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  Then he left, without picking up a package.

  In the building’s security operations room, Mitchell put his cell back in his pocket and turned to a man sitting at the building’s large control consoles, “Okay, he got on elevator six. Punch it up and start recording.”

  At the same time Mitchell cued Ryerson, who spoke into his cell. “Show time.”

  The security camera in the elevator came up on one of the twenty-four closed-circuit monitors. The system provided video but no audio. They could see Lawrence picking at something in his teeth in the mirrored wall of the elevator cab. The elevator stopped, and he turned quickly and faced to the front.

  Mitchell, Ryerson and the security guy watched as Hart Chandler got on the elevator. They saw Lawrence and Chandler exchange perfunctory greetings, then the doors closed.

  “Between ten and eleven, right?” Mitchell said to the security guy.

  The guard nodded and flicked a switch. The elevator slowed to a halt between floors ten and eleven, which were empty and under renovation, waiting for a law firm to move in. They watched the monitor as Lawrence and Chandler looked at each other. Lawrence pressed a number of buttons on the elevator’s control panel, to no avail. Chandler, playing along, opened the telephone call box. He pulled out a frayed cord without a handset attached.

  Chandler said something to Lawrence, then placed a call on his cell.

  Mitchell turned to Ryerson. “It’s for you.”

  Ryerson’s phone rang, and he answered. He listened as Hart Chandler pretended to talk to the building’s security people for Garrett Lawrence’s benefit. After a minute, Ryerson spoke. “Have fun. But not too much fun.”

  They watched the monitor as Chandler put his phone away. He said something to Lawrence, which they knew was to the effect of security needing about twenty minutes to fix the problem. After a minute or two of awkward silence, Chandler reached over and touched the lapel of Lawrence’s suit jacket, stroking it between his fingers. In the security room, the men laughed and began to provide their own dialog.

  “That’s very sensual fabric,” Ryerson quipped. “Italian, I presume.”

  Lawrence, clearly uncomfortable at the lingering touch of the huge man, brushed his hand away and said something.

  “That’s right. It’s Italian. Just like my favorite kind of sausage,” Mitchell ad libbed.

  They watched as Chandler reached out again and stroked Lawrence’s cheek with the back of his hand. Ryerson smiled and whispered, “Your skin is soft. Do you moisturize?”

  Lawrence became indignant. He pushed the big hand away, but Chandler moved closer. He put his hand on Lawrence’s behind and squeezed. Lawrence attempted to hit him, but Chandler deflected it easily.

  Mitchell looked at Ryerson. “What’d he study again?”

  “Aikido. It’s the perfect martial art for taking an attacker’s energy and redirecting it.”

  They watched, fascinated, as Chandler neutralized every defensive motion Lawrence made. It looked like ballet. Gradually, Chandler pinned Lawrence against the side of the elevator. He bent Lawrence’s left arm up behind his back and used his body weight to keep the right arm in check. Then with his free arm he tilted Lawrence’s chin up toward his own.

  “Oh Scarlet, I’ve missed you so!” Mitchell sighed.

  Lawrence struggled, but at five foot ten and just 160 pounds he was easily restrained by Chandler’s overwhelming strength. Ever so slowly, Chandler kissed him. Lawrence tried to move his head to one side, but he was guided to the corner of the elevator where he couldn’t even turn. The monitor’s view was such that he was almost out of sight behind Chandler’s immense physical presence.

  Chandler’s left hand moved slowly down Lawrence’s torso. He unbuttoned the suit jacket and moved his hand to Lawrence’s crotch. It lingered there as he continued to kiss him. Because of the utter physical domination and how expertly Chandler parried Lawrence’s every protest, at times it was difficult to tell whether this was an assault or a willing liaison.

  Two minutes later, just as Lawrence’s pants and boxers hit the elevator floor, the elevator started moving again. Chandler stepped back a few steps. Lawrence, they could see, was sobbing. He pulled his boxers up. Chandler straightened his own tie in the elevator mirror and took a piece of gum from his pocket. The elevator arrived at the lobby, and when the doors opened Chandler stepped past a group of three office cleaners and strode out into the atrium. The cleaning staff stepped into the elevator, only to see Lawrence hastily pulling up his pants. He shoved his hand in between the doors to keep them from closing and ran out into the lobby. The cleaners smiled after him.

  Mitchell turned to Ryerson. “That oughta do it.”

  Thirty minutes later, Mitchell and Ryerson met Chandler at a tavern. “Chandler, that was some performance,” Mitchell said.

  “If you hadn’t told me what a sleaze the guy was, I would’ve almost felt sorry for him,” Chandler said. “He was a bucket when I left.”

  Ryerson ordered a round of beers, but Chandler interrupted. “I’ll have a sidecar.”

  The waiter left and Mitchell pulled out a laptop. They showed Chandler the video from the security camera. “So what’s the plan for the footage?” Chandler asked.

  “We have an untraceable email address ready to send the footage to Lawrence’s office email address,” Mitchell said. “He’ll be told to resign. If he doesn’t resign, we’ll tell him the footage will be posted to multiple submissive sex websites, along with his real name, phone number, and home address.”

  Their drinks arrived. The waiter put them on square napkins and left a bowl of mixed nuts. “Obviously,” Chandler said, “I’d prefer that never happened. I’m in a relationship right now.”

  “No problem, Hart,” Mitchell replied. “Once we send it to Garrett, we’re destroying the footage. If he doesn’t quit his job, we’ll try something else. You’re safe.”

  Ryerson raised his beer. “You’re safe. But I bet Lawrence will be taking the stairs for a long time.”

  31

  The Colonel and his men returned from their latest drop, turning over a crop of Otis’s Master Kush to a dealer from down the coast. This connection paid them sixty cents on the dollar via wire transfer to an offshore account. Besides getting a steady supply of premium weed that he resold at a decent profit, he was also keen to move in on Otis’s weakened organization once the Colonel finished plundering it.

  Despite the fact that they’d done a number of these exchanges, the tension was still excruciating. Andre set up with his sniper rifle two hundred yards out, farther than any lookouts might be posted. He was listening in to the exchange via a wireless microphone the Colonel wore in his lapel. If the Colonel sensed anything was going wrong, all he had to say was “Andre,” and the sniper would start firing. The deals had all been uneventful so far. Andre had never even had to take the slack out of his trigger. Tonight’s rendezvous was no exception. Safely back in their auto body shop base of operations, one by one the men hit their sleeping quarters, exhausted.

  Luis got up and went outside for a cigarette. He lit up, then took a phone from his pocket and placed a call. After a ring and a half, he heard someone come on the line.

  “Yeah.”

  Luis hesitated, then he started to talk in a hushed voice. “I know who is behind all the hits on the marijuana houses. If you’re interested in finding this out, meet me tomorrow afternoon at three-thirty at the fountain by the navy war memorial near the harbor. Carry a closed umbrella. I’ll find you.”

  He clicked off the phone without waiting for a response. It was a clear night. The weather was supposed to be good for the next five days, making it unlikely that there would be more than one person with an umbrella tomorrow at the fountain. Luis took a deep drag off his filterless cigarette. He only permitted himself three a day so his fitness wouldn’t be compromised.

  This was a particularly risky game he was playing. The nerves of stone that he had developed through combat miss
ions and other hazardous operations would be severely tested. Even in the controlled circumstances he had arranged tomorrow, he would still be exposed. Like the rest of the Colonel’s men, he was used to team operations, not going solo. He could not afford a single miscue or the slightest bit of behavior out of character.

  Luis went back inside and joined the chorus of snoring.

  When they awakened early the next morning the Colonel went over the logistics for the next few weeks. It was a crucial time. With so many different risks to manage, each with its own timetable, the tendency was to let one’s attention to detail be taken over by the most complex task. But the truth was that all facets were important, and all were potentially lethal.

  They did weapons checks, completed a punishing physical fitness regimen, and then took some time to read, go online, meditate, or do whatever one favored to restore mental acuity. As the clock neared three p.m. Luis excused himself. He was about twenty paces from the building when he heard footsteps behind him and Barros calling his name. He turned. Barros handed him a piece of paper, smiling. “See if you can find these things on your travels. It will be good for morale,” he said.

  Luis looked at the list. Tomatoes. Herbs. Olive Oil. Fresh linguine. Not the type of thing he needed to cloud his mind right now. He folded it and put it in his pocket without a word. Barros sensed tension as he watched Luis walk away. It was normal, he told himself. The next few weeks would be among the most anxious of their lives. Who wouldn’t be tense?

  Like many port cities, Salento had a memorial to the brave souls lost at sea. Luis sat on a park bench seventy-five meters from the marble and iron monument, reading the newspaper. He looked curiously at the paper’s entertainment section. A starlet had been arrested for crashing her Mercedes into a bus while stoned out of her mind. Luis wondered if she had been high on some of the dope they had stolen. In another article, a Hollywood power couple were splitting up in a very acrimonious fashion. She revealed that he had slept with their babysitter; he countered by disclosing that she favored spa treatments using immersion in a mixture of mineral water and llama blood, the animal being bled out while hanging alive above the tub. Such a country, Luis shook his head. The further removed people were from life and death struggles, the more they took for granted, he decided.

  He looked up from reading an interview with a neurotic film director to see a man with a plaid umbrella sit on the marble surround of the memorial fountain. Luis scanned left and right as he folded the newspaper under his arm. There were a number of people who could be providing backup for the umbrella man. Nonetheless, this was a risk Luis had to take.

  He approached the man slowly, nodding at the umbrella. “One can’t be too careful. A sudden storm can come up at any time,” he said.

  J.A. looked up at him. “I agree. It’s best to be prepared.”

  Luis sat down and opened his paper again. He lowered his voice. “You have lost seventeen of your houses to tactical assaults. I know who is responsible. And how to prevent further losses.”

  J.A. pretended to be looking at emails on his mobile. As his thumb moved over the touch screen, he did the math to verify that it was indeed now seventeen houses. “And what’s in it for you?”

  “Money,” Luis responded. “Two million dollars. I would rather make it this way than risk my life again and again. I can tell you where the men responsible are headquartered.”

  J.A. looked up at the sky, as if seeking clouds to justify his bringing the umbrella. “I’m interested. When you have more to report, you know how to reach me.”

  He got up and walked calmly away. From a nearby panel van, a camera with a powerful telephoto captured close-ups of Luis’s face as he stood up, put the paper in a trash can, and left the memorial. A man got out of the passenger seat of the van and attempted to follow Luis, but within two blocks he had lost him.

  Fifty-five minutes later Luis arrived back at the auto body shop. He handed Barros a grocery bag with all the ingredients he’d asked for. “Everything okay?” Barros asked, noting that Luis seemed a bit more relaxed.

  “Perfect,” Luis replied.

  The next day J.A. sat down in the penthouse with Otis, Phineas, and Curtis. “I think it’s legit,” he said. “The guy knew exactly how many of our houses had been hit. He wants two million to tell us where the gang is holed up. That’s really not an unacceptable cost of doing business considering the dent in our revenue the gang has made already.”

  “On the other hand,” Otis said, “if we can burn them and him and recover the two million, that’s even better.”

  J.A. shook his head. “I had our IT guys look at the process the dude wants for payment. He’s not a bumpkin. It’s an irreversible, untraceable wire transfer. Even if we beat his account information out of him, there’s no way to recover the cash.”

  Otis paused for a moment. “What’s this man’s motivation? Why would he turn in the rest of his gang?”

  “Said he’s tired of risking his life over and over again. Wants a quick score all to himself, and then it sounds like he’s getting out of the life,” J.A. said.

  “Fine,” Otis conceded. “Phin, I want our best team, armed to the teeth, ready to take these guys out. J.A., when do we hear from our Judas next?”

  “He told me he would let me know when they were leaving their base on their next mission. It’ll be short notice. He’ll give us the address of their base and the code to get into the building. We can set up an ambush and take them down when they return.”

  “Can’t he just tell us which house they’re hitting?”

  “He says it will be better to take them down when they return to their base. That way we can set up under better cover and not worry about neighbors and collateral damage. They’ll also be coming off the adrenaline rush of the attack and won’t be expecting the ambush.”

  Otis looked at the ceiling, momentarily lost in thought. “Won’t they be suspicious if he doesn’t come in with them?”

  “He says he’ll be the last one in. Since he knows it’s going down, he’ll take cover and surrender to our guys. Then we let him walk.” J.A. said.

  Curtis finally spoke up. “Be nice if we can take their leader alive.”

  Otis agreed. “I want this guy badly. He’s shown us no respect whatsoever. Our reputation has taken a serious hit. I need to make an example of him.”

  They watched as Otis stared at the ceiling again. Each of them wondered what new terror Otis would unleash on the leader of the assault team that had caused him such pain.

  Otis shifted his gaze back to J.A. and gave him the go-ahead. “Okay, let’s do it. I want to know the moment you get the call.”

  “You got it, Big O.”

  32

  J.A. was in the middle of going over some financial statements with Verdant Florists and Greenhouses’ chief financial officer when his phone rang. The call ID was blocked.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he said.

  Luis spoke quickly and quietly. “We are leaving in one hour. The mission will take ninety-five minutes from departure to return. I’m sending you details. You must deploy. If I don’t see the money in my account in the next twenty minutes, I will warn the team, and we will not return.”

  Luis hung up and texted J.A. the auto body shop address and the code to the security system. The moment J.A. heard the call disconnect he stood up and excused himself from the meeting. As he walked quickly to his car he speed-dialed Otis. “We just got the call.”

  Otis got the details from J.A. and set the wheels in motion. His team was locked and loaded and ready to go. An advance man went right to the address they had been given. He set up a recon video feed, working from a rooftop. The video link picked up both of their enemy’s vehicles leaving the body shop.

  “They must be planning something huge. They’re taking both vans!” the advance observer reported.

  With the location verified, Otis authorized the bank transfer to Luis’s account and mobilized his elite ambush team. They boar
ded an innocuous panel van and prepared to go to the address Luis provided. Another member of the crew drove a cube van in case they could recover the pot and one or more of the enemy gang. Otis pounded his fists on his desk in jubilation. Finally! He would have his revenge. What sort of pain could he inflict on his adversary? Perhaps there was a venom. Box jellyfish? Brown recluse spider? Or maybe just a pipe wrench, starting with the smallest bone in the body and working up to the biggest. Otis wondered whether there was a world record for the person with the greatest number of broken bones. Perhaps he’d put one of these men in the record books.

  Otis watched the recon camera in real time from his office. He saw his team’s van pull up to the auto body shop. It was secluded, which was good. No wonder they’d been able to operate without anyone suspecting them. It was the perfect cover. A business under renovation.

  The cube van had parked a safe distance away. Otis saw his team hide the panel van and approach the building. The security code worked. Once all seven of his men were hidden in tactical vantage points inside, they would re-arm the system and wait without setting off any of the motion detectors or other sensors. Otis looked forward to seeing the ambush. He had given instructions to take the leader alive, but if that wasn’t possible, so be it. He wanted their gang wiped out.

  Curtis and J.A. entered his office. The three of them tried to go through some reports as they waited for the ambush to be sprung, but the suspense was unbearable. Every five minutes they heard each team members check in from their hiding places within the auto body shop. Finally, at just thirty seconds past the ninety-five minute mark, the recon camera showed two SWAT vans pull up outside the auto body shop.

  “Damn,” Curtis said. “Guess they went with the tried and true, impersonating the SWAT teams again.”

  “Not a bad tactic,” J.A. agreed.

  They watched the video feed. Nobody got out of the vehicles.

  At the Eighth Precinct, the phones in the squad room lit up like a radio talk show. Nelson was the first to get the message. He shouted it out to the rest of the detectives. “SWAT got an anonymous call. An address for the guys who have been impersonating them and ripping off the grow houses. They’re on the scene right now!”