In the twenty years he had been on the force, he had spent almost seven years watching the Gandolinis. He knew every one in the family intimately. He knew who was screwing whose wife and who was a closet homosexual. None of that however would put the scumbags away. Meanwhile, the city he had been born and raised in, fell deeper and deeper into the mire because of these scumbags.
The knock on the rear door of the van caught him off guard. It was thirty minutes before he was due to be relieved. He opened the door tentatively. One of his colleagues had been beaten a few months earlier, in a similar scenario. Two badges were thrust in his face as he opened the door, both identifying their carriers as two of the more senior FBI agents in the New York area.
“Agent Fellows?” the more senior of the two asked.
“Yes!” he confirmed.
“If you wouldn’t mind shutting your equipment down for a few minutes, it would be greatly appreciated!”
“Sorry?”
“Your recording equipment, cameras, microphones etc. Can you shut it all down.”
Fellows had been in the job long enough not to be intimidated by senior officers from other agencies.
“On whose authority?” he asked, making it clear he wasn’t doing it just because they had asked him.
“The Attorney General of the United States of America,” he replied taking his cell from its belt holder and threatening to call.
“Have you got it in writing?” asked John, unimpressed. If something happened while the equipment was off, it was his ass on the line.
“Trust me son, none of what is about to happen is in writing!” offered the FBI agent in a we’re all in this together manner. The official tone had been dropped.
“You really going to call the big boss man?” asked John looking at the cell.
“If I have to, he’s cancelled meetings to ensure he can take our calls!”
“Calls?” queried John.
“Same thing is happening from here to Miami! I’d rather not call him but he said he’s there if I need him.”
“What about my boss? Why’s he not here?”
“I assume he doesn’t need to know and trust me this is very need to know. I’ve got my orders which I’ll fulfill but have no idea why or what happens after I get them done!”
John looked at the agent and accepted the sincerity of what he was saying. He turned to his equipment and one by one shut it down.
“Thank you. Now please don’t take this the wrong way but this young agent…”The senior agent turned to a far younger FBI agent behind him. “Will ensure it stays off for the duration.”
John huffed a little as the young agent joined him in the truck, turning her nose up at the dank sweaty smell. After five months, it wasn’t the most salubrious of locations.
“Thanks. By the way, you may want to step outside, I’m sure you’ll enjoy this!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. He turned to his deputy and said, “Go, you have a go!”
It took thirty seconds but when it started it was an impressive sight. Three SWAT tanks raced down the street with two helicopters above, snipers hanging from their running boards. It was a sight to behold and a reminder to the gangs of the power of law enforcement. Fifty fully armed and equipped agents stormed the building and soon emerged with the father and son, the two leading members of the Gandolini family.
As two of the Gandolinis enforcers rushed out of the building to their bosses’ rescue, four of the FBI agents stepped up with riot batons and with far greater force than required put them down. The Gandolinis protested and screamed that they’d sue every last one of the team that had taken them.
“Good luck with that,” shouted one of the agents as he swung the baton and hit Gandolini junior across the back of his legs, sending him unceremoniously crashing to the ground.
Gandolini senior looked on in disbelief. This didn’t happen in his city. “Have you guys lost your fucking minds?!!” he screamed. “You can’t fucking do that. That’s fucking assault!”
“So sue us,” laughed the agent with the baton, the riot gear covered everything except their eyes. As far as the FBI was concerned, this operation wasn’t happening. The agents were untouchable.
Fellows watched, unable to control the smile on his face, it wasn’t much but it was something.
“OK, enough,” said the senior agent to the deputy, who broadcast orders to the SWAT team.
The bosses were quickly handcuffed and despite their protestations as to their rights, black hoods were placed over their heads. A limousine appeared almost from nowhere, picked up the two senior agents who nodded their thanks to Fellows before entering the car and picking up the two mob bosses.
Within a minute, the street was devoid of any sign of the SWAT team and as Agent Fellows returned to his van and stakeout, even the young FBI agent was gone.
As the limousine made its way to Kennedy airport the two bosses screamed constantly that somebody was going to pay and this wasn’t right. Eventually when they realized it wasn’t getting them anywhere, they calmed down.
“Where are we going?” asked Gandolini Senior, the ultimate boss of the family.
“I don’t know,” replied the senior agent honestly. All he knew was that he was to drop them at Kennedy at a private hangar. Beyond that, he had no idea.
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!!” screamed the younger Gandolini, a swift kick from his father shutting him up.
Gandolini Senior was intrigued. They had gone to a lot of trouble for whatever they were doing. Nothing much surprised him in life anymore. They weren’t going to kill them. You only put hoods on people so that when they got back they didn’t know where they had been.
“It’s not fucking right, Dad,” whined Gandolini junior, interrupting his father’s thoughts.
“Shut up Jimmy,” instructed his father as the car drew to a stop and the door of the car was opened. He instantly recognized the sound of an airplane engine. What the fuck was happening was all he could think, as he was led from the car and guided up stairs.
“Gentlemen, please take a seat!”
The Gandolinis were shown to a seat and the seat belts buckled for them.
“I think we can remove the handcuffs and hoods now.”
As the hoods were removed, both blinked and looked around the small cabin, all of the blinds were down, offering no view out of the plane. They were seated at a small table facing a middle-aged man, well dressed and from his demeanor, very confident that the Gandolinis without handcuffs were no threat to him. The Gandolinis were violent men and that confidence they knew was not something that came unless it was warranted. Both remained where they had been seated.
“Gentlemen, my name is Mr Smith and if you don’t mind you are going to help us with a little problem we have,” offered agent James Smith politely.
Gandolini senior smirked. “What’s in it for us, buddy?”
“This plane has two destinations programmed, one will take us to where we want you to help us. The other is an island in the Caribbean but trust me it’s not a holiday island!”
“We’re not fucking terrorists!” exclaimed Gandolini senior angrily, knowing exactly where Mr Smith was referring to. “You can’t fucking do this!”
“Mr Gandolini, we are the CIA and you are quite frankly exactly what we say you are!”
“People know where we are, our lawyers will be all over you!” argued Jimmy Gandolini.
“Let’s clarify a few points so we can get past this nonsense. Nobody knows where you are. The team that picked you up this morning doesn’t exist. This plane doesn’t exist. The limo that brought you here doesn’t exist. As of this moment, as far as anybody is concerned, you don’t exist. I’m giving you the opportunity to exist again. Take it or not, I’m not losing any sleep!”