Golf #2
Burke read the ID, his eyes flickering between the face of the man in front of him and the same face on the driver’s license. “Roman Whitaker, age twenty-four.” Then he recited the address on the license that was right there in Shawano.
“He’s clean,” Tessman said.
“Where’s your phone?” Burke demanded.
The man’s gaze flickered towards the inside of the van.
Burke holstered his weapon and climbed into the van.
He swept the beam of his penlight across the carpeted floor.
He found the phone tucked behind the crate.
He held it up to the man’s face. Fortunately, the man had his phone set to use facial recognition to unlock it. He accessed the text messages.
“Who’s Passaglia, how long will it take him to arrive, and how many men will come with him?
” Burke asked the man with a demanding stare.
The man remained quiet, a defiant expression plastered on his face.
“He sent him a text four minutes ago that someone is in the warehouse. Passaglia replied, we're on our way.”
“We have incoming!” Wilson yelled, his face toward the hallway that led to the storerooms. “There’s ammo for those rifles; get them loaded. We may need them!”
Burke pushed the man against the side of the van, his body hitting it with a solid thud. “How many and how soon?” he asked again.
“Guess you’re going to find out,” Roman Whitaker said, his tone cocky.
Burke grabbed hold of his upper arm and stepped towards the front of the warehouse, pulling him along. “Let’s see what your friends do when it’s your mug in the front window.” He pulled him into the office and pressed his body against the full-length glass door after being sure it was locked.
A few minutes later, Tessman came into the room holding two M-4s. He handed one to Burke. Then he took a seat at the desk and turned the computer on. “I’m going to see if I can get access to those files while we wait.”
Whitaker tried to turn around.
“Nope!” Burke said. He jammed the barrel of the rifle into his back. “Stay right there.”
“For how long?” Whitaker asked.
“Until your friends show up or you answer all our questions,” Burke replied.
“You’re a cop. You’re not going to shoot me,” he said, that same cockiness in his tone.
“Am I? Have you seen any badges?” Burke said with a laugh. “Maybe you and your buddies crossed the wrong group in your supposed training where you go after street gangs, is it?”
“You don’t know anything,” Whitaker said, sounding less confident.
“We know a hell of a lot more than you think we do. You’re playing with the big kids on the block now, junior. I suggest you calculate your best odds of survival and act accordingly,” Burke warned.
Whitaker turned his head to view Burke, who hadn’t removed the barrel of the rifle from his back. “Who the hell are you?”
“The men who have you at a disadvantage because we know exactly who you are,” Burke said.
Through comms Wilson’s voice came. “We have all entrances secured. We cut power to the garage door,” he said.
“The back door is still reinforced. They’ll have to blow it to gain entry through there.
That leaves the front door and the window in the office Moe and Handsome came in through.
We try to take as many alive as possible.
But we do not let them breach this warehouse.
We do not give up those M-4s or the computer. ”
“I have Hound dog on at HQ. Going to let him remote into this computer,” Tessman said, his phone pressed to his ear. “I’ve already sent him all the info we want to get off the hard drive.”
“Good idea, Moe,” Jackson said.
“Big Bear is on the horn with Fort McCoy,” Dupont’s voice came through comms. “They’re launching a Black Hawk to your location, ETA forty-five minutes.
They’re thrilled to take part in this training mission.
They’ll provide backup and take custody of all military weapons and ammo when they arrive.
Do they have a clear LZ at your location? ”
“Affirmative. The parking lot of this warehouse and front lawn will accommodate a Black Hawk,” Burke replied. Burke knew a lot could happen in forty-five minutes, but it would be a faster response for them to make it onsite than for any federal authorities.
“Black Hawk?” Whitaker repeated. “You’re going to land a fucking Black Hawk here?” He sounded excited by the idea of it.
“Yes, and the highly trained personnel who’ll come with it won’t hesitate to eliminate the terrorist threat your group poses,” Burke told him.
“Terrorists? You’ve got this all wrong. We’re patriots, defending the U.S. of A, stars and stripes, Uncle Sam, and our way of life, man,” Whitaker said.
Burke rolled his eyes. This kid had played one too many Call of Duty video games. “Then we’re on the same team, and you better start talking,” Burke said.
“You’re with the military, special forces or military intelligence, I’d guess. How’d you track down the M-4s? I assume that’s why you’re here.” Whitaker said.
“Doesn’t matter. We’re taking them back. Now how many of your group are on their way?”
“Dunno, Passaglia will put the call out to everyone in the area, maybe ten?”
Burke didn’t want to have to deal with that many wanna-be militia members. “Give me everything you know about this Passaglia: full name, date of birth, address.” His line was open, and he knew Dupont would run him to ground.
“Guy Passaglia, lives here in Shawano on South Union Street. I don’t know the house number. And I don’t know his date of birth. He’s old, like in his forties.”
Burke put Whitaker’s phone in his face again to unlock it. He brought up the contact and read the phone number aloud.
“Got it,” Dupont said.
“What were you doing in the van?” Burke asked him.
“Waiting to see if anyone came back and I was waiting for a buddy to come help me change my tire,” Whitaker said. He nodded to Tessman. “You’re a hell of a shot, man, got my tire with only a few rounds fired.”
“Were the men at the backdoor to the warehouse with you?” Burke asked.
“Yeah, we got word from another general that there was unauthorized activity in the warehouse,” Whitaker said. “He wanted us to check it out.”
“Okay, Hound dog’s in,” Tessman announced.
“Do you know the names Ellison or Ramsey?” Burke asked Whitaker.
“Yeah, Ellison is the top general out of the Minnesota command. You’d have to ask Passaglia, but I think he’s the one who told him to have us check out this warehouse.
And Ramsey isn’t really one of us. He’s on what Passaglia calls the fringe.
When the civil war comes, he’ll take up arms, but he’s not a dedicated member right now, just someone who’s smart enough to be a prepper. ”
“I have an idea,” Burke said. “What do you think if we use Whitaker’s phone to give this Passaglia a call and let him know the game’s over?”
The sounds of the other men laughing came through comms. Tessman had a grin on his face, too. “Do it,” Jackson said. “Declare yourself a captain in the U.S. Army while you’re at it.”
“Captain, nothing. I work for a living,” Burke said sarcastically. “Ooh-rah!” he sounded off. He hit dial on Whitaker’s phone.
“Whatcha got, Roman?” a man’s voice answered.
“Roman’s got his hands secured behind his back,” Burke said into the phone.
“Guy Passaglia, who resides on South Union Street, this is Burke, U.S.M.C., of JSOC, that’s the Joint Special Operations Command of the United States of America.
We’re in control of this warehouse and the stolen military arms you have stockpiled here.
We’re aware you’re on your way to this location.
Do yourself a favor and stand down. Call off any other group members you may have en route.
If you converge on this location, you will be fired upon.
We outman and out-gun you, and we will not hesitate to neutralize any threats. ”
The line went dead.
“The fucker hung up on me,” Burke said. He hit redial. The call went straight to voicemail. “Guy Passaglia, you won’t see us, but we’re here. Keep your people alive. Stand down.”
He waited. Three minutes later, three pickup trucks, grouped tightly together, drove past the warehouse.
“I think your boys just cruised by,” Burke said to Whitaker.
“Yeah, that was them,” he admitted. “Passaglia isn’t stupid, and he doesn’t have a death wish. He’ll stand down.”
“I’m sure he’ll be someplace nearby, watching the Black Hawk land,” Burke said. “Circles, make sure the incoming bird is advised there are unfriendlies in the area.”
“Roger that,” Dupont answered. “Big Bear is also talking with Whiting. The FBI will take the lead on the mess you have there. He’s got more than forty agents en route, but it will be a couple of hours before they arrive.”
“I still need to pay a visit to our girl’s husband,” Burke said. “That’s if the FBI hasn’t contacted him or let her do it. I’d assumed she’s been interviewed by now.”
“Can you check on the status of the four we turned over, Circles?” Wilson asked.