Authors: Craig Buckhout
CHAPTER SEVEN
Max opened his eyes and there she was, staring at him, not six inches away.
Four and a half hours earlier they’d arrived home, got everyone settled, and then, in an almost awkward silence, walked up the stairs and into the bedroom, each knowing what the other expected to happen next.
Max had been to many a crime scene where he’d seen paramedics cut the clothes off badly injured patients, right from the get go, and figured that’s what she’d done to him, so guessed he had nothing to be shy about. As a result, he just dropped his shorts and underwear, pulled off his tee-shirt and climbed into bed. She, on the other hand, turned away from him as she undressed and adroitly backed into bed and under the blankets before rolling over to face him.
She reached out and rubbed his arm, smiled and said, “Hi.”
He said, “Hi” back in the sexiest voice he could muster. He scooted closer and kissed her on the lips, trailing one hand up her side to her breast, his thumb rubbing across the top of her nipple.
But she broke the kiss off and gently guided him onto his back, putting her head onto his chest.
He raised his nearside arm and slid it under her and around her shoulders.
In less than two minutes, they were both asleep.
Now, it was different. Now she moved her hand down between his legs and took hold of him. He rolled his eyes, smiled, and gently bucked his hips as his own hand traced her side, down to her hips, and onto her butt. This time she was the one who scooted closer, so close that her breasts touched his chest, released her hold on him, grabbed the back of his head, and crushed his lips to hers. They were off at that point, snorting and touching and teasing and exploring. There was no stopping them …until they heard a knock on the door.
At first they weren’t sure. But it came again, followed by, “Max? Steve needs to talk with you. He’s on the phone.” It was Beth.
Max groaned, they both laughed, reluctantly moved away from one another and onto their backs, rearranging the blankets to hide the obvious.
Max said, “Yeah, come on in,” flubbed it, so repeated it, this time in a clearer voice.
The door opened and Beth came in as if the whole world was on her shoulders. When she reached Max's side of the bed she shoved the phone at him and dropped onto the edge of the mattress near the foot, staring at him.
“What?” Myra asked. “What’s happened?”
“What’s up,” Max said into the phone.
Beth didn’t answer Myra’s question. She just shook her head.
“Hey Max, got more bad news buddy. The feds got a lead on the place where those two assholes we shot it out with at the mall had been staying. I guess they watched it all night, didn’t see any movement or evidence of anyone being home, so hit it around 6 AM. One of their SWAT teams made the approach, but as soon as they got close, the whole place blew. Killed them all, took out the houses on either side, damaged the three across the street, and the three behind.”
“Jesus.” Max didn’t reveal he knew about the raid because he agreed to keep it a secret.
“It gets worse. They don’t have the
how
figured out yet, or if they do they haven’t told me, but the perimeter guys, mostly Homeland Security goofs, rushed in to help and another bomb, planted in a car parked on the street, detonated and killed most of them, too. Us, the Sheriff, and the CHP are trying to get things squared away as we speak. They’ve only been on scene maybe forty-five minutes now. I guess they’re sending more feds, too.”
Just as Steve said that, Myra’s phone rang.
Max wondered about Farid, Raha’s husband. He said he’d be there with the FBI to help interpret. “Any of our people hurt?” Max asked.
“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. That’s kinda why I called. The Chief assigned Farid to help them out. They can’t find him. He was with that group on the perimeter that went to help. I don’t know man, it doesn’t look good.”
Myra, speaking into her phone, said, “I’ll be on my way in a few.”
“Okay. Let me know if Farid turns up, will you?” Max said. “I guess I gotta tell Raha. Have to think about how I’m going to do that, though. The kids. Hope he’s okay and just got lost in the confusion.” Not likely.
As he said the last, he was aware of Myra getting out of bed, picking up her clothes, and walking to the bathroom. Beth started to leave, but Max waved her to stay.
He hung up with Steve, handed the phone back to Beth and said, “I’m going to need your help. We’re going to have to tell Raha her husband is unaccounted for in the explosion, and we have to do it out of the presence of the kids. If Louis isn’t up, wake him, and the three of us will meet in the kitchen. I’ll probably want you to corral the kids in
your
room, …no, no, we’ll have Louis keep them there. Raha might prefer another woman to be with her instead of two men. Okay, yeah, that’s what we’ll do. So let’s meet in the kitchen in about five minutes or so, okay?”
Beth nodded her head and started downstairs to find Louis.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JUNE 16
TH
THE INTERNATIONAL HIGH TECH
TRADE SHOW AND CONFERENCE
Max sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, his bad leg propped up on the chair next to him. He set the paper aside, thinking about the articles he’d just read. The first summarized the presidential orders issued in just the last few days.
Under his authority to control commerce during a national emergency, the President had suspended the sale and transportation of small arms and small arms ammunition to all but law enforcement authorities and the military. He had also signed an order requiring anyone owning a rifle with a detachable magazine or any weapon capable of firing more than five rounds without reloading, to register that weapon with the federal government by filling out and filing a form that could be obtained at any post office. Anyone caught in possession of an unregistered weapon after July 31
st
would face one year in prison, and a ten thousand dollar fine for each offense.
A second order he signed authorized the federal police from the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI to, upon probable cause, detain for up to six months, without judicial review, anyone suspected of aiding, supporting, or participating in terrorist activity.
A third order directed the National Security Agency to conduct any electronic surveillance deemed necessary to prevent additional terrorist attacks. And further, the President gave them the authority to block, remove, or censor any internet communication deemed harmful to national security.
A fourth order assigned a federal agent from the FCC to every major news organization in the country and required the news agency to get approval on any story involving any national security issue.
Each of the orders was, of course, derided by various groups and the media as an overreach of presidential authority, a gross infringement on guaranteed individual liberties, and way beyond what was necessary to stop the terrorist attacks.
As for the second article Max read, it dealt with the status of the investigation into the attacks. Most of the attackers, including the suicide bombers, had been identified by the FBI and their residences located. But at that point, that particular string of the investigation stalled. No other conspirators had so far been found. The same was true regarding a series of similar attacks in Western Europe and Great Britain. The only arrest made was that of a father of one of the suspects who ordered the FBI off his property, and when they didn’t leave, armed himself and fired a shot in the air. An FBI sniper shot him in the shoulder and he was taken into custody.
Another avenue of investigation proved more fruitful, however. An anonymous source indicated three of the AK 47s involved in the first wave of attacks were traced back to the infamous Fast and Furious operation run by the ATF, where weapons were allowed to be purchased by known Mexican drug cartel associates with the premise they would be traced to the drug cartel bosses. Further investigation revealed that at least four of the dead terrorists had visited that part of Mexico controlled by the Sinaloa Cartel, all at about the same time. These facts were taken as an ominous sign that the Mexican drug cartels had formed some sort of an alliance with radical Muslim terrorists, which gave them access to weapons and smuggling routes into the U.S. But so far, the identity of the specific terrorist group involved in the attacks on the United States remained a mystery, as well as the location within Mexico where it was speculated they received their training.
Max’s first thoughts were that the government censors must not be at work yet for that kind of information to make the papers. He had no love loss for the press, but it was scary to think that they’d soon be giving only one version of the story …the government’s carefully scripted version. His musings on this matter were soon interrupted by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway, followed by car doors opening and closing, people coming in the front door, and the little feet of Steve’s son, Gavin, running up the stairs to see Raha’s three children.
Raha had become a permanent resident of Max’s house, at least until Farid’s affairs could be settled and the house sold. She still felt in danger, especially since the man who attempted to burn her home down turned out to be someone from the neighborhood. As for the other families, Steve’s and Louis’s, they mostly came and went according to work schedules.
Steve walked to the counter, grabbed a cup from the cupboard, and poured himself some coffee. As he stepped toward the kitchen table, Beth said, “Is that for me. How nice,” and took it from his hand.
“How’d you know?” Steve replied.
“Just a wild guess.” She opened the refrigerator, grabbed a carton of half and half, poured a generous dollop into her cup, and sat at the table with Max.
“We’ve got food, TP, paper towels, bottled waters, sodas, things like that, out in the car,” she said.
“Perfect,” Max replied. “We can use it.”
After filling another cup, Steve pulled out the remaining unoccupied chair and sat down. He tapped his index finger on the article describing the presidential orders and said, “Can you believe that shit? Gun registration, no more ammo; who does he think is gonna enforce it? Nobody I’ve talked to.”
Max shook his head. “Stupid. All it’s going to do is bring trouble.”
“Where they got you working?” Steve asked, referencing Max being cleared for light duty.
“Your old job, answering phones.”
Steve was back to full duty.
Louis came in the door with his three kids, who promptly joined the others upstairs, who were at that moment being supervised by Raha.
Louis Espinosa was a short, strong, barrel-chested man with a thick head of dark hair, who was a district manager for Kaplan’s grocery chain. He had served one tour in Iraq with the Army, protecting convoys that were under constant attack.
“The nanny should be here in about a half hour,” Louis said as he put three bag lunches in the refrigerator. “And Anna said she’ll try to get off by three.”
Although Anna hadn’t received any further threats, and they were starting to relax, they still felt uncomfortable leaving the kids alone in their house with the nanny. So the nanny was now coming to Max’s house to watch their children and, at the same time, help out with the other four kids. This took a big burden off Raha, who was still reeling from the death of her husband, and the attempt to set her house on fire.
Max took the last swallow of his coffee, looked at his watch, and said, “Okay, well I suppose we better get those groceries unloaded.”
Steve and Max drove in Max’s truck to the police department, leaving Steve’s car at the house for Beth, in case she needed it. There was an accident on highway 280 that was jamming up traffic, so they jumped off on Eleventh Street with the intention of taking it to Taylor and then to the Police Administration Building that most just referred to as PAB. Just after crossing over St. John Street, they saw a Department of Homeland Security SUV with its emergency lights on, but no siren, driving east on Washington.
“Let’s see where he’s going,” Max said, crossing St. James and Julian, before turning right on Washington.
Two blocks down, they could see the DHS vehicle stopped halfway out in the traffic lane with a Toyota Prius in front of it. Two men, dressed in black uniforms, were searching a white male with light brown, collar-length hair.
As Max pulled to the curb behind the SUV, it was obvious the man being detained was in a verbal argument with the two men detaining him.
Max and Steve’s arrival drew the attention of the DHS officers, prompting one of them to approach with his hand resting on the butt of his holstered pistol. As both Steve and Max got out of the truck, the one who was walking toward them said, “Just keep on moving. This is police business.”
The one speaking to them was in his mid-twenties, had his hair cut to the skin on the sides and nearly so on top, wore dark wraparound glasses, and had the sleeves of his uniform shirt rolled up to the elbows, exposing a black, red, and yellow tattoo that sleeved one arm.
Steve spit a mouthful of tobacco into the street as they both exposed the badges clipped to their belts. “What’s going on?” Max asked.
As Max said that, the man being detained shouted, “Hey, man, don’t leave. I need a witness. I’m not doing anything wrong. I was just taking pictures.”
Tattoo-man shook his head. “He’s full of crap. He drove past one of our checkpoints by the courthouse and nearly hit one of our people.”
“That’s not true. They’re after me for my blog. Don’t leave.”
Max and Steve walked closer. As they did, it looked like Tattoo was going to block their path but changed his mind.
The second DHS officer finished his pat-down and directed Blogger to sit on the curb at the back of the Prius.
“So now, what’s your story?” Max asked Blogger.
“It’s like this; me and some others started writing a blog about how the federal government is violating the Constitution with all these new laws. It’s part of an assignment for one of my classes. One of the people working with me tried to ask these guys some questions about it, and they started pushing her around. I took some pictures of them touching her tits and putting their hands between her legs while they were supposedly searching her for weapons. I posted the photos on my blog and sent copies to the Mercury News. They found out about it and have been following me around ever since. They even came by my house last night. I can prove it. I got ‘em on camera.”
At the same time this discussion was going on, the other DHS officer, who was a little older and a lot shorter than his tattooed partner, had walked near the open passenger window of the Prius, which prompted Blogger to shout, “Hey, I don’t give you permission to search my car. You hear me? Stay out of my car.”
“Relax, I’m just looking,” Shorty said.
Tattoo, who was standing next to Blogger, said, “Hey, look, thanks for the roll-by but we got this. He’s just making a big deal about nothing. Really, you can take off.”
Saying this caused Max and Steve to look away from Shorty and toward Tattoo.
Max was more inclined to believe Tattoo than not. He’d heard many complaints like this about cops he worked with, even himself, and all but a very few were either completely untrue or mostly untrue. If the two DHS officers were up to something, though, their stopping by was probably enough to make them change their mind. So he was just about to suggest to Steve that they leave when Steve turned his head to the right to spit out the last of his chew, and saw Shorty take something out of his pants pocket and throw it through the open Prius passenger window.
“Hey man, what’d you just throw in the car?” Steve said, walking toward Shorty.
“What are you talking about?” Shorty replied.
As Steve arrived at the passenger window, Shorty stepped in front of him.
“I saw you throw something in his car. What was it?”
“You’re seeing things, man. You’ve got nothin’ to do with what we got going here, so why don’t you just take off.”
Steve moved to step around Shorty to look in the window, but Shorty slid left, cutting him off, and put his hand on Steve’s chest. Steve trapped it with his left hand, grabbed it with his right, and twisted it away in such a manner that Shorty was forced to turn and drop a shoulder, allowing Steve to get between him and the car.
“Hey, what the fuck you doin’!” Tattoo shouted and moved toward Steve.
At the same time, Shorty was telling Steve to let go.
Max shoulder-bumped Tattoo and slipped between him and Steve. “Back off! He planted something in the car. My partner saw it. You guys are way out of line here.”
Blogger, at the same time, yelled, “I got video, man! You’re toast, now!” Max could see Blogger with his cellphone out, pointing it at the four officers.
Tattoo spun around to look, saw Blogger with his cellphone out and pointed his way, and said, “Gimme that thing,” at the same time moving in his direction.
Max grabbed Tattoo’s arm causing, him to spin back around. As he did, Tattoo swung a looping right at Max that glanced off the side of his head.
Max rolled to his right to take some of the power out of the punch, which put him in the perfect position to rotate his hips and throw a short right hook to Tattoo’s left ribs. It landed solid, and Max heard the air go out of him and saw him double half over. Max followed it up with a knee to his face that snapped Tattoo’s head back and gave him a bloody nose. While all this was going on, Max became vaguely aware of a high-low radio alert tone he knew had to be from the DHS vehicle, because neither he nor Steve had a radio with them.
Tattoo stepped back, dazed, and dropped his hand to his pistol.
Max had his hand on his Glock and was ready to go, when he saw Tattoo freeze, touch his earpiece, look up, and say to Shorty, “Come on, we gotta go! There’s been another one!” He pointed to Max and said, “This isn’t over, motherfucker! You made a big, big mistake! Whose side you on anyway, huh?”