by Owen Parr
“Not so fast. We need to hear the whole story. I’ll have my team take over the scene and have one of them drive you over here. Hang in there. And Joey? Don’t explain anything to the local police. I don’t want to jeopardize the other bigger investigation. You got that?”
“Roger that, Director,” I said as the parking lot began swarming with police and SWAT teams pointing their weapons at us.
Smartly, Patrick placed our Glocks on the ground away from his car. Within minutes, Patrick, the professor, and I sat cuffed in three different patrol cars. It was a chaotic scene with no less than a hundred people from the hotel gathered under the porta-cochère.
Four FBI suits took control of the chaos. The New Jersey Police looked pissed about it. Finally, after what felt like forever, we were uncuffed and led to a plain-wrapper Crown Victoria. Our driver, Special Agent Adams, was visibly upset at playing chauffer. Our live shooter witness was given first aid at the scene and swiftly removed from the parking lot in another FBI vehicle.
“You guys made a fucking mess back there.” It was the only thing Special Agent Adams would say in the forty minutes it took us to arrive at the Bureau’s office on Federal Plaza. As much as the professor wanted to chat, Patrick kept him quiet in the back seat. Achilles wanted to tell us a story about “one time in Lebanon.”
Entering the building from the underground parking lot, Special Agent Adams deposited us in an elevator with a new escort who never said a word.
As the elevator door opened, we were greeted by a herd of off-the-rack gray suits, white shirts, and dark ties. Is like I was in Men’s Warehouse.
“Who’s Mancuso?” one suit asked. He looked older than the rest of the herd.
“That would be me,” I replied, raising my right arm and attempting to smile.
“You,” pointing at yours truly, “come with me,” he said, as he made an about face. I followed and a second younger suit, almost ran trying to keep with this guy.
“What about the other two guys with me?” I asked.
There was no reply from either one.
“Excuse me,” I said louder, “what about my friends?”
We stopped at a closed door. The older guy turned to me and sternly said, “Look Mancuso, we’re giving you the benefit of the doubt only because your wife, Special Agent Martinez, is one of us. Your friends are being questioned independently. By the way, I hope you have permits for your Glocks.”
We do, I was going to reply but decided to remain quiet on the matter. Instead, I asked, “Is Assistant Director Stewart here?”
Hearing no reply, I followed the leader into a massive open room. A display of suits, maybe fifteen more, stood staring at me. I knew this was the task force Victoria mentioned before. Five gray and blue suits were FBI, their white shirts and dark ties gave them away. Five more suits, probably from Filene’s Basement in Union Square, were NYPD. I knew because I used to shop there myself. The other suits, a step up from off-the-rack with pocket squares, matching ties, and light-colored shirts, were Feds—DOJ and DHS.
Lost in the sea of testosterone were two ladies, in suits, of course. One of them, Assistant Director Victoria Stewart, smiled at me and said, “This is Joey Mancuso, Special Agent Martinez’s husband. Have a seat Joey.”
At the instant of her saying that I was Marcy’s husband, I could feel the eyes on me. Fifty-eight of them, inspecting me and judging if I was worthy of such a hot wife, as I’m sure they considered Marcy to be. After all, she was often called the hottest FBI agent in the tristate area.
Someone pulled a chair out for me at the center of the u-shaped setup, and I took a seat.
Victoria spoke again, “Joey, this is Special Agent In-Charge, Robert Mackenzie. He’s in charge of the anti-terror task force I mentioned on the phone. He’ll take over from here.” Mackenzie was in his fifties and had perfectly-combed white hair, manicured nails, and a friendly face.
Victoria walked by me, patted me on the shoulder and left the room. I was sorry to lose my only friend in this room full of humorless suits.
Mackenzie said, “Joey, thank you for being here. For your information, this meeting is being recorded.”
“I thought the New York Mayor prohibited the surveillance of any mosques in New York City.” That was a stupid question.
Mackenzie frowned. “First, you’re not here to discuss the work of this task force. You need to understand that from the get-go. Second, the mayor can order anything he wants, but we are a Federal task force. We don’t report to the Mayor.”
Remaining silent, I gave Mackenzie a thumbs up.
“Now, the Assistant Director has brought us up to date on what she knows. However, we want to hear everything you have to say on your investigation. Take your time.”
It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. “Have you spoken to Special Agent Olmec at the Miami Bureau?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, we just finished a conference call with him. And we’re up-to-date on his investigation. However, we don’t see a connection between what Miami is doing and what we’re tasked here to do. We’re hoping you can enlighten us.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Mackenzie, Raymond Meadows and Freddy Opal need to be arrested immediately. Otherwise, we may lose them. By now they know the attempt on my life failed. They also probably know we have a witness to their involvement.”
Mackenzie smiled. “All in due course. Both these men are without any known involvement in our investigation. And by now you know both are respected and revered in this city because of their work and their involvement in charitable endeavors.”
“I also know they are extremely wealthy and have the means to disappear at a moment’s notice. There’re eleven people dead, counting the two we just killed. If I’m not mistaken, the FBI would classify that as a mass killing.” I noticed everyone’s neck turning back and forth like they were watching a tennis match. I also saw many roll their eyes.
Mackenzie forced a smile. “Mr. Mancuso, we’re aware of the trail of dead bodies your investigation has left behind. Now please, start at the beginning.”
So much for benefit of the doubt. “Very well,” I said, adding, “at least consider something I think is going to help the task force,” I said. I was getting ready to ask the FBI for a favor.
Mackenzie nodded.
I asked for the favor.
Mackenzie nodded again and told one of the suits to go outside and do it.
I immediately began recounting the whole story, starting with when I got the call from Ruth Goldstein and my first meeting with Aaron Drucker.
47
I wanted to abridge my story, but the details made a difference in situations like this, so I carefully explained what happened from the start. About thirty minutes later, I stopped, and added, “That pretty much covers everything.”
All eyes turned to Mackenzie. He opened his arms to the crowd and asked, “Does anyone have any questions for Mr. Mancuso?”
My friend, the agent who brought me into the room, raised his right hand and asked, “When was the first time you assumed that Mr. Meadows and Mr. Opal were your suspects?”
I looked at my watch. “About three hours ago.”
“Why?”
You fucking idiot, you sat here for half an hour, and you still don’t know? “Good question,” I replied, biting my tongue. “My first clue was when we asked the detective from the Salinger Detective Agency. He confirmed that he delivered the reports to Meadows. Then—”
“Why would he volunteer such information about his client. Wouldn’t that be a violation of his client’s trust?”
We blackmailed the guy … is what I wanted to say. However, I replied, “We didn’t waterboard him or anything.” My response drew some small smiles from a few. I went on, “We must have been persuasive in our questioning.”
Mackenzie said, “Go on.”
“As I was about to say, our second clue was three hours ago. After meeting with Meadows, someone began to follow us, but the m
ost significant clue was simply taking the picture of the three shooters and having one of my investigators confirm that the person you have in custody met with Meadows at the Union Square Café just minutes after our meeting.”
Mackenzie looked at a file in front of him. “Were you aware that your phone was compromised while you were in Miami, Mr. Mancuso?”
“Ah, no. I was not. That would explain a few things.” I felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
“Such as?”
“For one, the quick team they sent after we turned over the two pilots to the authorities in Saint Thomas. And, I guess, the attempt to disguise myself was for naught. Meadows must have known it was me when we met him in his office.”
My friend spoke again, looking at his copy of my dossier. “Yes, we noticed you changed your appearance from the photo we have of you. Perhaps you can audition for the new Mr. Clean ad when this is over.”
That drew some laughter from the gathering. It quickly subsided when everyone realized Mackenzie was not laughing.
“Any other questions?” Mackenzie asked.
I waited a moment to see if there were. Hearing none, I asked, “I assume you have the one shooter in custody and are interrogating him. When do you pick up Meadows and Opal?”
“Yes, about that. We are interrogating him. He hasn’t corroborated your story. I would have been told immediately if he had, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“Mr. Mackenzie,” I began, only to be interrupted by an expensive dark blue suit, seated to the left of Mackenzie.
“Mr. Mancuso,” expensive suit said, “our task force is not involved in homicides. We’re at a critical point in this investigation, which, I might add, has been ongoing for over a year. For your ears and edification only, we have preempted one attack on New York’s subway system. So, you see, we cannot expose our assets at this time, nor can we arrest anyone from the mosque in question. I trust you understand our dilemma.”
“Well, sir, the bad news is that you’ve already arrested an individual from the mosque. He’s in your custody. Don’t you think you have been exposed?”
The expensive suit crossed his arms in front of him. “Yes, that was an unfortunate incident you got us involved in. We’re trying to find a way to spin it so that it doesn’t disrupt our work.”
“Good luck with that shit,” I said under my breath. “I have photos showing Mr. Meadows and the shooter meeting for coffee an hour before the incident, as you call it. That should be more than cause to issue a warrant for his arrest … before he gets the hell out of dodge.”
Mackenzie cleared his throat. “Under normal circumstances…” he began.
Fuck, here it came.
Mackenzie continued, “we would refer you to the NYPD’s homicide division at a local precinct. However, we’re going to strongly request, keeping in mind that Special Agent Martinez works for the Bureau, that you cease your involvement in this. We’ll consult with the NYPD members of this task force as to how your case should be handled. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Mancuso?”
This guy wasn’t as friendly as he looked. He was using Marcy to leverage me? It was tail-between-the-legs time for me. I counted to ten, swallowed hard, looked around the table, and replied, “Yes.”
Expensive suit was not convinced. “Can we rest assured that you will not interfere, Mr. Mancuso? Your file does not make feel warm and fuzzy about your past reactions to higher authorities.”
Why? Otherwise, you’re sending me to Gitmo? What kind of Fed Agent uses warm and fuzzy, anyway? Using their own bureaucratic double-speak, I replied, “Yes, sir. You have my word we will not interfere in your investigation.”
“Good,” Mackenzie said. “You can stop recording,” he added, pointing to a man on his right.
Everyone waited for the boss to stand. As he did, the suited-herd followed. As we walked out of the room, I was ushered by another agent to the elevator.
“Hang on,” I said, “I wanted to visit with my wife for a second.”
“She’s not in the building, Mr. Mancuso. I’ll take your visitor’s badge, if you don’t mind.”
“What about the other two fellas I came in with?”
“They’re already downstairs waiting for you, sir.”
I’m sure they had a great time.
“I’ll take him down,” said a Filene’s basement suit.
The agent hesitated, noting the badge name of the NYPD member. “Very well. There’s a car in the basement waiting for him.”
“Mancuso,” he began as the elevator sped the two of us down to the basement, “do yourself and your wife a favor. Stay the fuck away from this. You’ve got a good case against these bastards, but don’t screw it up for us. We have saved hundreds in our work here. Our final act may go down any minute. Wait for it, then act on your case.”
I looked at his name badge and smiled.
Picking up on my reaction, he said, “I go by Rick.”
“Dick Tracy? Really, brother?”
He chuckled. “I get a lot of shit about it.”
48
Reaching the basement, I shook hands with Detective Tracy and thanked him for his honest advise. He complemented me, sharing that he enjoyed Captain O’Brian’s Pub, to which I offered to buy him the first round next time he showed up.
Everything I’d done so far was by the book until now, maybe with a few exceptions. I fully cooperated with the Miami Bureau and the local police while there. And, not with much of a choice, the anti-terror task force got a full report.
Patrick and Achilles were already waiting for me inside an FBI car. I suggested we walk to the pub, which was few blocks away. The agent assigned to spiriting us out of the building quickly rejected the idea. I joined them, taking a seat on the passenger side, and we were driven to our pub at the corner of Hanover and Beaver Streets.
“That was not fun,” Achilles said.
Both Patrick and I looked at him and snickered.
“No, really. They drilled me over and over. They kept asking why I was involved in this and what business I had being with you guys. Man, that was brutal.”
“I hope you were truthful in your answers. You don’t want to end up like Martha Stewart,” Patrick said.
“Hell no! When you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember your lies. I’m sorry if I got you in trouble back there.”
“There’s bigger fish to fry, Doc. Our little charade with Meadows didn’t register on their scale. Nothing to worry about. Now, I suppose you want to get back to Miami?” I asked as we entered the pub and headed to our office.
“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to take Agnes out to dinner tonight. I mean, it’s too late to check out of the hotel. That is, unless you have plans for her this evening?”
“No, Doc, you guys go out and have a good time. Have Agnes pick up the tab. I’ll reimburse her for it.”
“Thank you, Joey.”
“How about you, Mr. Pat? Did they drill you too?” I asked.
“Same here,” he replied, “but I’ve been on the other end of an interrogation when I was with NCIS, so I handled it.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you, Patrick, I cooperated with the NCIS one time in Jakarta when…”
I broke in. “Some other time. We need to plan our next move.”
“Ah, I understand. Sorry.”
Agnes was at her desk. She didn’t seem to know whether to smile at the professor or frown at our circumstances. “Are you guys all right?”
“We’re in one piece, at least,” I replied.
“Marcy called for you. She wants you to call her on the Bureau’s cell.”
I’d forgotten about removing the SIM card from my phone after I heard I was being tracked. “She must have called me a hundred times on my cell.”
“No, she knows about your phone. Here, I got you guys a pair of disposable ones,” Agnes said, giving us the new phones sealed in plastic. By the way, there’re two NYPD patrolman outside, and they’re not patrons. They’re
here for protection, they said. Detective Tracy sent them.”
“That’s mighty nice of Tracy to do that,” I said. “There’s still a sense of brotherhood.”
Patrick asked, “So, are we done?”
“Agnes, why don’t you take the professor to the pub side and have some refreshments. I’m sure he’s thirsty after the drilling.”
“Mr. Pat, give me a minute to call Marcy. I’ll be right with you.”
“I’ll get us a beer and two cigars. Take your time,” Patrick said.
Giving Patrick the thumbs up, I dialed Marcy. After about three minutes of non-stop reaming me a new one for what happened at the hotel, she stopped to ask how it went with the task force.
I gave her a quick version of the wonderful time I experienced at her building. I made sure to mention that I wanted her nowhere near this investigation.
“So, are you done?” she asked.
Shit, there must have been an echo chamber here. I didn’t reply, trying to come up with an answer that would calm her down.
“Joey? You did tell them you would stop your investigation, right?”
“Technically, I told them I would not interfere with theirs. And I won’t.”
“So, you’re not done?” She asked soberly.
“I believe I can wrap this up quickly without too many more problems.”
“And without getting shot?”
“I have no intention of getting shot. Besides, I have two uniforms outside babysitting me.”
“The task force gave you that?”
“No. It’s a long story. I’ll be fine. Go about your business. I have to plan this out. Love you, Marcy.” I replied with the hope the conversation would end.
“You’re one crazy asshole, you know? Your dream of being the police chief in a small town with a dog, two kids, and a white picket fence is beginning to appeal to me.”
That dream, as she called it, was something she rejected many times before. “Sounds wonderful. You can be my second in command.”