Angel of Death

By Jay J. Stemmer

Wayne is kidnapped by the gang that can almost shoot straight. It was planned to be an easy in and out. It wasnt. Three teams are on tap for saving him: the police, with the FBI in charge; Johns security people, who dont trust the lead FBI guy; and Johns friend from the mafia in Las Vegas. Its a race to see who gets there first. Then backstabbing by network suits causes the cancellation of a top-rated series (New Orleans Blues), and a failing designer clothing line is saved at the last minute by an X-rated fashion show in Frankfort.

John gets his MD and interns at County General. Johns company-owned mine in Africa is nationalized. A team is sent to blow up the mine. In retaliation, the president sends a hit man after John at the hospital. John tells Ira Corn to finish it. Ira contacts the Chameleon for the hit.

John delays marriage to Gloria by joining the army for his residency. Sure enough, hes challenged again. But hes lined up a smart army lawyer to take care of it. Against the strong advice of family and his personal security, he volunteers as an army surgeon for the war in El Salvador. Hes in a MASH unit, starts a new band, has an active love life with the nurses, and slowly comes apart emotionally from treating maimed and dying young soldiers. He goes out on a routine scouting patrol that is virtually wiped out and returns to the jungle to save a team member being tortured by the enemy. Hes well trained for combat even though the army doesnt know it.

John returns to the States, recuperates from the bullet wound, and plays for one year in professional football for the Raiders. Then he retires. So he thinks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524638016

Jay J. Stemmer

He served in the army as an enlisted man and, after ROTC and a BS in civil engineering from New Jersey Institute of Technology, took a commission in the air force. He served as a medical officer in the Bio-Environmental Engineering Corps in the 812th Medical Group, Walker AFB, Roswell, New Mexico. After graduate school, he worked as a professional engineer in safety, inspecting some of the largest construction projects in California. He has been a proud member of the Screen Actors Guild for thirty years, having small parts in movies and on television and never quit the day job. Angel of Life is the first book in the Angel trilogy. The second is Angel of Death and will be followed by Angel of Rescue. The author’s previous books include Medical Manual of Industrial Toxicology (USAF), with John R. Sebald, MD; A History of Air Transport in Latin America and Forecasts for the Decade Ahead” (Lockheed); and Around the World in 80 Years. He lives in Glendale, California.

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© 2016 Jay J. Stemmer. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/28/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3802-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3800-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3801-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016915122

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Preview from Angel of Rescue

About the Author

To Wayne Stemmer, my brother

It was a rocky road, but with hard work and a little luck came success.

Well deserved.

L t. Colonel Andrey Michailovich Tovinov just finished reading a one page report when Sergeant Yuri Borissovich Sorokovskiy knocked. It was nine o’clock and time for their morning tea.

Come in. Tovinov said and looked at his watch. Punctual, as usual, he thought. Sorokovskiy placed the sterling silver service on Andrey’s usually clean desk and poured two cups before sitting in the upholstered chair. Slightly to one side of center, since Tovinov liked to see the door.

How are you this morning, Comrade Colonel? Yuri waited for Tovinov to take sugar, milk and a slice of lemon before taking a little sugar himself.

Tell me what you think of this? Andrey slid the paper to him. Even though it was marked secret, Tovinov had no fear of Yuri ever revealing the contents of any document he showed him. They had been together for fourteen years, ever since Sorokovskiy had saved his life in Afghanistan. As a Lt. Colonel in the Komitet Gosudarstvennoye Bezopastnosti, KGB, he truly trusted only two beings. His dog, Olympik, and Yuri.

American propaganda, Comrade Colonel. Yuri finally said and put the paper back on the desk.

You don’t think our young warrior is capable then?

Andrey leaned back in his chair and sipped the hot tea.

What is the source of the information? Yuri asked.

One of our men in America.

And was he in El Salvador? I think not, Comrade Colonel. Yuri sipped the tea. I think he got the information from the American newspapers. And the newspapers report what the Army tells them.

You think it is entirely false? Andrey often played this game with Yuri. It helped him see another side. One completely Russian, trusting nothing completely.

Five or six, possibly, but we know how the Americans exaggerate the body count. If we were to believe numbers, there would have been no Viet Cong left to fight and the Americans would have won the war, Comrade Colonel.

Do you think he would lie about his own bravery, my friend?

But he was wounded, Comrade Colonel. He may not know what is being said. Battle wounds can be serious. Yuri stopped, seeing the concern on his benefactor’s face. He didn’t really wish the American dead even though he was a capitalist and therefore an avowed enemy of the State.

You believe the wound then.

A man with pistols against Kalashnikovs? He is lucky to be alive, Comrade Colonel. It was suicide from the start, even though the freedom fighters are not as well trained as the Cubans. Let alone Russian soldiers.

"You doubt his abilities. At night? Engaging the guerillas one at a time in the jungle?

Possibly ten or twelve, Comrade Colonel. Another cup?

Tovinov nodded and Yuri poured another for each of them.

The odds were on his side, considering many must have been recruits and ill trained.

So it is possible, considering what we know of his training and physical abilities. Andrey took another sip.

Yes, Comrade Colonel, possible. One at a time, he could kill every soldier in the freedom movement but we know that is not how war is fought.

Yes, my friend, but we are not discussing the entire war. Just an insignificant night and the fact that our warrior has finally gone public. These killings are not concealed like the others. He has had his first taste of real battle and there is no turning back now.

"Why was he there in the first place, Colonel?

Who knows? Possibly fate. Or possibly just for this. Andrey picked up the paper. The apple does not fall far from the tree.

The father. Yuri responded. He had read the fathers file but so much of it was guesswork. Some of it was difficult to believe even though sworn to by dedicated KGB agents. Yuri watched his Colonel read the paper again.

We will get a follow up report, Yuri.

1

I t was a mild summer night in Hollywood. The smog had blown out to sea where it would wait until the morning ocean breeze brought it back and it would again blanket the city.

Jack DiColli, Ed Ramiri, Bobby Czyst and Richie Greenberg were sitting at the kitchen table playing cutthroat hearts. Ed’s wife, Marion, was in the kitchen finishing the supper dishes. Richie took the first trick with the King of clubs and calmly punched back the two of spades. Let’s flush the bitch. Richie looking directly at Bobby. Ed played the six without comment. If Richie and Bobby were looking for trouble, he wanted no part of it.

Bobby was 5'8" and built like a bull. He’d had a hard 35 years and his nose had clearly been broken several times. He had a quick temper and been in fights most of his life. He usually won. Richie was a year younger and, although ten pounds lighter, he was four inches taller. He had fought professionally as a Light Heavyweight when he was 19. He was quick and had a good right hand but he cut too easily. The referees stopped his last two fights because of cuts over his eyes. This bothered Richie because he was ahead on points in both bouts. He could have been a champ, he had the skill.

Are you going to play, or suck on her tit? quipped Richie.

Bobby glared at him. He felt an instant urge to lunge across the table and punch Richie in the face but he knew better. He had made that mistake once before, five years ago in Vegas.

Bobby and two of his friends were drinking beer in the Sundowner, a no class strip joint, downtown. The stripper looked forty. You could see the stretch marks even in the bad light. Richie, at the next table, made a remark about her and Bobby threw the remaining half of his beer in Richie’s face. Not that Bobby owed the girl anything, he’d only slept with her once. But he’d lost 300 bucks in a poker game that afternoon and was in a bad mood. Richie asked him to step outside behind the club. They both knew better than start anything inside. Once in back, Richie proceeded to methodically beat the shit out of him. Worst one-on-one beating Bobby ever had. Spent two days in the hospital.

Bobby looked at Jack, the next to play, as though it would help with his dilemma.

Come on, Czyst, play! Richie pronounced the name Sist. It’s C-eye-st, said Bobby, C-eye-st. and played the ace of spades. Jack threw the Queen in the center of the table with a flip of the wrist.

Shit. said Bobby as he gathered in the trick.

Serves you right, said Jack, you passed it to me.

Jack was the leader and had called the meeting. Five foot eight and only 140 pounds, he was the only one at the table who had killed anyone. His specialty was stickups. There was a convenience store owner’s widow in Atlanta still wondering if they would ever catch the guy that shot her husband. Bobby was a loan shark’s collector who liked to break the bones of unfortunates late with their payments. Richie was a con man who used his good looks to seduce older women. If they weren’t generous enough, he’d been known to help himself to what ever he could find around the house. It was for services rendered, he figured. Ed was a burglar. Aside from some furniture in the apartment, which came furnished, the TV’s, stereos, cameras and kitchen appliances were from his daytime job, as he called it.

Mason Buddy Budson was a wheel man and the only one that didn’t have a police record. He was 5'10, 15 pounds overweight and had the average type of face that could blend into a crowd. It was his average looks that saved him in the past. He was described to police as average height, average looks, middle aged and a little overweight. The police would say, that description fits ten million guys" and throw up their hands. Buddy was 44 but looked 10 years younger.

I had to pass you the Queen, Jack, said Bobby, I didn’t have no cover. And this asshole, nodding towards Ed, passes me the ace.

A knock at the door announced Buddy’s arrival. Bobby answered it, thankful to get away from the cardtable. About fucking time, he said as Buddy came through the door.

Hi guys, he said as he bounced across the room. Buddy was in a good mood, but then he was always in a good mood. What are you guys playing?

We’re not, now that you’re here. said Bobby as he went back to the table.

Hey Marion, yelled Ed, come on in and bring a couple of beers.

Pull up a chair. Jack said to Buddy, moving over to make room at the table.

Jack picked up the cards and slowly looked at each of the guys in turn to be sure he had their attention. How would each of you like a million bucks?

Heavy.

How?

We’re going to pull a snatch. Jack said flatly.

Shit. was all Richie replied.

I never been in a kidnaping before, said Bobby, that’s big stuff.

Hey, I don’t know about a snatch, man, you get the gas chamber. said Ed.

Buddy was optimistic. But a million bucks… each.

Who do we grab? asked Richie.

You guys heard of John Roberts? replied Jack.

Big rock star, right? added Bobby, I seen him on the Carson show. We going to grab him?

No, replied Jack, we put the snatch on his little brother.

He’s got bodyguards, don’t he? asked Bobby.

John does. A couple of ex-cops. Big guys. Jack said.

Does the brother have bodyguards? continued Bobby.

Of course he does, said Jack, but I got a plan. They got an office in Century City and that’s where we grab him.

Wait a minute, said Ed. He’s got a security force and they got their headquarters right there. At the office. I read all about it in People’s magazine. Those guys are all ex cops, CIA, FBI and guys like that. Man, those guys are all heavyweights. I don’t like this at all.

But that’s the beauty of it. It’s the last place they’d expect a snatch. Don’t you see, said Jack, we catch them with their guard down. Snatch the kid and get out before they know anything’s wrong.

So why don’t we grab John, said Bobby, he’s the one with the money?

Because there’s no reason to mess with the bodyguards. My way, there’s no gunplay and no shooting.

But his brother has bodyguards too, right? said Bobby. Right, but only to and from the office. Once he’s inside, he doesn’t see them again till it’s time to go home.

But the guards are right at the office, right? So, how do we get by them?

That’s the beauty of my plan. I went up to the office last week to check it out.

Now they’re going to know you. said Richie.

No they won’t. I went in like I was looking for a job. I used a phoney name and wore a mustache.

What kind of job? asked Ed, they only got lawyers up there.

How do you know what they got up there? said Bobby.

From People’s magazine. Don’t you read?

You only read it cause your wife gets it. snapped Bobby.

Enough, you guys, said Jack. Anyway, I got a layout of the place. And here’s the thing, while I’m waiting, a Sheriff and a Marshall come in to serve some papers. They got in, no questions asked. And that’s what gave me the idea.

You got to be kidding. said Richie.

No, I’m not kidding. Me, Bobby and Richie go in like the cops just going to serve some papers. Just routine. One of the lawyers comes out and we say we have to serve the papers personally and he brings us right to the kids office. We tell the kid to come along peaceful or we have to shoot our way out and a lot of people are going to get hurt and he’ll be the first one if the shooting starts.

But you said no shooting. murmured Ed.

Right, but there won’t be any shooting because the guards won’t know what’s going on. said Jack. It’ll just be the kid and us. He gives some phoney excuse about stepping out to the hall to say good-bye to us. And when the elevator door opens, we all get in before anyone’s the wiser. We go right to the basement where Buddy’s waiting for us and we’re on the street before anyone even misses him.

How old is this kid? said Marion. Her first comment of the night.

He’s 17, Marion. Not a little kid. replied Jack. We get a garage, where Ed will be waiting and we switch cars.

Then where do we go? asked Bobby. L.A. is going to be hot.

We go straight out I5 to Bakersfield. Ed’s brother-in law is going back east for two weeks and we hole out there. It’s a farm, outside of town, so we don’t have to worry about nosy neighbors. Marion will already be there and have everything set up.

Marion was looking at her husband. She knew about using the farm but she didn’t know why. She was wondering what Ed knew and hadn’t told her.

Ed couldn’t have told her it was a kidnaping because this was the first he heard of it. Being a burglar, he thought this was going to be a big score. A robbery of some kind and they would need a temporary hideout.

I don’t like us walking in like that said Bobby, there’s going to be a million witnesses.

No they won’t, replied Jack anticipating this objection. Didn’t you ever notice. All cops look alike, when they got their uniform on. We dye our hair and we’ll be wearing hats. And nobody will pay any attention.

I don’t know, said Buddy, finally speaking, "the way you say it, it sounds so easy. So how come someone hasn’t already done it?’

Because nobody’s thought of taking the brother, said Jack. They think about putting the snatch on John and when they see the bodyguards around all the time, they give up. Nobody thinks of the brother.

So we got to come up with a cop car. said Buddy. What do we do, steal it?

No, better, we buy an old one and fix it up ourselves. said Jack. There’s a used car lot on Olympic and 2nd that always has a couple of old cop cars. They sell them off every two years, you know. They got high mileage. This guy buys them at auction for a song and turns around and sells them to the blacks. After he repaints them, they look good and the speedometer says forty thousand miles. The blacks don’t know it’s really one hundred and forty thousand since the car’s only two years old. So, we paint it back to the original color and we have our own Los Angeles Police car.

Wait a minute, said Bobby, why don’t we get it from the guy before he repaints it, so we don’t have to paint it again?

And tip him off to what we’re doing? replied Jack.

Yeah, you’re right. said Bobby, feeling foolish.

How about the plates, asked Ed, we need police license plates.

Them, we steal. said Jack. We take the plates from one cop car and put them on another cop car. Then we keep the plates from the second car. That way, when they look for the missing plates from the first car, they will be on another cop car. The guys in the second car won’t notice the number’s different, cause nobody looks at their plates anyway. If the guys in the first car ever find the second car, they got to start looking all over again for the third car. Ours. And by that time we’ll be long gone.

When do we take the plates? asked Buddy.

The night before. answered Jack and smiled. His plan was perfect and he knew it. The collected faces looked at one another. No one could see any flaws. Seizing on their silence, Jack added, The ransom is seven million dollars. They looked at him as one and he added, Two million for me and a million for each of you. I get the two since it was my plan.

There was no dissension. They were thinking about what they were going to do with a million dollars.

Since John was running to school, instead of driving the Ferrari, there was a double team to meet him at the door. Even though the campus was less than a mile away, they knew he would run five miles and the two cars would keep him bracketed. The backup team arrived the same time as Merle and Bob.

Jack, Richie, Bobby and Buddy were going over the plans again while Ed was giving the police car a final once over. The two car garage was in a residential neighborhood, a block from Pico Blvd., just south of Century City. Four minutes to the underground garage of John’s office building. They had a police band on the radio in the van to monitor all the calls and let them know where the police were. Twenty minutes would get them through the San Fernando valley and out to Sylmar. If the coast was clear, they would continue over the grapevine and on to Bakersfield. If the police had roadblocks up, even though unlikely, they would take State Highway 14, just north of Sylmar, over the mountains to Palmdale and turn west at Mojave on State Highway 58 to enter Bakersfield from the rear.

As you can see, I’ve thought of everything. smiled Jack. They inspected each others uniforms to make sure everything was in place. Jack was a Sheriff and he was to serve the fake papers. The other three looked like LAPD.

The short drive was uneventful. Buddy stayed in the car, illegally parked close to the basement escalator. Jack managed a smile at one of the secretaries in the elevator on the way to the 12th floor. The girl smiled back and got off at the 10th leaving the three of them alone.

Turning right from the elevator, Jack led the way towards the reception desk. Pops Warfield, the hall security guard nodded and smiled at the three police officers as they walked by him in front of the bank of elevators.

Good morning, Miss. I have some papers for Mr. Wayne Roberts. Jack said, showing her the envelope in his hands.

You can leave them here, Officer, she said, I’ll make sure he gets them.

I can’t Miss, he has to sign them and I have to give them to him personally.

All right, I’ll buzz one of his aides to come out and escort you.

Thank you. Jack replied with a smile. Bobby and Richie flanked him, one step to the rear. Jack glanced to his left, through the glass partition. The guard was staring at him.

Pops had retired from the Los Angeles Police Department nine months ago after 28 years and a medical discharge for ulcers. He liked being a beat cop because that’s where the action was. And he recognized the face of this Deputy Sheriff. He couldn’t place it exactly, but he knew something wasn’t right.

Jack turned his head back quickly. He’d seen that kind of look before. It was a cop look, trying to place him. What is keeping that aide, he said to himself. He threw a quick glance back to the hall and saw Pops coming towards him. Both Bobby and Richie sensed something was wrong and backed up a step. They looked towards the oncoming guard.

Just as Pops reached the glass partition, the office door opened and the aide appeared. Then everything happened so fast, it was almost a blur.

Pops pointed at Jack and said, I know you. It was an accusation. Pops reached for his gun but Jack was faster and shot him through the middle of the chest at point blank range.

Richie yelled Grab the door!

Bobby got to the aide before he could react. Richie grabbed the receptionist by the arm, pulled her up and lurched for the open door. In less than five seconds the three men and two captives were inside the office and the door was closed behind them. All three guns were out. Jack put his gun to the aides head and told him to take them to Wayne Roberts’ office or he would blow his head off. The aide had little choice.

In thirty seconds they were all in Wayne’s office with the door shut. Jack explained quickly to Wayne, who remained calm at the sudden interruption, that they didn’t want to hurt anyone. They wanted Wayne to go with them peaceful like.

If you don’t, we’re going to have to shoot our way out and a lot of people are going to get killed. Jack continued. He knew time was of the essence because the security people must have heard the gun shot. Wayne calmly agreed to go with them. He too had heard the shot and he saw three men far to nervous to be rational.

They quickly opened the door and stepped out of the office with Jack directly behind Wayne. Wayne’s secretary was still at her desk just outside the office and had already called security. Staying at her post was a mistake. Jack grabbed her and pulled her into the pack. We need something between us and the guards, just in case somebody gets trigger happy, Jack said to Wayne. Don’t worry, when we get downstairs, we let them go. They’re extra baggage. We only want you. Wayne remained silent.

The alarm had already gone out. Three guards were positioning themselves in the main office area. They were drawing a bead on the seven of them. Four men were in the outside hall watching the elevators and stairs. The security guard who received the alarm was at his console watching the closed circuit television screens that monitored the hallway reception area, both stairwells and selected areas of the main office.

The Chief checked the load on his Smith and Wesson .38 service revolver, the only gun he had ever used, and walked into the consul room. What is it? he asked.

I think it’s a kidnaping, sir.

And how do these assholes figure on getting out of here? and added as an afterthought alive.

I don’t know, sir.

Call the Los Angeles Police and put the alert out to our men in the field.

Yes, sir. I’ve already called the police. I’ll start working on the men now. The guard at the consul was an experienced policeman, as were all the security personnel. The Chief stood silently and watched the monitors.

Jack saw the three men sighting in on them. Tell them to back off! he yelled.

Put the guns away. Wayne said. The guards didn’t move. Do it now, Wayne said calmly, that’s an order. Slowly they lowered the guns, letting them hang by their sides.

The seven stayed in a close huddle close to the wall and carefully walked to the reception door. The three guards kept their distance but followed. As they stepped out into the reception area, all movement stopped. They were facing four shotguns aimed at them from the hallway.

Wayne raised his hand like an Indian about to say How.

Relax, I don’t want to become a martyr.

The shotguns backed up, and the seven, still closely bunched, walked to the elevators. Richie punched the down button and they all waited.

The reception door opened and the three guards from the office came out, guns still down at their sides. There was complete silence. Everyone was watching. And waiting.

The Chief silently entered the hallway between two shotguns still pointed at the elevator crowd. They were startled when he broke the silence. Give it up, you don’t have a chance.

Fat chance, said Bobby, we killed one of your cops. So we don’t have nothing to loose now. Pops body was nowhere in sight, but the blood stain was evident on the carpet.

Nothing to lose but your lives. said the Chief, now a clear target, standing in the center of the hall.

Just then the elevator bell rang and the doors opened behind them. Slowly, they backed in. Jack and Wayne to the rear of the empty car. Bobby to the left and Richie directly in front of Wayne. Defiantly. He knew they couldn’t shoot now. Bobby pushed the down button and they waited for the doors to close.

As they started to close, Wayne shifted to the right and leaned back into Jack, pressing him to the rear of the car. Quickly, he lifted his right leg and kicked hard into Richie’s backside. Richie was propelled through the doors and they closed behind him. The elevator started it’s smooth descent.

The deafening sound of gunfire erupted almost immediately.

It lasted for only five seconds and suddenly stopped. The silence in the elevator was more deafening than the gunfire.

You son-of-a-bitch, screamed Jack as he spun Wayne around. I ought to blow your fucking head off. His face was red with rage.

Calm down. yelled Bobby, there’s nothin’ you can do about it now. You kill him and we done it all for nothin’.

Wayne looked Jack straight in the eye, You got one of ours. We got one of yours.

Jack was breathing hard and on the edge of losing control.

You are going to pay for that.

They made it to the escalator without event. But halfway down they heard some noise and looked up. Two security guards were at the top of the escalator with guns drawn. Breathing hard from running down 12 flights of stairs, they took the stairs next to the escalator. By the time Jack and company reached the escalator bottom, two more guards were on the stairs and two were descending the escalator.

Jack yelled, Don’t do anything stupid. The six backed up as Buddy got out of the police car. He saw he was a sitting duck behind the steering wheel. He was confused and scared to death. This was supposed to be easy. No gunplay. He had never fired a gun in his life and didn’t want to start now. Where is Richie? he asked, the strain showing in his voice.

Shut up and get back in the car. shouted Jack.

Two guards stopped thirty feet in front of the police car, feet spread and guns aimed at arms length. They were waiting for a clear shot. The other four quickly fanned out and flanked the car using parked cars as cover.

Jack said loudly, We’re all going to get in the car and drive out of here. If you’re dumb enough to shoot, they all go.

Wayne said quietly, They won’t let you go without orders from me. They’re going to shoot.

Then you tell them not to shoot. We’ll let the others go a mile from here. We don’t need them then.

No, you said you would let them go when we got downstairs. So let them go.

No way, said Jack. You tell them not to shoot or you’ll be the first to go.

All right, Wayne replied in a loud voice that continued to show no fear, put the guns down, no firing, and he paused, if they take me only.

You son-of-a-bitch. I said you’re all going. yelled Jack loud enough for the guards to hear.

You have your orders, Wayne repeated. Only me and you put your weapons down, otherwise, open fire. Those are my orders and you will follow them. While all this talk was going on, four more JPR security men had arrived and taken covered positions.

Jesus Christ, said Bobby, let’s get the fuck out of here. There’s more of them coming. In five minutes, the whole fuckin’ garage will be filled with cops.

Buddy said, Bobby’s right, we don’t need them. Let’s get the hell out of here. We’re almost surrounded.

Wayne volunteered, In two minutes the L.A. police will be here and they won’t listen to me. They’ll just shoot. He continued, addressing the other two kidnappers, You guys trying to commit suicide?

The aide, who unwittingly opened the reception office door to become the first prisoner, was quietly standing in front of Buddy and Buddy pushed him forward. Get out of here, he said.

Bobby let go of Wayne’s secretary, told her to go and got in the back seat of the car. I’m not leaving, Linda said, defiantly trying to protect her boss.

It’s the only way, Linda. You can’t help by staying. Get out of here. and Wayne pushed her away from the car. The receptionist was already backing up towards the guards. Buddy rushed to get behind the wheel as Jack maneuvered Wayne into the back seat while keeping him as cover. The guards had pulled two hostages to safety as the fake police car screeched by Linda towards the exit. No shots had been fired.

Moments after Buddy crashed through the toll gate onto Century Park West, a real LAPD car entered the garage at the opposite end with sirens screaming. Ten seconds behind, a second police car came through the same entrance and then a third.

The security guards had to run across the garage to get to their cars in the section reserved for JPR parking. They were just pulling out when the first LAPD car spotted them and pulled across the aisle blocking their exit. The other two police cars, seeing this maneuver, quickly drove around and sealed the aisle from the other end. Fortunately, three of the ten JPR security men were in uniform since everyone got out of the cars with guns drawn. By the time the six vehicles got to the street, the kidnappers were nowhere in sight.

Ed was waiting outside the garage and opened the doors as they came down the alley.. The switch to the van was fast and Wayne, now in handcuffs, bounced around in the rear of the van while the three changed to street clothes. The Ford Econoline had Wasnak’s Plumbing and Heating on the side and no windows in the rear. Buddy switched with Ed at a light just before the Santa Monica freeway and they were over the pass into San Fernando valley when the police cars around Century City accepted the fact they had lost them.

The State Police were notified but they were looking for a stolen Los Angeles Police car, not a plumbing van. Two hours later, the Econoline pulled into a barn at a lonely farm, west of Bakersfield.

John was sitting in class listening to a lecture on the nervous system when the call came to his security men in their car. They relayed the message to Merle and Bob, on campus, on their portable radios. One stayed with the car and the other raced towards John’s lecture hall. Merle and Bob had already moved from the corridor to inside each of the two entrances. Guns down at their sides, they slowly walked down the dimly lit aisles looking for the back of John’s head. Halfway down, Merle spotted him in the center section, four seats in. Walking two aisles further, he turned to face John. A low murmur had started and heads were turning. Merle caught John’s eye and motioned with his head. John calmly collected his books and moved to the aisle.

He walked out the door to see Bob already in the hall and the third guard running to join them.

Your brother has just been kidnaped, said Merle, let’s get out of here. John said nothing until they were out of the building.

Fill me in. I want the whole story.

We don’t have the whole story, said Bob, we’ll have to wait until we get to the car. John started to move faster and Bob said, Don’t run, jog, and then added, sir. This was serious business and everyone was back on formal terms.

Stephenson was waiting by the open car door, listening to the radio and proceeded to fill them in. They took city streets instead of the freeway on the off chance they would spot the kidnappers car. On La Brea Ave., John told them to pull into a gas station. They thought he had to use the bathroom. Park here. he said. Fifty feet from the bathrooms and twenty feet from the two phone booths. I need a lot of quarters. Now, he said and walked towards the phones. Merle and Bob stayed with John. Stephenson kept the car running and Greg Tomkin ran to the station to get change. John went to one booth and directed Bob to the other. They watched Greg through the gas station windows having an argument with the attendant. They saw Greg, in exasperation, pull his .38 revolver and pointed it at the ceiling. The cash register opened quickly. Greg ran back to John’s phone booth and gave him a ten dollar roll of quarters and a few dimes.

The attendant had picked up the station phone but quickly hung up when he saw the crazy guy who wanted change was still on the premises. And he had three other guys with him. And a guy in the car. Even though he had been paid for the change, he was sure he was going to be held up. He hurried out the back of the station and climbed over the six foot concrete block wall to the back yard of an apartment building to make good his escape. He returned to the station two days later to officially quit and collect four days back pay. The station manager refused to pay him because he had abandoned the station. He didn’t believe the story about the five armed robbers because nothing had been stolen.

2

J ohn told Tomkin to wait in the car while he made a call.

Vincent Maconi, please.

John waited a full minute until Vincent came to the phone.

Hello what’s the… and John interrupted.

No names, please. Is this a secure line? John heard the phone put down and conversation in the background.

Freddie, when was the last time you swept this phone?

This morning, boss.

Well, sweep it again. Now.

OK, boss.

Another twenty seconds and John heard a high pitched sound and had to pull the phone from his ear. Another few seconds and Vincent was on the line. The phone’s clean. What’s the story.

I’m calling from a public phone, so this end’s clean. My brother has just been kidnaped.

Jesus, and there was a pause, you don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?

Don’t be insulting. I’m calling you for help.

I’ll do anything I can to help. I like the kid. And besides, I owe him one. I’ll get my boys on it right now.

I’m on my way back to the office right now. No doubt, I won’t be out of sight of the police until this thing is over but I need a way to feed information to you. I don’t want these guys caught by the police. I want them caught by your guys or my security people. The most important thing is to get my brother back alive and the police are likely to screw it up. And I want an example set. A dramatic example, to give notice to everyone. Nobody fools with my family and lives to tell about it.

I agree, responded Vincent, nobody goes after family. That’s strictly forbidden.

I’ll send you a phone number to call. Said John, Don’t call from the house. Use a pay phone and give my guy a number to call back. I’ll keep you up to date. We have pictures of the guys and it’s only a matter of time until we get the names. I figure you have sources of your own.

And a more direct way of asking questions. replied Vincent. John exited the phone booth and had a short conversation with Merle. He would be the go between.

The building was bristling with police and the media. John missed most reporters by going directly to the underground garage and to the escalator. The same route the kidnappers took. When John entered the twelfth floor conference room, the Captain from the Sheriff’s Department was telling the Los Angeles Police Department Captain that LAPD had no jurisdiction since the kidnaping took place in an unincorporated section of Los Angeles and the County Sheriffs had sole authority. The LAPD Captain said he was tired of repeating himself, but the kidnappers impersonated LOS ANGELES Police Officers and drove a stolen LOS ANGELES POLICE Car and he was involved, like it or not. John asked them to sit down and fill him in. Before they started, he noticed his Chief of Security was absent and asked them to wait. In less than a minute, the Chief came in with Ira directly behind. Merle and Bob stood at the back of the room.

The conference room was built for comfort. The outside wall was all glass, affording a spectacular view of the residential sections south and west and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Two couches along the wall, full adjoining bathrooms at each end, high pile burnt orange carpet, a large mahogany table with matching well cushioned swivel chairs.

LAPD Capt. Michael Connor stated that his men had already identified the dead man and the leader (the one in the Sheriffs uniform). He filled everyone in on the particulars of these small time hoods. He added that kidnaping was most unusual for these people and they were clearly way over their head. He expected number three to be I.D.’d shortly and his men were working with the Chief’s men to I.D. the driver. The Dept. Sheriff added that roadblocks were already in place. The Highway Patrol had been alerted and his men were interviewing people in the area to get more information. John thanked them.

John nodded to Merle and suggested a coffee break. Merle left the room. The FBI arrived fifteen minutes later.

Inspector Robert Steveret was 36 years old, 5'11" and physically fit. The two agents with him looked like clones. Both wore blue suits, white shirts and black shoes, differing only by color of tie. One blue, to match his suit, and the other red. They wore two piece suits. Their boss wore a three piece pin stripe, also in blue. All three had short brown hair, brown eyes and were immaculately groomed. They were being briefed when the ID of Bobby Czyst came in.

Ira had set up communications. Ten phones with multiple lines were on the table. Two were at the head, flanking John. Inspector Steveret sat to John’s immediate left and the two agents to the Inspectors left. The Chief and Ira to John’s right. Merle entered with Charles Lee and Charles sat next to Ira. Merle joined Bob at the other end. There were still empty chairs at the twenty seat table.

Hello, Merle, the Inspector said, I heard you left to be a bodyguard somewhere. I guess you were with John, that’s why the kidnappers went after his brother. he said wryly.

I’d appreciate it, if you didn’t refer to my men as bodyguards. John said before Merle could respond. They are all trained police officers.

Sorry, I didn’t know they were touchy about it. Anyway, the first thing we have to do is get tracing equipment and recorders hooked to these phones.

Ira replied flatly, Recording is already in and stress analyzers are in place, nodding to Capt. Connor, and the Capt. has a tracing team on site hooked through to Pac Bell.

Good then, we’ll use this conference room as the command post. The two agents were writing in the small notebooks they always carried. John glanced down to Merle and received an almost imperceptible nod. Only Bob and Ira silently noticed.

When the Inspector finished his short speech, more to let everyone know who was in charge than to supply information, the Chief spoke. My men will feed their information directly back to our communication room which is just down the hall. We can co-ordinate everything here.

Your men? Steveret asked. I assumed your men would be guarding the building. This is an official police operation and I don’t want your people out there on the street getting in our way. The Police Department and the Sheriffs Department will assist us in the manhunt. And, of course, the State Police to cover the roads out of town. But your men? Definitely not!

I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Inspector, John quickly interjected, my people are already involved. One of their own has been shot and killed. One of our people has been kidnaped. We have, looking at the Chief, sixty one trained men and women and if they are worth a paycheck, I couldn’t stop them from looking for these scum if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. They are on alert and they are going to keep looking.

Absolutely not. I understand the personal involvement here and that’s another reason for them not to be involved. We don’t want a bunch of vigilantes running around out there. This situation is best handled by professionals with experience in this kind of work. So far, the Inspector had alienated all four JPR security men in the room. Both Captains, although silent, had no love for the FBI. They had cases stolen from them by the FBI and would bind together like twins against this common enemy, if given a chance.

The room was silent. It was a power play by the Inspector, plain and simple, and they were waiting to see how John was going to handle it.

John waited a few seconds. First of all, my people are professionals, and secondly, they are experienced police officers. Third, they know the city and they are motivated. And lastly, I say they are involved, so they are involved.

I didn’t mean to imply that they weren’t professional, but this kidnaping did take place right under their noses, the Chief flinched, and since the FBI is in charge, they’re out. The Inspector stared back at John. Ten seconds of silence followed. Two sets of eyes locked in deadly earnest. The subtle tick of the clock on the wall deafening out the sound of breathing in the room.

Finally a smile formed on John’s face and he said, only slightly above a whisper, Then I have a solution, pausing for dramatic affect, you’re fired.

What, the Inspector shouted, not believing his ears,

What did you say?

You’re fired. John repeated in the same soft voice.

You can’t fire me.

I just did. John looked to the far end of the table, Merle, Bob, the Inspector is leaving. Please show him out and take Huey and Louey with him. The Chief can call the FBI and have them send in another team.

Yes sir. they said in unison trying unsuccessfully to hide their pleasure. Bob loved the reference to Donald Duck’s nephews. Merle walked to the front and stood behind Steveret. Bob held the conference room door open.

You can’t do this. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He knew this was his case but he would be a laughing stock back at the office if he and his men were thrown off the premises.

You and your men are trespassing on private property and I’ve asked you to leave. John said while looking straight ahead. The meaning