The Game's Afoot¹

(Source)

On the drive back to their motel in Maryland, Johansen, who was driving, posed the question, "So where are we going to get enough ammunition and weapons to entice the Feds to look into this place in Green Ridge? Do those Rod and Gun Club fellows have enough? Would they be willing to risk losing it?"

Morgan started to answer when Rossi interrupted him, "Don't need the real thing."

Morgan looked puzzled, then he got it, "We just need crates that look right and stencil the outside to make them look like the real deal. Nice!"

"We can buy stuff, ready made, a lot of it is military surplus. But I see a couple of problems with that." Rossi said.

"Such as?" Morgan asked.

"The shit can get expensive and if we start buying enough of it to look like we're serious, we leave a paper trail. But you can get plans on line to build them, don't even have to buy them. Any decent carpenter can make them look like the real deal." Rossi said, his excitement rising at the idea.

Morgan said, "I'll bet a few of those good old boys back at the Rod and Gun Club know their way around building stuff out of wood."

Rossi nodded, "Yup, heck I'll bet I could do it."

"So let's do that, build enough of 'em to make it look good. Ammo crates, even a few that could hold ARs or maybe even a Ma-Deuce.²

Johansen chimed in as he made the turn which would take them to their motel, "Then we just make sure that someone sees us moving those crates to tip off the Feds. I mean we could do that, but they might be suspicious."

Morgan looked at the back of Johansen's head, "Maybe ambushing that SWAT team wasn't such a great idea after all, Ephraim."

"No, it was a great idea. Make 'em think they went in too cocky and too weak. We want more targets, not less. We want them coming in in strength. Like I said, more targets, more grist for the mill."

As Morgan and Johansen went back and forth on that, Rossi had a thought. He knew guys that went to work for the Feds, a lot of ex-military were on local and state police SWAT teams in the area. Jesus, he didn't know how he felt about that. Ambushing guys he might know, might have worked with. Second thoughts are a bitch, he realized.

Damn.

Francis Monroe was at the office late, which was no different that any other night. They had no further leads on the ambush of the Park Police's SWAT team. That trail was as cold as Monroe's heart. As his ex-wife might put it.

He hadn't heard from Johansen in a few days, what was that bastard playing at? Maybe he'd been too heavy-handed with the man. I mean, threaten to have someone killed and that someone might try avoiding you as best he could. Maybe he'd spooked him, Monroe just didn't know. Maybe he was being played for a fool.

His phone rang, his private line.

"Yeah?"

"US-13, Painter, Virginia, old DOT facility."

The voice was disguised electronically, before he could ask anything, the line went dead. He didn't hang up but went out to his assistant's desk, she'd been home for hours. He picked up her phone and punched the number for the technical staff.

"Hey Joanie, working late?"

"This is Deputy Director Monroe, can you trace the call which just ended on my private line?"

Monroe imagined the look on the techie's face, "Yes Sir, the 7556 number?"

"That's the one ..."

"Standby Sir, let me get on my computer. Sorry about the 'Hey Joanie' thing."

"Just run the trace."

There was silence on the line, Monroe could hear the keys on the man's keyboard clicking, then the man spoke.

"Can't get a proper trace, but a call came in from a cell tower out in Hillandale."

"That's it, huh?"

"Yes Sir, I can set up a program to monitor your private line, in case they call back?"

"No, the guy's not going to call back. Thanks, who is this?"

"Ferguson, Sir, Theodore Ferguson."

Monroe hung up. He had wanted to chew the guy's ass, but he already had a reputation as a heartless prick, and it was late. He got on his computer and ran a couple of queries in the FBI's database. He came up with an address. He picked up his phone again and called the legal guy on duty.

"Jerry, Deputy Director Monroe here, I need a warrant to perform surveillance on an old DOT facility out on the Eastern Shore." He read off the address.

"Judge will need probable cause, Sir."

"Tell him it's related to the ambush of the Park Service's SWAT team a couple of weeks back. We have heard rumblings of another possible assault, I just had an anonymous tip about the place. No details, just the address."

"How fast you need it Sir?"

"Yesterday."

"On it, I'll call you as soon as I have it."

"Thanks, Jerry."

He needed to think who he wanted on this aspect of the investigation, for now he called the duty section and told them to send two agents up to his office.

"We'll need to check out a van and some surveillance equipment. It's out in the boondocks, Eastern Shore to be exact. No warrant yet, but these guys can get started now. I'll brief them when they get here. Might be a long night."

"We could send someone out of the Salisbury office, Sir, they're a lot closer."

"Nope, this thing is close hold for now, I want to run it out of my office for now."

"Okay, Sir. Moriarty and Golden are on the way up. They just came on shift so they should be good to go."

"Good."

After Monroe hung up, he toyed with the idea of going down there himself, he missed being in the field. But the Director would have his ass for breakfast if he did that. He yawned and looked at his watch, after midnight again. Looks like another night on the sofa, he grumbled silently.

¹ Henry V, Act 3, Scene 1, near the end of King Henry's "Once more into the breech ..." speech.

² Ma-Deuce is slang for the M-2 .50 caliber, crew served machine gun.