“I vaguely remember,” Lou said. Both his kids were out of college.
“The only problem is that Laurie continues to blame herself for the kidnapping episode, no matter what anyone says. And now she’s having this internal battle about whether she wants to be a full-time mom or a mom who also happens to be a world-class medical examiner. Please talk to her. I can’t, because I’m happy either way. I want her to do what she wants to do.”
They passed the kitchen and walked into the family room. Laurie got up from the couch and gave Lou a sustained hug, thanking him profusely for suggesting that they use Grover and Colt of CRT.
“It made all the difference in the world,” Laurie said, tears coming to her eyes and embarrassing Lou in the process.
“I just thought they could get JJ back faster,” Lou mumbled, trying to downplay his role in the affair.
“Faster!” Laurie blurted. “They got him back the very next day. It was like a miracle. If they’d not helped us, I’m convinced JJ would still be in the hands of the kidnappers.”
“No doubt,” Lou said. “Did Grover and Colt confirm to you why JJ was snatched?”
“No, we only spoke to them once, and that was on Monday. They called briefly, just to check in on JJ. We haven’t spoken to them since, because they told us they were off on a case in Venezuela that very evening.”
“Just as they had guessed, the kidnapping was done as a late, desperate effort to deter you from working on the Satoshi Machita case. Any ransom demand was going to be mere icing on the cake. They were afraid of you, Laurie, not OCME in general, just you.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Laurie said.
“And it doesn’t speak very well for the rest of us at OCME,” Jack said, trying to inject an element of humor. Jack bent down and picked up JJ, who felt ignored by the grown-ups and was letting everyone know.
“It might seem hard to believe to you, Laurie,” Lou said, “but not to those in the NYPD, the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service. Your recent work with the Satoshi Machita case combined with JJ’s kidnapping resulted in the formation of the most efficient task force I’ve ever been part of. Since Sunday, this task force has accomplished months’ worth of highly successful investigation, such that...”
Lou paused to look at his watch. It was three minutes before eleven.
“Such that what?” Laurie questioned.
“This is super-secret,” Lou said, lowering his voice for effect, “but in two minutes at three locations, representatives of the four agencies I just mentioned will be raiding three private companies: iPS USA, headed by Benjamin Corey; Dominick’s Financial Services, headed by Vincent Dominick; and Pacific Rim Wealth Management, headed by Saboru Fukuda. All computers, storage devices, and documents will be confiscated, and all the principals will be arrested, including CEOs, CFOs, COOs. This is going to be a big deal. I can feel it in my bones. It’s going to have a big effect on Mob cooperation with the Japanese Yakuza, if it doesn’t sever it completely. It’ll seriously reduce the ballooning crystal meth problem here in the Big Apple. Thank you, Laurie. You are an asset to the city, so when you consider whether you want to be just a mom or a mom with a career, please keep in mind that you will be sorely missed if you choose the former.”
Laurie glared at Jack, feigning anger. “Have you been talking about me?”
“I always talk about you,” Jack confessed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But I assure you I had zero input into Lou’s assessment.”
FBI Special Agent Gene Stackhouse had been selected as the overall leader of the task force comprising representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Secret Service, and the New York City Police Department. He, like the other agents except for the group from the NYPD, was dressed in a dark blue uniform with black lettering indicating his agency. Most carried weapons, either Glocks or M15 rifles. The NYPD agents, all SWAT team members, were dressed in the usual black and carried a wider variety of firepower. Everyone wore helmets and bulletproof vests. Everyone had been fully briefed and were impatient for the word “go!”
Special Agent Stackhouse was particularly wired and ready to explode into the highly choreographed activity he’d planned the moment the second hand of his chronograph reached twelve. The start time was to be exactly eleven o’clock a.m. at all three sites to eliminate any chance of one company calling another to hide evidence.
“Masks on!” he yelled, as the second hand of his watch passed three. A small microphone clipped to his shoulder epaulet flap conveyed his voice to all nine unmarked vans: three at each location, with six people in each van, for a total of fifty-four law-enforcement officers.
Gene Stackhouse was in the passenger seat of the first van at his location, which was on the left side of Fifth Avenue just north of 57th Street. The two other vans were directly behind. When the second hand swept past the number eleven, he counted: “ten, nine, eight...” He unsnapped his holstered Glock pistol. “Four, three, two, one. Go!” All four doors of the three vans sprang open, shocking the various pedestrians on Fifth Avenue. The team dashed across the wide sidewalk, threw open the doors of the building where iPS USA was quartered, and swarmed the security desk. The guards were ordered not to communicate with any of the building’s tenants, particularly iPS USA.
“What’s going on?” one of the building security guards demanded, trying to sound authoritative. He’d been impressed and terrified at seeing the intruders’ firepower but relieved when he saw FBI, SECRET SERVICE, CIA, and NYPD on the backs of jackets.
“We are executing a number of warrants.” Stackhouse yelled, directing his men toward a waiting elevator. “Remain seated! No talking! No phoning!” Snapping his fingers toward a CIA agent, Stackhouse directed him to stay with the building’s security people to make sure the orders were followed.
Once all the remaining agents were in the elevator, its doors closed and it shot up to the iPS USA floor. When it arrived, it was as if the elevator belched out the eager agents, who dashed past the shocked Clair Bourse and fanned out in the iPS USA office in predetermined directions. Clair would have screamed if she hadn’t been so immobilized by one of the initial agents running directly up to her, pointing his gun at her, and commanding, “Freeze!” The idea of the rapid, assault-like entrance was to deny anyone the opportunity to do anything at all to any evidence. Jacqueline, hearing the freeze command out in reception, had reached behind her to try to close the safe but had been specifically commanded not to do so by the two agents who had charged into her office.
Having studied the floor plan in advance, everyone knew exactly where to go. Stackhouse and another FBI agent, Tony Gualario, had run directly to Benjamin Corey’s corner office. They caught the CEO and the CFO, Carl Harris, having a meeting.
As Stackhouse and Gualario swept into the room with their pistols drawn, Ben started to leap to his feet.
“Remain seated!” Stackhouse commanded. He leveled his gun at Ben, who immediately sank back into his leather desk chair. The same thing transpired with Gualario, who was aiming his weapon at Carl.
“Are you Benjamin Corey of five-ninety-one Edgewood Road in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey?” Stackhouse demanded.
“I am,” Ben said with shock that quickly changed to fear. Suddenly he knew exactly what was happening.
“I am Special Agent Gene Stackhouse of the FBI. I am here to execute a number of warrants, including the search of iPS USA and seizure of all evidence pertaining to money laundering, wire fraud, mail fraud, conspiracy to defraud the U.S. government, and tax evasion. I also have a warrant for your arrest for violation of the same federal statutes.”