A Requital of Gratitude

Chapter 5: The Execution

By Samuel

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In Chapter 5, Operation Ultio strikes Kansas City in a multi-pronged assault. Nicholas O’Bannon confronts Pieter “Dutchy” DeVries to exact ultimate vengeance and dismantle the syndicate forever.

At eight o’clock sharp on Monday morning, the entire organization assembled in the great hall of their Catskills compound. From the outside, the disused warehouse appeared as dilapidated and abandoned as the day Nick bought it. Inside, however, it had been transformed into a sleek, modern command center—a high-tech central hall branching into four secured corridor wings.

Nick stood at the head of the briefing room, his expression impassive. He gestured to Keefe and Rion. “Give us the tactical breakdown.”

Keefe stepped forward to the map board. “Base staging is set. We’ve confirmed reservations across our designated towns using our clean aliases. Every location offers discreet parking, immediate highway access, and defensible perimeters. We can strike hard, pull back clean, and remain invisible.”

Rion picked up the report. “The heat from our initial highway hit has cooled, but the Blue Street Boys are operating with heightened vigilance. They’ve altered their banking protocol. Instead of a single ten o’clock transport with three guards, they’ve split the run into two staggered drops—the first at ten, the second at ten-fifteen. Both carry three armed guards, maintaining constant radio contact with their central hub.”

Rion looked at Nick. “We take both transports simultaneously: Team B hits the first drop near the bank, and Team C intercepts the second on the open road.”

Nick nodded slowly. “Good work. But we aren’t just cutting their cash flow this time.” He turned to Rion, his voice softening slightly. “I know your priority has always been those safe houses.”

Rion’s jaw tightened, a hard glint in his eye as he gave a solid nod.

“While Teams B and C handle the cash transports,” Nick commanded, “Team D will breach the safe houses and liberate every child inside. Meanwhile, Team A is going straight for the throat. We breach their central warehouse compound, and I take down Dutchy DeVries and his inner circle personally. A multi-pronged, simultaneous assault gives them zero time to adapt, regroup, or retaliate.”

Declan slammed his palm on the table, a grim grin spreading across his face. “Military precision. We crush them in a single morning, and the Irish Blue Street Boys become nothing more than a bad memory.”

A rumble of fierce agreement echoed through the hall.

Nick raised a hand and waited for the noise to die down. “I’m grateful to every man in this room for standing with me. But I won’t pretend this is just business. This is my personal demon.”

Thomas Goad stepped out from the back of the room. The lanky accountant was no gunman, but his voice carried absolute conviction.

“Nicholas,” Thomas said quietly, “you were the one who taught us about the Four Musketeers—all for one, and one for all. That isn’t just a story to us. Your battles are our battles. It’s a privilege to follow you into this. Lead the way.”

No further speeches were needed. Within two hours, a fleet of unbranded sedans rolled out of the Catskills compound, scattering across the highway network toward their staging points in Kansas and Missouri. Operation Ultio was live.

By Sunday evening, all four teams were dug into their respective staging locations—Olathe, Manhattan, Columbia, and Junction City.

The weather was crisp and clear as Kansas City went about its weekend routines. Churchgoers filled the sidewalks while night owls drifted home through the quiet streets. Inside their hotel rooms, Nick’s crew stayed completely dark, running final cross-checks over encrypted tactical radios, validating frequencies, routes, and timing windows down to the second.

At 10:00 AM on Monday, Kansas City erupted.

The multi-pronged assault hit the syndicate like a coordinated military invasion. Within minutes, gunfire echoed across three different districts. Sirens wailed as overwhelmed police dispatchers scrambled units in every direction, unable to discern where the main attack was centered. Corrupt precinct officers dispatched to assist the gang quickly retreated when they realized the sheer scale of the slaughter; the bribe money Dutchy paid them wasn’t worth taking a bullet.

While chaos paralyzed the city, Team A breached the gates of the Blue Street Boys’ main riverfront compound.

Moving with lethal efficiency, Nick’s strike team swept through the outer perimeter, neutralizing guards and driving the surviving syndicate members into the central warehouse floor. Surprised, outgunned, and pinned down, the mobsters were disarmed and forced to their knees within minutes.

Nick stepped into the echoing hall, his heavy boots crunching over shattered glass.

Pieter “Dutchy” DeVries sat bound in a chair at the center of the room, panting, his broad face contorted in anger and confusion as he glared at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” Dutchy spat.

Nick walked up to him and stopped just out of arm’s reach. He pulled back his coat, exposing his holster, his eyes cold and dark as stone.

“Look closely, Pieter,” Nick said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “I’ve waited half my life for this moment. I see the confusion in your eyes, so let me refresh your memory. My name is Nicholas O’Bannon. I am Fin’s son—the man who took you off the street, gave you a home, and gave you a life.”

Dutchy’s face drained of color, his chest heaving as the memory hit him.

“You butchered my father,” Nick continued, stepping closer. “You murdered my mother and Catherine! Today, I’m here to collect payment in full for your cowardice and deceit. Their blood has called out for justice for twenty years. Today, I am judge, jury, and executioner.”

Two terrified goons were dragged forward and thrown onto the cold concrete beside Dutchy—the same two men who had beaten a young Nicholas bloody and thrown his body into the river to drown.

“I still hear your laughter,” Nick whispered, staring down at them as they begged for their lives. “I still remember how you joked while you held me under the water. You wondered how I survived. You can take that answer to the grave.”

A series of deafening gunshots echoed through the warehouse space.

Nick turned on his heel and walked out into the cold afternoon air, leaving his men to clean up the compound and secure the perimeter.

By late afternoon, the Irish Blue Street Boys were no longer.

At the three safe houses, Team D eliminated the guards and rescued dozens of captive children, ensuring their safe return to their families. In the back offices of the safe houses, Rion recovered detailed ledgers listing buyers and trafficking networks across the country. Nick ordered those ledgers delivered directly to untainted federal agents at the FBI. The shockwaves from the documents would trigger a wave of sudden “health resignations” and early retirements among corrupt local and federal officials for months to come.

By Wednesday morning, Nick’s crew was prepared to leave Kansas City and head home to New York.

Before leaving, Nick made one final stop: Aunt Nellie’s flat at the Mary Usher residence. Declan, Rion, Keefe, and Casey insisted on coming along as his rear guard.

When Nellie opened the door and saw the five men standing in the hallway, tears welled in her eyes. She pulled each of them into a tight, motherly embrace, saving her longest and fiercest hug for Nicholas.

Holding his face between her hands, she looked up at him with quiet pride. “It’s over, isn’t it, Nicky?”

Nick gave a soft, weary smile. “It’s over, Aunt Nellie. They’ll never hurt anyone again.”

She kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around him once more as the sun filtered through the window of her quiet living room—bringing light to a long-awaited peace.