An Absence of Trust Pt. 02

We talked for a while about what happened, the way she sent him the money, and other details. I was still angry, but I needed as much information as possible. I wasn't sure how to solve the problem at this moment. But I knew one thing, if we keep sending money, he'll keep asking for more.

I went down to my basement office. First thing I thought of was I needed any intelligence I could get on Tiffee. I looked through all the printed transcripts of His communication with Maddie. I specifically didn't look at any pictures. There'd be no value in that other getting me more mad.

Within the messages there was a reference to getting any help from the police. He said he'd immediately release the emails. Quite frankly I wasn't terribly impressed by our police department anyway.

I called Maddie's brother Ryan Doucette. He'd worked with Tiffee at ISC. Last I had heard was that Tiffee had embezzled client money and the parent company Global Management was looking for him. After the briefest of pleasantries I asked Ryan what had happened to Tiffee.

"I have no idea," he said, "last I heard the Global people were looking for him, but I haven't even heard that name mentioned in years, over ten years. Maybe check with Eliot at Global. Why? What's going on?" He asked.

I gave some vague reason for my interest, got off the phone and called Eliot Boucher from Global Management.

I got a little more information from Eliot, but not much.

"We had him traced to Mexico or Central America, then the lead went cold." Eliot told me. "I can send you the file but there's not much in it."

I sat there thinking. This asshole, Tiffee, is threatening my family. I could hire a private investigator but I have so little information I wouldn't even know what direction to point them at.

I briefly thought of Junior and Clarence. I quickly came to the conclusion that this was way out of their league.

I sat and thought. How was I going to solve this problem? I had to protect my family, what was I going to do? And then all of a sudden it hit me. It was a long shot, but I couldn't think of a better solution.

I began opening my old steel file cabinet. There in the back in the old Mettke file folder I found it. That generic card with the name M. SANCHEZ written on it. Michael Sanchez, one of the buddies of Dallas that eliminated Hartoonian and his crowd.

I called the number. There were a number of odd noises, not a normal dial tone and then a brief voicemail command.

'leave a name and a contact number'. Click.

I followed the directions and then hung up. I had no idea if I'd get a reply.

I thought of Mike Sanchez and the money I'd given to him to help his nephew. I never heard what had happened, in fact I had not thought of any of that in many years.

There was nothing else that I could think to do at this time. Maddie and I talked and pledged to act as normal as possible around the kids. Both of us were completely stressed out by the situation but we needed to keep things normal for the kids.

It was restless sleep for both of us that night. I tossed and turned, dozing off to sleep and then abruptly waking up a short time later. I'd finally fallen into a slightly deeper sleep when my IPhone buzzed. Waking, I glanced at the clock, 2:19 AM.

"Hello,". I said standing and exiting the bedroom.

"Billy Damon?" The caller asked.

It was Sanchez, I could still recognize his voice many years later. We talked briefly but Sanchez was all business.

"What can I do for you?" He asked.

I explained about the blackmail situation. He asked several questions and then paused and thought.

"I'll get with counterterrorism," he said, "they deal with kidnap, blackmail, computer crime. Give me two days,". Click.

He was gone.

There was an element of relief. At least someone was doing something. I told Maddie and she said she felt better but I could tell how worried she still was. I knew she'd do anything to protect our kids.

It was actually three days when I heard back from Mike Sanchez.

"You need to get him to agree to receive your payment at a PO Box." Sanchez told me. And then he explained a little more.

I then talked to Maddie. She sent Tiffee a message back explaining some made up excuse that she wanted to keep this information from me, her husband. She needed to send a cashier check hard copy. Her husband would find out if she kept transferring money electronically.

It made no sense logically, but Tiffee was not known to be particularly intelligent. His greed overcame his common sense. He sent the PO Box address. It was to a

Correos de México, in Guadalajara Mexico.

Maddie agreed to send another $20,000 and she begged Tiffee this would be the last time.

'We'll see,' he replied.

I sent all the information to Mike Sanchez including photos. I described his size, height, weight, etc. He told me it would take him three days to get there, so not to send anything until he was already there. We agreed and Maddie communicated to Tiffee it would take her a couple of days to get the money together.

"Okay my friend," Sanchez said to me, "I will be in touch."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Compared to some of the places I'd been Mexico wasn't too bad. Sure more poverty than the US, but much better than Iraq or Afghanistan. Cookie was with me, he and I had flown out of Fort Lewis on military transport that got us close to the PO Box site.

Cookie, Kevin Cook, was part of the mission when we took down the guys responsible for killing Dallas. Right now he was on the street near the front of the post office building, dressed as a peasant. I was on the other side in the rental car.

Just then I got a double click from my headset. Cookie had seen the guy. Then I saw him, definitely American. He's walking in the building, Cookie's slowly following him. Another double click. Target has been verified.

I watched the American walk out. Dude looked like he didn't have a care in the world. That was all about to change.

,

Followed him to an apartment near the university. I stayed outside watching. Cookie met me here he brought the weapons. We hunkered down. Later, after dark we saw him leave. Cookie, wearing different clothes, followed him to a popular bar where it looked like the college kids hung out.

I found a rooftop, flat with a good angle and sight line to the target's front door. It was about fifty yards away, well within range of my ultra quiet ultra light B and T 300 SPR sniper rifle with night vision scope.

Nearly two hours later Cookie called. The target was alone and heading back toward the apartment. I sighted the front door. A moment later the target appeared. A little pressure, the amazingly quiet sound of the rifle firing.

Headshot. Mission accomplished.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Several weeks later....

"Are you coming up?" Maddie called through the French doors to me.

"Yeah, in a few minutes," I answered.

It was one of the rare warm spring days we seldom got in Seattle. I was sitting on my back patio enjoying the quiet of the night, sipping the last of a glass of wine. The family had just spent the weekend at Friday Harbor on San Juan Island.

Despite, Paris's early complaints about not being with her friends we all had a good time. The great part was we did it as a family. A happy family. I thought back to some of the challenges I'd had in my life and about my and Maddie's relationship.

I stared off into the night thinking about how lucky I was with my family and Maddie. It was just a few weeks ago we'd been threatened. It was hard to express my gratitude toward Mike Sanchez.

The bond Maddie and I have has never been stronger than it was now. Sometimes it takes overcoming tough situations to gauge that strength.

So this is the last chapter from me. My goal from now on is that my life will be so normal and uneventful that no one will care to hear about it.

Except maybe Maddie.

the end