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The guard opened it up and read into the comms the address in Kenwood of the couple. Everyone in their entire network heard it. Immediately, Lydia saw the monitors spring to life as keyboards researched the address, transmitting information about the surrounding area and owners and renters living nearby. This was done in a matter of seconds.
Harper hoisted up his duty bag over his shoulder, and he and five others left to go retrieve the couple. He gave her a quick kiss. “It all begins now.”
“Break a leg.”
“Ouch,” he said as he exited their front door.
Everyone heard over the comms as Lipori told the guard, “Best of luck, Gents. I will see you the next time around. Ciao!”
Lydia noted the complete lack of panic in his voice, unlike before in the prison, and that alarmed her. She’d have to say he was even giddy.
The guard reported, “Okay, they’re on their way to the airport, guys. They’ve got a tail. I also slipped a tracking device under Lipori’s seat.”
“We got it,” said one of the techs in front of Lydia at the console.
It was confirmed to the guard. “You stay in touch with the tail. Let us know if anything happens,” came the voice of Patterson.
As the car was driving away, everyone on the comms heard the guard say, “Asshole—not you, Admiral. Lipori. I hope I never see him again. If I do, it’s because I went to hell.”
A small cheer arose in the house at the prospect that Lipori was on his way back to Italy. Had they actually pulled this off? Somehow, it seemed all too simple.
Harper and the five in the Sprinter van verified their location and asked for a drone to be sent over the hill to Kenwood to help them out. One of Paul Taylor’s NV drones was sent out, capable of traveling more than twenty miles per hour and able to record videos. It would be monitored by the house and arrive before the van did.
Others back at the house were using live map feeds, linked to county records so they had the location of the house, pictures of it and the neighborhood, and the names of all the neighbors nearby whether tenants or owners. They passed this down to Harper. There was a car in the driveway, a compact Ford. Also, a front porch light was on. It was a rural neighborhood without sidewalks. To Lydia, it all looked so normal—too normal.
Lydia listened as they chatted back and forth. The drone arrived before the team did. It did several sweeps up and down the street, showing little traffic at this time of night, but it registered all of the cars in the neighborhood including their license plates, which was downloaded to the team. The team was able to verify who was registered and who might be visitors. All the registrations were current and matched the vehicles. Nothing showed up as either a vehicle or home ownership in the couple’s name. In fact, it showed an owner occupant living at that property, a Mrs. Barker. It did not appear to be a rental.
Harper received all this information and let them know he’d parked a block away. They spread out and surrounded the tiny house from all four sides. There wasn’t time for a sniper, but Greg had brought his long gun anyway, just in case Harper needed him to get up on a garage or climb a tree. Before trying to enter, they needed to look inside. The go was given.
Harper carefully approached one of the windows on the east, since it appeared someone was in the living room watching TV.
“Poking my head in the dining window. I got one person in a lounge chair watching TV. Feet up. Looks like an elderly lady,” said Harper. “Can’t see her face.”
“No one in rear bedroom,” said another.
“Nothing in the kitchen. Can’t see the bathroom.”
“Looks like just her. Let’s give her a wake-up.”
The drone was allowed to hover lower, to get a good picture of the front door. Everyone in the house was seeing the whole act play out real-time on multiple monitors.
Careful to not make a sound on the porch, Harper knocked. And then he quickly backed away in case he was met with a volley bullets.
Nothing happened.
They pounded on the door the next time, using the owner’s name. “Mrs. Barker? Are you there, Mrs. Barker?” Harper said outside the door. He put his ear to the window and didn’t hear any movement.
He was given the all-clear to enter. He banged louder, asking for the owner again.
Next thing Lydia saw on the monitor was three of them breaching the front door and one coming through the back. They didn’t use explosives since the front door wasn’t even locked. Running into the living room with guns drawn, they found Mrs. Barker in the lounge chair. Everyone saw it as Harper described her.
“Gun shot wound to the head. Elderly white woman, about eighty. Appears to have been shot where she sat.”
The body cam on Harpers bulletproof vest revealed a typed message on a piece of binder paper stuck to her chest.
“Goddamnit, we’ve been had,” mumbled Harper.
Lydia heard the admiral ask him to read the note.
