by Jack Davis
Alvaro smiled and then, with genuine interest asked, “Agent Posada, how are you?” He hoped the agent would talk a little about himself. He liked Posada and wanted the agent to look at him as something other than a means to an end.
Alvaro viewed himself as a changed man, a good man. A man who was working hard to provide his family with a better life. He could not help but feel the agents still saw the gang member with tattoos on his face and arms. Tattoos representing the amoral, soulless beast he had been before Maria. Alvaro wanted Posada to see that he had changed.
“Work is crushing all of us. We’ve been going around the clock for over a month on this case. Everyone is exhausted and needs some time off.”
“It sounds hard. You need time off to relax and spend time with family.” Alvaro hoped for some comment about Posada’s family.
“Yeah, well we’ll get some time off soon I think.”
The two stopped talking as the waitress asked if they would like to order. When they declined and she left, Posada got down to the business.
A disappointed Alvaro listened as the agent started in about the case. He was shocked and angry when the agent told him what the Bahamian Police had done, and the supposition they had been paid off.
Alvaro, knowing a lot about crooked cops, understood what he was being told, but not everything.
Corruption like this only happens in backward countries, not here.
How could someone who had done the unthinkable things Lublin had done go free because of the lies of two corrupt cops in the Caribbean? Their word couldn’t have the same weight as that of the agents. Surely the American justice system, the system that the rest of the world looked to as an example, had to have a way to weed out truth from lies, right from wrong.
“It isn’t right. I don’t know laws, but I know this is not right,” Alvaro said, clearly disappointed.
“I know.”
“Agent Posada, is Senor Lublin guilty?”
“Yes.”
“Then how can you let him go?”
“It’s the law. It isn’t perfect, but we have to live with it. Things went wrong in the case. I wish it was different.”
“Agent Posada, do you need me to say anything to help you make Senor Lublin go to jail? I will say anything. Tell me what to say.”
“No, Alvaro, we only want you to say the truth about what happened. We need you to write it out for us so we can show it to the judge. Then he won’t believe the police in the Bahamas as much.”
The last two words stung Alvaro. He knew immediately the underlying meaning: You’re a criminal. Your testimony isn’t enough to contradict the obvious lies of the corrupt police. But your testimony can help back up the testimony of the agents, who can be trusted.
“That will be enough to help the agents who saved you. We lost the case against Lublin; we have to let him go for now.”
“Even when you know it is wrong and he is guilty?”
“Yes, even when it’s wrong.” Posada then added, “Our laws protect everyone the same. If they didn’t, someone would abuse them, and we would be like…”
“Mexico?” Alvaro gave a sorrowful smile.
Posada smiled and nodded. “Cops could do whatever they wanted and get away with it as long as they had a badge. That’s worse. You have to be able to trust someone.”
Alvaro stared at his coffee a long time. “Senor Lublin is going free because of me?”
“No, Alvaro. No. Lublin is going free because of a lot of different reasons. Mostly because of the lying police in the Bahamas.”
“But if I was not a criminal, the judge would trust me and the agents against the police?”
Posada hesitated a moment, “Maybe, it’s not that simple.”
“Agent Posada, I owe you my life. More than that, I owe you for what you did for Maria, and now my whole family. I can never repay you. I know the truth. If I was not a criminal, the police in the Bahamas would never have even tried to say the agents beat me up. The agents who helped me would never have been questioned, and Lublin would not be going free.”
“Alvaro, for now we need a signed statement saying the agents didn’t beat you up. It will help them out a lot.”
Fifteen minutes later Alvaro was halfway through the statement. “Agent Posada, are agents Murray and K-r-u-z-e-r-s-k-i,” he had to sound out the name phonetically, “in trouble?”
“Yes. This statement will help a lot. The defense attorney is using the charge against them as a lever to get Lublin off.”
Alvaro continued to write. “What will happen to the agents?”
“Probably nothing. The charges should be dropped as soon as an agreement is reached with Lublin’s attorney. As long as the agreement goes through, they shouldn’t be arrested.”
Alvaro looked up. “Arrested!”
“Agents Murray and Kruzerski could be charged criminally based on the lies of the two Bahamian police officers, and others who the agents arrested. They might lie and say they were beaten up too. We’ll all probably be sued in civil court too. That’s another reason we need this statement.”
“Civil court?”
Posada thought for a second. “They will take us to a different type of court, one where they can try and take our money or house, that type of court.”
Alvaro looked at Posada in stunned silence. The thought of the men who had saved him and his family possibly losing their houses or worst yet, going to jail, while a monster like Craig Lublin was being released was beyond comprehension.
80 | Notifications, Down and Up the Chain
NYFO, 12/10/09, 1323 hours
When Morley received the phone call from Carpenter confirming the agreement, he had mixed feelings. He was relieved for his agents, but realized his career, for all intents and purposes, was over.
His first priority, as always, was his team. He gathered them in the ECTF conference room at 1323 hours and explained the situation to the shocked audience. Succinct and to the point, he explained that no one had done anything wrong and he would not tolerate any recriminations. Now was when the team had to rely on each other and pull together.
“There will be a great deal of Monday-morning quarterbacking from headquarters, in the office, and all over the media. I’m going to quash anything I hear, and I expect the rest of you to do the same. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, please tell me now.”
Morley played up the positive aspects of the investigation, and how they should be proud of the work they had done. He went down the list of what it had taken to get to that point. Everyone admitted it was a great case, up until the very end.
“When you look at this case as a whole, there were so many twists and turns, things happened that no one could have foreseen. In the beginning everything worked in our favor, in the end, they all turned against us. I honestly don’t see too many things we could have done differently.”
Then the supervisor switched gears and moved to the next steps. “I don’t want to hear defeatism. Don’t second-guess our choices—it’s a waste of time and effort, neither of which we can afford. We have to get right back at it and find some other way to prosecute Lublin.
“The same teamwork that got us to this point is going to be the key. You,” Morley knew it wouldn’t be we anymore, “can turn this around again. Everyone has work they can do, but if you need some time to sort through this mess, no one’s gonna be looking for you for the rest of the day.”
The team left the meeting in groups of twos and threes, everyone slightly befuddled. Months of almost nonstop work on the most important case of their careers, the most important case in the history of the Secret Service. A case with international notoriety and twenty-four-seven news coverage, now was a smoldering pile of ash.
Morley’s next stop was Brown’s office. He found his ASAIC behind his desk finishing a Diet Pepsi.
“I’m glad you’re sitting down; I have some disturbing news.” Morley closed the door behind him.
The surprised look on Brown�
��s face belied his concern.
As Morley detailed his phone call with Carpenter, Brown’s pink face flushed to stop-light red. He started to shake and involuntarily crushed his soda can.
When Morley said he had agreed to drop the charges, Brown came out of his seat. “You can’t commit the Service to that. That would have to go up to headquarters. This needs to be briefed to, to, AD Investigations and… and probably the director.”
Morley could see the rage and anxiety on his supervisor’s face as he practically screamed, “What the hell were you thinking?” Then more to the point, “How am I gonna explain this?”
“I was thinking about Brian and Lionel. If this gets down to HQ there’s going to be a lot of people weighing in with no idea what they’re talking about. It will take forever, and logic may not prevail. I couldn’t take that chance, not with the potential of charges being filed in the next week.”
Morley could see Brown mentally swimming against the current of his logic. Then his boss caught a psychological branch. Grabbing his phone, he thrust the receiver at Morley.
“You’ve got to call Carpenter and tell him he has to stop.”
Morley took the phone and hung it up. “I wouldn’t have come here if this was reversible. The deal has been offered and accepted.”
Crack. Brown’s branch broke. He was being swept downstream again.
“You did this to spite me. You know how this is going to make me look. You know—”
“Tommy, contrary to what your ego is telling you, this isn’t about you or how you’re perceived down in HQ. Or how the Service looks in the press for that matter.”
Brown was caught in the undertow and had given up trying to get his head above water. “You’re through in the Service! Headquarters is gonna skin you alive. And I’m gonna enjoy watching it.”
Morley only smiled. “Heads are gonna pop off on the eighth floor like champagne corks on New Year’s Eve.” PJ didn’t add that he was banking on such a knee-jerk reaction. If they’re focused on me, they won’t be looking at Brian and Lionel.
“That’s it, you’re out as the AT of the ECTF. I’ll have your grade!” Brown’s face looked like a huge tomato.
“Tommy, calm down, you’ll have an aneurism. Let’s go tell the SAIC.”
Part Seventeen
81 | Mystery Guest
Brooklyn, New York, 12/10/09, 1911 hours
Morley took a break from packing boxes in his former office to gaze at the lights of Manhattan. He loved the city, especially at night.
After dark the city was a home, not a workplace. At night the commuters had gone back to Connecticut, New Jersey, and Long Island. What was left were the people who called the city their home. The real New Yorkers. And while for Sean’s sake Morley didn’t live in the city, he felt it was home.
He’d loved New York from the moment he’d seen the skyline from across the Hudson River. He still did.
His thoughts were broken by a soft knock on his door.
“You want help?” asked Kensington as she moved to the window.
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Smart as you are, this is the best solution you could come up with?” She shook her head.
“Mak, you know as well as I do, HQ is gonna want a head on a pole the way this case has turned out. There’s too much media attention and external pressure for the Service not to do something.”
“You’re right, but why does it have to be yours?” asked Kensington sadly.
Morley looked at her reflection in the window. “If I hadn’t agreed to this, what would have happened?”
He didn’t stop to let Kensington answer. “The report blaming Murray and Kruzerski goes up to HQ. ADs’ heads spin around like an Exorcist remake when they realize their highest profile case in years is getting flushed down the toilet. They’re reasonably gonna want a scalp. Looking at the possible names on the hatchet list—mine is currently below Murray and Kruzerski’s. What I just did was put mine at the top of the list. They’re gonna come after me as if I was Bin Laden’s evil twin.
“I was gonna lose my squad right off the bat anyway. Now they’ll go after my grade too. Since everyone in DC views the NYFO as punishment, they’ll probably just leave me here. Which as you know is what I want.”
Kensington sighed, looking disappointed. “You could’ve survived this. It wasn’t your fault. You’d do a little time in the penalty box, but I have friends in DC who would support you. You could keep your grade, and after an appropriate amount of time, get a decent assignment.”
“Mak, the guys didn’t have time.”
“From what I know, their careers together aren’t worth yours.”
“They were gonna be arrested. I couldn’t roll those dice.”
The two stood in silence.
“I do have some good news.” Morley broke the spell.
“I could sure use some, shoot.”
“I was able to pull some strings with my contacts in academia. I got Antonescu a job on the help desk at Holy Cross College. He starts in two weeks.”
“That’ll be good for him. Starting over someplace where no one knows him. That was nice of you.” Kensington gave a weak smile.
Morley moved from the window and sat on the corner of the desk. “Since you mentioned calling in favors, I have a big one to ask of you.”
“Why not? A condemned man should get a last request.” Kensington looked curious as to what her old friend was about to ask.
“Regarding my squad, don’t give any recommendations initially. Let the dust settle. They love you upstairs and down in HQ too. When things calm down and Ferguson asks for recommendations, see if you can get Kruzerski to White Plains and Murray to Melville. They can’t be buried in the RAs like they could here in the Field Office. They’ll have real work to do. Then after a year, try to bring them back, under you. By that point the need for their stats will override any objections.
“Also, the ECTF’s gonna need a steady hand in the short term. They’ll need someone they respect who can keep up morale. Tate should be your next ECTF AT. He’s solid; he’ll keep things on an even keel.”
Morley watched Kensington weighing his recommendations. “Seems like you’ve thought this through,” she said.
“Yeah, I have.” Morley stopped to take his phone out of its holster, “I wish there was another way, but I don’t see it. Pardon me,” he said as he answered the call.
“Morley.”
“PJ, this is Karl at the Duty Desk. We just received a call from the guard desk in the front lobby. They said there’s a visitor here for you.”
“Have them send him up.” Morley shrugged as he looked at Kensington.
“They tried. The visitor said he needed to talk to you in person and that you’d understand. Apparently, he’s waiting for you in front of the building.”
“Did they get a name? Is he some skel I’ve arrested wanting to shoot me when I walk out the door?”
“The guards say the guy looks legit. Businessman type. White male, five-ten, brown and brown, wearing an expensive grey pinstripe suit.”
I’ve arrested a few businessmen in my time. “Okay, tell ’em I’m on my way.”
“You want me to get you some backup?”
“Thanks, no, I’ll grab one of the guys from my squad.”
Morley hung up and removed his pistol from a desk drawer.
“Mak, I’ve got a visitor downstairs that I’ve got to go see, can I come see you when I get back.”
His friend smiled mischievously. “You want backup?”
Morley nodded slightly. Then he saw a change in Mak’s demeanor.
“That is, unless you’d rather have someone else,” said Mak in a semi-injured tone.
Morley cupped his chin in his hand as if thinking. “Is Bob the janitor still here or has he left for the day?”
“Sometimes you’re such an ass.”
Morley smiled. “You carryin’?”
“My gun’s in my office, I’ll meet you at
the elevators,” said Kensington as she moved into the hallway. Then, in a tone dripping with sarcasm, she said, “This is exciting, I’ve never seen the great PJ Morley interview a suspect before.”
Knowing it was never good to let Mak’s jabs go unanswered, Morley replied, “You might wanna bring a pad to take some notes.”
“I’m gonna revise my previous statement; most of the time you’re an ass.”
It only took seconds in the lobby for the situation to diffuse. Morley recognized attorney Myron Dunn through the glass.
Morley nodded to the building security guard, “It’s okay, he’s a friend. Thanks.”
Turning to Kensington, “C’mon, I want to introduce you to one of the best defense lawyers in the five boroughs.” Then just for fun, “You never know when you might need one.”
Morley moved to shake his friend’s hand. “Myron, just because you don’t come into the office doesn’t mean we’re not monitoring your conversation,” said Morley jokingly.
He was surprised when his friend’s facial expression remained grim. He continued more circumspectly, “Myron, this is ASAIC Kensington.”
“Nice to meet you.” The words came out, and Dunn looked briefly at Kensington, but his voice was grave. “PJ, I need to speak to you in private.” Then, as if recovering from a blackout, “I’m sorry. It is nice to meet you; I just need to speak with PJ about a serious matter.”
Kensington seemed surprised by the cool reception but read the situation and excused herself. “Nice to meet you too. PJ, if you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”
“Thanks.” Then turning to Dunn, he asked, “What’s going on?”
“We need to go someplace where we can talk; it’s about Mary Lingram.”
82 | The Boyfriend
Brooklyn, New York, 12/10/09, 1942 hours
The mostly empty 1960s-style diner had a booth adjacent to the end of the counter. The two slid into seats and ordered coffee before Dunn began.
“How much money do you have on you?”
“Probably enough to pick up the coffee if that’s what you’re askin’,” said Morley, curious about the question.