Bonner Incident

by Thomas A. Watson

  Standing up straight, “I will relay your message Mr. Speaker,” Griffey said obediently. The three sat quietly as Griffey picked up his briefcase and with a nod, left.

  “So, how long till you think he can get this wrapped up?” the President asked looking at the Director.

  “He should start getting results a few weeks after getting up to full strength.”

  “You will be keeping a close watch on this, won’t you?” the President asked getting up. “Unlike taxes, we can spend the seized assets as we wish.”

  “I get briefings twice a day Mr. President. Would you like me to update you daily?”

  “No, weekly is fine unless there are problems,” he said waving his arm. “I’m off for another briefing,” he grinned and headed for the door.

  When he was gone, the Speaker stood up. “You make sure Wagner is under control. I’m not in the mood for another Miami. We need his passion and loyalty, but tell him his anger is going to get him killed, and I’m not talking about in the field.”

  “I had a two-hour conversation with him yesterday, Mr. Speaker. I informed him that if he loses control, I’ll be the one pulling the trigger while he is bent over.”

  Nodding as he grabbed his papers, “Hands on, I like it,” the Speaker grinned. “I would like daily briefings. I’ll tell my staff to arrange a time.”

  “Very good, sir,” the Director said.

  “This got out of hand too fast. Those first agents pushed too hard and didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger. You tell your people, that won’t be tolerated in the future. I’ll pass a resolution that will withhold all death benefits for improper action in the field.”

  The Director nodded and followed him out. “I’ve already done that, sir. People have slowly learned not to fight us because it’s useless and they will fail. Now, it’s time to show them to just bow when we show up.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was 0300 the next morning when Joshua walked past the main entrance of the building he was going to use. Not seeing any security inside, he made the block and pulled out his lock picks. After practicing yesterday on several other buildings, he was much faster. When he’d left yesterday, he’d noticed that the front doors didn’t have an alarm. Concerned about that, he’d waited around till the building had closed and saw it had two security guards.

  Staying on the street, he saw they locked the door and moved out of the lobby to a small office in the back. Both were young kids and weren’t even armed. Joshua had been in business long enough to know they were hired to lower the insurance premium.

  Adjusting the wig on his head and the other on his face, Joshua walked back by the door and still didn’t see them. Pulling out his lock picks, holding them like he would keys, he stuck them in the lock. Fighting the urge to look up into the lobby to see if he had been discovered, Joshua concentrated on the lock and sighed when he felt it turn. In less than one minute, he was inside and closing the door behind him, turning the bolt back to lock it.

  Moving on to the back of the lobby, he pulled out his 1911 with his suppressor on. He knew that even if the kids pulled a gun he wouldn’t shoot, but he wanted to make sure they were indisposed. Easing up to the door he’d seen them walk in, he found it cracked and music was playing inside rather loudly.

  Peeking around the door, he saw one in a chair with monitors in front of him, showing different camera views around the building. The kid’s head was laid back as he snored. Barely moving the door, Joshua peeked in further to see the other sprawled out on a couch, sound asleep with an alarm clock on the floor beside him.

  Looking back at the monitors, Joshua saw the only one he had to worry about was the one in the lobby. Slowly stepping back and leaving the door cracked, Joshua headed for the stairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, he had to stop on the fifth floor to catch his breath. “Not a race, I have time,” he muttered and slowly walked up the rest of the stairs till he reached the roof.

  Happy to see his shim was still over the alarm, he walked out onto the roof to his sniper spot. Taking the guitar case off his back, he unzipped it and pulled out his Lapua. Popping the bi-pod out, he set it on the air conditioner and fished out the suppressor, screwing it on.

  He pulled out a large, tan, thin blanket and covered the Lapua. Taking off the wig that he had adjusted to form a beard, he looked at it and was rather proud of himself. Never in his life had he dyed his hair, much less worn a wig. But for it to pass as his beard, he’d needed some gray in it and the wig he wore on his head. With the internet and a pair of scissors he’d gone to work. It never ceased to amaze him what you could learn off the internet.

  Granted, up close he wouldn’t fool anyone, but he only wanted to fool the cameras. When he left, he would be looking down till he circled the block and would lose the ‘beard’. The clothes he wore now had come from the Goodwill and looked like the clothes he normally wore on a logging site. Even in Spokane, seeing a working man wasn’t that uncommon, so he felt he could exit the building without drawing too much attention.

  The blanket was to give him some cover. A few of the buildings around looked down on the one he was on and he didn’t want someone looking out a window in the early morning hours and seeing a man with a rifle.

  Pulling out his range finder, he rechecked the range and dialed in his scope then, he looked around for wind markers. In the woods this had been easy, as he quickly learned it sucked to do this in an urban environment. He found a small flag in front of a building barely moving and a small tree in front of the parking garage and the leaves weren’t moving.

  Satisfied, he pulled out another small digital camera with a short cable. He plugged the cable into his scope and turned on the camera. When the screen came on, it showed a view through his scope. Several years ago when he’d bought the scope, the man had told him he could upgrade to this one and could record his shots. Since he was already spending two grand, Joshua went ahead and spent a few hundred more for the upgrade, never believing he would use it.

  Joshua soon found out that he loved it. He could film as he practiced shooting and spot his mistakes fast and correct them. What he’d really loved was when he had filmed his hunts and kills, but could show others animals that he hadn’t shot, even though he had them in the crosshairs. Now, he was ecstatic about the function. With the camera he’d kept with him, Joshua was sure it could do it but didn’t know how. So he’d bought one just like the one he had at home, that he’d left, and used it for recording from the scope.

  Reaching down to the case, he pulled up a scrench like the one he’d left on the dock. Pulling off his right glove, he pressed his thumb on the T-handle, making sure it left a print. Setting it down and putting his glove on, he grabbed the scrench and pushed it into the thin metal of the air conditioner. He grinned at seeing it sticking straight up.

  Lifting the blanket up and moving underneath it, he made adjustments till he was comfortable and then waited. This was one thing that Joshua did very well. All of his activities that he’d done over the years, from three gun, black powder shoots, skeet shooting, mountain climbing and many others, Joshua would throw himself into them and get good at them. But they never held his attention for more than a few years and he would eventually move to something else.

  The exception was hunting. He had done it all his life and loved it. He could sit for hours, not moving and watch the wildlife move around him. It relaxed him, and his body had grown accustomed to it.

  When the first cars started showing up at the parking garage, Joshua reached down, turning on the camera. Glancing down and seeing the screen turn on, he pushed record. Since the camera only recorded in thirty minutes at a time, he had to repress the record as he continued watching the cars slowly pull in.

  Seeing a gray Lexus coming, he glanced at the camera and saw it was about to shut off. He pushed stop and then record again to reset the timer and looked through his scope, reaching up and pulling the bolt back to rack a shell. As he gripped the rifle, the Lexus
pulled up to the cross gate and the driver’s window rolled down as a hand came out to scan a badge and Joshua could clearly see his target.

  As the gate rose, Durrell drove through and turned to his parking spot right at the front. Taking a deep breath, Joshua moved his crosshairs to the flag and then the tree, not seeing any change in wind. Moving the crosshairs to the Lexus, Joshua let out half his breath, seeing the driver’s door open.

  When Durrell stepped out, he put the crosshairs center mass and his finger dropped to the trigger, slowly depressing it back. The rifle bucked, startling him like it should and he held the crosshairs on his target. Unlike the movies, targets didn’t fly back when hit but they did move, because getting shot hurt.

  Less than a second after Joshua had pulled the trigger, eight hundred and twenty-five yards away, Durrell dropped down falling back and grabbing his chest. Reaching down and hitting stop on the camera, Joshua slid back, pulling the blanket with him to the rooftop.

  Laying the Lapua down, he unscrewed the suppressor and stuffed it in the case, then folded the bi-pod and strapped the Lapua inside the case. Tossing the camera in, he bunched the blanket up into a ball and stuffed it in. Grabbing his beard and putting it on, he closed the case then looked around to see only the scrench sticking up on the air conditioner.

  Putting the case on his back, Joshua headed for the door. Nonchalantly walking down, he fought against the desire to run. Reaching the lobby, he opened the door to see the receptionist sitting behind the desk and talking to people. In a casual walk, he headed for the door while looking down.

  Stepping outside, he cast a glance down the street toward the federal building, but didn’t see activity and walked away. Rounding the block, he reached up like he was rubbing his face and stuffed the ‘beard’ inside his jacket.

  Walking the several blocks to his BMW, he smiled and nodded at several people. Pulling out his keys, he tossed his case in the backseat and hopped in. Seeing it was clear, he pulled out heading out of the city.

  Eight hundred yards away as Joshua stepped out of the building and coworkers that were driving in stopped and gathered around, IRS agent Larry Durrell died while one of the others was calling 911. In the ten minutes it took for police and the ambulance to show, Joshua was six miles north, heading back to his killing ground.

  ***

  At the new command center at the Forestry Service airfield, Agent Moore was sitting with his mouth hanging open, staring at Griffey. “Wagner is an animal, what did they bring him in for?” Moore shouted.

  Taking over the largest office in the buildings already there, Griffey shook his head. “I don’t know, but he will be here this afternoon.”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall and seeing it was just after 0800, Moore turned to Griffey. “If Wagner pulls his shit here, we will have a full scale war. Killing a suspect in federal custody while they are handcuffed is really hard to explain. Can we call the airplane and tell them to divert?”

  “I wish,” Griffey said leaning back in his chair. “Don’t forget about the three that died in that ‘gun fight’,” he quoted in the air. “Before he took the suspect into custody, first responders reported two cheap pistols, but the crime scene guys found three AKs, Uzi and a Barret fifty along with enough ammunition to start a small war. The man has no style and bulls his way through.”

  “Griffey, this isn’t Miami. You and I won’t make it out of here alive if he pulls shit like that. The population around here will just start shooting. I’m not talking about a city riot, I’m talking about a state riot.”

  “I know Moore,” Griffey sighed as a knock sounded at his door. “Come,” he huffed out.

  A woman entered and headed straight to Agent Moore, “Sir,” she said holding out a folder.

  Not wanting to touch the manila folder, Moore took it groaning. He opened it and his body jerked upright. He flipped two pages up reading, then looked at the woman. “Agent Winters, how accurate is this?”

  “I ran it four times sir,” she said with no emotion.

  “Tell everyone who knows to keep their mouth shut, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said turning around and walking out.

  “What?” Griffey said standing up and Moore tossed the folder on his desk.

  “The prints for the scene at Agent Kellogg’s murder belong to two Idaho State Troopers. Not just any troopers, they were on team eighty-one,” Moore said getting up and pacing.

  “Are you fucking shitting me?” Griffey bellowed, snatching up the folder. Reading the report, Griffey looked up at Moore pacing. “Well, I guess it’s safe to say we can stop trying to rescue team eighty-one and call it a search for bodies.”

  “Sir, be careful with how you handle this. He was my friend and I don’t want to see this get out of hand. Issue an APB and notify the state police that they are wanted for questioning in the death of a federal agent and the disappearance of three others,” Moore said.

  “I’m forwarding this to Washington to justify my request to not have any more locals on the task force,” Griffey said snatching up the phone. “What?” he asked seeing Moore still pacing.

  “The scene didn’t feel like a cop,” Moore said looking at the floor as he paced. “I’ve investigated rogue cops but the scene felt, malicious. Cops leave a scene that feels blank with little evidence.”

  Hanging up the phone, Griffey lifted the folder up. “They only found seven viable prints and in the report, it states the scene appeared wiped down as if sanitized. No hair, cloth or unexplained fibers were found, that seems pretty blank to me.”

  Feeling tired, Moore nodded. “You’re right, I’m overthinking it.” Stunned that Moore had said that he was right, Griffey was left speechless. “Notify Washington, but please don’t start a war. You and I are going to have our hands full just keeping Wagner reigned in.”

  Nodding, Griffey picked the phone back up and dialed. “His office will be between yours and mine. He isn’t to leave unless one of us is notified. When he tells me, I’ll call you and you do the same.”

  Moore nodded, “I need some fresh air.” Griffey just waved as he walked out. Navigating the hall till he reached the door, Moore shoved it open stepping outside. The roar of heavy machinery resonated around him. Off to his left, a dozer was clearing twenty acres that sat next to a ten-acre field. In the field, engineers were erecting troop tents as another crew was erecting a chain-link fence that would surround the thirty acres.

  In the parking lot behind the building, a huge prefabricated building that the military had used was being set up for the command area and this entire twenty acres would also be surrounded by chain-link fence. Inside the building they were in, they were doing their best to keep in touch with the teams out now, but had lost all of their radio gear.

  Now, all contact was being maintained by satellite phones which were spotty at best. He looked up, seeing the weather forecast was right, clouds increasing through the day with chances of rain for the next three days.

  Hearing the door open behind him, Moore turned to see Winters walking out. “Sir, it just came in, IRS agent Larry Durrell was shot and killed in Spokane at 0718 this morning with a high powered rifle.”

  Looking away back to the mountains in the distance, “I knew I should’ve retired and not gone for the full thirty,” he groaned. Slowly turning around, he followed Winters back inside.

  ***

  Standing in the front yard, Gene was looking out over the guys who had volunteered to help watch over Sonya and William. “Old man, all you do is stand around thinking,” Ben said, walking up beside him. “Let me get a dip,” he said holding out his hand.

  “I saw you with a new can last night,” Gene said pulling out his can.

  “Well, Barbara took it away,” Ben said grabbing it and thumping his finger against the top. “Fewer and fewer each day,” Ben said looking at the volunteers.

  “That’s what I was telling you. We can only count on us to protect Sonya and William,” Gene
said taking his can back. “The ones that showed up just wanted to be part of something bigger than themselves for just a little while. When this started we had fifty, now it’s ten, plus us.”

  “Well, why did you ask the crew to vamoose? We both know they would’ve fought.”

  “They have families that I didn’t want here,” Gene said glancing at Ben. “I knew it would do no good to try and pressure you, but you do have a family that you need to think about.”

  “I did think about it, that’s why they are here,” Ben said. “It would be a cold day in hell before I ever turned my back on Josh.”

  “Ben, if your family got hurt protecting his, that would kill him.”

  “No, Gene. Barbara and Sammy will be standing beside Sonya and William defending this house. Josh would respect that.”

  With a snort, Gene pulled his can back out, “Sometimes you impress me,” he said thumping the can. “But I’m glad you stayed, if for nothing else but comic relief.”

  Shaking his head, Ben waved a hand out at the ones still there. “How many do you think will keep coming back?”

  “Out of those left, only five or so will be committed enough to stay on because they gave their word,” Gene said putting his can back in his pocket.

  “Do you two ever do anything?” Chris said, walking around the corner of the house.

  They both turned and Gene shook his head. Chris looked like a walking bush wearing a ghillie suit. The AR in his hands was wrapped up in the same material and they could see a long rifle across his back, but it to was wrapped in the ghillie material and they couldn’t tell what kind it was. “Aren’t you supposed to be playing Rambo?” Ben said spitting and wiping his goatee.