Buried Treasure Ch. 41-45

Agent-In-Charge Tim Needle's POV

Oakland International Airport

Our plane had landed just after four in the afternoon local time, and I still hadn't been told what the operation was. As our customized transport taxied to a remote section of the airport, I looked over my men with pride. Commanding the FBI's elite Hostage Rescue Team was the pinnacle of my career in Special Operations, more satisfying than my time in Delta Force. We were the civilian equivalent of military Special Forces, but we were better because we stayed together longer. We trained and operated overseas with Navy Seals, Army Green Berets and Delta Force, Marine Corps Scout Snipers and Air Force Combat Air Controllers. Right now, some of the Training group was in Israel working with a Special Reconnaissance Platoon in how to storm airplanes and buses held by terrorists. The other half of the training group was in England updating parachute assault tactics with the Special Air Service.

The Team was divided into three groups that rotated on a 120-day cycle. One would be in training, one would be in Support, and the third would be Operational. The Operational group was expected to be able to respond anywhere in the continental United States within four hours of a phone call.

That phone call came just after noon today. We were at our headquarters in Quantico, just finishing lunch after morning physical and weapons training. We geared up and were wheels up on the FBI jet in less than thirty minutes.

My Team had been on this rotation for the last four weeks and had deployed to six times. Other than being fooled by the Sons of Tezcatlipoca's disappearance at their safe house in Florida, we'd had a good record thus far. Our sniper team ended a bank robbery turned hostage situation in western Minnesota. Our group supported three hostage situations resulting in peaceful surrenders and arrested a man holding members of a church group hostage without injuries.

I just hoped we'd see action this time.

The plane came to a stop, and a portable stairway drove over. A man in a suit ran up as soon as they were in place, and the door opened long enough for him to come inside. He was a senior law enforcement agent, but I didn't recognize him. "Tim Needles, Hostage Rescue Team Leader," I said as I shook his hand.

"Drug Enforcement Agency Director Frank Grimes, Los Angeles," he said. "Gather your men; I only want to do this once. I'm going to need complete operational security on this; anyone with a cellphone turns it off and turns it in now. No phone calls are to be made or received by your team. I'm the only contact, and I'm with you until this is over."

I nodded, leading him to an area in the middle of the plane with a table and multiple computers we used for in-flight briefings. One of my guys collected the phones, putting them in a drawer. Director Grimes pulled some maps out of his briefcase along with a laptop. One of my guys hooked it to the screens, while he spread out a map of a warehouse near the docks in Oakland. "I received a tip this morning that the Sons of Tezcatlipoca's Bay Area chapter is receiving a large shipment of drugs this evening at the warehouse they own in Oakland," he said.

"The Sons? Fucking bastards," one of my guys said.

"You know them?"

"Missed them a week back, they slipped away before we arrived. We're familiar with what they did in Florida," I said. "I'd love another shot at those sickos. How sure are you of the intelligence?"

"Very high confidence. The tips were credible and specific, and we've been able to confirm the ship and the container number that is involved. It is being transported from the docks to their warehouse right now, and the drugs will be transported out tonight. Your team is going to take them down after it arrives."

He had highlighted the building on the map; it was a typical small warehouse/office building, surrounded by an eight-foot chain-link fence and a small parking lot. There were eight bays on the loading dock, and two big doors for semi-trucks to drive inside to unload. He brought up a file with photographs. "One of my agents is maintaining surveillance on the target. He estimates there are between twelve and twenty Sons inside. Assume all are heavily armed and dangerous. Here's the warrant," he said as he handed it over.

Signed less than two hours ago, it was a high-risk warrant since armed resistance was expected. The warrant was to be served if the specified container arrived at the warehouse location. High-risk warrants were a specialty of SWAT teams, and we served these occasionally, but mostly when there were significant numbers of innocent civilians around. "What's the catch? The DEA has SWAT teams, and Oakland and San Francisco do too. Why bring my team way out here to make a drug bust?"

"The tipster also warned us that local law enforcement was compromised, including the DEA Director in San Francisco and senior people in Customs and local law enforcement. There's no telling how extensive the penetration by the Sons and their Cartel backers has gone; I couldn't pass the intel to them if I couldn't trust them. When I spoke to the DEA Director and Homeland Security this morning about it, they decided to bring in a team that could operate independently and hit hard. That's why you're here." He tossed a list of names on the table; my eyes bugged out when I read it. "In one hour, two MD500 helicopters from Task Force 160 equipped with FRIES will land next to your plane."

My eyebrow raised; Task Force 160 was the Army's elite Special Aviation Operations unit out of Kentucky. The helicopters were fast and quiet, and the Fast-Rope Insertion/Extraction System was perfect for landing six men on a rooftop in seconds. We'd trained with them a few months ago, and this gave me options.

We spent that hour going over the photographs, the floor plans, and the surrounding area. We were lucky in that the surrounding buildings would be deserted at the late hour, and it was a new moon. We would be able to take advantage of the darkness.

The helicopters landed, and the pilots came over and briefed while their birds were being fueled. A tour bus also pulled up; Frank had rented it with his credit card, telling the company it was taking a bachelor party group into town. I had to hand it to him; he'd kept things tight.

My plan was simple, and the eight men I was sending on the helicopter left with the pilots. The rest of us walked onto the tour bus. Frank had given the driver an extra five hundred to ignore what he saw and just drive; his radio had been disabled, and he'd turned over his cell phone. He didn't even tell the driver the destination; he just gave him directions.

We did our communications and weapons checks before we entered the industrial area. The bus stopped four times in the darkness, dropping off teams blocks away from the target. When they were all gone, I looked over at Frank while I watched the body cams of my team leaders on my laptop screen. "How bad do you think this will be?"

"They're armed heavily, violent and facing life in prison," he said. "If we have the element of surprise, it could go well." He left unsaid the other part.

One by one, the teams checked reported they were in position. The helicopters were circling over the bay, two minutes out. I did one last roll call.

"Sniper one, ready."

"Sniper two, ready.

"Sniper three, ready."

"Team Alpha, ready.

"Bravo ready."

"Charlie ready."

"Air One, ready."

"Air Two, ready."

Everything was in place. "Teams Alpha through Charlie, advance and cut fences." It was common for defenders to focus on the main gates of a building, so we avoided that. There were two fire doors in the back and one off the east side by the offices; we would enter via those.

"Thirty seconds to target," Air One reported. I looked out towards the bay; the helicopters were blacked out, and I could barely see them and the four men hanging from ropes below it as they approached.

At ten seconds, the teams pushed through the fencing and ran in a line towards their respective doors. Explosive charges were placed on the locks and they hugged the building, the breacher holding the detonator. "Three, two, one, GO GO GO," I said.

Three explosions occurred almost simultaneously, and the doors were blown open. The three teams rushed in, the point men throwing flash-bang grenades to disorient anyone nearby with the light and the deafening noise. At the same time, the two helicopters flew in, men dangling from the ropes. They shot out the upstairs office windows before crashing through, releasing the ropes as they rolled into the office space.

Five seconds had elapsed and my teams were inside the building. The 'brrrt' sound of the fully-automatic HK MP5 submachine guns mixed with the sound of pistol and assault rifle fire. I watched as the teams blazed through the warehouse, killing or subduing men until there were no more threats. "CEASE FIRE," the Team Alpha leader said as the last two men surrendered.

"Report," I said.

It was better than I had hoped. As the teams reported in, we had killed thirteen and arrested eight, four of whom were injured. My team was relatively unscathed; one agent had a grazing gunshot wound to his calf, and another took two pistol rounds to his body armor and was badly bruised. "Good job. Gather the prisoners out front for transport."

The first contact with local law enforcement was when Director Grimes called 911 and reported the raid. We walked the three blocks to the building, beating the first cop there by a good thirty seconds. "Boss, you gotta see this," the Team B leader said over the radio.

"I'll be there in a minute," I said. The police were starting to arrive, and I left the Director to talk to them. The patrol officers gave way to Sergeants, the Sergeants to Lieutenants, and Lieutenants to the Deputy Chiefs and the local FBI Field Office Director. Director Grimes thanked them for coming, handed over the warrant and had the FBI men transport the prisoners to jail or the hospital. They were all pissed about not being given prior notification and wanted in on credit for the bust.

I didn't care about the credit; we knew what we had done. I finally got inside to see what they were talking about.

The shipping container was open, and about three dozen plastic 55-gallon drums of what was labeled "Avacado Oil" were inside. We'd interrupted their sorting operation; they were about halfway through based on the cut-open barrels off to the side. "Looks like we the tip was good, boss," a grinning agent said as he wiped Avacado oil off of his arms. There was a pile of cocaine blocks, wrapped kilo-sized packets in one area. Another contained baggies full of pills, while a third area contained plastic bags of Fentanyl. The DEA would have a field day with this haul.

We didn't stick around to see what all they seized in the bust; my men loaded back onto the bus, and we celebrated the successful mission on the way back to the airport. Director Grimes sat in front, mostly on the phone. He didn't look happy. We were entering the airport when I walked up and sat across from him as he finished a call. "Nice working with you, Mr. Grimes," I said as I held my hand out.

"I should be thanking you, Tim. Your men did a great job tonight."

"You don't seem too happy about it."

He shook his head. "We had wiretaps on the San Francisco DEA Director and other senior law enforcement people based on the tip we got," he said. "Four minutes after the bust began, he got a call from one of the Sons. They were furious that he didn't warn them."

I couldn't imagine what he was feeling; the betrayal would be overwhelming. "We started pulling the weeds tonight; it's going to take a while to finish the whole garden. Take some time to enjoy this moment; they don't come often enough."

"Thanks, Tim." The bus came to a stop by the charter terminal, and he grabbed his briefcase and stood up. "You men did a hell of a job tonight. Thank you." My guys cheered and thanked him.

He walked off and was gone.

Ch. 42

Alpha Rori King's POV

Arrowhead Pack, Alpha's Home

"Alpha, there is a vehicle at the gate, a middle-aged woman is inside," the duty Warrior in the security center reported.

"Recognize her or the vehicle?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "Sending patrol out to talk to her; she isn't going away."

I sat back, rocking Cheryl after her last feed of the evening. Mark had already been fed and changed, and the Omega who had nanny duty tonight set him down next to a sleeping Hope in the crib. The Pack was still on high alert after the recent attack by three Werejaguars, and it made sense for my Betas and their daughter to stay with me. I appreciated the extra protection Coral provided with her twin brother Chase gone.

Coral was a better fighter and had always been a more dominant wolf than her Doctor brother. She had dedicated herself to the warrior arts from a young age, while Chase never expected to be an Alpha. The heir-apparent to his Pack had been his oldest brother, Sawyer, now 133 years old. Sawyer and his mate Ashley had taken over leadership of the Donner Pack in California last year. Middle brother Carson, who had expected to be Sawyer's Beta, but ended up becoming Alpha when Chase's father went feral and was killed. Chase was my mate, and I was the dominant wolf in the relationship. It wasn't the norm, but it worked well for us because Chase didn't want to be the top dog.

Our Pack was not like others, and we liked it that way. We'd taken in dozens of Omegas and abused females, and my adoptive mother and her biker husband were Betas in the Pack despite being human. "Brent, you and Laura stay close in case this is a diversion," I sent to them. The mated pair of Warriors had Cheryl duty tonight; as the next Blessed One, a firstborn female in the line of the original Werewolf King, she was the most valuable female in our world. She could become pregnant annually like me, while normal pairs were lucky to have one child every fifty to a hundred years.

"Alpha, the woman at the gate, she says she is Three Tequila and is here to see you," Security reported.

"Let her in; she knows the way. Close the gate behind her and keep an eye out for anything else." There was only one reason she would leave Florida in December to come to frozen Northern Minnesota, and it wasn't to see the babies and me. I reached for the phone, calling for backup. "Mom, it's me. I need you to come over and hurry up. You need to be here before Three Tequila kills me."

"Three Tee is here? Oh fuck. I'll be there in a few minutes." Our Alpha house was at the tip of the point the Pack House sat in the center of, and Coral's house was to my right. Possum's house was back where the shoreline point met the west side of the lake, on the way to the front gate. She would have to hurry if she was going to be here before Three Tequila.

I handed Cheryl over to the nanny, then looked over at Laura. "Watch the babies; I'll be back in a few. If you hear yelling, ignore it. I can handle her."

"Of course, Alpha." The nanny laid Cheryl down with her brother and cousin as I walked to the door. Heading downstairs with Brent trailing behind, I walked to the entryway and waited for her to arrive. Looking out the window, I knew it was her because she was going at the speed of smell through the snow and ice on the road. A lifelong Floridian, this was her first time driving in a Minnesota winter.

She parked in the driveway and got out, and I laughed at her dress. She didn't own a winter coat, so she was in jeans, motorcycle boots, and a Harley-Davidson hoodie. She looked miserable as she came up the walkway to my door. I opened it up and smiled. "This is a surprise, Three T," I said as she came in.

She looked around as I closed the door, then grabbed my sweatshirt by the shoulders and pushed me into the door. "WHERE THE HELL IS SHE," she said.

Brent moved to grab her, but I shook him off. I just pulled her into my arms, holding her as she started to break down. "You took her, she's still alive, and you didn't tell me," she sobbed as I held her up.

"Come on; we need to talk." Possum had shown up by now, so I led them to the library, a cozy room off the entryway that held books, comfortable chairs, and a gas fireplace between the windows looking over the lake. I turned on the fireplace and set Three T in one of the wide leather chairs, sitting next to her as I pulled a crochet afghan over us. She had only been outside a few minutes, but her hands were freezing cold. Possum hugged her, then took a chair across from us. I sent for an Omega to bring us some hot chocolate and snacks while she snuggled in next to me.

"Where is she?"

"She's safe," I said. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you. We needed the Sons to think the DEA had her in Witness Protection, and the DEA to think the Sons had her. We screwed up when we took her; our team used too much sedative in the coffee, and we were looking at serious charges. It was best not to tell anyone."

"Mongo said you didn't trust the cops to keep her safe."

I nodded. "The cops don't understand the threat. It's more than just an outlaw club. The leaders of the Sons of Tezcatlipoca are jaguar shifters. Very big, very tough and they wanted her dead. Only a Pack could hope to protect her."

"Jaguars? The big fucking jungle cats?"

"Yes. When Manilo showed up at the service, he smelled us and figured out that we were hiding Heather in Minnesota. Three Werejaguars attacked us a few nights ago, but we'd already moved Heather to a safer location. We killed the three jaguars, and moved Heather just in case."

"Who's Heather?"

Possum answered instead. "Heather Rhodes is her new identity. We try not to use her old name so we get used to her new one." She smiled. "She stayed with us for a day when she first got here. We've taken good care of her for you."

She sank back into the chair, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I need to see her. I need to know she's all right."

"Charles, Connie, come to my house please, the library," I sent. "I can't do that, Tee. The Sons suspect we are here, and we don't know if they have people watching our Pack. You arriving like this, in a panic, just confirms to them that we have her. It would have been better if you had trusted us to take care of her. You know we will do anything to protect her from them."

"Not good enough," she said. "We had an interesting conversation with Frank Donovan, the DEA guy in Orlando? He met us for lunch, and gave me a message for you."

"Why didn't he just call?"

"He told me that you needed to keep Harleigh, umm Heather, out of sight. She was seen yesterday at a pizza place in Wadena."

I sighed. "We know she was recognized, but our people destroyed the security camera footage, and the photograph wasn't good enough. Still, we relocated again, and she's with one of our Pack Warriors for protection."

"You didn't destroy it," she said as she shook her head. "Donovan saw the photo; he said facial recognition was a match to her. He kept it from spreading, but he told me not to trust phones or emails, and he gave me a warning. He said you needed to keep her safe and completely out of sight. The Director doesn't want his friend's only daughter to die because you guys are getting sloppy." She wiped a tear. "Do you have any idea of what I've been through today? That was how I found out my niece was still alive!"

"Oh god," I said as I pulled her into my arms. "No wonder you showed up on my doorstep!" I heard someone come in the door, then a minute later Charles and Connie entered the room. I introduced her to Three Tequila, reminding them that she knew of Pack life. "She wants to see her niece, but I explained how we couldn't. Can you tell her how she is doing?"