THEY TALKED about the documents from Ritter’s safe-deposit box and concluded that while there may have been illegal activity at Heracles, it wouldn’t directly help them with the Smalls investigation.
“I’d need a lot more background to even understand the documents. I mean, I know all the words, but I don’t know what they’re saying. If you know they shipped twenty cases of used/surplus full-auto SAWs, what does that mean? Is it illegal? I don’t know,” Rae said. SAWs, Squad Automatic Weapons, were belt-fed light machine guns. “The fact that Ritter saved the paper suggests there’s something wrong, else why would he save it? If it’s all legal, there wouldn’t be any difference between shipping a SAW and a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“There’s something wrong with it,” Bob said, “I promise. That’s why Jane Chase said they’d have some specialists look at it.” After a moment, he said to Rae, “I’d like to get one of those SAWs for our equipment bag. Remember that dipshit Willard pecking away at us with that .25? Think about stepping out there with a SAW and powdering his whole fuckin’ trailer.”
They both laughed, thinking about it, and Lucas shook his head, and said, “Jesus Christ, guys, try to hold it together, huh?”
* * *
—
LUCAS’S PHONE RANG. He took it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and said, “Speak of the devil and she calls you.”
Lucas put the phone on speaker, and they all bent over it as Chase came up. “We’ve been working through the documents. We can make a strong case against Heracles for illegally exporting these weapons,” she said. “They show end-user certificates issued to approved users—national governments, mostly, along with a few militias in North Africa—but Heracles personnel delivered the weapons to different buyers altogether, including some groups on our FTO lists.”
“What’s an FTO list?” Bob asked.
“FTO is an acronym for Foreign Terrorist Organizations,” Chase said. She said lists were maintained by the State Department.
“What are you going to do?” Lucas asked.
“The documents implicate Heracles, Flamma, and Inter-Core Ballistics, which are all interlocking. The men who actually delivered the weapons are the low-hanging fruit. We can pick them up right now and try to turn them. We plan to do that. Today. We invite you to come along; two of the men implicated are McCoy and Moore, who you want to squeeze for your Smalls investigation.”
“This is dang quick for the FBI—no offense,” Rae said.
“None taken, but you’re right. For us, this is quick,” Chase said. “We have a problem. Two of the most critical documents, the clearest cases, will fall under the statute of limitations in a matter of a few weeks. That’s unfortunate, but it is what it is. So, we’re going to pick up McCoy and Moore and three other men today, interview them separately, and use their statements, if any, to launch a raid on Heracles, Flamma, and Inter-Core tomorrow morning. Frankly, we’re planning to use the possibility of a murder charge, those that you’re pursuing, to motivate the men we grab today to make a statement on the gun diversion case. We’re waiting now for warrants for both the arrests and for searches of their apartments.”
Lucas: “Wait—you’re not going to promise them immunity?”
“No. Not at this point anyway, and most likely never,” Chase said. “But these papers open the possibility of putting the whole illegal weapons trade under the microscope. We’re talking about hundreds of possible deaths, maybe thousands, not two.”
“Ah, Jesus,” Lucas said. “Did you talk to Mallard about all of this?”
“Yes, and he’s with us,” Chase said. “He thinks you’re a great guy and all, but he said, and I quote, ‘Get me the guns, and fuck Davenport.’ The f-word was his, not mine.”
Lucas said, “I understand, but I might have to oppose you on some of this.”
“We’ll be talking to your director,” Chase said.
“And I’ll be talking to Senator Smalls,” Lucas said.
Chase said, “Lucas, please, I’m telling you—no, I’m asking you—if you want to fight us over the process, that’s fine. But please don’t do anything until tomorrow. Please! We’re putting these men under heavy surveillance, and we plan to pick them up after they leave their offices this afternoon or tonight so they can’t warn the Heracles people. They’ll want to bring their attorneys in, but when we begin questioning them, we’re going to use what we get for the warrants for the raid on Heracles. If you break this whole thing into the open before we get the warrants, there’ll be some bonfires in the Heracles offices tonight. It won’t hurt you to wait a day.”
Lucas thought about that, and said, “Okay. I won’t talk to anyone until after your raids.”
“Thank you. We . . . thank you. Somebody will call you in an hour or so when we’re ready to launch.”
“Will you be there? For the arrests?”
“I won’t be making the arrests myself. I’ll be observing.”
“See you there,” Lucas said.
* * *
—
BOB SAID, “Good, we’re gonna do something. These guys . . . I don’t think we need to go in heavy. Maybe keep some shit in the truck, but, basically, civilian dress.”
Rae nodded, and Lucas said, “Take your Glock.”
“I take my Glock when I go to bed,” Bob said.
* * *
—
TWO HOURS LATER, Chase’s assistant called, and told Lucas that Chase was on her way to monitor a surveillance team that was tracking McCoy in preparation for his arrest. “We believe McCoy will be leaving Heracles around four o’clock, and we will keep him under surveillance until we can pick him up. You’re welcome to observe. She knows you’re also interested in Kerry Moore, but we’ve been unable to locate him. We will serve search warrants on both of their apartments later this evening.”
“Where is Miz Chase now?” Lucas asked.
“She’s on her way. She’ll be in a communications car at the corner of Wilson Boulevard and North Veitch Street. If you go around the corner on Veitch, we’ve reserved parking for members of the group.”
* * *
—
LUCAS DROVE, with Rae in the passenger seat, Bob in back. Lucas normally didn’t like to ride with other law enforcement officers because too often everybody wound up wanting to go to different places. In this case, they’d be more observers than an action team, so it was unlikely they’d need to split up.
On the way over, Lucas said, “Her assistant said they expect McCoy to leave around four o’clock. I think they’re doing some electronic monitoring. I don’t know how, but they’re doing it.”
“Wonder where Moore is,” Rae said. “Hope he’s not in a landfill.”
“Don’t even think that,” Lucas said.
* * *
—
TRAFFIC WAS already tightening up as they crossed the Potomac into Arlington. They turned the corner off Wilson onto North Veitch and found a line of large sedans and two Chevy Yukons parked on the right side of the street, and a man in a suit who waved them away from an open parking space. Lucas pulled in anyway, got out, and held up his badge: “U.S. Marshals, here to meet Miz Chase.”
The man nodded, and said, “Okay. White Yukon.”
Chase was in the passenger seat, and Lucas, Bob, and Rae piled into the empty second row of seats, squeezing Rae in the middle. Lucas asked, “Where are we?”
“We’re looking at five men: Luther Franklin, Ray Shelve, Arnold Buckram, and your two, Kerry Moore and John McCoy. I’m worried about Moore; we’ve picked up some chatter from Heracles, and they don’t seem to know where he is, either.”
“You’re monitoring Heracles?”
Chase turned her head to glance at him, and said, “We have some . . . resources in place.”
“Hope he’s not dead,” Bob said. “They kill both McCoy and Moore, we marshals be suffering some serious butthurt, Smalls-wise.”
Chase looked over her other shoulder. “What? Butthurt? Is that a marshal technical term?” First hint of a sense of humor.
* * *