Hard to Handle (20 page)

Nigel nodded and moved sideways and backwards until he was next to the administrator. She now clutched the folder to her chest like a protective shield. Sam holstered his gun in the clip at his waist.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Battleford asked, clenching his jaw.

“I'm a concerned citizen who has very concrete evidence of Ross Construction doing business with force and intimidation. All things that would put the man in charge in jail for a very long time,” Sam detailed with a steady gaze on the target. “I also know that Groveland Development owns Ross. And you, mate, are now the only connection between Groveland and Ross. That makes you the man in charge, doesn't it? Unless you know something I don't.”

Sam watched as Battleford started blinking from nervousness. His original arrogant stance transformed to one more crestfallen and vulnerable.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he claimed, glancing behind him at the other two people.

“Oh, I think you do, Nate. I think you know exactly what I need to know about who is really in charge of this operation,” Sam insisted. “Other wise, you can do the time on their behalf.”

“Look, maybe we can work something out,” Battleford said, leaning closer to Sam and lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “I'm sure we can agree on something that will make this whole thing go away. Just name your price.”

“Wrong answer, Nate,” Sam replied, putting a hand on the butt of his Beretta, looking even more menacing than before. “Are you the man? Or are you going to tell me who is?”

“I can't tell you anything!”

“Sam, things are starting to get warm outside,” Renee warned through the earpiece. “Looks like the bodyguards are heading your way.”

“Nate, I'm not a patient man,” Sam continued. “So let's cut right to the chase. Four years ago, you bribed Jason Holt at the
Baltimore Journal
to bury a story on corruption by Groveland. Is that another crime you're willing to go down for instead of your boss?”

“Look, I can't help you, man. You're wasting your time.”

“I can see that, Nate. So maybe the FBI will have more luck with this discussion.”

Sam stepped forward, ready to take Battleford into custody.

“Wait, wait!” he shouted in panic. “Just wait a second!”

“Sorry, mate, you're out of time,” Sam said, now close enough to grab Battleford by the arm and pull it behind his back. “I am detaining you for delivery to police custody under the suspicion of bribery and coercion.”

“I'll tell you what I know,” Battleford whispered as he leaned closer to Sam. “Just get me out of here!”

Sam paused for a second. Until he caught a flash of sudden movement from behind Battleford and turned quickly to the man named Nigel, who was now holding a pistol pointed at him. The woman screamed, throwing the folder in the air and dropping to the floor to crawl behind her desk. Sam drew his weapon just as Nigel fired, and the sound of two gunshots in rapid succession ricocheted through the small trailer. Sam felt one bullet hit him square in the chest, making him stagger on his feet, but he managed to duck instinctively while firing back. His shot hit Nigel in the right shoulder, and the man jerked back, falling against the rear wall and dropping his gun. Sam slammed back against the side wall of the trailer, clutching at the area near his heart, gritting his teeth against the sharp, intense pain and trying to catch his breath. To his right was the body of Nate Battleford on the floor, with a black hole between his eyes.

CHAPTER 20

“Sam, you good?” Evan shouted through the earpiece.

There were a few short bursts of gunshots outside.

“Aye, I'm good,” Sam replied, trying to keep his voice even. “The trailer is secure, but I have Nate Battleford down. The other guy is injured.”

“Okay, Renee and I have the two bodyguards pinned down near the limo. You're clear to exit,” added Evan.

“The police are on their way, ETA three minutes,” Raymond confirmed.

“Okay, give me sixty seconds with this guy in here. He took out Battleford, and I want to know why.”

After a few more seconds, the pain in his chest had subsided to a pounding throb. Sam pulled up his black cotton top to undo the large, thick Velcro tabs on each side of his ballistic vest. His breathing became marginally better. He crouched down in front of Nigel. The assailant was breathing deep against the pain in his shoulder, and blood covered his arm down to the elbow.

“Who do you work for?” asked Sam, skipping the preliminaries. “Is it Anthony Fleming?”

Nigel just looked at him with defiance.

“Why did you take out Battleford?” No response.

Sam sighed and did an efficient search of the injured man, quickly locating a wallet and cell phone. He pulled out his own cell phone and took pictures of each piece of ID, then quickly turned on the phone. It was locked.

“I don't suppose you'll give me your passcode.” No response.

Sam took a tool out of his pocket and used one of the very sharp ends to pry open the SIM card holder on the side of Nigel's phone and removed the tiny chip.

“We can hear the sirens, Sam,” Evan interrupted. “Time to go.”

“Aye, I'm done here.”

When Sam cautiously stepped outside, the police cars were turning onto the street in front of the Ross building project. Battleford's security detail and the other construction employees were more concerned with the impending arrival of city law enforcement to care about the Fortis team, allowing for a trouble-free retreat out the back side of the construction site.

Thirty minutes later, Sam, Evan, and Renee walked into Kaylee's apartment, dusty but determined.

As they strode through to the dining room, all three immediately started removing the small collection of guns and knives strapped in strategic places on their bodies. Each weapon clanged loudly on the wooden surface as the agents laid them out for cleaning, then eventually storage. Still acting in practiced unison, they pulled off their dark outer-layer tops, then the protective vests underneath, leaving them in black undershirts.

Sam looked over at Kaylee as she walked into the area from the hall to her bedroom. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she caught his gaze. He felt an immediate sense of relief.

“Okay, what do we have, Raymond?” Sam demanded, quickly refocusing on the mission.

“The shooter is Nigel Dobson, and he has a very interesting background,” replied Raymond. “On paper, he's a subcontractor, billing Ross as a construction supervisor for the last three years. A very well-paid supervisor making about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year.”

“Clearly, he's being compensated for his other skills,” Renee said.

“That's because he was a detective with the New Jersey State Police up until three years ago,” added Raymond.

Evan whistled. Things had just gotten a bit more complicated.

Sam took a wide stance and crossed his arms across his chest to think.

“We went into this surveillance assuming that Battleford was in charge of the Ross projects, but looks to me like someone else was pulling the strings,” he suggested, rubbing the sore spot on his chest absently. “Based on what went down in the trailer, it looks like Battleford was a pawn instead. He wanted to talk but couldn't in front of Dobson.”

“So Fleming has more than one person of authority doing his dirty work for Ross,” Evan concluded.

“It makes sense,” Renee added. “An operation like this requires that as few people as possible know all the connections, but that knowledge also makes them a threat to Fleming. It would be necessary to have eyes on someone like Battleford as much as possible.”

“Aye, it seems there really is no honor among thieves,” Sam agreed. “Makes you wonder if those bodyguards were protection or escorts.”

“Lucas is now online by video,” Raymond interrupted to inform them.

Sam and the others moved so they could see the third Fortis owner on the computer screen. Kaylee and David Ferguson joined them.

“I'm mobilizing a team here in Virginia to make contact with Anthony Fleming as soon as possible,” Lucas announced. “Michael will take the lead, with Tony and Lance for support. They have the details on the key evidence we have connecting Ross to Groveland and Battleford to Holt.”

Lucas had been patched into the communications link as the field team drove from Jersey City to Lower Manhattan and was up to speed on the new developments.

“Do we know where Fleming is?” Sam asked.

“The last position I have from him was at the Groveland bridge project outside Bethesda,” Raymond noted. “That was about an hour ago. I'm still trying to track him down.”

“It's almost four o'clock now, so we're watching both his office and his house in Arlington,” Lucas said.

“We have to find him before he learns about Battleford and the activity in Jersey City. It might spook him into going underground, and Battleford is our only leverage right now,” Renee said.

“And before Dobson can tell anyone about my questions to Battleford,” Sam added. “I took his SIM card, so that should buy us some time. It also gives us access to his phone contents.”

He tossed the microchip into the air, and Raymond caught it.

“Okay, let's see where this leads us.” The former NSA agent took out a card reader and loaded in Dobson's SIM. “I'll start cross-referencing the data with Fleming and the Groveland information we already have.”

The team watched Raymond do his magic, waiting for some actionable intel that could help plan their next move.

“There's nothing there,” Raymond confirmed about ten minutes later. “Dobson uses his cell phone mostly for communication with other Ross employees and several vendors. There are a couple of personal contacts, like a girlfriend in Jersey City and a few friends. But whatever instructions Dobson was following, he didn't get them through this phone.”

“We got Fleming,” Lucas suddenly announced through video. “Michael has eyes on him now entering the Groveland office building. Our team is preparing to go in.”

“Good. Have them prepare for significant resistance,” Sam instructed. “I guarantee Fleming's security team is well trained. We now have enough hard evidence to ensure Fleming is arrested and faces a long federal investigation, so let's use it and Battleford as leverage to confirm he ordered the actions against Holt. But we cannot mention George Clement. It's too risky.”

“You got it,” Lucas confirmed.

“I have us connected to the voice communications between Michael and the team,” Raymond told them.

“Put it on the speakers,” Sam instructed, and the group around the dining table started listening to the action for about twenty tense, nerve-racking minutes.

The first half of that time was filled with silence and static, suggesting Michael Thorpe was leading Tony Donellio and Lance Campbell through the building, toward the target. The small ground team had elite training and exceptional skills from the FBI, Interpol, and the U.S. Army Rangers, respectively. They were stealthy and efficient, reaching what they would soon confirm as Fleming's office on the top floor of the eight-story building in less than ten minutes. There were sounds of scuffling, a few groans and gasps, labored breathing.

“The security team has been disarmed. We're approaching Fleming alone in his office,” Michael whispered before speaking more loudly in a firm, authoritative voice a few seconds later. “Anthony Fleming, please remain seated behind your desk and you will not be harmed.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Fleming demanded, his voice only faintly heard through the voice transmission.

“We're here to obtain information in a private investigation.”

“What? You can't just barge in here and attack my people!”

“Mr. Fleming, we have proof of federal crimes being orchestrated from these offices under your authority, so it will be in your best interest to cooperate with our investigation,” Michael continued evenly.

“This is outrageous!”

“Mr. Fleming, we have concrete evidence that one of your employees, Nate Battleford, has been engaged in intimidation, coercion, and bribery while executing his responsibilities in your company. Was he acting under your orders?”

“Nate? What evidence? I've never asked him to do anything like that.”

“Four years ago, Jason Holt with the
Baltimore Journal
was paid fifty thousand dollars in cash to kill a story on Groveland bribing city officials in exchange for building contracts. Then he was murdered to cover it up,” Michael persisted. “Was that done under your direction?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I have nothing to do with anyone being killed!” Fleming's tone becoming increasingly desperate and frantic.

“I repeat, Mr. Fleming, we already have the evidence on Nate Battleford and Groveland's illegal business practices. We will be handing them over to the FBI today. To be clear, the only interest of our private investigation is the truth about the murder of Jason Holt. If you give us the information we need on Holt, there will be no need to add a murder investigation to your charges.”

“What do you want?” Fleming finally demanded, starting to feel the corner he was squeezed into.

“Did you bribe Holt and then have him killed four years ago?”

“No! I had nothing to do with it.”

“Then who did? Battleford works for you, and Holt was killed to protect Groveland business interests. Who else would profit from the cover-up, Mr. Fleming?”

There was a brief silence.

“We only need the truth, or you will soon be under investigation for murder on top of everything else,” Michael pressed.

“You have no idea what you're involved in here,” Fleming finally stated so softly that the Fortis team around the dining table in Manhattan almost didn't hear it. “You're scratching at a door you do not want to open.”

“Last chance,” Michael insisted.

“I had nothing to do with that Holt incident. And I have nothing further to add.”

“Then you can plead your innocence with the feds,” stated Michael.

The team listened for another minute or so as the agents on the ground left Anthony Fleming alone in his office and made a quick retreat from the Groveland building.

“Dammit!” Sam muttered, slamming his fist on the desk.

There was a long silence.

“Michael and the others are now returning to headquarters,” Lucas confirmed. “I'll give you guys a call back after I've debriefed them.”

“Thanks, Lucas,” Sam replied before they disconnected. “Raymond, can you connect us with the FBI field office in Maryland? We need to turn over what we know and get this guy and his people off the street as soon as possible.”

“But he didn't tell us anything,” Kaylee protested, finally speaking up for the first time. “How will we learn what he knows?”

“Don't worry. We have a pretty good relationship with the Bureau,” Sam told her in a solemn voice. “It's a bit of a barter system. They share all the information on the cases we bring forward to them, and in return we continue to bring them cases with the evidence all tied up nicely in a bow.”

“I'll see if they'll allow Michael to sit in on Fleming's questioning once he's brought in. The feds still tolerate him for some reason,” Raymond added, teasing the friend he'd worked with on many cases over the last few years.

“So, what now?” Kaylee asked, with her arms around her.

Sam took a deep breath and the others stepped back from the table, each coming to terms with such a swift end to the intense operations through the afternoon.

“I think we celebrate a few victories,” he said, looking around at each member of his team. “By the end of this, Groveland Development and Ross Construction will be under federal investigation. And your evidence, Kaylee, will ensure they are shut down and prosecuted.”

He looked down at Kaylee intently from a few steps away.

“You,
doolally
lass
,
have managed to take down a major criminal organization.”

“What?” Kaylee asked, not sure if it was a good thing or not.

“He said you were crazy,” Renee explained with a shake of her head. “But what he really means is that you're brilliant. Right, old man?”

Sam smiled and then chuckled, as did the others around them. Evan walked forward and pulled Kaylee into a big hug. It was clearly brotherly, but Sam turned away, annoyed by how jealous he was that his friend was free to hug her so openly.

“I could do with a celebration,” Raymond said. “Good food, some wine, music. It is the Fourth of July, in case everyone has forgotten.”

Renee snorted. “You've been here eating catered homemade food this whole time, you bastard. We're the ones who need something besides energy bars and warm water.”

“That's not my fault. Blame Ice. He's the one who planned the operation,” Raymond protested.

Sam watched their banter and agreed that they could all use a little relaxation.