Black-Haired Internal Revenue Service SWAT Agent - Chapter 321



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Side story 27: Operation Assault

Orlando, Florida.

For Americans, or more precisely, middle-class Americans rather than those barely scraping by, this is a city of theme parks with Disneyland, Legoland, and Universal Studios.

It is said that on the outskirts of Orlando there are a bunch of fucking punks who worship the cross and the Hakenkreuz, a mishmash of symbols that can never be reconciled.

As soon as we flew in from New York, we were greeted at the airport security area by all the gum-chewing alphabet agencies (FBI, DEA, ATF, CBP) from Florida towns.

No, to be exact, I welcomed Claire.

In these situations, when I was a federal employee, I would either lead the briefing or listen to the briefings from local officials.

One, at this moment today, I am sweating from my butt trying to ignore the disapproving looks asking why a civilian is here.

In principle, if any federal agent in the situation room built in the corner of this hangar tells civilians to leave, I would be kicked out without being able to say anything.

Still, Claire has to hold out without moving because the atmosphere is such that she wants to lead the operation to arrest Lennox’s gang.

It seems that we’ll have to sit quietly and watch the situation unfold as we fly in with Agent Dietz from New York.

At this very moment, urgent discussions are taking place among Florida state leaders while looking at the large LG LED monitors in South Korea.

“We have received information that Lennox, along with the leaders of the biker gang ‘Bloody Carrot’ and the radical armed group ‘God’s Army’, are currently staying at the farm owned by Lennox’s cousin. The leader of Bloody Carrot, ‘Skinhead’, and the leader of God’s Army, ‘John ​​Hymes’, both came here at around the same time with about 20 bodyguards… I think everyone here can guess why they are meeting.”

The briefing continues with a young black woman named Erin Post, head of the FBI Miami Office’s organized crime unit.

Not only is she a black woman, she also looks smart, as if she could easily recite the 11th or 12th multiplication tables.

She provides additional explanations, pointing out photos of key figures one by one that the ATF support agent projects on a large monitor.

However, after listening to the story for a while, Claire raises a hand and interrupts Team Leader Post’s briefing.

“Tell me, Agent Shepard.”

Shepherd asked, pointing to the picture of Gomez, the squadron leader pilot of the Air Enforcement Squadron, that had just appeared on the monitor.

“So far, you have been briefed on the operation to storm the meeting place of the Lennox organization and the other two organizations, but it seems that you have overlooked one very important fact: finding Agent Robert Gomez, the person in the photo, and his family.”

At those words, the eyes of the twelve agents from different units standing in front of a table with a large monitor and other briefing equipment and communication equipment turned to Claire.

Claire stared at Team Leader Post, and after a moment, Post took off his horn-rimmed glasses and answered.

“The issue was that you were preparing at the same time that you were flying here from LaGuardia Airport. So, didn’t you request that HRT Blue Team fly here with you? To rescue Agent Gomez and his family, as you pointed out?”

The Post Team Leader pointed to Agent Dietz, or rather Mr. Kim Chul-jae, and his HRT seniors standing behind the crowd with his long, pretty index finger that looked like it could be used as a finger model.

This time, everyone’s eyes are all turned to them.

A slick looking Hispanic agent, like Deetz and his dirty talking sniper agent and my best friend, Agent Nick Torres, was drinking coffee and going into ice craving mode.

“What I mean is…..”

This time, everyone’s eyes are turned to Claire.

As the post team leader looks at Claire, my scary girlfriend complains.

“What I mean is, shouldn’t we rescue the Gomez family first, and then wipe out those lunatic armed groups? That’s what I mean. In the process of arresting Lennox’s organization, as well as Brady Carrot and the Army of God, this isn’t just a simple gunfight; it’s the third Iraq War. Shouldn’t we secure the safety of Gomez and his family first?”

At that, an older man wearing an ATF windbreaker raises his finger and steps between the two senior female agents.

“Obviously, rescuing the Customs and Border Protection agent and his family is important, but there are other issues that are equally important.”

As Claire casts her gaze at the ATF man, he speaks cautiously, keeping an eye on her.

“It has been reported that Lennox and his men have been preparing to leave Florida since all attempts to take you out in New York failed. However, it appears that the bastard will be making off with not only a large sum of dollars, but also a very important tactical weapon.”

As people begin to whisper in agreement with those words, Claire runs two fingers over her chin.

When CBP Senior Agent Claire Shepherd makes that move, things are about to get crazy.

Claire shouted at the ATF man in a voice that rose an octave.

“What the hell is that ‘fucking’ important tactical weapon that you’re willing to put above the safety of our fellow federal agents’ families?”

At those words, the ATF agent turned his gaze to Team Leader Post.

Even at first glance, it seems like there is some hidden issue behind the large-scale crackdown on big-time criminals.

Soon, an ATF senior agent, with the permission of the Post Team Leader, reveals hidden issues.

“The issue is the three Russian-made ‘Man-Pads’ (portable surface-to-air missiles) that are believed to have been smuggled from Iraq through Mexico to the mainland. Lennox is certain to flee with these as well. Everyone must strictly keep this fact confidential.”

Those who had been whispering at those words all fell silent.

Agent Dietz and his HRT operatives also place their coffee cups down on the metal containers around them.

If I heard this, I think I would get sick from even just a sip of coffee.

It was here in Orlando, of all places, that the Man-Paz missiles popped up.

It’s no wonder people are getting more and more upset when these crazy, Floridian rednecks can shoot down a space shuttle or a commercial airliner just for fun.

My butt is also tingling.

Phew!

I feel like dancing, thankful I’m not a federal agent.

They’re already going to pounce on those crazy white bastards, and they have surface-to-air missiles that they can fire from their shoulders.

I’m worried about our fellow agent, Agent Dietz, but it’s a blessing in disguise that the FBI Miami office is taking the lead on this entire operation.

If it’s this serious, we should either call in the Apache attack helicopters of the National Guard or use the MQ-9 drones operated by the Customs and Border Protection Agency equipped with Hellfire missiles.

Claire keeps her mouth shut and stares at Team Leader Post.

Of course, my Rambo girlfriend knows a lot about those surface-to-air missiles since her military days, so she won’t be able to try to take the initiative of this operation away from the FBI.

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A situation this dire is something that only the FBI, not Customs and Border Protection, can handle.

With Team Leader Post and the ATF having such a firm grip on the case, it’s unlikely Claire will take any risks.

So, although I feel relieved in one part of my heart, I am still secretly concerned that these federal agents and Agent Dietz’s HRT team are up for such a dangerous operation.

I’ve been in their shoes so many times that it doesn’t feel like someone else’s business.

This is such a crazy country.

How did those things, rolling around in Third World War battlefields, end up in Disneyland?

Oh, by the way, the Kennedy Center, where great Americans launch the space shuttle, is near Orlando!

So aren’t those people putting the safety of the poor Gomez family first?

Kyle Lennox, a Texas native in his mid-50s, was once a career soldier in the United States Army.

He had been making pocket change by embezzling surplus military supplies since his active-duty days, and since the Second Iraq War, he had been punished by a court-martial for stealing and selling American and Russian-made weapons locally.

But even after he was kicked out of the military, he continued to smuggle Russian weapons and explosives into the United States through connections he had made in Iraq for years.

Drug trafficking through Colombian and Mexican cartels was an additional line of business to finance joint activities with other white armed groups.

But with the Customs and Border Protection’s Air Enforcement Unit doggedly pursuing them, Lennox’s organization and the white armed groups that had allied with him were soon in danger of being screwed.

To make matters worse, of the twelve members of the Army of God organization who had flown to Manhattan based on information from federal agents bribed by Lennox, none but two returned.

Now they knew better than ever that they were being driven into a corner.

Four months ago, a few of Lennox’s men were in trouble when they crash-landed a smuggling plane into the ocean, and now two of the Army of God gunmen have been arrested by local law enforcement and face an additional felony charge of attempted murder of a federal agent.

Now, it was clear that Lennox and all of the other members of the organization would either be killed by federal agents who would invade in military numbers or captured and sentenced to life in federal prison.

“Kyle! Are you going to waste your time like this and put us all at risk? Stop thinking about something else and make a fucking decision right now.”

As he stands in the living room of the spacious mansion within the ranch, the leader of the Bloody Carrots, ‘Skinhead’, urges him on.

Before Lennox and another group, the leader of the Army of God, John Hymes, left Florida, they were locked in a standoff over the distribution of tens of millions of dollars in funds that the three groups had amassed.

Lennox watched from the living room window at the skinheads and John Hymes’ bodyguards positioned just outside the mansion.

Both sides’ security personnel were openly carrying automatic rifles and were observing the atmosphere in the mansion.

Lennox spoke calmly to the two leaders who were impatient because they couldn’t get the money right away.

“No matter how dire the situation becomes, you still have no manners. I’m the one who made you, who were just waving guns and doing drugs in an abandoned warehouse on a beggarly street, into a somewhat decent organization.”

At those words, the leader of the army of God, Heims, who had been sitting on a three thousand dollar leather sofa, crossed his legs and responded.

“Unlike the skinhead, I acknowledge and appreciate your words. However, now that our honeymoon is coming to an end, how can you trust me with all that money when you’re not even a fucking downtown Orlando bank? Let’s just get this all sorted out and go our separate ways, Lennox. That way, we can avoid getting annihilated by the FBI and ATF.”

At that, the skinhead sitting across from Haims, smoking a joint rolled in a cigarette paper, chimed in loudly.

“Fucking A! We’ve already calculated the investment capital of each organization, as well as the distribution of the most recent profits, so if you just transfer the money from this pathetic ranch shack right now, we can say goodbye to each other and go our separate ways. What’s wrong with you, Lennox, that you’re talking nonsense like a high school principal?”

Lennox, who was standing where one entire wall was made of windows, turned around at the skinhead’s excited voice.

Lennox stared silently for a moment at the two leaders of the organizations sitting in the middle of the large living room.

There were only these three people in the living room of this mansion.

Since these three were there to dismantle a coalition of white supremacist militants and do the math, all the security guards were stationed outside.

But before the skinhead could even get in and sit down on the living room sofa, he took out a custom-made knife the size of a grown man’s forearm and began threatening and threatening Lennox out of the blue.

Another remaining gang leader, John Hymes, was unusually uninhibited in his approach to skinheads, and was rambling about the need to give them their share of the pie right away.

Now Lennox was going to try persuading her one last time, and if that didn’t work, he would implement his Plan B.

“I’ll give you another chance. If you accept my offer now and plan for the future, you’ll get more money. Anyway, before I can give you your share of the money, the feds will freeze all the money…”

“Shit! Stop talking nonsense and transfer my ‘fucking’ money right now, old man.”

The skinhead shouted as he slammed his knife against an antique living room table.

From then on, silence flowed in the living room.

To a stranger, Lennox looked like an ordinary horse ranch owner, standing motionless, looking down at the skinheads and John Hymes.

Lennox later discovered that Haims was sitting haughtily across from the skinhead, with a pistol holstered on his waist under his jacket.

Perhaps he was intentionally showing Lennox the waist holster.

A moment later, Lennox picked up a burner phone (a disposable cell phone) from the table between the two men.

Then, I dialed the number with my familiar hands and the other person answered immediately.

“McDonald’s! Give the customers what they want.”

Lennox said that and hung up the phone.

The tension and resistance that had been palpable on the faces of the skinheads and Haims who had overheard the conversation were immediately erased.

Soon, two vans appeared out of nowhere and approached the parking lot right in front of the mansion, where about 20 security guards from the two organizations were gathered.

Skinhead and Haims were sure that Lennox’s van would be strewn with wads of cash, given his habit of managing his finances in cash.

After Heims threw the cigar at the skinhead, he ripped off the wrapper of his own cigar and said:

“Even though we’re just going to find what’s originally ours, my heart is already pounding just thinking about welcoming that big van full of money.”

The two sat on the sofa, watching what was happening outside through the window where Lennox had been standing.

However, just before the two could light their cigars, a loud explosion rang out from outside the mansion.

Booooooooooooooooo!

Booooooooooooooooooooo!

A red laser beam began to shoot out toward the six SUVs and pickup trucks parked in front of the mansion, and large sparks began to fly in all directions.

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