Freed looked at Moss. He concurred Stuart’s idea of a civilian operative was crazy, but they had an excellent candidate in Mitchelli. Little did they know his potential was only going to improve as they researched his background. Freed called MacJames and to tell her she could relax at dinner tonight. He had found their civilian operative.
CHAPTER 6
At dinner, Freed informed MacJames of his candidate he had proudly discovered at the County SWAT range. After several rounds of drinks, their guards down, they openly criticized The Secretary of Homeland Security and his farfetched desperate need for a community operative. They joked at how pathetic they were that they didn’t stand their ground with Stuart, persuading him to dismiss his theory. They agreed this was an exercise just to appease the Secretary of Homeland Security. They did not perceive what, if any, fruits Mitchelli’s participation would bear in the investigation.
Freed and MacJames felt they had followed the Secretary’s orders to a T. They had a candidate, a solid one at that. They would investigate him, dig up his past, scrutinize him, and determine if he was worthy of service. They believed that at the very least, the Secretary would be happy he had his operative. They in turn could station him in some remote surveillance position and proceed with the investigation the way they thought best.
For the first time since receiving his assignment from Secretary Stuart, Freed had slept through the night. Well rested the following morning, Freed arrived at the FBI Buffalo office at 6 a.m., authorizing Mitchelli’s background investigation. Moss immediately took up the task of organizing the investigation of Peter Mitchelli’s personal history. The investigators accessed the FBI files in Baltimore via computer, which had records on everyone. They dispatched agents to conduct interviews with the Internal Affairs and Professional Standards Department of the Sheriff’s Office. Agents tailed Mitchelli for several days recording his every move. Moss compiled the information for MacJames, who in turn reviewed it with Freed. Freed did not know it at the time, but MacJames was sending brief status reports to Secretary Stuart, per his private direction to keep him up to speed.
Three days later, Freed and MacJames met to review Mitchelli’s file. They were thrilled. Although he was a sworn Deputy, he was a Peace Officer, not a Police Officer, his training experience was much shorter, which would cripple any comments from Stuart that federal law enforcement training had handicapped his mind. Furthermore, he also was a volunteer; the only payment he received for his Auxiliary Deputy service was when the unit worked details at the Buffalo Bills football stadium on game days.
Surprisingly, Mitchelli was certified with the New York State Criminal Justice Department as a Law Enforcement General Topics and Firearms instructor. The FBI interviewed his instructors and they said although he was an auxiliary officer and initially shunned by the full time officer attending the classes he quickly earned their respect with his hard work and adaptive personality. His firearms instructor said he could out shoot anyone in the class, and eventually helped the other full time officers qualify as instructors. Freed and MacJames felt his limited training would be useful, necessitating minimal additional training.
The construction industry respected the Mitchelli family business. Their company signs were scattered throughout the county for construction projects, real estate listing, or rental properties they owned. The business was a great cover; it was normal for Peter Mitchelli to be seen driving around town, and for that matter on the water. He was not a fisherman but owned a fifty-foot sport yacht. Peter Mitchelli graduated from a local Jesuit college. He had worked for the family business since he was twelve. As an owner, he was not averse to getting his hands dirty. He could operate heavy equipment and held a commercial driver’s license, occasionally driving one of his dump trucks.
MacJames was concerned that he was a widower and had two young children, eight and twelve. She did not want to see his children orphaned in case Mitchelli was killed in an off chance training exercise. Freed made the case that the children added to his ordinary blending with the community.
Despite his age and weight the FBI investigators found Mitchelli’s health to be that of a young man. The report indicated no signs of physical or mental health issues. Freed was in a hurry to get past the background check, hire Mitchelli, and get on with his own investigation without Mitchelli’s involvement.
Freed sent his report to Secretary Stuart and scheduled a conference call with him the next day. Stuart was pleased; the candidate met most of his criterion. He gave Freed the order to reach out and contact Mitchelli; he wanted him in Baltimore next week for an abbreviated training program. Stuart ordered Freed and MacJames to handle this personally. Stuart wanted Mitchelli on his team; he would not accept no for an answer.
Investigators informed Freed that Mitchelli arrived at work seven thirty every morning. Against MacJames’s better judgment, he would meet Mitchelli outside his office the following morning, unannounced. He wanted as little traceable records of their encounter as possible. He feared if he called his office, the secretary might announce over the intercom system the FBI was on the phone for Peter Mitchelli. Their first meeting should be discreet, he insisted.
***
As Mitchelli pulled into his office driveway on Friday morning, he was surprised to see another car in the parking lot. Usually he was the first to arrive at the office and had at least an hour before employees showed up, or for that matter salesman. He got out of his truck and Freed approached him, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Freed was just shy of six feet tall, his weight perfect for his height, one hundred eighty pounds, his complexion fair, and his hair brown.
Freed walked towards Mitchelli, “Excuse me Mr. Mitchelli, may I have a word with you? I am special age…”
Mitchelli interrupted him, “You’re with the FBI.”
Freed asked, “How did you know that?”
“I saw you at the range earlier this week and I asked my Captain who you were. Did you forget something at the range?”
Freed answered, “No I did not, I need to speak with you about something important.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“The federal government would like you to participate in an investigation.” Mitchelli stopped walking and looked at Freed as if he was nuts. “Would you be willing to aid your country in its time of need?”
Peter Mitchelli had no idea what Freed meant, “Look, if your benevolent fund is looking for a donation they should contact my office, you should be able to find my number in your database. Please excuse me, Special Agent. My business requires my attention; it puts spaghetti on the dinner table for family.”
Freed persisted, “I’m not looking for a donation. Our current investigation requires someone with your particular skills.”
Peter Mitchelli was dumbfounded. “What the hell are you talking about! Are you confused? Look, you’re welcome to come in and have a cup of coffee, but before you do, I need to see your ID.”
Freed was embarrassed he had to present his identification. The Buffalo FBI Office Commander stuttered, his Scottish complexion quickly turning red. He reached for his identification, noticing how skillfully Mitchelli moved into an interview stance, his left leg closest to Freed, his left hand held high on his chest cocked for a thrust to Freed’s face. Mitchelli had his strong side leg and hip away from Freed, with his hand in position ready to draw a gun. Freed had underestimated Mitchelli, the auxiliary deputy had him presenting his ID, while Mitchelli the civilian cop was protecting his gun, in position to back away from Freed if he threatened him, possibly shooting as he moved. Freed now realized he was alone, without back up, facing an armed 300-pound Italian contractor who thought he was a crazy FBI agent aggressively attempting to following him into his office. He reached for his credentials very slowly and held them so Mitchelli could read them. He carefully removed his card from his wallet and said, “I’m sorry this must seem strange, would you be willing to meet with me downtown at my office later today
?”
Mitchelli looked at Freed’s FBI documents as they are flipped open in front of his face. “Special talents, what the hell are you talking about?”
Freed is surprised by Mitchelli’s lack of respect for a federal agent. “Yes, we believe you do have special talents. Can we discuss this privately?”
“Ok boss, I’ll play along. Listen up, even the Auxiliary Sheriff’s unit follows a chain of command. Before I meet with anyone, you need to get approval from the Sheriff’s office.” Mitchelli handed Freed’s credentials back to him.
Freed explained that this was in the interest of national security, and he would quietly go through channels at the Sheriff’s office. Mitchelli stated if he received the authorization from the Sheriff’s office that morning, he would meet with him later that afternoon. Throughout the duration of their conversation, Mitchelli had kept his distance and stayed in position ready to fight. They shook hands and Freed turned to leave, calling the Sheriff’s office as he drove downtown. He mumbled to himself, “What the hell is with these auxiliary Sheriffs!”
Freed would not admit it but MacJames was correct: his idea of confronting Mitchelli as he walked into work, naively thinking he would say, “Yeah ok, I’m good, I’ll be your spy lets go,” was stupid. He also could not help but be impressed with his selection. Mitchelli handled himself very well. The contractor questioned him, while keeping his composure. Mitchelli was not easily duped. He was not a “wannabe,” someone who wished to pretend he was a police officer. A wannabe would have said yes right away and asked for a radio and a flashlight.
The Sheriff knew Freed and was well aware of the missing officers; two of his deputies were among the missing. The Sheriff had assigned deputies to assist Homeland Security in the investigation. Freed had asked the Sheriff to keep Mitchelli’s involvement as quiet as possible. Mitchelli’s safety and possibly his children’s could be jeopardized. He told the Sheriff that Mitchelli’s involvement was under the highest authorization from Washington. The Sheriff directed Freed to immediately forward a request for interagency cooperation: specifically requesting Lieutenant Peter Mitchelli Sheriff’s Auxiliary Engineers. The Sheriff had the letter on his desk in less than an hour.
***
Peter Mitchelli was at his desk, drinking his second cup of coffee, deleting e-mails when his secretary called him on the intercom to tell him Stephan was on line six.
Peter picked up the phone and said, “Hi Stephan.”
Zachovich yelled, “What the hell have you done?”
“Stephan, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I just got a phone call from the boss, he told me you’re authorized to work with the FBI, and no one is to know nothing! He pretty much told me to shut my frickin’ big mouth!”
“Did he really say that?”
“Yeah, you’re working with the frickin’ FBI, what the shit is with that!”
Peter sniped, “No, not that! Did he really tell you to shut your frickin’ big mouth?” They both laughed. Peter told his Captain what had happened earlier that morning.
Although curious, the Captain warned his friend, his Lieutenant, “Don’t trust those Feds, they just lookin’ out for themselves. Call me if you need help, the Sheriff’s Auxilary Engineers will be there. Watch your frickin’ back!”
***
Mitchelli met with Freed and MacJames early in the afternoon. He had no idea what to expect and refrained from consulting his family, anticipating they would think he was crazy. He knew the location of the FBI building; Mitchelli Construction had worked on a project across the street, remodeling a bank. The FBI building was about 50,000 square feet, three stories with a two level secured underground parking area. Mitchelli parked in a city ramp, entered the building, and was quickly escorted to the third floor conference room to meet with Freed. Several pictures of Directors of the FBI were on the walls, including Jay Edger Hoover.
Freed opened the discussion by explaining how everything being discussed was in the interest of national security, and must be kept secret. He explained to Mitchelli the penalties for disclosing the security interest of the United States, which, if extreme, capital punishment would be enforced. Mitchelli’s eyes focused like an eagle as MacJames explained the directive given by the Secretary of Homeland Security: Find a civilian operative, specifically outside fulltime law enforcement. MacJames chose her words carefully. Auxiliary or reserve police officers did not like fulltime union police officers referred to as regulars; it insinuated part-time or volunteers were irregular.
“You have got to be kidding,” Mitchelli said in disbelief. “Ok, I’ll play along, what is my responsibility?”
Freed is taken aback, he never anticipated Stuart’s ridiculous task would go this far. “Responsibility?”
“What’s my pay?”
“Pay…” Freed looked at MacJames as if he was unprepared for this question.
MacJames had anticipated the contractor’s question. “Immediately upon your acceptance five days of training in Baltimore, with FBI, and CIA instructors, reviewing hand-to-hand combat, surveillance techniques, and espionage tactics.” She cautioned the time commitment was not exact. “You would need to dedicate approximately thirty hours for surveillance a week, mostly evenings, but you must be available 24/7. You will most likely need to adjust your normal business hours, and hire childcare for evenings and weekends. Your title would be an agent of the Department of Homeland Security.” MacJames paused and clarified her answer, “You will be classified as a special field operative and would not be considered a career agent.”
Mitchelli, although apprehensive, followed up directly, “What about expenses?” He knew how the government wasted money and how its employees took advantage of every opportunity in obtaining compensation.
Freed leaned towards MacJames and discretely asked, “Does he get paid for expenses?”
“Clothing, fuel, mileage, and wear and tear on vehicles would be covered,” MacJames replied, “including a monthly expense allowance of two thousand dollars, reviewed of course by Special Agent in Charge Freed’s office. Your compensation would be one hundred twenty five thousand dollars for a one-year period with all federal government benefits, including disability insurance. The likelihood of you getting injured is minuscule.” Her answers were efficient and to the point.
Mitchelli felt like he was being recruited as an overpaid postal worker, but he was actually interested in the government benefits. “Come on, give me a break. I’ve worked with fulltime police officers; they can’t stand even acknowledging auxiliary deputies. Now the FBI, the top dogs, want to recruit a simple contractor?”
“The Secretary of Homeland Security feels a civilian operative is imperative to the success of the investigation.” Frustrated Mitchelli is even asking questions, MacJames crossed her arms over her chest. I can’t believe I’m negotiating with this guy… use your assets Angela, do what ever it takes. Make Stuart happy; get this jerk to say yes so you can get back to work. She leaned forward and removed her large black horn rimmed glasses and hung them on her blouse just above the top button. The weight of her glasses tugged on her blouse, exposing her respectable middle-aged cleavage. She pulled her shoulders slightly back, extenuating her breasts.
Mitchelli could not help but notice MacJames’s subtle movements, What beautiful vivid green eyes…oh Christ, she must be desperate. What the hell will she take off next? Mitchelli smiled. “Because Secretary Stuart doesn’t have any formal law enforcement training does he?”
MacJames answered, “No, his professional background is in psychiatry.” Did he even look at my breasts?
Mitchelli sat up in his chair and awkwardly looked away from MacJames’s cleavage. Not bad though, she must work out. “Psychiatry, that explains it! Now everything makes sense. How do you and agent Freed feel about working with a civilian operative?” They have no idea what I have done!
Freed is obviously agitated. “Look you have a hell of an opportunity here,” he said ster
nly. “You’re being invited by the Secretary of Homeland Security; just think how your other buddies in the auxiliary would jump at that chance.” Freed leaned forward as he spoke.
The facial muscles around Mitchelli’s eyes tightened, his eyes quickly began to darken in color. “Bob, excuse me, I mean Special Agent Freed…”
Freed rudely interrupted him, “My title is Agent In Charge, I’m the commander of the FBI’s Buffalo office and lead investigator on this case!”
Mitchelli rolled his eyes. “Great! Mr. Agent In Charge, you didn’t answer my question. I’m out of here!” Mitchelli pushed his chair away from the table abruptly and stood to leave.
Angela you can’t let him leave, shame him into saying yes; use the pictures. “It’s not important what we think,” she said quickly. “Peter, I want to show you something.” MacJames showed Mitchelli the file on the missing agents, which included photos of their wives and children. “We’ve been working on this case for two years. The likelihood of you contributing to the investigation is small. I will emphasize you’ve met the Secretary’s criteria, not ours. The Secretary as you know answers directly to the President. He is anxiously waiting for your response.”
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 7