The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (23 page)

42.

Back in my
office, I went straight to Martin's cubicle.

"What's the location?" I asked.

"Cleveland," Martin answered.

"Was it difficult to trace?"

"It was, we don't have the technology, too sophisticated. But Dermot contacted his 'parent company', NSA, and they have the best toys in the world. They have to, since they monitor all calls worldwide, including the ones to Santa."

"Cleveland you say, not far from Pittsburgh, where Lauren Wimbledon lives."

"Yeah, convenient for him."

"What's the plan?"

"We checked the house. Not much documentation remains. The house is not officially owned by Morgenthal, but in the name of some obscure company registered in Nevada, which in turn is owned by a Trust set up in the Caymans. That's probably why we couldn't find Morgenthal before, he cleverly avoided his name popping up on any records. It was originally built many years ago, but a few years back it was redesigned by an architect called James Whitefield. There are no records of any architectural changes having been made. Morgenthal was clever. Worst of all, Whitefield died in a house fire just after he redesigned Morgenthal's house. I'm not sure the death was a coincidence. So we have no way of checking what's in the house, any panic room or whatever."

"From what I understand, this guy is a security freak."

"True, which is not good. We couldn't get too much info on his house’s security features. He’s registered with a minor local home security agency, but when we contacted them they told us he has just a basic package with them, because of the extensive custom-built internally-monitored security features. They didn't have any details about that. We couldn't find anything."

"So what's the plan?"

"Now, that his whereabouts is known to us, we can ask Dermot to get us a few guys from the FBI, from the Special Weapons And Tactics team. A helicopter drop, a lightning-fast strike, no doubt they'll be able handle him."

"Sounds like a good plan."

"Nora will fly with you, to hook up to Morgenthal's computer once it's all over, or to help with IT side of his house's security, if need be."

"Fine." Nora Lewis was a young, brilliant computer scientist – a member of our geek squad.

"You'd better go home and get some sleep."

"I'll have a nap on a couch here in the office."

"Your choice, I'll ask Zara to bring you a blanket."

"Thanks. She's still here?"

"Yeah, I kept a few of the guys in the office in case we had to act immediately. But I'll let them go now, since we're not going to do anything until tomorrow."

"And call Dermot to arrange the SWAT team."

"Sure, will do."

"And ask Zara to get me a glass of whiskey to finish off the day in style."

"I'll gladly have some myself, I'll get a bottle."

We sat for another hour in the meeting room on a couch and talked life and business. I'd known Martin for a long time, and he’d become a sort of a friend, if you can ever call your employee a friend. But he was efficient and loyal, so I paid him well, and we got on very well.

When Martin left for the day, I wrapped myself in a blanket that Zara brought in and dozed off. I had some nightmares. I saw the whole SWAT team massacred by Morgenthal, single-handedly, while he was reading a newspaper and having a donut. But eventually I fell into a deep, soothing sleep.

Early next morning I woke up refreshed, or as refreshed as you can be after a few glasses of whiskey, going to sleep late, sleeping on a sofa, having nightmares, and waking up early. But I felt fairly refreshed, ready for action.

A quick shower, scrambled eggs, an espresso, and then another espresso.

A phone call to Martin.

"Martin, all set?"

"All set, special agent Lorna O'Grady is running the show. It's nearly eight now. Your jet leaves at ten-thirty. Dermot is sponsoring your flight, he's quite agitated now with the prospect of closing the Morgenthal saga. Agent O'Grady and a few other agents accompanying her will be on the plane with you."

"That's the reason it's free," I said scornfully. "Dermot’s flying his guys anyway, so it costs him nothing to take me along."

"True."

"I'd better get going now."

"One more thing, agent O'Grady is one of the best. She used to be in front-line SWAT, but proved to be super-smart and better suited to analytical and strategic work, not direct combat."

"Nice."

"Dermot told me the real reason she was moved is her boobs."

"What?"

"She's apparently very sexy, but her boobs they say are ginormous. It was said the weight of her breasts made participation in direct combat slightly clumsy. She was still super-fast and agile, and so on, but according to their assessment criteria, milliseconds count wherever SWAT are deployed. If you have to duck, swerve or dodge, those extra pounds on the chest make a considerable difference."

"Poor girl. Hopefully she's happy in her new role?"

"Who knows, I hope she is. Dermot said not to stare at her boobs for too long, no more than fifteen seconds. Otherwise she considers it not flattering, but offensive, and reminds her about why she was moved from an operational team to the upper ranks."

"Sure, I won't stare at them for longer than quarter of a minute."

"Good."

"Talk to you later," I finished the call.

A Lear 60 was waiting on the tarmac. The FBI agents were just boarding the plane. The SWAT team was to assemble in Cleveland from the neighboring Pittsburgh and Detroit bases.

Nora Lewis, my computer specialist was waiting for me on the airstrip. Nora was one of the top guys on my computer geek squad. Originally from Philadelphia, she studied computer science at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I actually knew her parents, as her father was freelancing for me on various computer-related matters. He was also in the computer science business, and well-known in his field. Everything was going well for Nora. She was top of her class and graduated with honors.

To celebrate her achievement, her parents booked a three-week skiing holiday on Lake Tahoe. They were heading for the airport, when a car crashed head on with their car. Her father managed to swerve just ever so slightly to avoid the worst of it. But it didn't help much, both her parents were killed on the spot. The swerve might have saved Nora's life though.

She had multiple bone injuries, severe concussion, facial wounds, and a broken backbone – her spine cord was severed, leaving her lower body paralyzed. She’s undergone numerous surgical procedures, which have improved things significantly. She didn't resemble Freddie Kruger anymore. I've seen the pictures of her days immediately after the accident. But a beauty contest was out of question. In fact, your heart would beat faster if you saw her face in a secluded spot in the park after dark.

Anyway, her only means of mobility was a wheelchair. She couldn't come to terms with the loss of her parents, or with the loss of her mobility and her face. Even though she wasn't lacking anything, as she had enough money left by her parents and plenty from the insurance payout, she deteriorated mentally in a downward spiral, took to drugs and drink, which was never a good combination. She tried rehab and stuff like that, but it didn't help.

She needed a purpose. Over a couple of months I met with her and eventually she agreed to accept a job offer from me. As time passed, she seemed to become reconciled with her new self to some extent, although I was sure there was some hidden grudge and pain deep down in her heart somewhere.

I walked up the stairs and Nora was carried onto the plane.

Agent Lorna O'Grady was sitting on the plane talking on the phone. She stopped when I entered and greeted me.

"Good morning Greystone, Michael, if I may?"

"Sure Agent O'Grady, Lorna, if I may?"

"Sure."

I inspected her prominent boobs while she finished her call, returning my smile, visibly flattered by my staring at her breasts. I behaved like a gentleman and never looked at her bust for more than fifteen seconds at a time, as Martin recommended.

She finished her call at last and addressed me: "Some whiskey, Mike?"

"Why not, a glass can’t hurt, the flight’s at least an hour and a half."

"Well said," she agreed and poured three fingers into two glasses, albeit female ones, so I would count that as two and a half fingers.

"So what's the plan for today?" I asked.

She picked up one glass and took a small sip of whiskey. This actually required some sophisticated logistics to move the glass from the table up, over the expanse of her boobs, and towards her mouth horizontally, and then back again. But she did it gracefully, surely used to the size of her breasts.

"The plan is simple, two helicopters, five SWAT agents in each, drop onto the property, use tear and nerve gas, plus some smoke, get into the house, locate the subject, and incapacitate him if he’s not yet taken out by the gas. It’s a waterfront property and we've seen a boat moored by the pier, so we'll have two boats with FBI agents close by, plus two police boats on standby just in case. The local police have been notified. They’ll block the traffic five minutes before we go in to minimize civilian casualties. Twelve men will cordon off the property on three sides, plus the ones on the boats at the back. A few agents will remain on the main road, plus plain clothes agents will enter the neighboring houses, four in each, to make sure the inhabitants don't wander in the direction of the theater of operations."

"Sounds bulletproof."

"This is a high-profile case so we don't want any mistakes. We're using more than enough force, this can’t go wrong."

I briefed her on all I knew about Morgenthal. And she had a full dossier from Martin and Dermot as well.

43.

We landed in
Cleveland around twelve, got into FBI Suburbans, and drove off.

Avalon Drive, just off Lake Road in the Rocky River neighborhood. Upmarket waterfront properties, at least one and a half million dollars each. The detached houses with large gardens on each side made our task easier as more space meant less risk for civilians. A nice, large family house with plenty of space for adults and kids. Some shrubs and trees to the front provided just a little more privacy in this already private setting.

We stopped a few houses away from Morgenthal's house. I was sitting in the command center van with screens for satellite footage and the SWAT team cameras. Two silent drones with cameras were hovering above the property transmitting live images of the area. I was wearing headphones. Dermot with his team and Martin with my team were on the line too.

Agent O'Grady was in the command van with me. She was re-confirming commands to her team.

"Research & Execution traced the target's phone and confirmed the target is still in the house. The helicopters are approaching and the neighboring houses are now under control. Two boats are guarding the rear. Four cars with twelve men will surround the property and will shoot gas and smoke bombs through the windows. They’ll enter the house once the airborne agents are in. No sooner. Do not approach the property before that, the perimeter may be guarded and alert the target. We don't want to scare him. We're going in in about eight minutes. Everybody ready? The police are closing Avalon Drive on both sides in 3 minutes." Agent O'Grady knew her business and inspired confidence in her skills to manage the situation.

After a few minutes:

"Avalon Drive is now closed. The perimeter is closed off. We're going in in five minutes."

We waited a few moments. All seemed to be going well.

"One minute to go."

I heard a voice on the radio. One of the agents positioned on Avalon Drive. "Missing boy reported by his mother, three houses to the left. She said he must be playing somewhere between the houses."

"Fuck, find him. We’re going ahead with the plan anyway. Thirty seconds to go," Lorna shouted into the microphone.

I heard the FBI choppers in the distance. The sound of the rotors was very muted, as SWAT had a few quasi-stealth helicopters spread around the country. They used Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, albeit modified to ensure more silent operation. It was the same model that was used in the raid on Osama bin Laden in 2011, but without the anti-radar stealth features. You don't really need it here, silent operation is enough on top of what is an ordinary UH-60.

"Fifteen seconds."

"Ten seconds."

I could see two UH-60s hovering over the property ready for action. The two FBI boats on the lake approached within shooting range and could now be seen on the drone cameras.

"Five seconds."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little boy coming out of a bush just in front of Morgenthal's house. He had a toy gun in his hand.

"Now," Lorna commanded.

The agents outside the house shot tear and nerve gas shells along with smoke bombs. At that instant, when any possible intrusion alarms inside the house would already have been triggered, the SWAT teams in the choppers descended onto the property and ran towards the house.

I saw the boy jumping and waving this toy gun thinking it was great fun. I just prayed somebody wouldn't shoot him by mistake.

I grabbed a gas mask, put it on, and shot out of the van. The wind was blowing off the lake and there was a lot of smoke outside. Some of the gas bombs must have bounced off the walls and rolled into the front garden. I could see the boy going into the smoke cloud and heading towards the house.

Visibility was diminishing and there was a risk the boy could be paralyzed as well. The gas was apparently safe for adults, but I'm sure it hadn’t really been tested on five-year-old boys.

There were shouts coming out of the house, as the SWAT teams cleared it room by room.

I ran towards the spot where I’d last seen the boy, hoping he was moving slowly. I could only see a few meters in front of me.

Suddenly, there were shots from an automatic gun. I ducked instinctively to the ground.

I made two circles on all fours around the area I thought I would find him, hoping not to get shot in the process.

I could still hear shots and cries. Something wasn't going as planned. The target should have been subdued by now.

Finally I found the boy. As I expected, he must have inhaled some gas already and was writhing with pain on the grass. I lifted him to carry him away from the scene.

There was medical van parked on the street fifteen yards behind the command center car, so I headed in that direction.

Suddenly, I heard a SWAT team member shouting: "Grenade, grenade!"

I took two more paces and collapsed flat on the ground, putting the boy on his back and covering him with my body, with our heads away from the house. The explosion was deafening, and I heard shrapnel whizzing all around us.

I got up and carried the boy swiftly towards the medical van, still dazed by the explosion and with impaired hearing. He was crying from shock and pain caused by the tear gas, most likely CS. His movements were slower than expected for a 5-year-old, so I suspected he’d inhaled the nerve gas too.

I left him in the medical van with the paramedics, who gave him some antidotes and pain relief, and rushed back to the command center van.

"Brave work with the boy. You could have gotten shot. Or worse torn to pieces by the grenade explosion."

"I was careful. How did we miss the boy?"

"He was hidden in a bush. Not visible to the drone cameras. Bad luck," agent Lorna responded.

"What's going on here?" I asked her, looking at the screens. "Have they got him yet?"

"We have eight men inside, and more than a dozen outside, two manned boats at the back. He can’t escape."

"So where is he, I don't understand?"

"That's the question. There were shots, but my team reported no actual sighting. Just this grenade. There’s one man down because of the grenade, and another was scraped by a bullet in the arm, nothing serious. But no sight of Morgenthal. This motherfucker is really good."

"Could he have hidden in a panic room or bunker?"

"He could, but then we'll get him eventually, alive or dead. We don't know if there’s a panic room of any sort. As you know, the architectural records were scarce for this property."

"I can see a boat here," I pointed at the screen.

"Yeah, it's his, but we have two boats there, plus two more police boats with officers and divers. He can’t escape."

"Where is he then?"

I looked at the screens.

"What's this bush here beside the pier? It’s quite large, could there be another speed boat we missed? Or a hidden outlet?"

"Too small for a boat. Impossible."

One of the members of the SWAT team reported: "We've found some kind of a door. Reinforced, well built, and leading towards a chamber facing the water. We’re trying to break through it."

Then it struck me.

"There could be a tunnel towards the lake!" I shouted.

I took my headphones and shouted into the microphone.

"Martin, check if Morgenthal has a scuba-diving license."

Thirty seconds later Martin confirmed: "Yeah, he has and he's an active member of a diving club."

"I'm going in. I'll take the boat. Tell your guys on the boats and the police to watch out for a diver," I shouted while taking an automatic gun and a few clips from the rack in the van.

I ran towards the back garden, onto the pier, and jumped into a boat. A guy like Morgenthal would surely have keys somewhere just in case a speedy evacuation was required. I found them under the seat attached with an adhesive bandage.

I got out of the boat, went back onto the pier, and scanned the surface. The water was shallow and the visibility wasn't perfect, as there was a slight breeze and gentle waves muddying the water, but it wasn't too bad either.

I was looking for air bubbles and irregularities on the surface that would give way a diver's position.

The FBI crews were circling around the area searching too, so they must have got the orders already.

I loaded the automatic gun and started shooting into the water. After the first round, I inserted a new clip into the gun and did the same again, shooting far and near, left and right, to cover as much area as possible. Hopefully that would make him swim faster and expend more energy, thus requiring more oxygen. Thus making more air bubbles.

I put another clip into my gun and waited, scanning the water.

There was a slight change in the wind and the surface of the water was calmer now. I thought I noticed a few air bubbles and gentle ripples on the surface similar to those made by the thrust of flippers, around thirty yards away to the east along the shore, twenty yards out.

I jumped into the boat, fired up the engine, and followed the direction of the bubbles.

I could now see them clearly. I was moving slowly so as not to scare the prey. The bubbles veered slightly towards the left, towards the open water, as if he wanted to dive deeper. I sped up to catch him. Finally I could see a silhouette of a human body in a wet-suit under the surface of the lake.

The guy started turning towards me, probably aware of my pursuit. I slowed the engine and picked up my gun. Morgenthal started to swim to the surface.

"Funny," I thought to myself, "does he want to surrender? How easy that would be," I laughed. A bit prematurely it turned out.

Suddenly I noticed him holding a spear-gun and aiming it towards me. I ducked in a split second, which seemed very appropriate in this marine setting, and just glimpsed a harpoon passing an inch from my neck. I was not sure I actually saw it or imagined I saw it. It didn’t matter. The spear ripped a piece off the collar of my shirt. Fuck, that was a close shave.

I hadn't finished thinking about it when another harpoon shot through the bottom of the boat between my legs.

"Fuck, this guy is a pro."

I jumped to my feet and took off the FBI SWAT helmet and bulletproof vest, thinking I would make a makeshift decoy.

A third spear pierced the boat less than a foot away from me.

I took the helmet in one hand and the vest in the other, made a sort of human shape out of them, and stuck them out over the side of the boat. A fourth projectile hit the helmet precisely, throwing it a few yards upwards and backwards.

I noticed the direction of the missile, knew he had to reload the gun.

I grabbed the automatic gun, jumped to my feet, took aim, and started shooting, aiming for the lower body as far as possible to incapacitate him and keep him alive, just to be able to interrogate him if possible.

I saw him drop the harpoon gun and struggle convulsively, trying to swim. He must have taken a bullet or two in his legs, as he was struggling to move. I also noted broad streaks of blood in the water. I held him at gun point and waited for the approaching FBI and police boats. They were on their way as soon as they noticed my plight and my break-dance moves as I fought for my life against the flying harpoons.

The police had divers on board, and four of them plunged into the water. Three approached Morgenthal from behind and the side, and the fourth one secured the harpoon gun. There wasn't even much need for these precautions, as the target was seriously wounded and losing strength rapidly.

They lifted him to the surface and onto the police boat, where there was more space.

I tied my boat next to the police boat and jumped across.

Morgenthal was now clearly in bad shape, or to put it a little more poetically, he was just a shadow of a man.

I approached him and said: "Morgenthal, do you know who I am?"

"I know you, you fucking bastard. I know you," he said with a visible effort.

"Good. It's over now," I said.

He had three wounds in his legs, which were causing blood loss, but were not life threatening. Unfortunately, he had two bullets in his stomach, and one in the chest, both of which were very serious. I took a dressing out of the first aid kit and unwrapped it. It was already rolled into a cylinder, so I just compressed it with my fingers, unzipped his wet suit, and stuck the bandage into the hole in his stomach, the one which was bleeding most. He hissed with pain.

"You're bleeding. I wanted to stop the blood loss until the medical staff take over."

"Don't bother."

I said nothing.

"How the fuck did you find me? You’re cleverer than I expected. I should have killed you earlier."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"How did you find me?"

"Team work, as usual."

"Don't speak bullshit, who turned me in?"

"Team work, as I said. And besides, I don't reveal my sources," I replied.