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Dragov woke the men early, well before dawn. They were standing in the operations room, drinking from steaming mugs of coffee, when a vehicle drew up outside. Zoltan was by the window.
"It's Etienne," he said.
"All right," Dragov ordered, "everyone embus."
"Does that include me?" Michael asked.
Dragov nodded. "Everyone takes part in the initial training, then if one man drops out we can replace him with another."
Dragov's men hastily piled into Etienne's pickup truck, their movements swift and purposeful. They slid into the worn vinyl seats, their faces set with determination, ready for the operation ahead. Dragov sat beside Etienne.
"She's not bad considering the price," Etienne said, referring to the pickup, as they moved on. "I picked her up last night and I found another gem. A '74 Dodge Monaco sedan."
"Are you sure about this?" Dragov frowned. "A '74 Dodge Monaco might draw attention we don't want."
"Oh, It's perfect, better than those modern Crown Victorias the cops drive. The difference between the two cars goes toward my new business, O.K.?" Etienne asked.
Dragov didn't like it. "It's your neck that's at risk," he said coldly. "Choose what you like."
In fifteen minutes they arrived at a large 1-story warehouse surrounded by a ten-foot fence.
"How long can we use this place for?" Dragov asked.
"The agents have slotted us in for six weeks while it's between tenants."
"Did you make it clear that we didn't want to be disturbed?"
"Yes," Etienne confirmed.
A Ford station wagon was parked by the fence. Dragov got out and opened the trunk of the station wagon. Dragov walked over to him. The man turned.
"Morinin', sir." It was the male nurse at Pescadero whom Reed-Henry had sent Dragov to see.
"It was good of you to come," Dragov told him.
The nurse was lifting some boxes out of the back. "Well, sir, in for a penny," he said lightly, grinning as he heaved the boxes out of the trunk, dropping them at Dragov's feet. "Got these from a friend," he explained cryptically.
Dragov lifted the top off one of the cardboard boxes. "Uniforms?"
The nurse nodded. "How long have I got to turn you into cops?"
"Less than twenty days and a couple of my men don't even speak English very well."
"Well then, sir," the nurse said purposefully, "we'd better get crackin', huh?"
Together they walked over to the waiting men. "This is Manuel Mendoza, a psychiatric nurse with a background in espionage," Dragov introduced him.
"Don't worry about giving me their names," the nurse said. "I'll get to know them soon enough."
He stood before Dragov's men with a wiry frame, but there was an unmistakable air of resilience about him. Despite his slender appearance, there were hints of hidden strength lurking beneath the surface. His eyes, sharp and perceptive, held a glint of determination, betraying a spirit unyielding to adversity. As he spoke, his voice carried a sense of quiet authority, commanding attention without the need for grand gestures. Though his physical stature may have deceived the naked eye at first glance, it was clear that he possessed a strength of character that belied his outward appearance.
"Let me tell you about myself," he began. "I'm not just some ordinary guy. I've got a history, a background in espionage that most people wouldn't believe. I've worked for agencies that operate in the shadows, the kind you only hear whispers about. That's how I know so much about police procedures, about how to move in the shadows without being seen." He kicked open one of the boxes at his feet. "All right then, put your uniforms on. It's not enough to just dress like a cop, to carry a badge and a gun. You've got to feel it in your bones." It was slightly chilly in the warehouse but he had no mercy on them. "Strip down," he ordered. "Hop to it."
Manuel moved amongst them, helping them adjust their gaiters and webbing.
"Pull the laces flat. You've got to use some spit and polish on those boots to shine them up. Who's going to be the S.F.C.?"
"That would be me, sir," said Flynn. "In Ulster, I've been dragged into police stations more times than I can count, subjected to their interrogation games. They think they can break us with their tactics, but I've learned their tricks well."
The nurse tossed Flynn a jacket with the signature gold and blue stripes and embroidered emblem. "You're a staff sergeant then,' he said, handing Dragov a jacket. "The rest of you are just plain ol' cops."
"Shouldn't we have a plainclothes detective?" Dragov asked. "What happens if we come up against one at the accident and he starts countermanding Flynn's orders?
"I doubt that would happen. See, in the CHiP hierarchy, an SFC holds a senior leadership position among sergeants. While detectives may have authority within their specific investigative units or divisions, they generally do not have the authority to countermand the orders of a CHP SFC unless given explicit instructions or authorization from higher-ranking officials within the CHP chain of command."467Please respect copyright.PENANAOAAxiSwRKE
467Please respect copyright.PENANAh6szrcF1yQ
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