Читать книгу Confluence - Stephen J. Gordon - Страница 8

2

The concussive sound of the gunshot hung in the air, but the action was over in a split second. The gunman had just moved his .45 away from Rabbi Mandel’s head when I fired. The bullet hit him at the junction of his nose and his forehead. When hit, his finger didn’t twitch and he didn’t reflexively pull the trigger. The man’s head was knocked back ever-so-slightly as he collapsed backward to the floor. Behind him a spray of blood appeared on the wall.

“Josh, Shelley, take the kids upstairs. Go out this way,” I indicated the opening to the dining room behind me. “Watch out for the body in the hallway.”

They ushered their kids out in front of them, the girls’ eyes still tightly shut.

I looked at the Czech pistol in my hand, released the magazine, and ejected the round from the chamber, locking the slide open. I put the clip and single bullet in my jacket pocket, and placed the gun on the kitchen island in front of me. The body at the other end of the room instantly had that look of something discarded on the floor. A small pool of blood was collecting under the dead man’s head.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm the sudden energy surge that my autonomic system dumped into my body.

So, who were these guys? What were they doing here? A home invasion with the family still at home? No, something else. Someone had sent them...the man who had driven off in the Buick? Maybe I should reload the gun.

I stood over the body, very much wanting to go through the man’s pockets. But I didn’t. Didn’t want to mix my fingerprints with this guy’s. The police would tell me what they found. Nate would tell me.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Nate D’Allesandro’s number. Nate, who was not related to Baltimore’s old political family – though probably if you went far enough back, there had to be some connection – was a police homicide captain. He was a friend born from the aftermath of an extremely tense situation. A few years ago, his daughter was hiking with a girlfriend in the extreme north of Israel, when late one evening – early morning really – they happened across a team of Hezbollah terrorists on their way to a nearby kibbutz to kill as many Israelis as they could. She told them she was an American. They killed her friend and took her hostage. I led the unit that went in to get her. The rescue was a success, and when I came to Baltimore later, I followed up with Nate, and we became friends. His number has resided in my phone ever since.

As soon as Nate answered his cell, I knew he was in a restaurant. I could hear the background noise. “Yeah, Gidon, hold on.” My number must’ve been in his address book to come up on his caller ID.

For about twenty seconds there was the sound of silverware clattering, someone asking about chicken, a sizzling sound, and then quiet. He must’ve moved into an entry area, between inner and outer doors. Or maybe he was in the men’s room.

“What’s up? You should be out with Katie at dinner or something.”

“Well, I was on my way to dinner…”

“Oh, Christ. What happened?”

I told him…the whole story from being invited over the Mandels, to spotting the Buick, to the guys going in the house, to the Buick taking off, to what happened in here.

“All right, I’ll call it in. What’s the address?”

I gave it to him.

“The uniform guys will be over first. Don’t shoot them when they come to the door.”

I laughed.

“I’ll have the waiter pack up my steak, which I just started by the way, drop off Rachel and be over.”

“Apologize to her, please.”

“You apologize to her when you come over this week.”

“Deal.” I paused for a minute, looking at the body at my feet. “You will tell the uniform guys I’m a good guy, right?” All I needed was for them to enter this little scene, spot the guy on the floor, and draw the wrong conclusions.

He hung up without responding.

I looked around. What a mess. The guy in a heap at my feet had stopped oozing blood onto the floor. What about his partner? Hopefully, his heart was still beating. I stepped around the corpse and then into the hallway. The guy in jeans and a windbreaker – and former owner of the Czech CZ 75 – was where I had left him, facedown on the floor. The pulse in his neck, was faint, but still there. While his heart was still beating, I couldn’t vouch that any of his appendages still worked after that smash to the base of his neck. There was no need to tie him up, so I headed back into the kitchen and filled two glasses with water.

I found Josh and Shelley and the two girls in what must have been the girls’ bedroom. It was painted light purple with a flowery border along the ceiling, had a poster of Masada and some blond kid from a television show, a white bookcase, and a pair of matching dressers. The Mandels were spread out on two beds: Josh and the older daughter on one bed, Shelley and the younger one on the other.

“Well,” I said, “the police are on their way. “They’ll need to speak with you,” I looked from Josh to Shelley. They appeared shell shocked. I held out the two glasses of water. Each took one, but didn’t drink.

“What…?” Shelley tried to start a question, but couldn’t get the words out.

“I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, maybe the girls have friends on the block they can spend the night with?”

Shelley nodded. “Next door. The Levins.” She looked at Josh. “We can take them over,” she added.

Josh was just looking at me. Less than ten minutes ago he had two strangers invade his house, and one of them hold a gun to his head.

“Why don’t you both go. Take them next door, explain to the neighbors there are going to be police cars all over the place in a matter of minutes. Get the kids settled, make kiddush, and then come back. I want to speak with both of you when there’s a chance.”

They nodded and threw some clothes together for the kids. Within five minutes, the four of them headed out the front door. I watched them go to the neighbor’s, and then went back into the kitchen. Without looking at the body on the floor, I pulled a bar stool out from the island in the center of the room and sat down. Mazhar’s semi-automatic was just a few feet from me on the counter, its grip devoid of the magazine, and the slide locked open. I took the clip and single bullet from my jacket pocket and placed both near the gun.

After a few long deep breaths, I ran the confrontation through my mind: disarming the first man, hitting him with the descending elbow, Josh held at gunpoint, baiting the other guy so he moved the gun off of Josh, and shooting the bastard through the head.

Without being conscious of it, these images were replaced with others. Sidon, Lebanon at night, and my four man Sayeret Matkal team hustling through a second floor apartment one block from the harbor. We were hunting a bomb maker. We called him ha-bogair, the Graduate, because he looked like a young Dustin Hoffman.

The bomb maker’s apartment was a series of rooms off a narrow hallway. We were all dressed similarly in jeans, ratty shirts, and kaffiyahs. All four of us were wielding M4 carbines. We divided into two pre-arranged groups of two. Each pair took a different section of the apartment.

Asaf and I went straight ahead. Gal and Eitan went left. We knew exactly where we were going. We had been practicing in a mock-up of this apartment every day for a month. Asaf and I cleared two bedrooms and then moved to the end of the hall. Asaf was a big man – six-four and solid – but moved fluidly and assuredly. I knew the other pair was moving the same way. At the end of the passageway, Asaf and I turned left into a dining room that had dirty white walls, a low, slip-covered sofa and a wooden coffee table. As soon as we entered the room, we froze. We saw another team member backing out of a side room, slowly stepping away from the Graduate. The terrorist had his arm around the neck of our fourth man, Gal, and was pressing a pistol into his head. Ha-bogair saw us and started shouting, first in Arabic then in Hebrew. He ordered us to move back and drop our weapons. He was going to shoot Gal. The man was shouting quickly, almost hysterically. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Gal was trying to stay calm, but he kept looking at me to do something.

The Graduate continued shouting at us, but the team stayed even, pointing their M4s at him. The remaining three team members to include me had fanned out in the dining room, with all of the weapons aimed at one focal point – the bomb maker. But there was no clear shot. The terrorist was using our fourth man as an effective shield. I looked over at Asaf on the far right. He caught my silent signal and started speaking. Take it easy, take it easy. We’re lowering our guns. The three of us did so. Asaf continued: Let him go. We’ll leave. Just let him go. As Asaf spoke and distracted the man, I drew my Glock 19, and aimed it at the Graduate’s head. The bomb maker saw me and began to move his pistol off his hostage.

I fired, but so did he. He must have already been squeezing the trigger as he turned on me. His gun had just cleared his human shield. My nine millimeter hollow point blew into the center of his forehead. His hung there for a millisecond then collapsed. His hostage, Gal, stepped away from him and nodded to me. I nodded back.

There was movement to my right. We turned to see Asaf on the floor, pressing his big hand into the right side of his neck. Blood was spewing everywhere.

The doorbell rang.

I blinked a few times as the Mandels’ kitchen came back into focus.

“Police.” The doorbell rang again.

I got up and moved to the front door. Without hesitating, I opened it to see two large Baltimore City Police officers, each easily a head taller than me. The one on the left was Caucasian, the one on the right African American. “Gentleman, come in,” I said, opening the door wider and motioning for them to enter. Behind them, I saw their parked cruiser with its revolving red and blue lights.

“Step back, please,” the officer on the right said.

I stepped back.

Both officers came in, their hands resting on their service automatics.

“Major Aronson?” the officer on the left asked.

I smiled. That was what the Israeli Army ID in my bottom right desk drawer said. I simply responded, “Yes.” Nate must have given them my rank to help build a sense of brotherhood and authority. I would have thought that rank would not have impressed these guys. If they felt compelled, they would have drawn their weapons regardless of my rank.

They saw the body on the floor in the hallway.

“There’s another in the kitchen,” I offered.

They looked at me. “Have a seat,” the mountain of an officer on the right said, nodding to a dining room chair.

I complied. “There’s also an unloaded semi-automatic on the kitchen counter,” I said to no one in particular. “It’s his.” I looked at the man on the hallway floor.

The Caucasian officer left his partner standing over me and went into the kitchen. He came out ten seconds later, and spoke to his partner: “Just like the report. Body on the floor. Gunshot to the head.”

The African American officer addressed me. “I’m Officer Williams. This is Officer Johns.” He nodded to his partner.

“The Captain specifically asked me to tell you that you’re a pain in the ass.”

“He’s only being complimentary because I’m still alive.”

They both smiled.

“And where are the homeowners, sir?” the Caucasian partner, Johns, asked.

“Rabbi and Mrs. Mandel. Next door, getting their children situated. They’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Captain D’Allesandro asked us to get your statement,” Williams said. “Said it would be good practice since you’ll be telling it again to the detectives.”

I nodded and recounted the events objectively, professionally, without embellishments. By the time I finished, there were more lights flashing through the windows, and Josh and Shelley had returned, still looking very shaken.

Within minutes the Mandel household was filled with activity: cops everywhere, both uniform and plainclothes, as well as EMT’s, and forensic men and women. Josh and Shelley had parked themselves out of the way on a nearby staircase. They were huddled close to each other, with the action swirling around them in their own house.

A few minutes later, as the medical people were examining Mazhur’s body on the floor, a man about fifty walked in. He was wearing a tan blazer over a navy polo shirt. He was about my height with receding close cut salt and pepper hair. It was actually hard to tell where his hair stopped and his scalp started, for his hair was cut nearly to the skin. He was followed by a thirty-something, well dressed man in a black sport coat, white shirt, gray pants, and a lavender tie.

The two men took in the room, walked into the kitchen, then came out a few seconds later. The older man came over to me.

“You couldn’t have shot him in the shoulder or arm?”

“I was aiming for his leg,” I said to him from my chair.

“Jesus, Gidon…”

I stood up and held out my hand. Nate D’Allesandro took it and we pulled each other into a quick one armed hug.

“And on Shabbat, too,” he continued. “No one has respect for anything anymore.”

The younger man, the well dressed thirty-something, stepped closer.

Nate asked: “Remember Matthew…Detective Medrano?”

The younger detective stepped in and we shook hands. I nodded to him. “We met in my dojo.”

Medrano nodded, then asked simply, “What happened?”

I told them, and since I now had plenty of practice, the flow of events sounded even more straightforward than before. When I finished, Nate said to his junior, “Matthew, why don’t you take Mrs. Mandel into the dining room and talk to her. We’ll take the rabbi.”

Medrano went over to the staircase where the Mandels were sitting and led them this way. He asked Shelley to go with him, leaving Josh with us.

I did the introductions. “Josh, this is Captain D’Allesandro. He’s a friend.”

They shook hands.

Nate asked, “Is there a place where we can talk?”

“My study?” He led us to a room off to the right of the main hallway. The study was about the size of the girls’ bedroom upstairs. Two walls had floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled with Hebrew texts and reference books. I recognized several of the oversized volumes as a collection from a Talmud series. There was a desktop populated with papers, a laptop, and several framed pictures. Along the right wall was a small couch, and an armchair. I sat next to Josh on the couch and Nate took the armchair.

“So,” Nate began, “question number one, do you have any idea who these guys are?”

Josh shook his head. “No, never saw them before.”

“They just came to the door, rang the bell,” I said, “and…”

“You’d have to ask Shelley what specifically happened at the front door. I was in the dining room with the girls, setting the table. After a few seconds, Shelley comes in and there are two men with guns in their hands behind her. They told us to go into the kitchen.”

“And you have no idea who they are,” Nate said again.

“Not a clue.”

“What did they say?” Nate followed up.

“Nothing. They just looked at us, moved us together into the kitchen, and then Gidon came to the door,” he looked at me. “Do you think it was a robbery?”

Nate responded: “Don’t know. They didn’t have time to ask for anything,” he looked at me.

“Josh,” I said, “everything okay at the synagogue? No pissed off members or anything?”

“No.”

“Congregation have any money trouble?” from Nate.

“No. Not that I’ve been told.”

“What about you?”

“No.”

“Witness any crimes or serve on a jury lately?”

“No.”

Before we could ask another question, Officer Williams, one of the two officers first on the scene, poked his head in the room. “Captain, the EMT’s are taking the unconscious man to Sinai.”

I thought he probably could’ve used Shock Trauma, but it wasn’t my call.

“Thanks, Officer.”

He left and we turned back to Josh.

“Gidon told me he saw these two men drive past the synagogue earlier today when the three of you were speaking outside. Ever notice them before, hanging around?”

“No. Not that I noticed.”

Nate stood up and Josh and I followed suit. “We’ll figure this out. Let’s see how your wife is doing.”

With that, the three of us headed into the dining room. As we passed the hallway, we caught sight of a stretcher being rolled to the front door. Mazhar, the man who had wielded the Czech pistol, was on his back beneath a white sheet on the stretcher. He had been strapped in and an intravenous line was running to his right arm. The EMT’s lifted the stretcher and carried him through the door.

We walked into the dining room to join Shelley and Detective Medrano at the table.

“How are you doing?” I asked Shelley.

“Better.” A moment passed. “What’s this all about?”

“Don’t know yet,” Nate said. “But we will.”

As I looked at Shelley and Josh, I’m sure they felt all this was surreal. The Shabbat table set beautifully in front of us, white tablecloth, gleaming plates and silverware, the flowers, two loaves of braided challah set on a tray beneath an embroidered cover, two police detectives, me, uniformed officers moving about. Forensics taking photos everywhere and making notations. There was also, perhaps, the body on the floor in the kitchen. Maybe it was still there; maybe not.

Medrano asked, “Do you folks have a place to stay tonight?”

“Here,” Shelley responded.

“This place is a mess,” Nate said. “You don’t need to stay here tonight.” What Nate meant was there was blood on the floor and on the wall in the kitchen and they didn’t need to see that.

“Sleep out tonight,” I suggested, “and let the clean up crew straighten up.” Nate looked at me knowing there was no cleanup crew. He didn’t say anything. “I know it’s Shabbat and you don’t want anyone working here, but it’s extenuating circumstances. Come back tomorrow.”

“Besides,” Medrano said, “your kids are next door.”

Shelley and Josh both nodded.

A young Asian woman in a Baltimore Police Forensics windbreaker came out of the kitchen. She was carrying a small device not much bigger than a large cell phone. She looked at the group, “Major Aronson?”

At then mention of my rank I looked at Nate who just smiled at me, and then turned to the woman, “Over here.”

She turned to me: “I need to get your fingerprints so I can isolate any others on the gun.” The tech must have been processing the Czech pistol I left on the counter. She came over and I held out my right hand. She had me press each finger in turn onto her handheld device. After each digit she tapped an icon on the screen to enter the image and then clear the screen. I was not crazy about logging my fingerprints. I’d rather not be in another database, but realistically it didn’t matter. My fingerprints were already on record in Israel and also here, since every teacher has to be fingerprinted and I was an active substitute where Katie worked.

“Thank you,” the tech said and walked back into the kitchen.

At the thought of Katie, it occurred to me that I needed to let her know that the evening’s timetable had changed.

“Excuse me,” I said standing up.

I moved into the hallway, pulling out my cell phone. “Hey there,” I said once she picked up. “I’m going to be later than I thought.”

“Okay. You still at dinner?”

“Well,” I hesitated for a moment, then gave her an abridged version of what happened…I just said I was able to stop two intruders.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Except for the dead guy and the unconscious guy.

“Do you want me to come by?”

That was very sweet.

“No. Thank you, though. I’ll be here a few or hours yet, and then I’ll come by.”

“I’ll wait up for you.”

“Thanks. See you in a bit.” I hung up.

By the time I got back to the living room, Nate, Medrano, and the Mandels were standing.

“The Mandels are going to gather a few things and go next door,” Nate offered.

With that Josh and Shelley headed out of the room.

Once they were out of earshot the three of us looked at each other. “This was not a robbery,” I said.

Nate nodded.

“It was a hit.”

“You don’t know that,” Medrano said.

“It was a hit,” I said again. “And I’ll talk to the Mandels after tomorrow.”

“Why after tomorrow?” Medrano asked.

“After Shabbat,” Nate responded. “Let them relax tomorrow if they can.”

“I have a license plate for you,” I said. “The Buick that cruised by the synagogue this afternoon.”

“And was carrying these two guys.”

I nodded and gave them the Virginia plate. “I didn’t get a good look at the driver.”

“If this car is a rental,” Nate was thinking of the Virginia license plate, “maybe the agency has a camera in their office. We may be able to get an image of the driver.”

Unless it was one of these two guys who rented the car, I thought.

“Unless it was one of these two guys who rented the car,” Nate said. “We’ll find out.”

In a few minutes, the Mandels came down the steps. Josh had a small shoulder bag, and Shelley a large knitting-type bag.

“Thank you for everything,” Josh said. He shook my hand as well as Nate’s and Medrano’s. “There’s gotta be a way to work this into my sermon tomorrow,” he smiled.

Shelley came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“We’ll walk you out,” I said.

We headed to the front door. On the way over, Josh handed me a key. “To the front door. It’s a spare. Just lock it when everyone’s finished. If you don’t mind.”

I nodded, and we escorted them out.

As soon as we stepped outside, we were faced with a small crowd milling about. They must have been neighbors drawn by the three cop cars with their lights still flashing. Josh and Shelley moved down the walk and were immediately surrounded by their friends. I could hear Josh say, “Everything’s okay.”

Nate, Medrano, and I watched them from the stoop, trying to get next door.

I looked at Nate.

“What?” he asked.

“You know.”

“Yeah.”

“This was not someone’s A Team.”

“What do you mean?”

“The guys panicked. They should have shot the rabbi or Shelley right away. Then walked out.”

Medrano said, “You surprised them.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe it was something else,” Nate commented.

“Maybe,” I said.

We stepped inside the house. By now, the uniformed officers were filing out, and the forensics people were packing up. Medrano peeled off to speak with one of the uniformed cops, and Nate and I walked into the kitchen. The body had been removed, but there was an eight inch pool of drying blood on the floor plus splatter on the wall.

“You know there’s no cleanup crew,” Nate said. “You told Mrs. Mandel that a cleanup team would come.”

“You’re looking at it. I can’t leave this for them and they wouldn’t let me take care of it, if I offered.”

“Let’s find a mop and bucket.”

With that, Nate and I looked around to see what we could find. In the back of the house there was a laundry area where we found a pail, some rags, and cleaning supplies. It wasn’t a big job. After donning some vinyl gloves Nate had for handling evidence, I cleaned the splotch on the floor, and Nate took care of the spray on wall.

“By the way,” he said as he finished up and looked at me, “nice job. You saved their lives. Very clean. Glad you remember all that Sayeret shit.”

I nodded, thinking that it worked this time.

Nate had just finished with the wall when Medrano walked in. He looked at Nate, gloves on his hands and holding a rag. “Mr. Clean, I presume?”

“Medrano, if you did stuff like this for your girlfriends, you’d get laid more often.”

The three of us laughed. Well, not so much Medrano.

Nate and I put the cleaning paraphernalia away, sealed the rags in a trash bag, and headed out with Medrano. We were the last to leave. On the stoop, I pulled the door shut and locked the deadbolt.

“Call you tomorrow, if I have anything,” Nate offered.

“Thanks.”

With that, we left. They headed off in separate vehicles, and I crossed the street toward my Jeep. On the other side, near where I had first spotted the three guys in the Buick, I saw a bottle of Merlot lying sideways on the ground. It was right where I had left it. I smiled, picked it up, and continued on.

The ride to Katie’s took thirty minutes. It was now pushing 1 AM and the evening’s events were beginning to finally drain me. I pulled into Katie’s driveway on an old tree lined street, and parked behind her sky blue Mustang. Looking up at her two story home, I saw a dim light on in her second floor bedroom.

In a matter of seconds I was upstairs and watching her from the doorway. The overhead fixture was off, and Katie was in bed on top of the covers, reading by the light of a table lamp. She was wearing a large Kermit the Frog T-shirt that went down to mid-thigh and nothing else. Her bare legs were crossed at the ankles. My fatigue was rapidly disappearing.

“Hi there.”

“Hey,” she put down her book.

I went to the bed and kissed her very sweet lips. “Thanks for waiting up.”

“Of course. So, it was Gidon to the rescue?”

I shrugged. “How was your dinner?”

“Excellent. You’d like the place. Had some great vegetarian dishes. But don’t distract me…you saved the day.”

“So who’d you go with?”

“Tammi. She says hello. Now tell me what happened. You left out the details.”

“Yes, I did.”

I started peeling off my clothes.

“Did you ever eat?”

“No. Now get rid of the book and turn off the light.”