Adrian, Natalie and I drove over to Columbus Avenue in North Beach, and took lunch at Dorothy's Diner, at Union Street and Columbus Avenue on the southwest corner of Washington Square Park.
This section of Columbus happens to be full of Italian restaurants, and well, typically, the selection can be a bit overwhelming to a newcomer to this part of San Francisco, because, well, let's face it, there are just too many good restaurants to choose from. Not helping the case is the fact that almost all of them have someone standing outside their door like a carnival baker, doing everything short of pulling an assault rifle on you and dragging you into the restaurant. Dorothy's Diner is like a rare exception.
Adrian, Natalie and I were seated in our usual table by the window, looking out onto Columbus Avenue. The bloodshed we'd seen that morning wouldn't put me off from enjoying my usual, a juicy bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake.
"I just have to admit I find this case very exciting," I said, "CEO of Intertect turns out to be a ruthless murderer. It could be the case of the century."
"Kendra, you find every case exciting," Adrian said.
"I'm flirting with you, Adrian," I said, "Is it not legal for me to flirt with my own husband?"
"It's not illegal," Adrian said, "Still, we heard your dad, Kendra. Douglas O'Donnell is a member of the police commission, even if he's no longer a cop. So the standard of proof to catch him is much higher than other crooks."
"We should try to find out who his accomplices in the job were," Natalie said.
"Exactly," Adrian said, "That's provided he doesn't kill them before we can get to them."
I sighed.
"How many accomplices would there even be, Adrian?" I asked.
"Depends on how you interpret the word accomplice, Kendra," Adrian said, "I think the better word is 'conspirators'. And I'd say that depending on circumstances, there would have to be at least five, maybe six, at minimum. I mean, let's go over what we know: we know that Melissa Carney, killed this morning, has to be one of the conspirators. She would be the inside woman who supplied information about that armored car's route and maybe even its contents."
"That's at least one of them," Natalie said.
"Of course, that money might be brand new and thus easy to trace," Adrian continued, "So, I think they'll want to get rid of it as fast as possible."
"Who do we look for?" I asked.
"O'Donnell is probably going to have the money laundered," Adrian said, "He and his conspirators probably have some way of keeping the money in their hands that makes it look like legitimate income. They might take it to the casinos, the racetracks, maybe engage in moving drugs across town. Vice and the DEA might come in handy to help us out."
"It does sound like a lot of work," I said.
"That's how cases like this typically work, Kendra," Adrian said, "It's lot of sitting at your desk going through paperwork. It's not exactly a bunch of gunfights and assault rifle-wielding bad guys, and explosions, and passionate make out sessions."
I smiled at Adrian. "Except we still have the highest body counts of anyone in the department."
"Which is also true," Adrian said. He looked down at his hands, looking like he was eager to change the subject. Then he straightened up, like he'd just realized something. "I just realize, Kendra, that your birthday's on Sunday, and Natalie, yours is next Tuesday."
"Ah, with all these murders we seem to have forgotten about our personal lives," I said. "Do you have any sort of gift or presents planned for either of us?"
"Not quite," Adrian said, "I don't know what your dad's planning on giving you."
"You're a detective, Adrian," I said, grinning at him.
"It might be jewelry," Adrian said, "The odds of course, of that being the case, are 2 to the power 3,079,460,347 to one against."
"What makes you think my dad's giving me jewelry?" I asked.
"There was a small box on his desk yesterday," Adrian said, "The box looked about the size of a jewelry box. Off its size, I'd say it's probably going to be a necklace or a new set of earrings."
"I could use new earrings," I said, "Hopefully nothing fancy or too ostentatious."
"They certainly make you a bit more of a stunner," Adrian said.
"I'm already a stunner," I said, "To you, at least." Adrian and I chuckled. "Of course, I think I might be also inclined to think we were going to go out to dinner at some fancy restaurant for my birthday."
"If that's what you want, Kendra," Adrian replied, "It can be arranged."
When we were finished with lunch, we stepped out onto Columbus Avenue. Just as we were about to get into our car, Adrian suddenly stopped.
"What?" Natalie asked.
Adrian pointed at the Beneke Fabricators van parked in front of our car.
"Why are you pointing at that van?" Natalie asked.
"That van arrived here fifteen minutes ago," Adrian said.
"So?" I asked.
"Kendra, Natalie, the engine's running," Adrian said. I looked, and sure enough, there was exhaust coming out of the tailpipes.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It's been idling here for this whole time," Adrian said, "No one's gotten out of the vehicle. And come on, Beneke Fabricators? Seriously?" he pointed at the decal printed on the side of the doors.
That was when the traffic light turned green. The van suddenly shot forward, cut straight in front of traffic, and screeched to a stop, in the middle of the intersection, cutting off a Mercedes Maybach traveling the opposite direction.
Almost just as fast, a brown Chevrolet Express van with the logo for 'Bay Bridge Begonias' rear-ended the Maybach from behind, partially crumpling its trunk area.
Pretty much every pedestrian had stopped what they were doing and was staring at the two vans and the Maybach.
Suddenly, the side door on the Beneke van flew open and two men piled out, as did the van's driver. They both had leather jackets on, and they all had weapons. The driver appeared to be 6'1", with sandy hair. He was carrying a submachine gun in his hand. His comrades were a guy who stood about the same height as him, but had brown hair and lengthy sideburns on his face; and the other was a black guy about 5'9" tall. They also had submachine guns and holstered pistols, with the submachine guns being the weapons they had drawn.
Immediately, I heard at least one pedestrian scream and a couple of people get out their cell phones.
"Somebody call the cops!" I heard a bystander say.
Natalie grabbed her cell phone from her purse and pressed a number on her speed dial. It wasn't 911. We only call them when we're the ones discovering a body or someone needs medical help. No, Natalie's cell phone is special. Here's an example of what her phone is capable of: if you press the * key, then type in the number 1-1-9-9, then press the button for 'call', it will transmit an 'officer needs help' call to the dispatcher, who then will dispatch units to our location. Which is exactly what Natalie typed into her phone in this case. She typed in the 'officer needs help' code instead of the code for a perp with a gun because when an 'officer needs help' goes out on the radio, standard procedure is that every available unit in the area not preoccupied has to respond to your location.
The moment Natalie put her phone back in her purse after making the call to dispatch, was the same moment that the gunmen from the first van raised their guns and fired on the car.
Adrian, Natalie and I instinctively ducked down behind our car. All three of us also drew our pistols.
"Damn!" I said.
The gunmen were firing into the windshield. I had to imagine that right now, the driver was probably being riddled with bullets, gangster-style.
"Stay down!" Adrian said.
I instinctively flinched and moved closer to Adrian.
"This must be a mob hit!" I said.
We continued to stay hunkered down until the automatic gunfire had subsided.
One of the gunmen marched over to the rear passenger's door of the car. He placed his submachine gun on the roof of the car and had brandished a sledgehammer.
"We're so useless here!" Natalie said. She slowly stood up.
"Natalie, what are you doing?" Adrian said.
"We can't let whoever's in there get killed!" she said.
That was when we heard a loud crack. Adrian and I popped up to take a look. The gunman with the sledgehammer had taken a swing at the rear passenger window. It had cracked and splintered from where the sledgehammer had made contact.
"He's breaking into the car!" Natalie said.
She immediately broke cover and sprinted towards the gunman.
"Come on!" Adrian said. He and I broke cover as well.
The guy with the sledgehammer failed to see Natalie running up behind him, knife in her right hand. Without warning, she jumped onto him, throwing him against the side of the car. She then fired her pistol, putting a bullet through the man's back, and pushed him to the ground.
"Jimmy!" the second gunman shouted.
As the henchman fell, that gunman ran over and aimed his rifle at Natalie. He would avenge his fallen comrade. Or, had it not been for what happened next, he would have.
"Kendra!" Adrian said.
I shot that gunman just a split second before he would have shot Natalie. As he staggered back, he fired his gun, and I shot him twice. The automatic rifle-wielding gunman ran around the car, ready to avenge his comrades. Adrian, Natalie and I got our pistols out first and shot him before that could happen. The rifleman fell dead, four bullets in his body.
I could hear sirens in the distance. The van parked behind the Maybach suddenly reversed about two car lengths, pushing back the pickup truck that had been stopped behind it. Natalie stood up and brushed herself off. All three of us trained our pistols at the van.
"Adrian, do we shoot at them?" Natalie asked Adrian.
"Yes," he said.
We opened fire on the driver as he made a U-turn to face the opposite direction. The van then rocketed away, off into the distance. We continued shooting at it until our guns each clicked empty.
Natalie didn't look like she was pleased that the dead gunmen's accomplices were fleeing.
"Argh!" she said, stomping her foot in frustration as the first patrol cars showed up.
"They can't get far, Natalie," Adrian said, "We'll find them."
Natalie took several deep breaths.
The entire intersection was roped off with crime scene tape. A forensics unit was on scene within 20 minutes of the shooting to process the scene. Adrian, Natalie and I were leaning against the side of our car, watching the forensics technicians that were crawling all over both the remaining van and the Maybach, being dusted for fingerprints and taking photographs of both the vehicles and the dead bodies of the gunmen we'd killed. I didn't have to look at her face to know that Natalie was somewhat upset about what happened. Some of the gunmen had escaped and were probably going to have another go. I couldn't really blame her. As we watched, I could see my dad conversing with some cops looking at the van, and another of my dad's colleagues, Lieutenant Randy Disher, was standing by the ambulance, talking to the couple that was sitting in the backseat when the car had been ambushed.
"I hate this," Natalie said.
"Murder never is," Adrian said, "So is attempted murder."
"Yeah, well, this has been a very busy day, Adrian," Natalie said, "We don't usually get many days like that."
"Natalie, this is San Francisco," Adrian said. "If we were in Chicago, this would be called 'a typical Southwest side Monday'."
Natalie smiled.
My dad came over to us.
"Well this job doesn't get any easier," he said.
"It never does," Adrian said.
"So who's the lovely couple in the ambulance?" Natalie asked, pointing to the couple that Disher was questioning.
"You're not going to like it," my dad said, "Paddy McClellan and his wife Nicole. He's the chairman of El Dorado Trust."
"The banking firm?" Adrian asked.
"Yeah, that one," my dad said. "They have, like, ten branches in the city and hundreds more nationwide."
"Oh," Adrian said. Natalie and I looked at him.
"That's a new one," I said.
"What about the van?" Natalie asked.
"We're running the plates right now," my dad said, "I wouldn't be surprised if it's stolen."
"It probably is," Adrian said.
There was a crowd of people being kept a safe distance back by the uniformed officers who'd responded. As far as I could tell, they seemed to be looking at the cops doing their job as if it were the most unusual thing to see bodies lying in the middle of the street.
"This is going to be a circus," Adrian said, "I can smell that it's going to be a circus from here."
"Anything you can do about that?" Natalie asked.
"Not really, Natalie," Adrian said, "Kendrick has some influence over what gets out to the press, but not much. This is the chairman of one of the largest banks in the country who just almost got assassinated. The press are going to be all over this one, and I can guarantee it."
"Knowing the press, they're probably going to try seeking out the first videotape of this incident that they can find," I said, "So they can sensationalize it and titillate every viewer."
"I guess, for now, the only thing we can do is check out the identities of those who've died," Adrian said, "If this was done on Douglas O'Donnell's orders and it's frankly looking like that, considering we know he robbed that armored car, I'd like to know who these guys are so we can possibly locate other conspirators."
"Are we sure it's O'Donnell?" Natalie asked.
"The violent nature of the crime seems to make me think that," Adrian said.
Adrian, Natalie and I walked over to a forensic tech who was checking the wallet removed from the pocket of one of the dead hitmen.
"Got names, Becky?" Adrian asked one of the forensics techs.
"Yeah," Becky said. "All three had their wallets and IDs on hand."
"What are their names?" I asked.
"This one here with the bullet wound to the back is Jimmy McGoohan," she answered, "That one's Charles Maguire. The guy with the rifle is Mark O'Reilly."
"Oh," Adrian said. "All of them Intertect investigators, right?"
"Yes, sir," Becky said, "Well, we found IDs with the Intertect logo in their wallets, so that's a safe assumption."
"Just as I thought," Adrian said. His glance now fell on the car. We'd been so focused on just what had happened that we'd forgotten for a moment that when we saw the gunmen firing into the car, they were shooting into the windshield, and that from where they were shooting, whoever was sitting in the front seat almost certainly was dead. I took a look. Sitting in the driver's seat and in the passenger's seat were two men in peaked caps, who I immediately deduced to be the McClellans' driver and bodyguard, or rather, what used to be the McClellans' driver and bodyguard. Now they were riddled with bullets all over their bodies and both the windows and the bulletproof partition that separated the drivers from the backseat were covered in blood.
"Oh my god," Natalie said.
"It's like somebody with a love for bloodshed was here," I said. I was disgusted by what I saw. "Who the hell would do something like this?"
Adrian sighed. "I don't know, Kendra. I can tell you that they are, however, fairly efficient and very ruthless. Bloody and brutal."
"Ruthless?" Natalie asked.
"Well the driver seems to have been shot at least seventeen to twenty-one times," he said, "At least seven of them are in the head alone. He probably died instantly. I'd say the guy riding shotgun got the same number of bullets in his body, too," Adrian said, "That's kinda the definition of ruthless in my book."
"So they shot the drivers. Why use a sledgehammer to break the windows?" Natalie asked. She still looked disgusted by what had happened.
"I think because of the partition here," Adrian said, pointing to the partition that divided the driver's seat from the backseat. It appeared to be made of bulletproof Plexiglas, and isolated the chauffeurs from the passenger who got to afford the luxury of riding in a reclining, heated, double-quilted, nubeck leather backseat, the San Francisco Chronicle spread out on their cherrywood desk while Miss NBC played herself on one of four flatscreen TV sets.
"So, since the bullets failed to go through the partition," I said, "They tried breaking into the car with their sledgehammers, Mr. McGoohan at least."
"Yeah, he was," Adrian replied. He sighed. "In fact, had it not been for your intervening right then, Natalie, I think that they would have pulled the passengers out of the car, thrown them to the ground, then executed them with bullets to the back of the head."
Natalie looked even more pissed. But she seemed rather calm about it.
"Oh, Jesus, I want to kill these guys," she said to herself.
"Natalie, they're dead," I said, "Can't kill them any further."
"I'm talking about whoever was in that van that fled the scene," she said, "I want to find them, and kill them, and Douglas O'Donnell."
"Natalie, we're cops, not guns-for-hire," Adrian said.
Natalie took a deep breath.
"Right," she said, "For a moment, I forgot."
"I have to admit Natalie's right," I said, "If this is Douglas O'Donnell's work, then we're going to have to go to the mattresses. We're going to have to go to war with him."
"You make a compelling argument, Kendra," Adrian said.
"Thanks," I said. He quickly kissed me. I felt a nice electric jolt going through my body.
"Oh, that hits the spot," I said.
"Now, let's go check out the van."
We walked around the Maybach, where forensics techs were photographing the stolen van.
"I don't think they planned to use this vehicle to flee the scene," Adrian said.
"How do you know that?" Natalie asked.
"There's enough damage to the front of the van to make it impossible to drive. The engine area's caved in."
"That's helpful," Natalie said.
Adrian popped open the driver's side door and climbed in to look around. I think the speed of his deduction must've set a record. In twenty seconds, he climbed out, looking somewhat at ease.
"Anything?" I asked.
"No surprise, the van is stolen," Adrian said, "Probably yesterday, on Post Street, two or so blocks west of Montgomery Street. I could probably describe the original owner, but that's not the point. The point is that this van and the other van were stolen yesterday by people who knew what they were doing, for the purpose of staging an ambush. The fact that they willingly left the van here suggests we aren't going to find prints."
I knew the van was stolen. But how could Adrian in ten seconds pinpoint the exact location and time of the theft?
"Explain, please," Natalie said.
"Oh," Adrian said, looking perplexed. "Sorry, ladies, I forgot you sometimes are a bit slow to catch up. Whoever normally drives this van maintains the leather on a regular basis. He also doesn't leave behind any litter or crumbs, compared to some people."
"Yeah, right," I said, "What about pinpointing the location of the theft?"
Adrian produced a single square of white paper with black printing, centered on the dashboard. Natalie and I read it.
"It's a pay and display receipt," I said.
"The owner probably would never leave an unused receipt on his own van, so he was still using the receipt at the time of the theft."
Sure enough, in black-and-white, there it was on the receipt-the parking area, the date and time the ticket was issued, and the expected duration of the stay. Sometimes, brilliance really can be simple.
"So," Natalie said, "What was the gunmen's plan? A Tommy gun ambush? Mob assassination?"
"Do I look like a psychic, Natalie?" Adrian asked. "I can't mind-read dead people."
"Sorry," she said.
Adrian sighed.
"I'm banking on a shooting, since all three of the guys had guns. All we know is that they probably cased this route beforehand. They'd timed when the chief's car would show up. When that happened, they were to use the vans to box the car in. Upon getting out, McGoohan and O'Reilly fired into the driver's compartment to kill the driver and the bodyguard, to get rid of any armed resistance."
He turned to Natalie.
"I imagine that, once they were certain they had the driver and bodyguard neutralized, they were going to do the same to the McClellans. They even left the engine running, suggesting that both vans were going to then flee the scene and be long gone before the first squad car could arrive."
"And only one of them got away," she said.
"Because we killed everyone who was in that van, Natalie," I said. "They're probably going to dump the other one as soon as possible."
"We need to talk to the McClellans," Adrian said, "I want to know where they were coming from and where they were going. And I think I want to know how many people knew his planned movements."
"You might be right," Natalie said, "Let's do it now while they're still here."
The McClellans were still sitting in the back of the ambulance, both of them wearing shock blankets. Paddy McClellan looked scared to death, as did his wife Nicole. I think this was the first time they'd been ambushed by people who weren't hesitant about killing. I sure hoped it wouldn't affect how people looked at them.
"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. McClellan," she said, "How are you two doing?" To me, that sounded awkward. After all, we'd just killed a couple of bad guys in front of these two and now we were trying to question these two about what exactly they could have done to justify being targeted by Douglas O'Donnell. So she was speaking with all the casualness of someone talking to their barber.
"How am I doing? I'm kinda shocked that I've been targeted by terrorists," Paddy said, "On the other hand, I'm grateful that you saved our lives."
"Thank you," Natalie said, "It's so rewarding to be thanked when we save someone's life."
"Usually, people are very ungrateful," Adrian said, "So self-centered."
"Are you trying to ask me questions here?" Paddy asked.
"We identified the van," I said, pointing to the van, "It was stolen a few days ago from a small company office on Post Street downtown."
"We also identified the three gunmen who tried to kill you," Adrian said, "Charles Maguire, Jimmy McGoohan and Matthew Costello. Any of those names ring a bell?"
Paddy shook his head.
"No," he said.
"Well we're checking to see right now who might have sent them to kill you," I said, "Do you have any enemies, Mr. McClellan? Or have you received any threats lately?"
"I'm the chairman of a bank," Paddy said. "There are probably hundreds of unhappy people who want me dead every day. Going through that list would be like reading a phone book."
"Or they could be trying to send a message to you," I said.
"They could be," Paddy said.
"Where were you before what's happened here?" Natalie asked.
"We were having lunch downtown with some friends of ours," Nicole said.
"What friends?" Adrian asked.
"Douglas O'Donnell," Nicole said, "He's been a close friend of ours for years."
"Really?" Adrian asked. "Has he ever been to your house?"
"Many times," Paddy said.
"So were you on your way home?" Adrian asked.
"No, we were on our way to an art gallery at the Wharf to meet some friends," Nicole replied. "Are you, like, accusing Mr. O'Donnell of trying to have us killed?"
"No, but we're trying to determine if he had knowledge of your movements," Adrian said, "Look, we'll keep you posted if anything comes up. I think in the meantime you two should probably be taken to the hospital to be checked out."
That was when Natalie's cell phone rang.
"Hello?" she asked. "Look, I'm busy right now. Some bank chairman almost got killed." She listened carefully. I saw her facial expression turn to one of shock. "Oh, my goodness. We'll be right there."
She hung up.
"They just found the other van," Natalie said, "In an alley on Wetmore Street."
"That's great," I said, "Actually, that was very fast. It's not even been 45 minutes since the attack."
"That's not all," Natalie said.
"What?" Adrian asked.
"All of its occupants are dead," Natalie said.
A/N: If this action sequence seems familiar, that's because it's based on the opening sequence of the movie version of Patriot Games, when Harrison Ford's Jack Ryan thwarts an attempted assassination of a member of the royal family by a group of Irish terrorists. The only difference is that in the original version, the protagonist got shot and one of the terrorists was captured. Here, all of the gunmen who participated in the assassination attempt are killed, while Adrian, Kendra and Natalie aren't shot. Also, Adrian, Kendra and Natalie already have guns to begin with while Ryan was unarmed when he thwarted the attack in the movie, only getting a gun from a terrorist he disarmed.