By the time the team realised she was the mole, Vargas had vanished; she’d left Miami, with no-one having any idea where she was. The moment he was granted bail, Calvin had set out to find her. As the collection of evidence continued, he redoubled his efforts, feeling the pressure mounting and knowing he was running out of time. He spent a lot of money attempting to track her down; he even hired a cartel team to find her and take care of the situation, but she was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t just personal; as he was interrogated and questioned, his entire record as a police officer being examined, he realised that the entire case was largely dependent on her. His precautions of keeping a clean record had paid off; without her sworn testimony, the Department couldn’t make anything stick.
However, he’d almost given up hope of finding her and resigned to his fate. Then, eight days ago, they got lucky. Ridiculously lucky, all things considered. Denton had made it home after a long-ass day of questioning by IA and switched on the television last week, flicking onto the news.
Vargas had just made a huge mistake.
He’d called Calvin who’d flicked onto the news and seen the shot. Vargas was with a security team, US Marshals or Feds, ushering a small girl into a car in what looked like Police Plaza in New York. She was in the background, but it was her. Calvin might have been under review but he still had some powerful friends. Two pay offs later he discovered that Vargas was now qualified and operating as a US Marshal until their case went to trial. She’d been transferred to a three man team protecting some kid who also had a target on her chest from an on-going case in New York.
They needed to act fast, making the most of an opportunity they never should have had. Calvin knew how much those folks made; not a great deal, especially considering the danger they were constantly exposed to. He pulled files on the agents and figured Barlow was their safest bet. As it turned out, the man was in a lot of debt, largely due to the fact that he’d recently been divorced and had been hit with some hefty maintenance payments.
The timing couldn’t have been better. When they’d put an offer on the table, he’d snatched at it and told them everything; schedules, routes, routines. Who the kid they were protecting was. What car they were driving. He did all this on the condition that he get paid first and only Vargas was taken out, none of his guys taking a hit. He didn’t know her and had no affinity with her. They could cover it up to make it look like she got caught in the crossfire trying to get the kid. It could be blamed on the Irish crew trying to get the child. Better and better.
Now they had a plan, they needed execution. Calvin had hired a hit-team one of the Miami cartels liked to use for any work they wanted carried out against New York clients who stepped out of line. Nonetheless he’d also insisted his entire team be in the area as back up, just in case the shit hit the fan. This was a one-off opportunity and the stakes were too high to just leave it all to an unknown group. He’d ordered the entire team up to New York for today, Sunday, all of them buying off alibis as Calvin used a pool of their stolen cash to obtain weapons, clothing, tactical gear and potential transportation.
He’d had to tread carefully; his phone was tapped and there were cops watching his house and following him around Miami in case he tried to run. He’d ditched them, the same as his guys, by going to a Panthers hockey game last night and disappearing into the crowd. They’d had two cars waiting for them outside; they floored it and headed up the East Coast overnight. The journey had taken twenty one hours, but they made it, holing up at their safe house in New Jersey where they found their equipment, pilot and chopper waiting. Calvin had paid damn good money for everything to be there, working anonymously with an East Coast cartel he knew of from his SRT experience. The pilot had seen all their faces, but he wouldn’t give them up; he’d been paid well, plus he was more crooked than they were.
As it turned out, all his preparation had proved more than necessary. Braeten and his team had failed. Vargas and the Marshals had taken cover in a building.
If she was going to die tonight, they were going to have to kill her themselves.
They’d geared up, choppered out and made their entry, but so far the whole operation had been a disaster. Five of his guys had been killed, along with a stack of residents inside this dump. An ESU team and pilot had been taken out, which meant there were going to be huge ramifications and consequences once this was done. And worst of all, Vargas was still breathing. Some asshole they hadn’t known about was helping her and it was clear from the body count that he knew what he was doing. What was supposed to be a simple insert, eliminate and extract was now turning into a situation quickly spiralling out of control. And if the NYPD got inside before they could gather their dead, they would be making some fascinating discoveries once CSU started fingerprinting the corpses in the combat fatigues.
Like how they were all Miami PD officers currently being investigated for corruption.
Calvin was already working out his escape. He knew that even after Vargas was killed and the fear of prosecution removed he could never go back to Miami. His five guys who’d been killed here tonight had put paid to any return. He had no family, and had over three million dollars in a private off-shore Cayman account. When the bitch was finally gone, they’d chopper out and disperse in New Jersey before the cops could get to them. The pilot worked in the drug trade; he spent his life circumnavigating the US Coastguard and dropping off cargo. He’d buy them a window of escape, however brief.
Calvin would then head north and make his way to the Canadian border. He’d be a wanted man but he knew how to disappear. Even if they put two and two together early and realised he’d organised this, they’d never find him. They’d search for him in the south first, figuring he’d head back to Florida and lay low or maybe try for Cuba or Mexico, staking out his apartment, his girlfriend’s place, any of his old haunts. Truth be told Calvin was sick of the heat; he’d lived down south his whole life. He’d go somewhere where there was no risk of anyone recognising him, and he could live off the fruits of his corruption for the rest of his life.
But none of that could happen until they took care of Vargas. Calvin cared about his men a hell of a lot. They were his brothers; she’d had a hand in killing five of them tonight. Now, it was more than personal.
He looked over at his team beside him in the corridor. They all looked tired and demoralised, and rightly so. None of this had gone to plan. And once they left here they’d have to get out of the country immediately, every man for himself.
‘So what now?’ Knight said.
‘We need to get the hell out of here,’ Spades answered. ‘We’re in so much shit, I say we call the chopper and bail. Screw Vargas.’
‘What are you, a pussy?’ Knight hissed. ‘Five of our guys died and you just want to quit?’
‘You think the Feds outside are going to wait much longer?’
‘She’s taken out half our team, asshole. Friends of yours. That alone means she has to die.’
‘If the NYPD get in, so will we.’
‘Shut up,’ Calvin ordered, as the two men confronted each other. ‘Let me think for a moment.’
Silence. He thought of his men who’d been killed; Queen, Clubs, Hearts, Pawn and Castle. Markowski, Patterson, Taylor, Gibbons and Kosick.
‘Taylor and Gibbons were taken out on 22, right?’
Knight nodded. ‘Yeah. Both took a burst to the chest.’