knife and clenched it between his teeth. When he was in position he gave Moss a nod—there was no turning back now.
* * *
In the beginning, Moss was skeptical of Kaplan's plan, but now that he’d seen the CIA operative in action, he was confident Kaplan had the skills to pull it off. The guard pacing above Kaplan on the catwalk was armed but not very attentive, which gave Kaplan the upper hand. The man walked back and forth with his Uzi strap draped over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets.
After they had entered the warehouse and made a quick and silent recon, Kaplan grabbed two small bolts on top of a solvent drum, placed the greasy metal objects in Moss's palm, and used hand signals to relay instructions to him. Kaplan laid out his plan to him and then climbed a wooden pole that served as a support column for the wooden catwalk above.
Moss positioned himself beneath the wooden steps leading to the upper level and awaited Kaplan's signal, which came as soon as Moss crouched into position.
Moss took the first bolt, gauged the strength he'd need to hit his target, wound up his arm, and tossed the lightweight object with just enough speed to tumble across the floor and rest against the far
wall. The metal bolt bounced unexpectedly and clanged against a metal drum. Kaplan shot him a stern look. The distraction worked, though. The startled man turned and moved swiftly toward the end of the catwalk.
Kaplan started to pull himself over the rail then ducked back down as a voice from inside a room yelled out, "Paulie, you okay out there?"
A man stepped out onto the catwalk. The guard turned around and said, "I'm fine, Joey. Heard something downstairs. Guess I better check it out."
"Probably just a wharf rat. They're all over this filthy place."
"Better check it out anyway," said Paulie.
"Yeah? You think Frankie and Dominic let somebody inside or something?"
Paulie hesitated and then said in a shamed voice, "I guess you're right. Nobody's getting past those two. Like you said, Joey, probably just a rat."
Joey went back inside the upstairs room he came from and Paulie went back to mindlessly pacing the catwalk with his silenced Uzi once again strapped over his shoulder and his hands in his front pockets.
Beads of sweat rolled down Moss's bald head, stinging his eyes. He waited for another nod, which again came too fast for his own comfort and this time with another hand signal to toss the next bolt softer. Moss stretched his arm back and pitched the bolt lower and with less force. It grazed against a wooden crate as it tumbled across the sawdust covered concrete floor.
Paulie turned, walked to the end of the catwalk, and leaned over the railing. He aimed his Uzi down at the noise and pretended to shoot at the fictitious rat. "Damn wharf rats," he muttered under his breath.
Kaplan swiftly hoisted himself over the railing and charged down the walkway with speed and agility. The man was unprepared for Kaplan's surprise attack.
Moss was amazed at how fast Kaplan disabled the threat. The CIA operative collared Paulie from behind, cupped his hand over the man's mouth, and smashed the butt of his gun with exact precision against Paulie's head. Moss expected to hear some noise, but none came as Kaplan slowly lowered the unconscious man to the catwalk planking. Within a minute, Paulie lay flex-cuffed and gagged.
* * *
Kaplan motioned for Moss to move to the base of the stairs while he crawled on his hands and knees beneath the windows lining the catwalk. He was vulnerable and wanted someone keeping watch with a gun in case Joey came out to check on Paulie again while he made the thirty-foot crawl beneath the span of windows.
When he reached the end of the catwalk near the staircase, Kaplan checked around the corner and noticed an open and empty foyer with a desk and four cheap red vinyl-covered chairs. They looked like throwbacks from the 70's. Between two chairs on the back wall was an emergency exit door. One he already knew was locked from the inside. The third wall had two doors and what appeared to be a hallway leading deeper into the upstairs space, maybe to bathrooms or other offices.
Kaplan signaled to Moss the all clear. Moss moved up the steps as he kept his eyes fixed on the open foyer above him.
Three steps from the landing, Moss stepped on a loose plank that rocked forward under his heavy foot. He froze and looked at Kaplan who had instinctively hunched at the sound and turned toward Moss. A frozen look of terror filled the big WitSec deputy's wide eyes, but he wasn't looking at Kaplan.
Kaplan turned and saw four gun barrels.
Two pointing at Moss and two pointing at him.
37
Her perch on the abandoned crane platform offered an ideal view down the length of the warehouse. She had an elevated line of sight at anything or anyone entering or leaving the front entrances as well as the rear. Valkyrie scouted the prime location to setup sniper watch after receiving the location of Scalini's warehouse from Shepherd. It was a premium spot for the kill shot.
Her choice of the lightweight .50 caliber Barrett M107A1 rifle with a QDL suppressor was an excellent choice for the one hundred twenty foot vertical climb to the platform. At just over five pounds, the sniper rifle was no burden to carry, unlike her escape kit, which weighed over ten pounds alone.
When she reached the platform, she attached her optics to her rifle, a Barrett Optical Ranging System. Systematically she made her mental and physical preparations for the long-range shot. There was no margin for error. Preparation was an important key to a successful mission. There were countless variables to consider before squeezing the trigger. Range to target, wind direction, air density, and elevation—all factors that influenced the bullet’s trajectory and point of impact.
The wind was light, something that would work in her favor. Using the ranging system she determined her shot would be just over nine hundred yards. Not the easiest shot she'd been forced to take. Not the hardest either. She had made longer distance sniper kills with pinpoint accuracy. However, those were daylight shots without shadows or glinting from streetlights.
The long-range sniper shot was Valkyrie's forte. Her trademark. She was a master of stealth with the patience to wait for the perfect shot. It was vital to setup position, verify that position was well camouflaged, establish an escape route with a backup plan, and train both the mind and the body.
The sniper's mind needed to be trained and the skill honed to perfection. As soon as she setup her rifle, she started her relaxation breathing. Proper breathing was another critical step in mental conditioning for the shot. She observed the exits and took mental shots, calculating the options and obstacles. Her line of sight view offered her prey virtually no cover once clear of the building. And, in this instance, clear of the building meant anywhere more than two feet from the exterior walls.
One shot, one kill. A sniper's motto.
Thanks to Shepherd relaying this location from his inside source, she was able to scout the area and get into position on the perch before the Buick LaCrosse arrived. She knew it contained the witness and his captors. Through the crosshairs on her rifle's scope she watched the next two men pull up in a Mercedes, park, and stake out the warehouse. A black limousine appeared and drove inside the warehouse. One of the men from the Mercedes subdued both guards with a quick-hitting strike and dragged their bodies away from the front of the building.
She zoomed the optical in on his face and recognized Gregg Kaplan. He had not lost his skills, she mused. And he was still ruggedly handsome and very dangerous.
Within seconds another man joined him. He stepped in front of Kaplan, blocking her line of sight. It was the man she had met in Little Rock and worked with earlier. And he was now here in Newark.
Senior Inspector Pete Moss, United States Marshals Service.
And by the looks of it, he had teamed up with Kaplan.
The two men quickly disappeared inside the warehouse.
She figured if Moss and Kaplan were together, then Moss's hunch about the man was correct, he was leaving a trail only law enforcement could follow. Something had changed though, because he didn't take the witness to the SSOC in Virginia as originally anticipated. Along the way a new plan must have developed and now all the players seemed to be in Newark and, according to Shepherd, Moss's witness was in the hands of Martin Scalini. And from what she knew of the mob boss, the witness would likely die at the hands of Martin Scalini.
As she settled in to wait for her target to exit the warehouse, she noticed two large black SUVs enter the Newark Shipping Terminal complex and stop a hundred yards from Scalini's warehouse. The vehicles turned off their headlights and idled for several minutes. Even with her high-powered scope she was unable to see through the blackened windows. Traces of steam and exhaust puffed from the tail pipes.
Suddenly, the doors to both SUVs opened and four men from each vehicle exited and rushed toward Scalini's warehouse.
Each man carried an assault rifle and wore an armored vest. Emblazoned on the black vests were three bold white letters.
FBI.
* * *
Angelo DeLuca waited for Martin Scalini to start torturing the man when they heard the noise on the steps. By the time he and Bruno made it to the landing, Joey and Nicky
had the two intruders at gunpoint.
This wasn't the first time DeLuca was going to witness one of his boss's sadistic torture sessions. In fact, he'd had to endure far too many. The victims were tortured until Scalini extracted the information he wanted. If the victim could no longer endure the excruciating pain they would beg for death. The lucky ones got a bullet to the head.
Unless it was personal. Then there were no lucky ones.
And with Tony Q, it was very personal. Scalini would take his time with Tony Q. Make him suffer for two, maybe three days before finally ending it. Driven out of his mind from pain, he too would beg for death. In a way, DeLuca felt sorry for the old man.
As soon as the mob boss arrived, Martin Scalini and Tony Q stood across the torture table from each other without speaking. Scalini, a lanky man with thinning hair had an intense seething glare behind his big black frame glasses with Coke bottle thick lenses.
Tony Q stood straight with relaxed shoulders and a frozen scowl on his face. Odd posture for a man who had an impending date with death. The two men stared at each other, a silent communication that only the two of them seemed to share. Maybe they were sizing each other up for the inevitable. Or maybe Scalini was simply bewildered at Tony Q’s demeanor. The mob boss was the most feared and powerful mobster in New York. Instilling fear in others was how he ran his organization. Tony Q did not act panicky or intimidated. Scalini was visibly taken by surprise and shifted his weight back and forth on his feet revealing his obvious agitation.
It was in that moment when they heard Joey yell at the intruders.
* * *
Kaplan looked at Moss and then back to the men pointing guns at his head.
Blown Page 18
