Termination Limits: Tom Kintrell Book 1 (Tom Kintrell Thriller Series)

by R. J. O'Rourke

  Weimar thought it over then shouted out the window, “How do we know you’re FBI?”

  ***

  Kintrell listened to the exchange then hailed Worthington through his ear bud. “T.J., Tom Kintrell here.”

  “Go ahead, Tom,” replied Worthington.

  “I think I can convince these fools to give it up without anybody getting plugged. Meet me behind the MRAP with the warrants,” said Kintrell.

  “Roger that.”

  Kintrell made his way to the MRAP, keeping out of the line of fire.

  “These guys were warned that a South American cartel was sent to kill them, so all I gotta do is convince them we really are FBI. I think they’ll surrender,” said Kintrell.

  “How are you going to convince them?” asked Worthington.

  “The warrants don’t indicate why we want to search the premises so I’m going to tell them we’re looking to arrest Wyatt on an outstanding murder warrant, and also for counterfeiting. We have reason to believe there is a counterfeiting ring operating out of this compound, that there is equipment here that is being used to manufacture the counterfeit bills. I think they’ll bite but if they don’t, your boys can rain hell on them with your toys,” said Kintrell.

  “Could work,” Worthington admitted.

  Worthington got back on the loudspeaker. “One of our agents is going to approach the building to talk and show you the warrants. If there is any shooting, we will lay waste to the building and everyone in it. If you agree wave your hand outside the window.”

  “Shit, what do we got to lose Nate?” said Ollie.

  A short time later a hand appeared outside the window. Kintrell approached the window from the side. “Who am I talking to?”

  “Never you fuckin’ mind who you’re talking to, pass those warrants through the window,” said Weimar.

  Kintrell shoved the warrants through the window and waited. A short time later Weimar said, “What do you want?”

  “We stopped and detained fifteen of your guys earlier. We’re looking for a man named Wyatt, who you may know as Wyeth, who is wanted in Virginia for murder and counterfeiting. We have reason to believe he’s a member of your little group. We also have reason to believe you have equipment in there used for making counterfeit hundred-dollar bills,” said Kintrell.

  “This is bullshit, there ain’t no equipment like that here, and there ain’t nobody here name of Wyatt.”

  “Well, even if I believed you, we’d still have to search the premises. You understand that, right?”

  Weimar thought about it for a couple minutes. Wyatt himself may be behind this. That voice on the phone may have been his disguised. Maybe that’s why it sounded familiar. He intended to be far away while we were getting raided. That motherfucker was hoping we all got killed in the shootout.

  Weimar told the others what he was thinking, all of them dumbfounded at Wyatt’s treachery.

  “Listen, they got nothing on us. They think Wyatt’s here which he ain’t, and they think we got counterfeiting equipment which we don’t, so I think we let ‘em search,” said Weimar.

  All of them, not looking forward to being shot to pieces, readily agreed

  “Okay, we’re coming out,” shouted Weimar.

  “Come out with your hands on your heads. Leave any weapons inside the building. Walk straight to the large vehicle directly in front of the doors, spread out in a single line and kneel down keeping your hands on your head, your fingers interlocked,” said Worthington over the loudspeaker.

  Five men slowly exited the front door. Weimar was in the rear and limped noticeably, explaining he couldn’t kneel down because of his recent knee operation. All five were then searched and restrained.

  Three members of the FBI SWAT team entered the building finding no one else.

  ***

  “So, what’s going to happen when you assholes find nothing to back up your bogus warrants?” asked Weimar.

  “You gentlemen are under arrest for suspicion of murder, conspiracy to commit murder and anything else we can throw at you. Read them their rights,” said Worthington.

  “What! What the fuck you talkin’ about?” shouted Weimar. “We ain’t killed nobody. Wait a minute…”

  Worthington walked to where Kintrell and Alvarez were huddling.

  “Nice work, Tom. Good thing they don’t know that the Secret Service handles counterfeit cases, not the FBI,” said Worthington.

  “They do?” replied Kintrell, chuckling.

  “We’ll have forensics scour the place,” said Worthington.

  “See you back at the ranch,” said Kintrell. He looked at Alvarez. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I’m starving,” said Alvarez. She then called Dede and apprised her of the raid.

  “That was good work you and Kintrell did there, Lanny, even if these guys are not responsible for the killings.”

  Their GPS directed them to a diner in Hammonton. The diner was right out of the fifties, chrome and red painted metal exterior siding, large windows, curved roof. Inside was sparkling clean with red leather like seating in the booths along the windows and bolted down stools with rotating red seat covers facing the long counter. They claimed the last empty booth.

  “Popular place,” said Alvarez, eyeing the crowded diner.

  A smiling waitress approached them bearing a glass coffee pot and two cups, two oversized menus tucked under her arm.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you,” replied Kintrell.

  The waitress filled each of their cups, left the menus and departed. Kintrell looked around the diner. Most of the stools were filled as were most of the booths. The customers were rural America, thought Kintrell. Young as well as old filled the diner. Men with bib overalls teasing the waitresses and young men in work boots, ball caps, and flannel jackets, some of them eyeing up Alvarez, others giving Kintrell hard stares. Both Kintrell and Alvarez left their FBI jackets in the car, Kintrell donned his suit jacket concealing the weapon in his shoulder holster. Alvarez also had a custom fitted suit jacket that concealed her 9mm Glock. The Glock was standard issue for the FBI but Kintrell preferred the Sig Sauer forty caliber he carried, more stopping power and it fit his hand better than the Glock.

  The waitress took their orders, Kintrell ordered three eggs over medium, an order of link sausage, a side of bacon, rye toast and a glass of orange juice. Alvarez asked for a fruit cup and an order of yogurt and one piece of whole wheat toast.

  Kintrell, mindful of the ears close by, lowered his voice. “When they find the evidence, whatever it is, linking these bozos to the eh, incidents, Dixon’s going to be in full out told you so mode, so we have to somehow keep this investigation going.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. We may get reassigned to another case. If we do, maybe we both take a vacation and continue with our inquiries. If we can turn up one piece of solid evidence, we can be back on the trail,” said Alvarez.

  “People will talk,” said Kintrell.

  “I don’t think so, everybody knows you’re much older than me and they also know I have high standards when it comes to men,” replied Alvarez.

  “You’ve cut me to the bone, Agent Alvarez, how will I ever recover?” said Kintrell.

  Their breakfast came and they ate in silence, Alvarez slowly chewing her food, Kintrell wolfing his down like he was double parked.

  After they finished Kintrell said, “You get the tip, I’ll get the tab.”

  “You’re such a chauvinist, Kintrell.”

  “Chauvinist? I had a grandfather who was rumored to be a Calvinist but I myself, am not very religious,” said Kintrell.

  They arrived back at headquarters shortly after 1:00 PM. Kintrell went to his office to write up an after-action report. Alvarez headed for her cybercrime buddy’s office.

  Kintrell got the word a little after 2:00 PM. An M-4 seized at the compound was one of the weapons that was stolen from LeJeune. He informed Alvarez.

 
A meeting was set up in Dede’s office for 4:00 PM.

  Present at the meeting were Dixon and his assistant, Worthington, Alvarez and Kintrell.

  “It seems we have confirmation now that these guys were involved in these killings. They’re demanding lawyers but this, I believe, will fall under the national security standard so we can hold them almost indefinitely while we build our case. Thanks to Agent Worthington and his men there were no casualties on the ground,” said Dixon.

  “Agent Kintrell was instrumental in getting these guys to surrender,” said Worthington.

  “Moving on, Agent Sheady will hold a press conference tonight at 7:00 PM to go over today’s incident,” said Dixon.

  “Were there any other weapons found at the compound that were part of the cache stolen at LeJeune?” asked Kintrell.

  “Still singing that same old song, Agent Kintrell?” said Dixon.

  “I’d like to know, too,” said Dede.

  “Well, no, no other weapons were found from LeJeune,” replied Sheady.

  “Were the houses and grounds of all the detainees searched, as well as the meth lab and if so, did any of the stolen armaments show up?” asked Kintrell.

  “Just because none of the other weapons showed up, it doesn’t mean they don’t have them,” replied Dixon. “They could be in storage somewhere. They could have sold them. They very well may show up when we look into these perps further.”

  “Did any of the detainees verify what Wyatt told us about a raid by some fake FBI agents?” asked Alvarez.

  Sheady looked at Dixon and Dixon nodded. Sheady said, “A couple of them mentioned they heard this from Weimar but that doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Just one thing further. Let’s suppose, hypothetically, that the ALBH was responsible for the theft at Camp LeJeune and were the group killing these politicians. We know that claymore mines were part of the armaments stolen. These guys are warned that some very bad dudes are coming to kill them, yet the claymores, weapons extremely well suited to repelling attackers, were not deployed. Why is that?” asked Kintrell.

  Dixon fielded this one. “Who knows. We’re not dealing with astrophysicists here. Perhaps they purchased the weapons they have from another group. Perhaps it didn’t occur to them, or they didn’t have time to recover the weapons from where they were hidden. These are not sophisticated people.”

  “And yet they pulled off three very sophisticated crimes,” said Alvarez.

  Dede then cut in. “My advice, Agent Dixon, is that in your press conference, you just say you’ve detained some persons of interest in the killings of the politicians. That you have some hard evidence to support these arrests, but can’t at this time, reveal the evidence, because the investigation is ongoing and leave it at that. Let Kintrell and Alvarez continue to follow any leads that they dig up. If these men were not responsible and you imply to the press that the case is solved, this will blow up in your face, and also taint the Bureau.”

  Dixon, eyes widening at the last part, said, “Thank you, Special Agent McGriff. I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Kintrell and Alvarez lingered in Dede’s office after the others had departed.

  “Thanks, Dede, that was beautiful,” said Kintrell.

  “You think you’re the only one that can sling manure, Kintrell?”

  “I bow to the master,” said Kintrell.

  “Listen to me, the both of you. I’ve bought you some time but if you don’t dig up something soon and nothing else happens, everybody else’s going to think we already have the guilty parties,” said Dede.

  Chapter 19

  Kintrell and Alvarez spent the next three days going over every shred of evidence to no avail. There were three names on the list of special operators still unaccounted for, Henry (Hank) Talmadge, Emerson Cole and James Broderick.

  “What do we know about them?’ said Kintrell.

  “Talmadge was Army Special Forces, now thirty-eight years old. Born in Altoona, PA. Expert in explosives, speaks three languages, Arabic being one, Spanish and of course English. High IQ. Was offered a scholarship to Syracuse for lacrosse, was set to go then nine-eleven happened, enlisted in the army instead, made it through the selection process for Special Forces. Graduate d…” Alvarez hesitated.

  “What? said Kintrell.

  “I just remembered where I heard that phrase! The commencement speaker at my graduation from law school. His name was Adams. He was a highly respected federal appellate judge. He used those exact words timid men prefer the calm of despotism to the tempestuous seas of liberty.”

  “How old would you say he was?”

  “That was eight years ago. He was probably mid-sixties then,” said Alvarez, “WAIT A MINUTE! Didn’t Roddy say that the Foundation for Special Operators was started by a wealthy judge?”

  “Hell of a coincidence, Alvarez,” said Kintrell. “Let’s find out all we can about the judge. I have to run something down.”

  ***

  Kintrell asked Stryker to meet him at a coffee shop located in the Bourse Building on Independence Mall.

  Stryker found Kintrell sitting at one of the small tables set up outside the café.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  “Norm.”

  “You heard about the raid?”

  “Yeah,” said Stryker.

  “I could use your help with something. I need you to visit that compound. I’ll get you clearance to enter …”

  ***

  Kintrell returned to the office to find Alvarez waiting for him.

  “What have you got, Lanny?”

  “Judge Michael Bennington Adams is seventy-five years old. Lifelong resident of Villanova, Pennsylvania. Undergrad at Penn, entered Marine Corps after graduation, accepted at OCS Quantico. Upon completion of OCS, requested and was granted infantry. Platoon commander in Viet Nam. Served with distinction, awarded Bronze Star and Purple Heart, separated from service mid-seventies, accepted to Yale Law School, graduated with honors. Joined District Attorney’s office in Philadelphia. Served there for seven years. Appointed judgeship in court of common pleas. Then served as federal district judge, then appointed to federal appellate court for the third district. Became Chief Judge for the district. Was nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court. Controversy side-railed the nomination. Was then exonerated but by then new administration had taken over and the judge was forgotten. He continued as chief justice for a few years then retired. He’s been retired for five years. Married for forty- three years to Grace, nee Arbiton, who passed away eighteen months ago after a long battle with breast cancer. One child, a son. Army Ranger LRRP killed in Afghanistan, 2004. Family is old money. Coal mines, railroads, oil, etc. Ironically his nomination to the Supremes was derailed because of rumors of bribery, which on the face of it was ludicrous, because the judge controls a huge fortune. Later, the thinking was, he was shot down by partisan wrangling simply to piss off the president. When he retired from the court, he set up a foundation to help the families of those killed or wounded in battle with an emphasis on special operators. Also welcome were spec ops personnel separated for cause.”

  Kintrell’s eyebrows shot up at this. “Hmm.”

  “Ditto,” said Alvarez.

  “Maybe we should pay His Honor a visit,” said Kintrell.

  “We have to step carefully here. This guy still has powerful friends.”

  “Of course, you know me, I’m the soul of diplomacy,” said Kintrell.

  “Yeah, about like a kick in the kidneys.”

  “We need to figure out a cover story for our visit,” mused Kintrell.

  “Why don’t we just tell him a modicum of the truth?”

  “Modicum, huh, mighty big word for a non-Ivy leaguer.”

  “What did you do, one semester at Penn?” Alvarez laughed.

  “Hell, I might have made the Dean’s list if it wasn’t for my grades.”

  “Why don’t we say we need his help with something in relation to what’s been going on. If he refuses to
talk to us, he will cast suspicion on himself and he knows that, so he’ll most likely talk to us. He may even think he can gain some useful information from us, if he is in fact involved in this. I don’t see how he can refuse our request. If he says we can talk to him over the phone, we say the information we have to share is confidential, and we would prefer to do it in person,” said Alvarez.

  “Sounds like a plan. You make the call. I have to catch up with Norm about something.”

  Alvarez looked at him questioningly.

  “I’m not cutting you out of the loop, Lanny, I asked Norm to go to the compound this morning to look for something. If it turns out he finds something I’ll let you know.”

  ***

  By mid-afternoon Alvarez had set the appointment with Judge Adams for 10:00 the next morning. Stryker was due in from the compound in the next few minutes. They were set to meet in Kintrell’s office.

  As Stryker approached Kintrell’s office an inordinately large man was coming the other way. He must weigh three fifty if he weighs an ounce, thought Stryker. Stryker managed to squeeze by the man in the narrow corridor. Kintrell stepped out of his office as Stryker was focused on the retreating figure of the man.

  “Last time I saw an ass that big, Sabu was riding it,” opined Stryker.

  “That’s Barney Milbury,” replied Kintrell. “He thinks a donut without cream filling is diet food.”

  “Don’t you guys have physical fitness standards?” inquired Norm.

  “We do, and Barney flunks them every time but he’s so damn smart and good at what he does, the brass accepts his promises to trim down. Come on in, Lanny’s here.”

  “Hey, Norm.”

  “Hey, Lanny. You were right, Tom. I scoured the outside of the fence and found traces of a boot imprint and some residue sticking to the chain link where it appears someone went under the fence. He probably tossed some drugged meat over the fence to silence the dogs, then entered the compound. If there was a padlock on the shed where the weapons were kept, it’s gone now. So, if it’s in your evidence locker, your people can dust it for prints which you probably won’t find but you may find a scratch or two if someone picked the lock.”