Page 53 of Operation: Valiant Angel

“Clear, Lambchop,” Wilson broadcast in a barely audible voice, just in case someone Mother hadn’t identified yet was inside that room. He glanced over his shoulder at Mother, who held his position, his gaze still into the room.

“Heading your way now,” Lambchop replied. Then he and the Birdman carefully made their way towards Wilson and Mother’s location.

Wilson watched the two men approach through the darkness.

“The Undertaker and I have just entered through the front,” Jackson’s voice came through comms.

“Hold position,” Lambchop ordered in a quiet voice, quiet enough that he wouldn’t be heard by anyone within the room the Tango on the floor came from.

Mother had not proclaimed if the room was vacant. That made Wilson assume it was not. And Mother still hadn’t moved. When Lambchop and Sherman reached Wilson, Lambchop immediately zip tied the Tango’s hands behind his back as Sherman pressed tape to his lips. Lambchop then secured his ankles in zip ties as well before Wilson dragged the man several feet further into the darkness of the warehouse.

The three men crept up on the open doorway by circling far into the warehouse, into the dark shadows to not be seen by whoever may be inside. As soon as they were beside Mother, with their backs to the wall, he pivoted so he no longer gazed into the room, but he remained on a knee. He motioned to the others that he saw three men within the room, and he pointed out the general vicinity of each.

“One Tango neutralized, three more in the room,” Lambchop broadcast, his voice a whisper. He was confident the low playing music in the room would keep the three men inside from hearing him. “Undertaker and Jax, proceed to the back of loading dock three.”

“Roger, Lambchop,” Sloan replied. “We’ll let you know when we’re in position.”

All four of the men knew that those in the room would soon miss their buddy who was secured, face down on the warehouse floor. The seconds ticked by as they waited for Sloan and Jackson to get to the back of the building. Finally, Jackson broadcast that the two men were in position. The garage door, however, was secure, with no gaps that would allow entry as loading dock number one.

Lambchop motioned to the men beside him. They lined up on Mother, who still kneeled beside the door. “Three, two, one, go!” Lambchop counted down in a barely audible volume.

On the go order, Mother pivoted again, so he swung in front of the open doorway, the barrel of his M4 penetrating the room. Lambchop rushed past him, going straight into the room. Wilson, behind Lambchop, entered and rotated to the right. Behind him, Sherman made entry and veered to the left.

The view in front of Wilson when he’d gone right was an expansive room stretching out into the bay of loading dock two. So, there was no wall between bays two and three. Rows of tables were set up. Sitting atop the tables were stacks of boxes, rolls of plastic wrap, and containers with the unmistakable blocks of raw drugs. On one table a box full of a white substance, that would later test positive as cocaine, was in the process of being processed into baggie sized containers by a lone man standing with his back to Wilson. The row of tables behind him had an open trash bag full of dried cannabis buds.

Wilson approached the subject quickly and quietly, his P226 in his grasp. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before their presence would be seen by one of the three men, and the alarm raised. Wilson was nearly to the man when on the far left of the room shouts and curses caused the man Wilson approached to swing his head in that direction. He must have seen Lambchop or Sherman as he reached for his handgun, which lay on the table within his reach.

Wilson moved to intercept the man before he got to his handgun. With his left hand, Wilson reached out and struck the man’s hand, pushing it away from the gun just as his hand made contact with it. This sent the weapon flying. It clattered to the floor. Wilson then used his body, slamming his right side into the Tango. This knocked him off balance, and he crashed into the table. Wilson heard the unmistakable sounds of his teammates engaging the other Tangos, but he kept his focus on the man in front of him, his Tango.

His Tango, after pulling himself off the table, turned his fists to Wilson. But Wilson had already stepped back far enough to be out of reach, his weapon trained on the man. “Uh-huh, get ‘em up,” Wilson ordered.

The Tango didn’t believe he’d shoot. He swung and took a step towards Wilson. Wilson bobbed right, out of the trajectory of the punch. Wilson immediately buried his fisted left hand in the man’s groin. He wasn’t going to fuck around with this guy. The man squealed and instantly went down. Wilson dropped on the man, one knee down hard in the middle of the man’s back. Only then did he scan the room to see that both Sherman and Lambchop had or were in the process of getting their men subdued.

“Jax, Undertaker, come in and clear the remainder of the warehouse,” Lambchop transmitted. “Ops, please notify DEA command that we can confirm drugs at the target location.”

“Roger that, Lambchop,” Sloan’s voice came through comms.

“Making that report now,” Garcia’s voice came through a second later.

Wilson pulled a zip tie from his vest and then grabbed his Tango’s wrists, securing them behind his back. The man had slightly recovered from the crotch blow and was now vocally throwing out curses and threats in what Wilson was sure was an octave or two higher than his normal voice. Wilson ignored him. He then secured the man’s ankles.

Wilson glanced over the product on the many tables in the room. There was a shit-ton of illegal drugs in all stages of preparation for sale, cocaine, methamphetamine, fentanyl, and even marijuana. Then he walked towards the center of the room where Lambchop had another man already secured. Beyondhim, Mother and Sherman had just completed restraining the mountain of a man who wasn’t giving up too easily.

Leaving the Tangos where they were, Lambchop and Mother went back out into the warehouse and they dragged the previously restrained man inside, laying him beside his amigos. Sherman and Wilson began photographing the tables to document the scene. As expected, just a few minutes later, Lambchop was contacted by phone by Espinoza. Lambchop relayed to him the contents of the warehouse. He also sent photos to Espinoza.

“Okay, Mirandize them and let them know they’re under arrest by the DEA,” Espinoza said. He of course already knew that both Jackson and Wilson carried DEA badges. “I’ll get the warrant for that location now. Don’t question them until I notify you I have it, should only take a few minutes.”

“Affirmative,” Lambchop replied. Then he nodded to Wilson. “Mirandize them.”

“Gladly,” Wilson said. He went in front of the four of them. “Do you all speak English?” No one answered. “No matter.” He pulled his DEA badge and chain from inside his bulletproof vest and stuck it in each of their faces. “DEA, assholes. You’re under arrest for possession of narcotics with the intent to distribute and sell.” He then read them their Miranda rights.

When he finished, he motioned to Mother. Mother, a fluent Spanish speaker, then repeated the entire statement in Spanish. Shortly after, Jackson and Sloan entered the room. The rest of the warehouse was empty. Lambchop stationed them at the front door. Espinoza and his crew were running operations at stash house number one and two and a third location they’d identified. After they’d successfully secured all three locations, Espinoza then had the local police pick up a dozen street dealers.At the end of the day, three dozen people were in custody, including the four men the Shepherd Security Team had in custody at the warehouse.

The team wasn’t relieved until after twenty-two hundred. By the time they gave statements and left the scene, it was nearly midnight. They were hungry and tired. The agency Learjet wouldn’t get them until midmorning. They found an all-night diner even though a good steakhouse would have been preferred.

Seated at a table for eight in the middle of the barely occupied diner, the team ordered breakfast, which was available twenty-four hours a day. After, they returned to the hotel and sacked out. Wilson awoke to an empty room. Jackson’s bed was empty. He found him in the lobby when he went to get coffee. Jackson was seated in the lobby, on the phone with Angel, sipping coffee. A half-eaten bagel was in front of him. It was zero seven hundred. The free breakfast would be open a few more hours.

After getting a cup of coffee and a muffin, Wilson wandered over by Jackson, who was just wrapping his call up. “Anyone else up?”

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