Luthecker (36 page)

Chris, Yaw, and Camila, three of Winn’s top four students stood a moment on the sidewalk, looking over 108
^th
street. It seemed quiet, oddly quiet, as barely a person was seen walking along the streets.

Yaw turned and smiled as he saw Master Winn exit the apartment building. Winn smiled back and approached, exchanging hugs with all three of his pupils.

“Well done.” He told them.

“So what’s next for them?” Camila asked him.

“They’ll settle in, and Joey will introduce them to the community. They will be fine.”

“How are you doing?” Yaw asked the old Asian.

“I’m concerned.”

“I’ve noticed, seems awful quiet around here.” Chris added, a hint of wariness in his voice.

“There’s something in the air, and everyone senses it. Rooker has honored his word, but suspects’ war is on its way here. I fear he may be right. I’ve called in everyone.”

They all stood in silence a moment. Yaw took note that there wasn’t a single person in sight on the street, anywhere.

“Where are they?”

“Waiting.”

Yaw turned to Winn.

“What about Alex?”

“Focus on what’s in front of you, for the time being.” Winn commented, as he nodded towards the end of 108
^th
street.

For the moment the street lay empty. And then they all watched as a Black Chevy Suburban turned the corner towards them, and headed their way.

STAKES

B
rown sat at his desk reviewing the drone footage on his computer screen. He examined video dated from two days previous, taken in New York, of Luthecker’s three accomplices, Yaw Chinomso, Camila Ramirez, and Chris Aldrich. He chuckled as he watched the overhead video from the tiny drones, zooming in and around their position, capturing the trio’s movements as they fought off amateur gangsters in a parking lot, and pulled a small group of Vietnamese peasants from a storage facility before loading them into the back of a van. He found their naivety and small-minded futile desire to “save” these refugees amusing.

The Vietnamese were part of a human slave ring run by a low-level element of the Russian mob, the existence of which Brown was vaguely aware, and could easily put a stop to if he chose to actually allocate resources to the problem. The reality of the matter was, in his mind, it wasn’t a problem at all; it was simply the normal flow of human currency.

Since the dawn of organized human behavior, savages had always traded among the savages, and often with the only thing that they had, which was their blood. This was something that even the most rudimentarily educated student of history would see as obvious, Brown believed, and he scoffed at the ignorance of those who would champion human rights on a cultural scale, not allowing the social free market system to decide what type of exchange for labor and order any given tribe or society would find acceptable. The fact of the matter was that most of the great architecture in the world, including the U.S. infrastructure, was built on slave labor. This had been true for the Egyptians, the Romans, and now, the Americans. To enjoy the benefits of a great society that was built on the backs of others while criticizing the mechanics of how it all came to be was intellectually dishonest and morally bankrupt, in his opinion.

If the Russians wanted their merchandise back, they would come and get it. Whether they succeeded or not didn’t concern Brown in the least, and he certainly wouldn’t waste resources trying to combat the inevitable. And human slavery would always be inevitable, as long as there was a demand. He had much bigger problems with the Russian ruling class that he had to deal with anyway.

He moved on to drone footage of the trio and their merchandise’s arrival back in Los Angeles. Brown’s whole reason for letting them go in the first place was to find out the extent of Luthecker’s terrorist ring, and identify any potential leaders. The ring itself was ultimately proving to be pretty small, and from what he saw from the drone reconnaissance, he believed that he had just found the man in charge.

He watched as the three greeted a middle-aged Asian man, in front of an apartment

building on 108
^th
Street, in the City of Watts. His name was Winn Germaine, and he was a mix of Chinese, Filipino, Mexican and German lineage. Brief research led to his background, that he had grown up in Torrance California, and was thought to have connections with the local gangs in the community in his youth, but his involvement could never be verified with the police. Although he had graduated from high school and subsequently a small trade college, from the file Brown had, it seemed as if Martial Arts had been his true craft. He had studied various forms since he was a young boy, and it was that influence that had molded his future. He at least gave the appearance of being law-abiding, paying his taxes and having no debts of record. Beyond that, his existence was primarily off of the grid.

The reverence Luthecker’s accomplices paid to him clearly indicated he was their leader, and beyond him there appeared to be no larger, more complicated hierarchy. If this was the closest thing to an organization that Luthecker was a part of, it was this man who appeared to be the head of it. He had decided that this small band of four individuals constituted Luthecker’s primary leadership and support group, and, as with most terrorist groups, the ancillary members would scatter after the disappearance of the key individuals.

The Watts area of Los Angeles was tightly controlled by the gangs, and as such, had the chance to degrade into a considerable amount of violence if the targets were not extracted correctly. The media spin on the capture or termination of this small, localized, and off-grid collection of four would be easy enough to control, if any information somehow leaked. However if an altercation were allowed to escalate into a larger scale incident that included a rather vocal and criminal prone minority, it would be far more difficult to spin. He had sent an initial recon unit into the area to gauge the level of resistance he would find should he move to extract, and waited for the intelligence report. In the end, he would still take them out, regardless of what the intelligence unit came back with, even if it required a full-blown platoon of Special Ops soldiers to do the job.

He switched video files, to the ones shot in the northeast alley next to the Los Angeles Metro Police Precinct, only hours ago. The fast moving drones recorded imagery in the alley that was somewhat dizzying and difficult to follow, but with a facial recognition program he filtered the footage through, he clearly identified rogue agent Marcus Stern, fugitive Nicole Ellis, along with LAPD detective and now accomplice, Michael Castillo.

So Stern had sought out the woman, Brown thought. In his mind this no doubt had to do with Luthecker’s connection to both of them and the disturbing amount of influence he had on the agent, and only confirmed to him that his decision to terminate Stern as a precaution had been the correct one.

Brown also knew that Stern, emotional, impulsive, and therefore weak minded, would seek out Luthecker for answers to the meaningless questions his insecurities allowed for. And the fact that the woman, Nicole Ellis, had walked away from so much money and had aligned herself with him meant that she too, would seek out Luthecker for answers as to why her life had suddenly been sent adrift. Such was the power of the young terrorist. But since Brown held Luthecker captive and Stern knew it, Brown wouldn’t have to hunt either of them down—He would simply wait for them to inevitably come to him. And when they arrived, he would be more than ready.

He hit the intercom sitting on his desk. “Tell the auditors when they are done with their initial rounds, to come to my office.” He said into the speaker, referring to the office he had commandeered from Stephens.

“They’re on their way now, sir.” A pleasant sounding female voice replied.

Brown had decided not to go with Military Cutouts to complete the job this time around. Instead, he had decided to recruit from the Coalition Properties funded CIA’s imbedded assassin program, choosing individuals without the dead give away of physical stature and “seek and destroy” psychology of someone with a soldier’s background. The two men selected were far subtler, skilled at blending in, gaining trust, and closing out assignments without an excess of violence or suspicion.

“You wanted to see us sir?” The short, soft-spoken man with the receding hairline asked, as he and his taller partner stood just outside Brown’s office.

“Yes, please, come in.” Brown replied, waving the man and his companion into the office.

“Have a seat.” He continued, as he stepped around his desk, and closed the door behind them.

They took a seat on the office couch, and Brown stood across from them, leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest.

“Mr. Jones and Mr. Isabella.” Brown said out loud and evaluative, as he looked over his two new recruits. Both men were in their early thirties, and they covered their ordinary-sized frames with dark blue suits that were purposefully just below average in both style and price. They looked nothing alike yet were nevertheless indistinguishable from one another, save for the fact that Isabella wore glasses with thick black rims. Neither looked particularly fit nor threatening, and they were easy to dismiss as bean counter types.

“So where are we on the first thing?” Brown asked.

Jones looked at Isabella, who took off his glasses, and proceeded to clean the lenses with his tie.

“I’m sorry to say that agent Wolfe passed away of a heart attack this morning.” Isabella replied, without looking up.

“That is unfortunate news. I’ll be sure to send the family flowers.” Brown replied. He sensed genuine remorse in Isabella’s response to go along with the subtle detachment to the fact that the two men sitting on his office couch had just killed a man. It left him impressed and somewhat amused, the human but still business-like demeanor that had none of the cold psychopathy that usually accompanied the actions of men capable of such activities.

“And what of your thoughts regarding our building’s security? Has everyone been cooperative?” He continued.

“They have. You have a wonderful staff here.” Jones replied.

“And from what we can tell, the security is nearly impossible to break. Very impressive.” Isabella added.

“We were forced to create an alternative.” Jones continued. “One that would be relatively easy to follow, for someone who had Ops experience, and previous access to the building.”

“I see. And where would it lead?”

“To us, eventually.” Isabella replied, the more direct of the two, as he put his now clean glasses back upon his face.

“What kind of timeline are we looking at?” He continued.

“I can’t be sure. Be on twenty-four hour alert. I expect an attempt to be made some time within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“And how many?” Jones asked.

“Three. Two males, one female. The leader did two tours of combat in Afghanistan and has a sniper background, and the other male is a fugitive law officer. Both are used to working either solo or with a single partner, so I don’t expect them to recruit. The males will for sure be armed and dangerous, although the woman has shown she won’t hesitate to kill either.”

Brown reached back to his desk, grabbed a small stack of three files, and handed them to his two guests.

Jones and Isabella looked over Stern, Castillo, and Ellis’ files. After they finished, they looked at one another, shrugged, turned back to Brown.

“Okay. Not a problem.” Jones said, with a disturbing amount of calm.

“Good. Everyone at Coalition Properties West has been instructed to cooperate with you fully. Any questions about the facilities, ask Director Stephens. Anything else, bring it to me.” Brown directed them. Then he added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on the asset they are after.”

ALL IN

N
ikki sat on the edge of the thread-worn couch, trying to touch as little of the stained and molding fabric with her body as possible. She took it all in, the cramped space, the leers from the pair of muscular and tattoo covered Latinos standing in the kitchen, the faded and peeling wall paint, the Crucifixes and pictures of Jesus seemingly everywhere, the occasional wandering child. She wondered how she had gotten from her Liberty Street luxury apartment in New York to this place, a small two-bedroom house in East L.A., home to Castillo’s Confidential Informant, who was also a notorious gang member.

She felt uneasy in this environment despite the fact that she had been reassured that she was safe. Stern, the combat vetted soldier, stood just to the left of her, his senses on full alert. Castillo, the Law Officer, stood in the middle of the living room speaking in Spanish to his Confidential Informant, who appeared to be the alpha male that was the head of the household.

Castillo finally broke from his conversation and approached his two companions. Nikki got to her feet as he got close, and the three huddled close together.

“He’s putting sentries out on the corners up to ten blocks out. If someone is coming for us, we’ll have about five minutes. But if they do come, we’re on our own. They want nothing to do with the “Federales”.” Castillo whispered to them.

“What about a place to stay?” Stern asked.

“This is it. For two days. They’re going to clear out, leave us be, but after that we have to go.”

Nikki watched as a woman in her twenties corralled two young children, and the two men in the kitchen gave final suspicious looks at them before slowly funneling out the front door.

Castillo pointed a finger at Stern. “Now you need to start talking. I want to know who the hell killed my partner, and why the hell I’m all of a sudden on the run and getting shot at.”

“It’s complicated.” Stern replied as he waited for the last of the Latinos leave the small, two-bedroom home.

“Try me.” Castillo replied.