Chapter III

hief of Police Walter Bension was an affable sort of man, a grandfather type, and had been on the force for a long time.  He was comfortable in his job and good at it as well.  He did not know of any enemies on the police force, but did have a couple of officers under his leadership that resented him.

He had no idea as to the reason.  But Russell Adams was a good officer and didn't mind the Chief knowing he didn't care too much for him.  He was friendly at all the functions yet there was that feeling which gave off negative vibes.

Chief Bension had made up in his mind that he would never allow himself to be where his only line of defense would be officer Adams.  The Chief also would not know about a connection that Adams had with a detective who used to work for the SCPD.  The Chief had fired him, and then was involved in some kind of fracas in Nevada in which the detective was killed.

The man was none other than Sgt. Chris James.  The Chief had actually arrested the detective for some unscrupulous goings on when he and another man, his rookie sidekick, Damon Nix, had ransacked someones house.  Officer Adams did not hold with that, but, he was still a nephew to the detective.

But the part that was a thorn under the saddle of the Chief, is Adams wanted his job.  And he was not bashful about his comments of the Chief becoming "a little old" for the job.  He never wasted a chance at patting himself on the back, making himself look good at the Chiefs expense.

But the Chief did not respond to such petty things, nor would he lend any attention to the matter.  He had far too many things to keep him busy than to fuss with Adams' pettiness.  And this bugged Adams.  It's tough to keep pestering someone if they won't respond.

When the Chief got the call from Lane Wardlow for lunch, he heartily accepted.  As they finished their meal, Lane began to notice a certain man looking in their general direction . . . a lot.  He inquired to the Chief as to the identity of the man, the Chief casually looked around.  "Yeah, I know him.  I think he's going to be a bur in my saddle too.  His name is Tack Guinn, an over zealous ATF agent.

"He's not liked in any circle he's ever been involved with" the Chief continued.  "He's getting pretty old and I don't know if he's going for a promotion or just going out with a bang.  I got a memo from Stamler this morning to look out for him.  Has a nasty reputation."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hearing.  Melinda noticed a bug in her desk this morning right after she caught him rifling through her desk drawers.  He didn't seem to put much effort forward to be friends with any of the team" Lane then continued.

"They think he might be here in search of the weapons.  I guess that you know of which weapons I'm referring?"

"Yeah, but I haven't seen them since I placed them in the briefcase.  It was with me until I gave it to you.  I'm thinking you were with it the whole time it was waiting for the courier.  So they must still be right where they were deposited.

"Well, this whole thing is wrapped in strange events.  First William started having flashbacks, then Tack shows up out of the blue, bugs Melindas' desk, and no telling how many other bugs he's placed.  He threatened William with an ongoing murder investigation and included Len.  I think it is only a matter of time before he approaches you.  In the meantime, I think it would be expedient to sweep anyplace you might be in conference with someone."

"Oh boy" The Chief rolled his eyes in disbelief.  "Is this thing ever going to be over with?"

"I don't know, but I'll sure be glad if we can ever get it put to bed forever!" Lane said.  "Until then, I feel there is an element against the safety of any and all included," Lane finished as his phone rang.  "Excuse me Chief."

Lanes' demeanor took on a severe change while he listened.  Then he responded to the caller "I see.  I think this is a matter of grave importance.  Keep a lid on this until I can confab with you.  OK.  Later."

"For some reason, I felt the urge to find out about the weapons in question he said,"  "So I contacted Judge Baker who immediately signed a warrant to have the vault inspected.  The briefcase was there, still locked, but it was empty . . ."  He trailed off to get the Chiefs response.

After studying the situation intensely for a few seconds, the Chief said "Now that doesn't look too good does it?  Where is the breach of trust located?"

"I haven't the slightest idea.  But for some reason, I feel that Tack has some connections or some inside information," Lane paused, then looked up into the eyes of Tack himself.

"Having a confab to get your stories straight gentlemen?" he said, a deliberate taunt to his voice.

"We don't cotton to smart-alecks around here Tack, so watch your step.  Do you hear me? the Chief growled.

"Don't expend the effort of trying bluff me down Chief.  I've been an agent too long, and I can have you up on charges in a heartbeat.  I'm expecting full cooperation with you and all your department.  I'll mosey around tomorrow to get started.  In the meantime, I have a writ in my pocket to have that vault opened.  Any idea as to what I'll find?  Or Not find?"

"Tack, before you start throwing your weight around, I advise you to make sure you've got your ducks in a row or I'll come down on you hard.  You are excused, so get out of here before I take you down myself and arrest you!"  Chief Bension was raising his voice and the whole cafe could hear what was being said.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you Chief.  But keep this in mind:  You are not above the law" Tack said.  He then strolled casually to the cash register, stuck a toothpick in his mouth and stood nonchalantly waiting for the cashier to accept his payment.

"Well, I wonder what's going to go down when it gets out about those weapons?" Lane asked quietly.

"I don't have the faintest clue, but I sure dread it.  Well, I gotta run Lane.  Thanks for lunch."

"You bet.  I'll keep you posted" said Lane as he signed the ticket, dropped a good tip on the table and walked out the door toward his car.  Tack was leaning on the door of his car and would have to be moved for Lane to get in.

"Tack, are you just naturally this obnoxious or did they train you to be that way?" Lane asked.  He stepped up to within reaching distance of Tack, but the smaller man did not move.  He just stood there, legs crossed and a cocky grin on his face.

"I'll only tell you once to move," Lane said.  "Then I'll move you."

"Whoa now big fellow," said Tack as he turned his flat palm to Lane.  "I don't want to have to press charges on you for assaulting a Federal officer now right off the start.  Talk to me a little."

"Tack, I have no patience with you, and your threats don't worry me," and he stepped forward.  In less than a second, he crumpled at the feet of the federal officer.

The next thing he knew, it was dark, it was hot and the sound of dripping water with an echo told him he was in a cave somewhere.  He was extremely thirsty and his head pounded with a furious headache.  Bound hand foot, he was in some kind of chair.  He was having difficulty breathing with the tape over his mouth.

"Well now, I think you may be a little more willing to cooperate now that you've had an attitude adjustment."  Tack was proud of himself.  He had in his complete control a very nice trophy with which he could leverage the others into cooperation at his slightest whim.

Lane winced as the duct tape was pulled from his face.  "It looks like all the rotten things I've heard about the ATF are true.  You can't get anything out of me because I know nothing," he finished.

"Well now, that's for me to decide, and for you to figure out.  Besides, you don't even know what I'm looking for.  But yes, you are definitely involved!  You, and your Chief of Police buddy and your FBI friends as well.  I'm sure you would know that by now you can't go awry of the law with impunity."

Tack was pouring it on, thick and heavy.  But all he was doing was an effort to rile Lane to the point of tearing him apart with his bare hands.  Lane didn't know who had hit him in the back of the head, but he was sure someone would have seen the fracas.

And he was right.  But they didn't report it.  It wasn't until Sharon went looking around and questioning people around there that she learned what happened.  A cashier was taking a cigarette break across the street, and saw the big man take the hit and crumple.  He was loaded into his own car and driven off.

The thug left Lanes' car out on the beach in plain sight of the 101 Freeway.  When Len found it, the doors were not locked and there was blood on the back seat.  Tack had guessed right about a locater device on for just this purpose, and had deliberately placed the car there to throw followers off the chase.

But the thug working in cahoots with Tack cost the ATF agent his prize.  He had stripped Lane of his clothes because of the same reason, possibly containing some kind of tracker device.  But he had stolen Lanes watch and a credit card.  In the watch was the tracking device, and an alert directed Len and company to the place where it was used.

Instead of going in with guns blazing, they casually mingled with the people in the business until they had him singled out.  He was "bumped" accidently, by Sharon and she inserted a tracker in his coat pocket as she apologized profusely and straightened out his coat.

It would be a couple of hours before the mark would travel back to the cave.  But there they would find what was left of a person under subjection to the ATF when they were "questioning" someone.  Lanes' face was beaten to a pulp.  His eyes were swelled almost shut.  One arm was dislocated at the shoulder and a knee cap had been dislocated as well.

Lane was in grave condition, unable to speak.  He was suffering a concussion from the severe blow to the back of his head, and the beating at Tacks' hand had only worsened the situation.  It would be two days before he woke up.  During that period of time he was under guard.  One guard was inside the room, another was outside the room.  And there was a third agent in the aisle straight across, feigning a broken arm . . .

If the guard outside the room was disturbed, the attacker would be accosted from across the hall.  Outside of iron bars, it was all they could come up with on just short notice.

Tack would have two days protection.  The instant Lane woke up and talked, Tack would be in trouble . . . that is, if he woke up.

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