Monday, August 1^st

Captain Fess Albright was already at his desk when Sergeant Booth tapped on his door at seven o’clock Monday morning. He had got into the habit of arriving early when he first began to rise in rank on the force. He felt obligated to be on the job when the first of the day shift began to arrive.

Christopher briefed the captain on the status of his investigation. Albright was surprised at how much Booth had accomplished. Surprised and impressed.

Then Booth told the captain what he had in mind. He asked permission to put together a multi-force team, including the San Francisco and Richmond police departments, as well as some federal agencies. They would also, he said, be working with police in Great Britain, France, and Italy, as well as with Interpol.

“You’re asking for a lot, Christopher,” the captain said. “You’re describing a big operation and you want to do it in a week.”

“No sir,” Christopher replied. “I want to do it today.”

Albright didn’t blink. He turned his chair to stare out the window. He admired Booth. This was the kind of operation that would have excited him when he joined the force more than thirty-five years previously. Now he was near retirement.

He had been ordered to assign the investigation into Rossi’s activities to Booth. He knew that was deliberately done with the expectation that Booth’s inexperience in rooting out money laundering schemes would result in the investigation going nowhere. Now Booth was asking permission to begin an operation with the potential to destroy Rossi’s alliance and cripple four of the leading criminal organizations in the city.

He had compromised in the past and wasn’t proud of it. He was inclined to approve Christopher’s plan and go out of office feeling good about being a cop. But he wasn’t dense either. If he made a misstep, he could wind up with no retirement at all.

“Let me think about it,” he said, as he turned back to face Christopher. “I have to go downtown for a meeting. I’ll be back in an hour or two. We’ll talk again then.”

As he left the captain’s office, Christopher hoped he hadn’t made a mistake speaking to Albright. If he had, people could die. He respected Albright. He knew the captain sometimes had to play a political game, but he thought at heart the man was a good cop. He didn’t think he had made a mistake.

Darcey watched Trent closely as they had coffee before they each began their busy days.

“Are we in trouble today?” she asked.

“No more than usual,” he said.

“And we’re not in the Witness Protection Program?”

“Not yet,” he said, “but the day is just begun.”

She thought it would be a day without symptoms.

Albright knew he was walking a fine line as he strolled into the Third Street headquarters of the San Francisco Police Department. The cop in him wanted to tell Christopher to go for it. The old man in him wanted to protect his retirement. He honestly didn’t know which of them would win.

He raised his hand to tap on Deputy Chief Amanda Justice’s office door, but it wasn’t closed. It was standing open by only an inch. Just enough for him to hear the conversation going on inside the room.

Justice had her back to him as she spoke on the phone. Though she was trying to keep her voice down he could clearly hear her side of the conversation. He felt himself grow cold as he heard what she was saying.

“Please, Mr. Rossi, I’ll take care of this. I set it up as you wished. I regret that mistakes have been made. But I assure you I will get things under control. You have nothing to worry about.”

That was enough. Albright was still cop enough to make his decision. He walked down the hall to the Chief’s office. He and Charles Marvin had started on the force together almost four decades ago. He trusted him without reservation. Albright thought that if his trust in Marvin was misplaced then his entire life was a waste. He had nothing to lose.

“Good morning, Diana,” he said as he entered the chief’s office. Diana had guarded the chief’s outer office ever since Marvin was appointed to the job more than a decade earlier.

“Well, look who decided to go slumming today,” Diana teased. “How are you, Fess? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“A cop’s life is never his own, Diana. So many doughnuts to eat. You know that,” letting his wit show in the conversation, something he would never do back in his office. “Is Charlie around? I need a few minutes with him.”

Diana announced Albright’s presence. The chief told her to send him right in. The few minutes turned into an hour.

At the end of the hour, the chief told Diana he wanted the conference room next to his office set up as a headquarters for a special team being put together. He wanted the room ready for occupancy by noon and without notification to anyone else. He wanted it accomplished in complete secrecy.

Captain Albright’s men, he told her, would provide a list of names. Only the people on that list were to be allowed into the room. No one else was even to know that the team existed. No one.

While Diana hustled to carry out her instructions, Chief Marvin was making phone calls. The first call was to the chief of police in Richmond. Other names were on his call list for the morning, including the FBI’s Special Agent in Charge for San Francisco.

Returning to his own office, Albright called Booth and Lieutenant Billy Mitchum into his office. He told Booth that the chief had approved creation of the special task force. The chief, he said, was making the appropriate calls and had established a conference room next to his office as headquarters for the team. No one else on the chief’s staff would be involved. Nor would anyone else know of the team’s existence.

Albright said he wanted Mitchum involved but made it clear that this was Booth’s operation. He wanted them to work together.

As the two younger officers left, Albright’s smile was wide enough to show his teeth. He hadn’t felt so good about being a cop in a long time.

Albright wasn’t surprised when Deputy Chief Amanda Justice showed up in his office just before noon. She didn’t bother knocking.

“Good morning, Amanda,” he greeted her. “It’s not often we see you down here.”

She wasn’t particularly friendly. “I have other things to do, Fess. But now I want to know what’s going on with Sergeant Booth’s investigation.”

“He’s making progress, Amanda. I’d say he’s making significant progress.”

“Give me details.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Amanda.”

“It’s Deputy Chief Justice, Captain Albright,” his superior reminded him, in no good humor. “Did you forget that? And I’m giving you a direct order. I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll send you a report by next week.”

“I said I want to know what’s going on, Albright. I want to know now.”

“I’m sorry, Amanda. I can’t accommodate you.”

“You’re going to regret this,” she said, as irate as she could remember being in her life.

She was trembling as she left the building. She was a deputy chief of police and she was scared. She tried to think of her options. She was too frightened to think clearly. She suddenly had a vision of the humiliation she would suffer if this ended in her incarceration. Given other possibilities that might come to mind if she gave in to panic, humiliation and incarceration would be the preferable alternatives.

By midafternoon, Booth and Mitchum had assembled their multi-force team in the conference room that was established as their headquarters. Since Rossi had been forced to pull his lookouts from the Nob Hill building, Trent had no one following him to police headquarters. They included Scott via a secure Internet video link.

SFPD Chief Charles Marvin, with Richmond Police Chief Bradford Dundee and FBI Special Agent in Charge for San Francisco Joel Harris on either side of him, spoke very briefly. He told the assembled team that they were assigned to a joint project called Operation Den of Snakes. He said he wanted them to set aside any professional differences and work together, quickly and efficiently. He assured them that he, Chief Dundee, and SAiC Harris would have their backs.

“Just get the job done,” he urged, before the three agency chiefs left the room.

Trent and Scott provided a briefing on the structure of Rossi’s fiduciaria and the hawala system used to move significant amounts of money without detection or risk. Booth and Trent outlined the plan they had developed to disassemble it.

The first order of business was to get trusted officers to cover Scott’s condo, Darcey’s condo, and the office in which she and Miles worked. They were instructed to be careful to avoid notice.

Assignments were made to members of the group. Team members got busy making calls and opening files on various devices.

Scott was available to answer questions. Trent spent time talking to Scotland Yard, the Paris Prefecture of Police, the three Italian police agencies with which he had met, and Interpol. He and Booth also spoke with Ross Brown, though they were careful not to mention his name.

At five o’clock Scott’s phone rang. It was a blocked call. He didn’t answer. It was the first time he ever failed to answer that call.

On the other end of the line, Rossi’s anger was becoming uncontrollable. Today was threatening to be even worse than the day before.

Amanda Justice suddenly couldn’t force a cop two levels down from her to give her a report. Why was he paying her? He had thought it a good joke having Justice on his payroll. Now it would seem the joke was on him.

By the end of the day, Douglas had done nothing. No money had been moved.

Then Harry Sherman, Rossi’s mole in Booth’s office, reported that Booth and Mitchum had been called into Albright’s office. They left a short while later, taking half a dozen officers with them. Sherman couldn’t find out where they were going or what they were doing.

More money wasted on useless cops, Rossi thought. When he got this mess straightened out, there would be some changes made.

Motioning for two of his security team, he began issuing orders. He went back into his office and, using his high frequency radio transmitter, sent a burst transmission. He needed competent help. He needed someone who had never failed.

It was dark when Trent finally made it home. He rode up the elevator again with Jean Philby. She did not become hysterical. Neither did she speak to him. When they reached the 15^th floor, Trent stood aside to let her exit first.

Mrs. Philby walked slowly toward her condo at the far end of the hallway. She saw James Williams standing in his doorway as she came abreast of him. She paused for a few seconds. Still she didn’t go into her hysterical routine. Nor did she lower her voice to threaten him. She walked on by.

She didn’t see the semiautomatic handgun he was holding out of sight. From the angle from which he was looking at Williams, Trent did see the weapon. But the old man made no move to use it. He watched Mrs. Philby until she was inside her condo. He closed his door as the sound of the four locks on her door sliding into position, one by one, reverberated down the hall.

Trent made another mental note. He had to talk to Christopher about these two old people.

Darcey’s day had gone long as well. She had picked up a large order of chicken wings on her way home. Trent made peach martinis. They each had two martinis and several wings.

Martinis and chicken wings and a few precious moments alone together. Trent thought they were following the doctor’s orders.

Jimmy Shadow once again read the message received in the burst transmission from Jonathan Rossi. Jimmy was considering a response. Or whether there would be any response at all. This was the second time within the past few weeks that Rossi had signaled for help. Perhaps Rossi’s troubles were approaching the overwhelming. Jimmy was beginning to think further involvement could be dangerous. Maybe disastrous.

Jimmy Shadow hadn’t survived so long by flirting with disaster.