City of Light

By Roger F. Kennedy

City of Light
a Hollywood Division novel
Roger F. Kennedys latest novel takes place in Paris, where LAPD Hollywood detectives Jack Stiles and Traci Little are hot on the trail of Sevic Sorbo and his cabal of Serbian terrorists.
The Croation embassy in Thiers Square has been leveled in a blast orchestrated by Sorbos bombers, with the threat of further destruction to follow. The U.S. embassy on Avenue Gabriel is number one on their list.
Stiles and Little shadow Sorbos former girlfriend Clair Villaros, certain that he will materialize. The pursuit of Sorbo will take you through the City of Light and its charms and splendors, to a final showdown at Paris famed Pompidou Centre. En Apprcier!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469157023

Roger F. Kennedy

Author bio coming soon

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Roger F. Kennedy.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2012901260

ISBN:   Hardcover      978-1-4691-5701-6

             Softcover         978-1-4691-5700-9

             Ebook              978-1-4691-5702-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

About the Author

Prologue

The windowless hearing room was comfortable enough, though hardly inspiring. It featured sound-absorbent carpeting and paintings of foothill pines and desert flowers in bloom. Pole-standing U.S. and California flags flanked the 10-foot-wide Board table. This was in the administration wing of the State Correctional Facility for Men at Chino, California, a prison town northeast of Los Angeles.

The door to the anteroom opened. Three Parole Board members entered and dumped their laptops, files, notes, and the like onto the faux walnut surface of the conference table. At least the leather executive chairs were genuine. An audio recorder was activated. The thrice-weekly meeting of the State Parole Board was about to begin. At parole hearings lawyers, witnesses, and family members were not allowed to be present.

The appellant, a career criminal named Sevic Sorbo, sat in a plastic armchair facing the Board. Behind him stood a security guard officer the size of an NFL linebacker. Sorbo had completed most of a ten-year stretch at Chino for illegal arms trafficking. Board Chairman R. G. Westerly called the meeting to order and asked the first question.

We’ve had a day’s time to examine your appeal, Mr. Sorbo. It seems clear enough. Now, as to your Rehabilitation Plan, what can you tell us about that?

I’m current, Sorbo lied. I’ve finished the courses on American history, and the legal system.

Did you participate the Corrections Department’s Restorative Justice Program? This referred to a series of face-to-face meetings with victim’s family members, in which the offender apologizes for his criminal acts.

In my case, no specific victims could be located.

I see, Westerly said, though he didn’t. Are you ready to resume your role in law-abiding citizenry?

Yes, I am sure.

Other perfunctory questions were asked and answered. Satisfied, the Board assigned him a parole officer and released him. Sorbo promptly vanished. Obviously the Parole Board had no idea who Sevic Sorbo was, or what evil he was capable of.

For my dear departed brother, Richard Kennedy

And his wife Ella

*

Certain procedures and nomenclature

of the Los Angeles Police Department

and the Paris Police Nationnale

have been abridged to fit the physical space

available in these pages.

Lines in chapter 9 quote from And the Angels Sing,

the hit song that lifted the Benny Goodman

band to stardom in the 1930s.

*

City of Light

1

Public outrage, especially in conservative precincts, was expressed when a leniency-inclined parole board released Sevic Sorbo from prison, on the grounds that no actual trail of evidence existed connecting him personally with munitions found at his residence—No receipts, no orders, no on-line traffic, not even handwritten notes on a paper napkin. No evidence of lump sum California bank deposits. (Large sums, however, were at his disposal in secret offshore accounts.) Within a day of his release, Sorbo had disappeared.

Los Angeles Times, April 6, 2013 Section A1

Croatian Embassy in Paris Bombed

At least 10 die. Up to 36 wounded.

by Robert Fallon

Paris—A busy noontime crowd in the Square Thiers was shocked and panicked when a car bomb explosion destroyed the facade of the Croatian Mission, along fashionable Avenue Victor Hugo at Rue Paul Valery. Bloodied bodies were strewn about amongst the rubble of stone and glass and incinerated violet awnings of Royal Optic Centre…

Lieutenant John Luttwak, supervisor of the Homicide table at LAPD Hollywood Division, had just finished reading Fallon’s article about the bombing when an FBI bulletin arrived noting Sevic Sorbo’s disappearance. Luttwak was aware of Sorbo’s Serbian lineage and also of Serbia’s history of genocidal war against Croatia. The embassy bombing had Sorbo’s name written all over it. Luttwak’s detectives were those who arrested Sorbo in the first place, and they knew him better than the Feds. They knew his history, his life style, his preference for blondes, one in particular.

Ordinarily this was a matter the French would handle internally, Luttwak knew. Their counterterrorism forces and capabilities were outstanding among nations. Under well established rules and protocols Paris regularly exchanged traffic with the CIA, an arrangement that if necessary allowed either one or both to claim diplomatic immunity.

Nevertheless, John Luttwak placed a call to his friend Andre Garrenier, Counterintelligence Director at Paris Police Nationale, offering assistance. Luttwak, and Garrenier had worked together on the so-called Munich Massacre in the 1970s, when Palestinian Black September terrorists had seized and murdered several Israeli Olympic athletes in Munich. Five of the eight Palestinians were killed by German police. The remaining three were released after a Lufthansa jet was hi-jacked by other terrorists.

John, how good to hear from you, Garrenier said as soon as he picked up.

I wish I had something more cheerful to talk about, old friend.

I suppose it’s about the Thiers Square bombing.

Correct. We were appalled when we heard about it. The recently paroled American criminal Sevic Sorbo and his Serbian nationals are the perpetrators, I’m quite sure.

It seems like his style, doesn’t it.

I just wanted to let you know that we’re using parole violations for a quick and dirty excuse to pick him up. In fact, I’m sending my two top agents to Paris right now to run him down.

Good. Tell them to contact me. I’ll supply them with permits to carry arms and a French warrant to arrest him.

Perfect. If anybody can find Sorbo, these two can. They made the original arrest, and they can read him like a book.

The evening light in L.A. was murky, but not to LAPD detectives Dick Cheevers and Ed Chase. They were equipped with Bushnell 26-044 Night Vision binoculars that can make evening seem like mid-afternoon. These were issued from the Hollywood Division Kit Room for just such assignments as this. Both men were relaxed in arm chairs in a rented room across the street from a third floor apartment on Leland Way. The apartment’s wide sliding glass doors opened directly onto an iron-railed balcony. This was the home of Sevic Sorbo’s girlfriend, Clair Villarosé.

This is the kind of surveillance I could learn to like, Chase said.

Me too, my man, said Cheevers.

Ed Chase was wiry in body type. His facial features included thin lips, and on occasion, mean squinty lids. If you were a mope, he’d be one cop you wouldn’t want glancing your way. Dick Cheevers was black, a powerful man at 6’3" and 255, but normally easy-going in temperament. In that mode, he was adept at extracting crucial information. Alternately, he could scare the shit out of just about anybody.

Is there any Red Bull left, partner? he asked.

Chase checked the ice bin, extracting a can. Don’t fall asleep, man.

No way, Cheevers said, popping the ring. He took a swig and raised his binoculars. Here she comes now.

They watched as Clair Villarosé walked into her living room, still damp from a shower. Clair was a wheat sheaf blonde, tall and slim, with legs built to race. There was nothing wrong with the rest of her either, as the two detectives could readily see. She slipped into her Victoria’s Secret bikini set, freed her hair from its towel and advanced to the glass doors.

Saints preserve us, Chase sighed.

Clair spent a few minutes doing aerobics, while facing the glittering city lights. Satisfied, she plopped on the sofa and turned on the TV and watched a show about The Cat House, a feline adoption center.

Cheevers said, "I can’t wait till morning when we’ll get a closer look. Come to