David Golemon - Primeval

"Mr. Chavez, please, save it for your defense attorney. We have some questions that need to be answered, so I suggest you cooperate, and maybe these small charges might disappear."

With that small announcement, Chavez allowed the two agents holding him to escort him to the van. He had seen the light as the ambiguous offer had been extended; he wasn't dumb, and as a career criminal, he knew when it was time to be a model citizen. The rear doors of the van opened and he stepped inside with his special agent bodyguard beside him.

Agent Banks radioed that they were ready to move as he climbed into the passenger seat of the van, the small convoy moved out of Elysian Park heading for downtown L.A.

As the three vans pulled out and the smaller units of the LAPD started wrapping up the area, no one really noticed the small helicopter as it buzzed past the scene. They assumed it was an LAPD air unit.

That opinion would soon change.

The plan of egress from the arrest site was for the convoy of SWAT vans and the lone FBI unit to make their way down Solano Avenue, and from there make the connection to Highway 110, and then finally to Interstate 5.

As they pulled to a stop at the light, the crowd noise from Dodger Stadium erupted above them in Chavez Ravine. The lights of the beautiful stadium lit the roadway ahead of them.

"Any relation?" the larger of the two FBI field agents asked the handcuffed man beside him.

"Huh?" Chavez asked.

"You know, Chavez Ravine, where the Dodgers play, any relation to you?"

"Man, what are you talking about?"

"Alright, knock it off," Agent Banks said from the front of the van.

The agent smirked as he turned away from the prisoner.

At that moment, several things happened at once. The leading SWAT van to the front started moving forward from the now green light on Solano Avenue; at the same time as the white FBI vehicle started to follow, a streak of blazing white light shot through the air just past the large windshield of following agents. The rocket-propelled grenade struck the rear doors of the leading black van, exploding its sides outward. Banks flinched in shock as SWAT team members were blown through the front windshield of their transport.

Before anyone could react, another RPG flew straight and true into the now exposed interior of the lead vehicle, exploding and bulging the sides even further outward and crumpling the disabled unit until it no longer looked like a van at all. Flames then exploded out and up as the horrible sound finally penetrated Banks's eardrums. He tried to lift his handheld radio but stopped when another explosion from the rear threw him forward in his seat. He would have been thrown through the windshield if it hadn't been for his seatbelt. Although he was saved, he had the breath knocked out of him. So he started slapping at the driver to throw the van into reverse. The flames billowing from the SWAT van behind them were framed in the driver's side mirrors. Men could be seen jumping out, and as they did, they were being struck by small arms fire from the yards around them. All around them, families who'd been out in their front yards enjoying a warm summer evening started to run in a panic — a very small and deadly war had just erupted right in front of them.

"Move, move, move!" one of the agents said from the back as he reached out and threw the prisoner Chavez to the floor of the van.

Just before the driver threw the van in reverse, a SWAT sergeant from the trailing van pounded on the rear window, pleading to be let in; just as the other agent reached out to open the door it was rattled by several bullets. As he recoiled, he saw the SWAT sergeant's head fly forward until it struck the window with a loud thump, breaking the safety glass. As the shocked FBI agents watched, the LAPD officer slowly slid away from the window.

"Go, goddamn it, they're killing everyone!" screamed the agent as loud as he could, his foot placed firmly onto Chavez's back.

The van finally started moving backward, screeching the tires and burning rubber. There were several sickening bumps as they made their way in reverse back up toward the stadium.

"All units, all units," Banks screamed into the handheld radio, "we have officers down, Elysian Park, Solano Avenue, we're taking heavy gunfire from an unknown number of assailants and are moving toward the stadium! We need air support and backup now!"

Banks didn't wait for the dispatcher to respond, he pulled his nine-millimeter handgun free of his shoulder holster as the van traveled in reverse. He saw the burning SWAT unit slide by and noticed belatedly that several of the SWAT team had gotten free of the flaming wreckage and were in the process of firing into the night at unseen targets that were keeping them pinned down. As he started to turn toward the back, checking on the safety of their prisoner, one of the rear tires of the van exploded, sending the vehicle sliding into several cars parked along Solano Avenue. The van spun and then stalled. Before Banks could do anything, fifteen small-caliber rounds slammed into the windshield, shattering it and striking the driver and himself. As the two bodies jumped from the impact of the rounds, a small detonation knocked the others into a daze. The rear doors were snatched open and before the two agents in the back realized what was happening, three men were inside.

"This one," one of the attackers said pointing to Chavez. At the same moment, he raised his handgun and the masked man quickly fired into the stunned agents — two bullets apiece.

When Chavez was taken out of the van, he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead and had a steady flow of blood coming from his ears. He tried to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth, or if it did, there was so much noise even he couldn't hear it. As fifteen men surrounded the van, a small Bell helicopter suddenly appeared out of the darkness, its black paint reflecting the burning vehicles on the street. It flared seconds before touching the roadway, the twin skids clanking loudly on the warm macadam. Chavez was taken to, and then thrown into, the helicopter. As the small Bell lifted free of Solano Avenue, sirens were heard approaching from Dodger Stadium above and then from below in Elysian Park.

As stunned neighbors watched, the fifteen-man assault team calmly returned to six cars. They then removed their black hoods once inside. They slowly drove away, past the three bullet-riddled and burning vans.

In all, the assault and kidnap of the thief known as Juan Caesar Chavez, took no more than two minutes and eleven seconds. The Russians had proven they were still among the most efficient killers in history.

After the short, hedgehopping flight from Los Angeles, the helicopter had set down just inside the small baseball stadium at Upland High School. The transfer of Chavez to a waiting vehicle outside the ballpark was made quickly and efficiently by men who had worked for Sagli and Deonovich for nearly twenty years. The rest of the assault element split into three groups, one remaining with Chavez, one heading north to Vancouver, and the last heading back to Virginia. Chavez was taken to a safe house on Mountain Avenue.

Chavez was blindfolded and led to a room at the back of the large five-bedroom house. As California basements weren't much the trend, the large master suite would have to do. The windows had been sealed with aluminum foil and the house sat far enough back from the road as to be virtually soundproof through distance. They had the whole San Gabriel Mountains as a sound break from any screaming that may come from the house.

The thief was put in a large chair and his blindfold was removed. One of his Russian captors, a small man with beady little eyes and a well-manicured beard stepped forward as Chavez blinked in the bright lights being shone upon his shaking body. The Russian removed the handcuffs and then smiled at the even smaller Chavez. He then patted him on the shoulder.