Solfleet: The Call of Duty (15 page)

And then,
yesterday, when Franco had put the idea of her going undercover and setting her
supplier up to be arrested on the table, she’d jumped onboard without any
hesitation. She’d been
that
determined to avoid the additional
punishment. And, admittedly, Hansen himself had liked the idea of pulling that scumbag
drug dealer out of circulation for good very much. As a former Security Police
officer, he couldn’t help but feel that way.

And so, once
again, he’d let her have her way. No return to Westcott,
and
no additional
five weeks of being grounded. In return for that promise, Heather would
participate in what, after meeting with the entire team of detectives, had become
the ‘buy-bust’ operation she was now involved in. Then, as soon as it was over,
she’d enroll in drug abuse counseling—a very good idea indeed, in her parole
officer’s opinion as well as in her father’s—with the understanding that she
not miss a single session without prior permission.

But now that
it was actually happening—now that Heather was about to literally risk her life
to regain her freedom—Hansen was really starting to wish he’d stuck to his guns
for a change and enforced the extra five weeks instead. She’d doubtlessly be
whining and complaining endlessly by now about not having a life of any kind,
but at least she’d be safe at home instead of out there on her own, getting
ready to double-cross a dangerous narcotics trafficker.

No. She wasn’t
on her own at all, he reminded himself for the sake of his own sanity. The narcotics
detectives were all close by her, and they were all professionals. They knew
their jobs. If something went wrong they’d be there. They’d protect her. They
wouldn’t let any harm come to her. Besides, she’d obviously bought from the same
dirt bag before. He knew her, and he had no reason not to trust her.

So why was
he so damn nervous?

He glanced
at the time for what had to be at least the tenth time since he’d stopped
pacing back and forth across the room and sat back down again, which he noted
had only been about five minutes ago. He just wanted the whole thing to be
over, so he could take his daughter home.

She’d set
the buy up for the usual time at the usual place—8:00 P.M., inside the Rotunda
maintenance department’s poorly lit and rarely trafficked storeroom. The
detectives had set up the hidden cameras late last night, arranging them to
monitor the approach to the department, the main hallway, both sides of the
storeroom door, and the entire room itself. Heather would be wired for sound,
and as soon as she made the buy and passed the codeword, the detectives would
burst in and arrest both her, in order to protect her status as an informant,
and the dealer.

At least,
that was the plan.

He drummed
his fingers on the front of the chair for a few seconds, then stood up and
started pacing back and forth in front of the monitors...again. He eyeballed
the tall stack of disposable cups and the half-empty coffee pot sitting on the
warmer in the far corner—they’d been calling to him ever since the detectives
left him alone—but the last thing he needed at that moment was more caffeine.
He was fidgety enough as it was. Still, he stared at it for a few more seconds,
then went over and poured himself a cup anyway.

At least it
gave him something to do.

The smooth
aroma did nothing to calm his nerves as he lifted the cup to his lips and took
a tentative sip. Not bad, he concluded as he sloshed it around in his mouth to
make the most of the taste. Better than his own, in fact, though not nearly as
good as Vicky’s.

“
C-I
approaching,
” a voice from over by the monitors quietly announced. Hansen turned
to it, but there was no one there. Then he remembered the comm-link. Sergeant
Franco had left one behind, rigged to a small portable speaker so that he could
monitor their communications during the operation—another of the specific conditions
he’d demanded they meet in exchange for allowing them to use Heather—but it had
remained silent until that moment, and in all his anxiousness he’d forgotten
all about it.

‘C-I
approaching’, he reflected. C.I. stood for Confidential Informant. It was a standard
term that all such agencies used, including his own. It usually referred to someone
he didn’t really care much about on a personal level, such as a spy who’d
gotten caught, a criminal facing serious charges and trying to make a deal for leniency,
or simply someone who was down on their luck and trying to make a little extra
cash. Usually, but not this time. This time the C.I. was his own daughter.

“
All
right, stand by, everyone,
” someone else responded, apparently in charge.
That had to be Franco, though it didn’t sound very much like him.

Hansen
returned to his chair, sat down, and waited nervously...and waited...and waited
some more.

Finally,
after a few more long nervous minutes, Heather stepped into frame on the far
left monitor, and the first thing Hansen noticed was that her hair and face
were made up well beyond her years, and that she was wearing a much too
provocative combination of skintight, low-rise blue jeans and a short-sleeved
half-length blouse that left her midriff bare—far too much of it for a girl her
age. Far too much of it for a girl of
any
age for that matter, whether
she was his own daughter or not. When all this was over, he decided right then
and there, he was going to have to pay a lot closer attention to her wardrobe.

She glanced
around for a few seconds, presumably to make sure the coast was clear, then
reached into her back pocket—how she managed to get her fingers down in there
was a mystery to him, her jeans were so damn tight—and pulled out what looked
like a keycard of some kind. She glanced around once more, then slipped the
card into the maintenance department door’s control panel and punched in the
access code.

Where the
hell had she gotten the card
and
the code for that door?

She slipped
inside, stepping into view on monitors 2 and 3 from opposite sides, and quickly
closed the door behind her.

Slowly,
cautiously, she made her way down the narrow, poorly lit hallway, shrinking in
the distance on monitor-2 while growing closer on monitor-3 as she slowly approached
the storeroom door, which nearly filled monitor-4. Was she normally so
tentative and cautious when she went in there, or was she afraid because of
what she was about to do? If the former, then okay, good for her for at least
trying to be careful, but if the latter, he could only hope the dealer wouldn’t
see it in her eyes and get spooked. God only knew what he might do to her if
that happened.

Why the hell
was he letting her do this?

She stepped
into view on monitor-4 as she reached the door, turned and glanced back up the
hallway, then turned her back to the camera and faced the door. She pressed the
top two buttons on the panel to its right. The door opened inward to reveal
only darkness beyond, but monitors 5 and 6 did brighten a little bit as the light
from the hall spilled into the storeroom. Then, with one last glance up and
down the hall, she went inside.

To his
relief, at least a little, she turned on the lights and looked around before
she closed the door. Then, when she started wandering around the room and
looking at things more closely, apparently to better familiarize herself with
her surroundings—perhaps she had a lot more street smarts than he’d given her
credit for—he leaned closer to the monitors and checked things out with her as carefully
and completely as he possibly could.

He saw a
variety of brooms, mops, buckets, and cleaning supplies, one of those vacuum cleaner-looking
things that maintenance technicians were always running back and forth a few
inches above the deck—just what the hell
were
those things, anyway?—numerous
shelves full of thick maintenance manuals, spare lighting fixtures, assorted
electronics parts, dozens of spools of various gauges and colors of wires,
rolls and strips and sheets of assorted materials, small tool kits and larger
tool boxes. Everything he would expect such a room to contain was there, with
nothing to indicate that he was looking at anything more.

Just a
well-stocked storeroom with no one hiding in the shadows. No one there but his
daughter.

Oh, how he
wished that she wasn’t there, either.

“
Suspect
is approaching the area. Looks like he’s not alone.
”

Hansen’s
heart sank. There was more than one! Was the team prepared for that?

“
Copy.
That was expected. All units, be ready to go on my say so.
”

That
answered that question. But expected? He didn’t remember Franco saying anything
about there being more than one suspect during the briefing. Perhaps the
sergeant had only said that for his benefit, to prevent him from worrying even
more than he already was. What if...

There they
were. He caught a brief glimpse of their backs on monitor-1 as they ducked
through the entrance, then got his first good look at them in the hallway on
monitors 2 and 3. Both were young men, perhaps in their early twenties, white,
with long dark hair. But that was where the similarities ended. Where the
slightly shorter and more slender of the two was clean shaven and wore his hair
pulled back into a ponytail, the taller and much stockier one had a moustache
and a goatee and wore his hair loosely and unkempt. And where the slender one
was well dressed in black slacks and boots, a gray button-down shirt, and a
brown pleather sport coat, the stocky one wore old jeans and a tight,
short-sleeved pullover shirt that left his very muscular and heavily tattooed
arms to be seen and feared.

The dealer
had brought his muscle. Hansen squirmed in his chair and drew a deep breath,
fearing for his daughter that much more.

The dealer
led the way confidently down the hall and into the storeroom as if he owned the
place.

“
Hey
there, Heather girl,
” the dealer said in what sounded like a fake accent,
either Italian or Latino, while he eyed her suspiciously. “
You looking pretty
good tonight, Chica. How you doing?
”

Latino,
Hansen decided, but not a very good one. He didn’t even swap his ‘
y
’s and
‘
j
’s.

“
I’m
good, Paolo,
” she answered coolly, looking him right in the eye. “
How
are you?
”

Good girl,
Hansen told her in his mind, wringing his hands harder than ever. Just stay
calm and play it cool. Be cordial, but don’t overact.

“
Oh, I’m
good, Heather girl. But I’m a little mystified.
”

“
Mystified?
Why is that?
”

“
Well,
you see...
” He started wandering around the room, moved around behind her, “
I
been supplying you for over six months now, and in all that time, you never
asked me for anything more than a couple weeks’ worth for personal use,
”
then stopped beside her and leaned very close to her ear. “
Now, all of the
sudden, you wanna buy a whole kilo?
”

Hansen’s
sunken heart suddenly leapt into his mouth. What the hell had she done? Why had
she broken her routine like that?

“
God damn
it!
” Franco exclaimed. “
All units, stay on your toes. Be ready to move
in hard at a moment’s notice.
”

Heather
looked right at him again. “
Call it an entrepreneurial endeavor,
” she
responded calmly, with confidence. “
I need to make some money in a hurry.
”

He had to
hand it to her. She was good. He only hoped her larger than usual order hadn’t
blown the whole thing.

“
And you
think you can resell
my
shit, on
my
base, without
my
blessing?
”

She dropped
her gaze to the floor and appeared to think it over for a moment, then looked
back up at him and said, “
I’m sorry, Paolo. I guess I didn’t think about it
that way.
”

“
No. I
guess you didn’t.
” He backed off a little and resumed wandering silently in
circles around her.

After
several moments of that, Heather asked him, “
So then, would it be all right
with you if I did this, just this one time?
”

He stopped
suddenly and got right in her face and shouted, “
Fuck no it wouldn’t be all
right, you stupid little bitch!
”

To her
credit, Heather barely flinched. The poor girl must have been scared to death.

“
This is
my
base!
” Paolo went on. “
These are
my
customers!
” He grabbed
her by the chin—Hansen flinched and clenched his fists—and pulled her face closer
to his. Almost close enough to kiss her. “
What the fuck are they gonna think
if I let some half-pint little cunt move in on my operation without doing
something about it, huh?
”

“All right,
that’s enough,” Hansen mumbled, fidgeting again. “Get in there, fellas. Put an
end to this before it gets out of hand.”

“
I’ll
give you a cut of whatever I make, if that’s what you want,
” Heather offered.

Hansen
couldn’t believe how calm she still was. He was a nervous wreck!

“
You try
to play me for a fool and
I’ll
give
you
a cut! Scar that pretty
face of yours!
”

“All right,
guys,” Hansen went on, knowing of course that the detectives couldn’t hear him.
“He just threatened to hurt my daughter. Get your asses in there now.” Then he
realized that he couldn’t hear them anymore, either.

Damn them!
The sons-of-bitches had cut him off! All he could do now was watch and wait,
but if they let that scumbag hurt his little girl...