David Golemon - Primeval

Jack held Niles in his vision for a moment longer, then slowly stood, sliding his chair away from the table. "Thank you for not obeying your orders, Niles. I won't forget it. Now, I need some time to think."

Niles just nodded his head once as Jack quickly turned to leave. He looked at Sarah and nodded his head for her to follow. Then Compton held his hand up and the bartender, a retired navy motorman, came forward and poured him another drink. He was about to say something to the director, when Niles held his hand up, palm facing outward, indicating the man should leave. Compton stared at the glass before lifting it and staring at the liquid inside. He drained the glass, without a grimace this time. He placed it on the table and then slowly stood and walked toward the bar. He went to the waitress station and then reached over and then under the bar and brought out the secure phone. He punched a number into the handset and then waited.

"Captain Everett," came the voice.

"Captain, Colonel Collins will soon be breaking into the Europa clean room for some illegal activity."

"Sir?" Everett said on the other end of the phone.

"I need you to assist Colonel Collins in any capacity he chooses. He will undoubtedly explain the situation to you. Now listen closely, Captain. He is to be allowed access to anything he wants inside the complex, but if he attempts to leave the reservation without my express authorization, you are to detain him and then notify me, is that clear?"

"Not at all," Carl said, more than just a little confused.

"Good, just do I as I say. It may be better to stay in the dark as long as you can on this one."

Niles hung up the phone and took a deep breath, then settled onto a bar stool.

He had decided to break precedent and stay at The Ark for a while; after all it wasn't every day you could take a presidential order and toss it right out the window. He smiled a grim little smile and waved the bartender over, pointing at his empty glass.

"Another?" the bartender asked.

"Yes, and leave the bottle."

Special Agent Thomas Banks watched from an FBI van parked across the street. The house, obviously built pre-World War II, was one of those large four-bedroom monstrosities with a waist-high wraparound porch that was supported by wooden columns placed on a stone foundation. The ancient screens covering the windows were darkened from too many summers and not enough cleaning. The houses around the suspect house were lighted and visibly occupied by families who still clung to the illusion that Elysian Park was a safe neighborhood; an illusion that should have vanished in the area's heyday just after the Korean War.

Banks and his three-man observation team had been called in to observe and assist the Los Angeles police department with the arrest of Juan Caesar Chavez, a man currently under suspicion for a little-known crime he may or may not have committed at the Denver Museum of Natural History six months before. A partial fingerprint was found on a door frame leading out of the area where the display for The Gold Rush, was being exhibited — old maps, letters and implements used in the early days of the Alaskan rush for riches. Although a small theft in stature, the works taken were valuable to collectors around the world for their historical significance. The police agencies of Denver and Los Angeles knew Juan Caesar Chavez to be adept at theft, and in the past had targeted well-respected collections far outside of his stature, and that meant the FBI and other authorities suspected he was well financed by another party. Chavez had a small group of burglars and second-story men on his payroll, and as a leading suspect in the case, was about to receive a big surprise.

Special Agent Banks watched as the SWAT team made their way around the house, covering every exit. He adjusted his binoculars and saw that the upper-floor team was already in position. He raised the cell phone to his ear.

"Who do I have on the line?" he asked.

"Agent Banks, you have the FBI director and assistant director of Intelligence, CIA — Nancy Grogan. Go ahead," said his dispatch located in the federal building in downtown Los Angeles.

Jesus, Banks thought, why was Chavez important enough to have some of the top echelons of intelligence and law enforcement as audio witnesses?

"Director, Banks here, the SWAT team is just about to move, any last instructions?"

"Special Agent Banks, as soon as the arrest is complete, you are to take charge of the suspect and escort him to the federal building. Once there, a team of our colleagues from Langley will handle the interrogation. An American intelligence officer's life is at stake in all of this, and time is the important factor here. The suspect may have to be handed over to another party outside of law enforcement. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir, my men are standing by to take charge of the suspect as soon as the arrest is made." Banks held the binoculars to his eyes once more as he saw movement. "The assault element is moving in now, sir… hold on."

Outside the small windowed van, several flash-bang grenades broke through windows and then exploded, as simultaneously, using ropes, the upper-story unit swung into the upstairs rooms. At the same time, two six-man teams entered through the front and back doors. Lights shone throughout the interior of the house as the SWAT team made their sweep. Banks gripped the binoculars tighter as he waited, satisfied at not hearing any shots. He never liked using local police agencies, but the FBI HRT team was not available for another two hours, and someone in Washington wanted this bad guy very badly; enough so that the directors of two agencies called in favors from the LAPD.

Suddenly it was over. The lights inside the house started coming on and Banks could see the silhouettes of several of the black-clad SWAT members mulling about. Then, as he watched closely, a small man in Levis and a white T-shirt was led out in cuffs. The FBI agent could see that the SWAT team was taking no chances with this man as he was cuffed both at his wrists, behind his back, and his ankles. He was being carried out of the house with a black hood over his head. Banks smiled, This poor bastard didn't know what had hit him.

He laid his glasses down and then raised a small microphone. "Okay, B-team, move in and take custody of the suspect, make sure you Miranda the poor bastard, don't leave it to the LAPD." There were two clicks in answer to Banks's call.

Again, Agent Banks raised the cell phone. "Sir, the suspect is in custody and we are now in the process of concluding the arrest."

"Good. Now, Assistant Director Grogan, CIA, has requested that you have the LAPD SWAT unit accompany you to the federal building. We will not take any chances with the suspect; they need answers from him and time is a factor. Is that clear, Banks?"

"Crystal, Director."

Ten minutes later, the chain of custody was transferred to the FBI from the LAPD. Chavez, although shaken, was defiant and angry at what he was being put through, and was totally confused as to why he was under FBI arrest.

As the SWAT unit stood down, they climbed into two large black vans. One would be placed in front of, and the other in the rear of, the white FBI van. As the teams loaded, Agent Banks looked over the suspect being held between two of his agents. He nodded for a third agent to do as he was instructed earlier. Chavez looked relieved when the ankle restraints were removed.

"That, Mr. Chavez, is a courtesy. I expect cooperation from you. If you behave, my agents will reciprocate. Is that clear?"

"Hey look, man, I don't deserve any treatment at all. You have the wrong guy. I buy and sell needed goods on the open market."