by Sid Kar
Frank had him in a leg lock.
“Good one, Frank,” Joe said. It was Joe who had taught him this move back in high school.
Panther pushed his head and chest up with his palms as if doing a pushup and attempted to crawl forward towards his pistol lying a few feet ahead.
“Panther…Travis, it’s over. I will break your leg if you try to reach for it again,” Frank said, “Joe get those handcuffs…”
Clara had jumped forward and reached for Panther’s pistol just as he had gone for it. She picked it up and fired two shots into Panther’s face and his leg went limp in Frank’s hands. Blood spurted out and spread over the warehouse floor.
“CLARA!” Frank shouted. He let Panther’s leg fall to the ground, walked over to her and smacked the pistol out of her hand.
“He was never going to reach that!” Frank said, “you killed our only link to the man who hired him.”
“Boy got what he deserved, Frank,” Joe said, “hardest I ever been kicked in my life.”
“He was an expert in Kickboxing and Muay Thai,” Clara said matter-of-factly.
“Stop, you two,” Frank said, “Clara, you have some explaining to do.”
“He was stretching himself to get to the gun…”
“Stop, just stop, Clara,” Frank replied, “that won’t cut it. He wasn’t going to wiggle out of that leg lock, was he Joe?”
“Nope,” Joe said.
“And I could have drawn my own gun if needed,” Frank said, “I wanted him alive. You forget, Clara, I am a detective. I noticed the silencer on your pistol earlier but said nothing. You don’t use that if you are planning to fire just in self-defense. That is an accessory for offensive use of a firearm.”
“What are you going to do Frank? Charge me with unjustified shooting?” Clara asked.
“I’m not going to charge you. He was a dangerous assassin after all. But I will put in a formal complaint of unjustified shooting and irresponsible conduct to your director,” Frank replied, “unless you talk.”
Clara said nothing for a few seconds as Frank watched her while Joe put on his gloves and turned Panther over. He examined his pockets but found nothing.
“Want me to call the locals?” Joe asked.
“No, I want to control the investigation. We will call state troopers once Clara has made a decision,” Frank replied.
Both Panther and Clara’s pistols had silencers and their shots were muffled hence no sound could be heard outside of the warehouse.
“The story goes back to Afghanistan,” Clara sighed and walked towards a barrel. She jumped up and sat on its top. “I am not a field operative. My role is a language analyst specializing in languages spoken in Afghanistan. I am fluent in Pashto and Dari and also know Uzbek well enough to understand it and converse a little. The CIA was trying to get at a war lord in Afghanistan who was selling weapons to the highest bidders, including the Taliban. He financed his weapons purchase from the sale of large quantities of heroin but they had no clue how he got it out of the country,” Clara said, “we suspected he had corrupted someone on our side.”
The Renegade Squadron, Frank thought but said nothing.
“Anyways, the Directorate of Clandestine Operations decided to bring in an outsider, someone who hadn’t operated in Afghanistan before,” Clara said, “that was Travis Boone. He worked in the Middle East and was fluent in Arabic but didn’t know Afghan languages. I was made his assistant. Of course I received some basic field training, but I was there just to help him navigate the waters. It was his mission to assassinate this war lord.”
“Sounds right up his alley,” Frank remarked, “and I might know whom you are talking about.”
“They didn’t tell me much. I was just a translator after all,” Clara said, “one day, he had intel on where this war lord was going to be. He took me along, promising to leave me behind at a safe spot before he went into his lair. Instead he drugged and kidnapped me and took me to the war lord as his hostage. Someone had got to him, someone who knew he was coming and could contact him in secret and corrupt him.”
Must be the Renegade Squadron, Frank thought but stayed silent.
“The war lord had no use for me, told Panther I was a liability and told him to get rid of me for good,” Clara said, “But before he was going to do that…” Clara stopped for a few seconds and tears ran down her cheek, “…Panther took advantage of me that night and had his way with me.”
Frank and Joe watched her in stunned silence. Clara wiped off her tears and began talking again after a minute of quiet.
“He was going to kill me the next morning,” Clara said, “I got lucky. The war lord had sold defective Kalashnikovs to one of his purchasers who showed up late that night asking for their money back. Apparently, an argument started that turned into an early morning shootout. I took advantage of that to escape out in the mountains. I spoke the languages, so I somehow managed to make my way to Uzbekistan’s border.”
Clara waited a few moments as all three of them stood in silence. “What is it going to be, Detective Frank?” Clara asked.
“Seems like a justified shooting,” Frank said, “what do you say Joe?”
“Boy was a cold killer. I have said he got what was coming to him,” Joe said, “I will back you up in whatever you put in the report.”
“Do they know about this…” Frank stumbled for words, “…your history with Panther down in Langley?” Frank asked.
“I told them,” Clara nodded, “I expected them to punish him. But they did nothing. I think they couldn’t put him on trial. He knew too many secrets, about too many bodies that were buried. It was his line of work.”
“So when Panther surfaced in the United States, the Director sent you to eliminate him knowing you would not hesitate…” Frank stopped himself, “…or did he really send you?”
“You got me,” Clara forced a smile while rubbing her eyes, “they don’t know. They think he is still out of the country and happy that he is. I am on a vacation, using up days saved from the past years.”
“How did you know my friend Scott was searching for Travis Boone?” Frank asked.
“I was obsessed with finding Travis and getting myself justice. You may call it getting revenge, but I think of it as the former,” Clara said, “I knew one day someone in the CIA might come across information on his whereabouts. There is this IT Analyst who works with me who has been pestering me for a coffee date. I told him if he did this small favor for me, put a flag on whoever looked up Travis, I would go out on a date with him.”
“The agency is compartmentalized and I had been on a field ops with Panther, so Scott had no reason to suspect that I didn’t have the director’s backing when I grilled him about his computer search.”
“That letter you gave my superintendent?”
“We are given a form letter in case we need help from other government agencies during our work,” Clara grinned, “that’s my story. Frank, how did you know Panther was hiding in Dunlap’s own warehouse? Although it does make sense, he could surveil Dunlap from here while he recuperated from his wound and waited for the right opportunity to strike.”
“Forget that theory. I now believe he was actually working for Dunlap himself,” Frank said.
“What?” Clara exclaimed.
“Hold on, I am going to call the state troopers,” Frank said then took out his police radio and asked dispatch to send a few units to his location.
“You don’t know about the lost billion dollars of heroin, do you?” Frank asked.
“A billion dollars!” Clara’s eyes opened wide.
“It all makes sense now,” Frank said, “pieces are fitting into the puzzle,” he turned to Joe, “those guys who attacked us, they belong to a private military contractor known as the Renegade Squadron and they were the ones involved in smuggling the drugs for this war lord Panther was sent after. The Renegade Squadron were private bodyguards protecting diplomats in and out of Afghanistan and a CIA agent woul
d travel around as a diplomat. That’s how they would have met. A billion is a lot of money to go around and they must have cut Panther in on the deal. His share could easily have been 10, 20 or 30 million dollars.”
“Still, that doesn’t connect him or them to Dunlap,” Clara replied.
“Dunlap’s bodyguard is ex-special forces, a guy named Greg. The Renegade Squadron has a Gregory Dillard as a member,” Frank said.
“You know how many Greg’s there are in America?” Clara laughed, “you are not telling me you take a mere coincidence as a clue.”
“Dunlap has oil tankers coming from the Mediterranean Sea,” Frank said, “perfect vessels to smuggle in vast quantities of heroin undetected. Then he would need truckers to distribute it around the country. He would not want to use his regular employees. He could have turned to truckers like Adam who were ex-cons and might work for him. Only Adam might have spurned his offer. He had terminal lung cancer, might have turned sour on the effects of cigarettes, narcotics, alcohol. Perhaps threatened to go to the police, perhaps they felt he just might and hence had to be silenced.”
“That’s a long chain of conjectures,” Clara said.
“That fits together,” Frank said, “Anyways, we will find out soon once the Troopers get here and we tear this place apart. Joe you didn’t find a phone on him, did you?”
“Nope,” Joe replied.
“No matter, we will find it here somewhere,” Frank said, “and if the number matches one of the two unidentified burner cells Dunlap called in the last two weeks, then we know my theory has legs. Strong legs.”
It was not long thereafter that they heard the sirens from multiple cars. Joe walked outside to guide in the arriving troopers. There were eight cars carrying two state troopers each. Joe led them all inside and they gathered facing Frank.
“This man was a professional assassin,” Frank pointed to Panther’s dead body on the ground, “I want you to tear apart this warehouse. Search every nook and cranny. Grab anything that looks like it could have been used in the last month. Alright, get to it.”
The troopers fanned out across the warehouse with bright torchlights in their hands.
Clara sat in the same hotel room and waited for Frank and Joe. She was not a police officer and thus they wouldn’t let her wander around the warehouse. But she didn’t want to either. Her mission here was completed. She had a semblance of justice now. She was glad Frank had been sympathetic. Now she just had to make sure that he kept his word about not making her involvement public or contacting her supervisor or the director. But she had prepared for the consequences. If the word reached back to the director of her actions over the last few days, they would fire her and she could not work for any other government agency either.
But they could not punish her further. Frank had indicated he would report the shooting as self-defense and in defense of police officers. Frank and the State Police had complete jurisdiction in the matter.
If she got fired, she could go to work as a translator for an international company. She had always been good with the languages.
There was a knock on the door.
“Who?” she asked.
“Me and Joe,” Frank replied.
Clara got up and opened the door. Frank and Joe walked in. Clara sat down at the edge of the bed while Joe slumped in the sofa at the side. Frank stood in front of her.
“Did you find any clues in his belongings pointing to who might have hired him?” Clara asked.
“Not much that can be called his belongings,” Frank shook his head.
“I am sorry, Frank,” Clara said, “I might have shut down your case cold.”
“No, don’t be,” Frank said. He was surprised at his own reaction. He was still not happy that she had killed Panther even though he understood why. “He was a pro. He would never have talked or ratted out his client.”
“We did find some,” Joe said.
“The minimal,” Frank replied, “he kept only what he needed: medicines from the local pharmacy, fast food bags, a few pairs of clothes, his pistol…which I had a trooper drive it down to ballistics for a match with the bullets that killed Adam and most fascinatingly a wrist watch connected to motion sensor alarms…do they issue those to the field ops?”
“Yep,” Clara said, “he must have just kept his and reported it lost.”
“…and of course, what I was really interested in, the phone. But that’s all; really all we needed for the search were two troopers not sixteen since he occupied a small, abandoned night janitor’s room in the basement,” Frank said.
“And the phone calls you were talking about?” Clara asked.
“Unfortunately his phone is encrypted and I sent it with a trooper to our IT and Electronics experts to try to crack it,” Frank said, “but given his background it would not surprise me if it was Military or Intelligence grade encryption. Might send it down to the NSA. But I did call the two burner numbers from Dunlap’s phone logs. One of them doesn’t answer, but the other one…guess who rings?” Frank winked.
“Panther’s cell?” Clara said.
“Yep,” Frank said, “that confirms my theory that Dunlap was in touch with Panther and not his intended target.”
“Have you confronted Dunlap over it yet?” Clara asked.
“Boy has lawyered up,” Joe said, “won’t meet us.”
“His lawyer met us at the door to the refinery,” Frank said, “he had a formal, prepared statement. The lawyer said that Dunlap was receiving threats from an anonymous phone and he had called it back to inquire into it. That’s why he had hired his bodyguard Greg and why he was jittery when we first went to meet him.”
“You don’t believe that,” Clara said, “did he even go to the police with this supposed threat to him?”
“Of course not, but he says he wasn’t sure if they weren’t prank calls,” Frank said, “but with Panther dead who is going to argue otherwise. It is a good story: Panther was a pro assassin. He was hiding out in Dunlap’s warehouse waiting for an opportune moment to attack him, presumably hired by radical environmentalists targeting an oil company owner. Dunlap comes out looking like the victim. His lawyer has even put out a news release to that effect, gotten ahead of us. I called my father earlier. He says Dunlap’s lawyer is from one of the best criminal defense law firms in the country.”
“What can we do now?” Clara asked.
“There is still the matter of the heroin deal,” Frank said, “but I can’t tie Dunlap to all of that. Besides it is out of the country and I am homicide, not narcotics.”
“So that’s it then?” Clara asked.
“I am going to talk to Captain Arthur tomorrow,” Frank said, “if the ballistics match Panther’s pistol then Arthur will most likely want the case closed. We can’t get anything from a dead man.”
“We could if we try that neuroscientist Friedrich,” Clara winked.
“Not after you put the bullets right through the middle of his brain,” Frank said, “and your employers will want his body as soon as possible. He was their man after all.”
“If that boy was a pro hitman, Herr Friedrich would have taken memories of many murders from his brain, Frank,” Joe said, “we could have taken credit for solving all of them by ourselves. Curly would have been smoking mad,” Joe was giddy with the thought.
“Too bad his brain is scrambled eggs,” Frank replied.
“Frank, Clara, I am going to get to my room,” Joe got up from the sofa, “It’s been a long day. See you later tonight Frank…” he said.
“Later,” Frank replied.
“…or tomorrow morning,” Joe added, laughed and scooted out of the door.
“Get out of here,” Frank said. He turned around to look at Clara but she wasn’t embarrassed or blushing instead she was giggling.
“You could always sleep on that sofa,” she laughed.
Frank sat down next to her on the bed. He again felt the desire for her come over to him. He had pushed the thoughts ou
t of his mind but now that the matters were winding down, he once again felt attracted to her. Clara leaned closer to him and he embraced her in his arms.
CHAPTER 15
Saturday, Day 10
The next morning, Frank was dressing up in his uniform when Clara woke up from her deep sleep. She turned around in the bed towards him and leaned her head on her palm.
“What is the hurry, Frank? Today is Saturday, relax,” Clara said.
“I am not on vacation,” Frank winked while he put on his coat.
“But you are not going to have a lot of work today,” Clara said, “you said your Captain Arthur may wrap up the case today.”
“Final day of the case is the worst,” Frank replied as he adjusted his hat’s visor in front of the room’s mirror, “I have to write the full, final report. The most hateful part of the job for me.”
“Where you going right now?”
“Joe stopped by earlier and knocked. He is going down to grab breakfast and I am going to join him,” Frank said. He finished up by tacking on his pistol belt.
“Hey, wait for me,” Clara protested.
“Take your time,” Frank turned around to face her and smiled, “when you get there, Joe will still be eating.”
Clara laughed lightly and tucked herself under the blanket again and pulled it over her head. Frank walked out of the room and downstairs to the small dining hall where Joe was just loading up on his plate.
Clara got up a few minutes later, took a shower, dressed up and went down. She filled up her plate with a toast and some scrambled eggs and looked around. When she found Frank and Joe, they were sitting facing each other and she sat down next to Frank.
“I didn’t see you last night, Frank,” Joe smirked.
“Joe!” Frank said.
Clara said nothing but just smiled at Frank. Frank and Joe were eating with great hunger and relish.
“It seems freshly made,” Clara exclaimed taking the first bite.
“Joe made them do it,” Frank said, “they had cold and stale scrambled eggs. What do you expect from a place like this? But Joe told…tell her Joe.”
