Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (8 page)

The dispatcher keyed her microphone and announced a bank alarm and possible robbery in progress
. She identified four specific cars in the area and requested they respond. Three of the cars acknowledged almost immediately and began heading toward the address with sirens wailing. Spence was standing outside his car about four blocks away from Fort Knox. He had barely heard the explosion almost a mile away, but saw smoke coming from that direction. What he had no problem hearing was the radio car a few blocks away when it turned on its siren and sped off toward the bank The Force had just attacked.

The police were just pulling up in front of the now burning bank branch when the second bomb detonated
. It was about one mile away from the first bomb, and the responding officers did not even hear or notice it. They were busy establishing a perimeter around the first branch and calling for the fire department.

The ABT operator heard two new alarms and then saw
confusing alerts on his screen. He first noticed that the smoke detection alarm had triggered at the first bank branch. Was the bank on fire? A moment later, the computer flashed a second door alarm at a completely different bank.

“What the hell
? Sir, could you please look at this,” he said to his supervisor. It was quickly determined that there were now two banks involved, and again the police were notified.

The dispatcher had just requested a response from several units
on the second alarm when the third bomb exploded. Unfortunately, two of the bank’s ATM customers had been walking up to the bank machine when the third blast occurred. Both were lying dead on the ground before the ABT operator noticed the new alarm.
Something’s wrong
he thought as he looked over his shoulder at his supervisor. The supervisor was a retired police captain and was now very suspicious. He instructed the operator to follow procedure, but pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to call an old partner who happened to be in charge of the dispatch that night. When his ex-partner and fishing buddy finally answered his third call, he said “Hey ....it’s kind of crazy right now, can I call you back?” The supervisor replied back with “No, don’t hang up. I’m watching all of these bank alarms. I think we have a diversion on our hands.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Hold on a second, I have a report coming in from the
third bank.”

A few seconds later, the report came in concerning the two bodies found in front of the third bank
. Both the ABT supervisor and the dispatch officer concluded that the bank robbers had messed up on the third bank and blown themselves up.

The delay on the
fourth bomb was just a little longer than the first three. The CAT dozer was rolling down the alley behind Fort Knox at full speed, when the fourth bomb detonated some 10 blocks away. The driver pointed the 80,000-pound machine directly at the back of Fort Knox and applied full throttle.

T
he resulting collision was impressive. The back wall of the bank gave way like cardboard. Two feet inside the outer wall was the back of the vault. Built in the 1940’s, the safe was a room with walls of 2-inch steel plate, surrounded by another 12 inches of reinforced concrete. For all of its imposing structure, the vault’s walls were no match for the kinetic energy released by the 5-foot high, hardened steel blade of the CAT. The back corner of the vault shredded like paper, hardly even slowing the big machine down.

The dozer stopped once it was clear
, and Spence’s men poured into the gap. With crowbars, they began popping the lockboxes open one by one. They emptied many into large canvas laundry bags while carrying out others intact. In less than four minutes, they were out of the branch with untold valuables and 300 pounds of gold. ABT did not even report the fifth alarm at Fort Knox until the robber’s van was leaving. By then, there wasn’t an available police car for over two miles. The Force drove slowly through traffic having to stop twice for speeding fire trucks on their way to bank fires.

“Spe
nce, which way are we heading?

“I always wanted to check out Acapulco
.” Spence replied with a wry smile on his lips.

In addition to the four fires started by the bank bandits, two of which had spread to multiple structures, the Cleveland
Fire Department was fighting no less than four large blazes started by the disturbance downtown. Two of the downtown fires were burning out of control because the riot prohibited moving in equipment to fight them.

Cleveland was burning.

Bishop watched the news reports on the Cleveland riots, and it troubled him.
Why do politicians always stir the pot?

He went to their pantry and
checked the boxes of stored food and dry goods. Living along the gulf coast meant hurricanes, so having several days of food stored in the house made sense. As he looked through the big plastic bins, he noticed a few items that were missing or low. He made some notes to go over with Terri on the next trip to the store.

Bishop
was feeling much better physically and made up his mind that he was going to work out. He had decided a long time ago that he was not going to be a big muscle guy. As he had played an assortment of sports in high school, it became clear that he was never the best at anything, but was close to the best at almost everything. As a teenager, this circumstance had been difficult to deal with mentally. He had moved from sport to sport, working to be the school’s star at
something
, hell,
anything
. While he always made the team, someone else was always “the best.”

He found this to be true with lifting weights and exercise
as well. He was never going to be a power lifter due to his frame, and yet got bored easily doing countless reps to build endurance. He had settled years ago on a routine that did a little of both. He didn’t lift for personal image or appearance; he did so because it burned stress. He always felt so much better after using his muscles.

Bishop went to his personal gym, which was actually a spare bedroom that Terri “let him use
.” He set up one of the machines and started to warm up when the pain in his chest made him weak at the knees. After recovering, he decided he would at least do some pushups, but never made it past kneeling before his body told him in no uncertain terms –
not yet
.

He was
n’t in the mood to reload, and everything in the gun safe was spic and span.

Now thoroughly disgusted, he decided he would head to the company range and at least get a little trigger time
. After all, how could shooting a gun possibly hurt his ribs?

As
Bishop drove to the offices of his employer, Hamilton, Burns and Root, or HBR, he mind drifted back to the way he landed this crazy job in the first place.

After all of the reports and debriefing following the skirmish, Bishop and Spider went back to their original routine in Iraq. They were out by the pipeline one morning when a company truck pulled up. The driver got out and walked toward Spider, who was clearly on edge about the visitor.

It
was Spider’s boss, who was known as “The Colonel.” Bishop continued to inspect a pumping house when Spider and The Colonel approached him.

“Bishop, this is The Colonel. H
e is the Global Security director for HBR,” said Spider.

Bishop held out his hand
, acknowledging the gentleman with a nod and a single word, “Sir.”

The Colonel, as expected, shook Bishop’s hand with an iron grip
. After the stern handshake, he began in a rapid fire, staccato voice, “Son, I had an unusual call from the Marine Corps yesterday. Normally, when I get a call from the Marines or the Big Army, it is to bitch about my guys getting drunk or trying to have sex with FEMALE enlisted personal who have zero fucking business in a combat zone.”

The Colonel
stopped and spit to emphasize his disdain for females in combat, and then continued.

“This phone conversation
, however, was different. It seems that the Marine Corps wanted to thank me for hiring someone with a full set of balls who gives a rat’s ass about more than himself. Now personally, I think this is BULLSHIT. Personally, I think there was a reason why you pulled that man out of that burning wreck. I don’t know if you and he were gay lovers, if he owed you money from a poker game, or if you were trying to fuck his sister back home. Personally, I don’t care. What I do care about is having one, as in a
single
, 24-hour period where I don’t have some punk Bird Colonel pulling on my nuts with a pair of pliers. Today was the first day that has occurred in as long as I have been the bouncer in this whorehouse. Do you follow me so far, son?”

“Yes
, sir.”

“Now, does this
mean I want in your pants, boy? That is a complete negative. I have all kinds of people wanting to blow hot air up my ass every-single-fucking-day. Most of them are a hell of a lot smarter and damn sure prettier than you are. What I DO want is for you and Spider to get THIS security operation 100% UN-FUCKED pronto. Do I make myself understood, son?”

“Yes
, sir.”

“GOOD
! When you get back to CONUS, call my office, and talk to me about a full-time job. I know that Spider here sucks a goat’s ass every morning for breakfast, but he’s all we can afford on this job. Don’t hold him against us.”

The Colonel spun around and headed back for his truck
as Spider struggled to keep up with him. On the way, he looked at Spider and said, “That boy don’t say much – does he?”

Three weeks later, the first-time father who returned showing off pictures of his brand-spanking new baby boy relieved Bishop. Bishop was pleased to hear that Mom, new baby and Dad had all made it through the ordeal. After arriving back in Houston, he had done nothing but eat and sleep for three days. Spider had lied; the food had sucked.

After catching up on the mail, bills and calling a few old lady friends, Bishop decided he really didn’t have that many options, so he put a call into HBR
early the next morning. He was informed that the Global Security director wasn’t available, and a message would be left for him. Ten minutes later, his phone rang, and it was The Colonel. Even long distance, the voice boomed, “Son, I want you to execute a shit, shower, shave and breakfast – in that order. You will then don class A civilian dress. Immediately proceed to 1417 Willard Street, downtown Houston. Go to the third floor, Suite 317. Enter the suite, and ask for Mrs. Porter. Son, Mrs. Porter is a dear,
personal
friend of mine. I want your back straight, your gut in and you will address her as Mrs. Porter or Ma’am. Is all of this clear so far, son?

“Yes
, sir.”

“I
’ll be perfectly frank here, young man. Should you piss off, disgust, or offend Mrs. Porter in any way, I will
personally
tie your body into knots, dip it in salt, and eat it like a pretzel while enjoying a beer. Is that clear?”

“Yes
, sir.”

“Mrs. Porter will have all of the required paperwork and your job offer in writing
. If you don’t like the offer, then you can shove-the-fuck-off. If you like the offer, then execute Mrs. Porter’s instructions
exactly
as she requires in an efficient, high-speed, low-drag manner, and then be on your way.”

The phone went dead.

Bishop was hired by HBR to be a “Project Engineering and Security Specialist,” which he found a very fancy title. He believed the job should be called “Night Watchman for Middle-of-Nowhere Oil Projects.” When HBR was looking to drill, pump, explore, survey or produce energy in some remote land, the company would send along security experts to talk to the local law enforcement, study the surroundings, and then evaluate potential risks or problems. When HBR rolled in millions of dollars’ worth of equipment and personnel, they wanted their folks working, not worrying about local rebels, or having to bribe the local warlord.

While all of this sounded
simple on paper, Bishop found reality was far more complex. First of all, HBR wasn’t going to avoid any project that could make the company money over mere security risks. Even if a drilling site were right in the middle of a Chinese Army base, HBR was going to bore it, and The Colonel’s department had to keep it secure.

Fair enough
thought Bishop, given enough money and enough weapons, almost any location can be made secure. The problem was that in many of the places HBR worked, a foreigner walking around with big, military grade weapons was frowned upon at best, and normally outright illegal. In addition, there were often no local law enforcement or friendly military around. Bishop had joked once that they could be doing a project in the middle of a tropical forest and not see anyone for weeks, but as soon as one of his guys displayed a rifle, an entire brigade would appear out of the jungle to arrest them.

The Colo
nel’s department also included executive security. This was considered the best job in the entire operation. When HBR executives traveled to various remote projects, the executive security group served as their personal bodyguards. Ever since an HBR vice president had been kidnapped and held for four million in ransom, the company had decided it was cost- effective to have bodyguards. Referred to as “the tier one operators,” or T1s, these were the hardcore, ex-Special Forces guys. Bishop had to deal with the T1 operators on a regular basis, and really didn’t mind. At first, he had been concerned that they would act as if they were “Gods of war,” but that rarely ever happened. When a VIP was visiting one of his locations, he would normally brief the T1 guys, answer a few questions, and everything went fine.

As Bisho
p pulled into the HBR security offices, he realized that he was indeed a lucky man. One of the benefits of the job was a healthy “continuous education” budget. This meant that the company had its own shooting range complete with training facilities, and employees could attend classes on everything from the latest security systems to seminars sponsored by weapons’ manufacturers. Just a few days before, he had been at the south facility chasing around a toy robot through the pine woods.
Toys
, thought Bishop,
we are all a bunch of boys with very cool toys
.

He carried in his weapons, checked them in at the front desk
, and enjoyed four hours of drills, timed courses and just destroying paper targets.
There’s nothing like blowing the hell out of something to cheer a guy up.