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Roth made entry to the dirt-floored basement at around the same time. His flashlight beam swept the interior, locating the crude wooden stairs that rose to the ceiling. He heard creaking floorboards above. “Got movement on the first floor heading in the direction of the front door,” he spoke softly.
Wilson had just entered the house, stepping into the kitchen. He knew Roth hadn’t detected him. Someone else was in the house. With his Glock 19 leading the way and his M-4 slung over his back, Wilson soundlessly crept through the kitchen, his snowy boots leaving puddles on the brown linoleum floor. He heard nothing. He smelled nothing.
Until he reached the hallway which led to the staircase that rose up to the second floor, the front door just beyond the staircase. To the right of the front door was the living room. He froze where he was. The stale smell of cigarette smoke, the kind that lingers on a person’s clothing, was present. And then he heard movement.
“Still no answer at the door,” Tessman broadcast. “I’ve knocked twice and rang the bell once.”
“I’m in position at the basement door,” whispered Roth.
Wilson knew they were all waiting for him to give the go-order. He’d been waiting on Roth. As he stepped into the hallway, he transmitted, “Go, go, go!”
The man in the hallway turned to face him, shock and fear on his face. It was the target they’d come to check on, Neil Jackowski. He screamed out and turned to run towards the front door, just as Roth appeared in front of him, stepping into the hallway from the basement door. Jackowski’s feet slid on the floor when he tried to reverse direction, just like you see cartoon characters do. He hung in the air for a few seconds before crashing to the floor. Immediately, he tried to crawl away.
“Neil, easy, we’re here to help you. We’re not here to hurt you,” Wilson called to him as Roth mounted him, easily pinning him to the floor. “Crash and I have him. Hold position,” he transmitted. He kneeled in front of the protectee. “Neil, we’re here on behalf of the Marshals. Stop struggling. You’re safe.”
The thirty-seven-year-old man gazed up at Wilson. His brown eyes held suspicion. His black hair was grown out and hung against his sweaty face. “I hope like hell you’re telling me the truth.”
“I am. Crash, release him and let the others in the front door,” Wilson said. “You missed your check-in call and the Marshals haven’t been able to reach you, so they sent us.”
“Phone, TV, and internet went out yesterday,” Neil Jackowski said.
“Didn’t they supply you with a back-up cell phone?” Wilson asked as Roth unlocked and opened the front door, letting Tessman, Saxton, and Michael Cooper in.
“Yeah, there’s never been a good signal on it. Getting a call in or out is a crap shoot,” Jackowski said. “The trial’s been continued another month; I didn’t think it mattered if I missed the call-in.”
“The defense requested it go ahead on Monday. They retracted the continuance,” Wilson said.
“Oh, shit, that can’t be good,” Jackowski said. “They want me brought to open court so they can silence me. They threatened to kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Wilson said, trying to calm him down.
“You don’t understand. Without my testimony, there’s no case against them,” Neil insisted. “They’d only agree to go to trial if they knew I wouldn’t be testifying.”
“We do understand. They’re not going to get to you,” Wilson said, projecting unwavering confidence. The truth was, he had no idea if the Marshals would be able to keep this guy protected. He hoped they could. Protecting witnesses was their mission. “Get a bag packed. We’re going to bring you in. The Marshals have a detail assigned that we’ll rendezvous with to turn you over.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” he stammered nervously. “Aren’t I safest right here? I don’t want to go back to New York until the last minute.”
“That’s exactly what the bad guys will be expecting,” Wilson said. “This snow storm will either help you or it could be throwing a monkey wrench into everyone’s plans. Our orders are to bring you to Chicago to the Marshals’ detail today. Get a bag packed.We’re out of here in five minutes.” He nodded to Tessman. “Go with him.”
“He’s afraid,” Laura Lee said after the protectee and Tessman mounted the stairs.
“He should be,” agreed Roth.
“He’s right that the cartel will try to kill him,” Wilson agreed. “That’s what happens when you mess with cartel money.”
“Do you think they know where he is?” Laura Lee asked.
“Anything’s possible,” Wilson said. “My guess is they won’t strike until he’s back in New York City.”
“I’m glad we’re not escorting him there. I’m counting on a few days off,” Michael Cooper said. “Dahlia’s excited about the snow. I told her we’d go sledding.”
“That sounds like fun,” Laura Lee said.
“You and Dupont should come with us,” Michael said. Laura Lee was living with Brad Dupont, one of the Ops analysts.
Wilson chuckled. “Moe and I have a flight to St. Thomas tomorrow. We’re going diving.”
“That sounds better than sledding,” Roth chimed in. “Briana’s scheduled for twelve-hour days of training at the office for the next few days, but I’ll get to see her in bed at least.”