Gallery of the Dead

Ninety-Nine

The FBI Special Weapons and Tactics team convoy was made up of three black SUVs. There were five specially trained assault agents in each vehicle. The team leader was Special Agent Trevor Richardson, an ex-military black-ops officer with over seventeen years’ experience in covert operations. His team was the best the FBI had to offer and they were all pumped up and ready to strike.

The address they had took them to a very quiet street on the outskirts of Chula Vista, the second largest city in the San Diego metropolitan area, Southern California. There were only three houses on the street, all of them back from the road and far enough from each other for one to be able to throw a loud party without ever bothering the neighbors. The specific house they were after was by far the largest one on the street, tucked away right at the top of the hill. The team had already acquired the architectural blueprints for the property. It showed a massive two-story building with six bedrooms upstairs, all of them en suites and three of them very oddly shaped. Downstairs there was a large kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a study and an extra room that could be absolutely anything — a games room, a projection room, a lab, a gallery... whatever the owner had decided to make of it, really. The basement was enormous and though they knew of its existence, its layout was a complete mystery to the team.

From the outside, the house was also the most imposing on the street, with a large, very well-cared-for front garden and a driveway that ended in a wide cobblestone courtyard, with a three-car garage to its right. The car parked in front of one of the three garage doors was an Infinity QX80 — the exact vehicle they were looking for.

The car and the house were registered to Arthur Weber, a thirty-four-year-old computer whiz and entrepreneur who, at the age of twenty-five, had become a millionaire several times over, thanks to the success of his mobile applications company — Walking Gadgets. He had sold the company two and a half years ago for an absolute fortune and since then, at least according to what the team was able to gather in such a short time, had become somewhat of a recluse, withdrawing from social life almost completely. Mr. Weber had never been married, had no children and no siblings. His mother had raised him alone, as his father had walked away from them even before he was born.

The sun was about forty minutes away from rising when the three FBI SUVs pulled up outside the gates of Mr. Weber’s house.

‘OK, everybody, listen up,’ Agent Richardson said, as all fifteen agents gathered around in a circle. ‘As I’ve explained before, we’re splitting into three teams — Alpha, Beta and Gamma. Gamma team will enter the house and immediately proceed upstairs. Beta team will take the ground floor and Alpha team will venture into the unknown that is the basement. I will be leading Alpha team. Collins will head Beta team and Gomez Gamma team.’ Richardson checked his watch. ‘The sun will be up in just over thirty minutes and I want this all wrapped up by then.’

‘Roger that, sir,’ fourteen voices said in unison.

‘Now here’s the deal,’ Agent Richardson continued. ‘Whoever this guy is, he has no clue we’re coming for him this morning, so surprise is on our side here and we want to keep it that way. No loud noises. Once inside, hand signals only between team members. Team leaders will maintain minimum radio contact. The point to remember is that if this is our guy, he’s responsible for at least five deaths, one of them a fellow agent. He’s smart and very resourceful, but the good thing is, he shouldn’t be carrying a weapon. The bad thing is, like I’ve said before, he’s got a little girl hostage, who he might be keeping in the house. We have no real intel on that and for that reason, I want all of you to be on your toes. The girl’s name is Heather. She’s fourteen years old. She has Down syndrome and she’s the daughter of an FBI special agent.’ He lifted up a tablet, on its screen a portrait photograph of Heather. ‘This is her and she’s our priority today; is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The idea is to take Arthur Weber alive, so deadly force is to be used only if absolutely necessary, but if that necessity shows its ugly face, I want you to drop him without hesitation.’

‘Roger that.’

Agent Richardson looked around his elite squad of men — fourteen ‘don’t fuck with me’ badasses whom he would trust with his life.

‘All right,’ he said in conclusion. ‘Once in there watch your six and cover every corner. Lock and load, Godspeed and let’s go get this sonofabitch.’