by Henry Hack
The conversation with Nick reminded Harry he owed Bill Shelton a phone call. When Bill picked up the phone he said, “Funny you should call. I was just about to dial you to let you know, as I always said, I have a good spot for you here.”
“Oh?”
“How about a partnership? Vinny and I are looking to ease out in a few years.”
“You mean buy in for a piece of the business?”
“Exactly. And for you, my friend, at a good price.”
“Thanks, Bill, I will seriously consider your offer. But you know, I’m not fired yet.”
“Hah! You will be. Miller hates MacDonald. You could be the greatest PC the NYMPD has seen since Teddy Roosevelt. Doesn’t matter. You’re history. So are all the top appointees.”
“What’s the reason for the animosity between the two of them anyway?”
“You ready for this? They both went to Columbia, a year apart. MacDonald supposedly stole a girlfriend out from under Miller. He never forgave him.”
“You have to be kidding.”
“Wars have been started over lesser slights. That’s life.”
“Jesus, maybe I wouldn’t want to work for such a vindictive, small-minded jerk like that anyway.”
“As I said, you won’t have the opportunity. Keep in touch. We both want you on board.”
Harry had no sooner hung up when Pete Hayes buzzed the intercom and said, “Walt Kobak is on line two.”
Walt, who had recently received word he would be moving to Washington with a promotion to the number three position in the FBI said, “So you’re history, I hear.”
“Jesus, you too! Everybody has me dead and buried.”
“Come to Washington. A top position in Homeland Security should open up in January, but that’s between you and me. How would you like to be one of the top dogs right under the Secretary?”
“You could get me the interview?”
“Interview nothing. I could get you the job. Who would be better than you?”
“I’m flattered, Walt.”
“You think about it, but I had another reason for calling you. You’re going to love this,” he said breaking out in a loud laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I received a call from the head of recruitment here in New York. They just approved the application for a new FBI recruit for training starting in January – the new recruit’s name is Elizabeth Cassidy.”
“Elizabeth? Lizzy? My Lizzy? My Lizzy a Fed?”
“Right you are. Smart lady to come with us.”
“She never said a word! The FBI? Why not the NYMPD?”
“Like I said, partner, she’s smart. Besides, you’re history – you can’t help her – but I most certainly can.”
“I’ll be damned. You think you know your kids and then….”
“Now, now, Harry. Think about my offer – it’s a good one.”
“I will. So long, you goddamned Fed."
Harry hung up to more of Walt’s loud laughter. Lizzy, an FBI agent! Damn!
After Dan and Harry’s meeting where they had put together a list of “good guys” they would like to take care of, Pete Hayes stuck his head in the door and said, “Chief Carson to see you.”
“Charlie, how are you?” Harry said to his former chief aide. “Sit down, it’s coffee time, remember?”
“I remember those days fondly.”
“What’s up, Charlie? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I wanted to thank you for what you did for me – the two promotions.”
“Whoa, this sounds ominous. Are you leaving, too?”
“Why? Who’s leaving?”
Harry told him about Dan Snyder’s decision and then said, “The word is I’m toast, but if Miller keeps me on, I want to make a couple of more changes in the top hierarchy – and those changes will open up both the chief of detectives and chief of patrol’s jobs. Charlie, I want you for one of those jobs.”
“Commissioner, I’m truly flattered, but I can’t accept.”
“Then you are retiring?”
“No, Harry, no. I…I’m going to be the new PC.”
Harry was stunned for a moment as the news sunk in. He finally said, “Good for you, Charlie. I couldn’t have picked a better, more worthy successor myself. I guess Mayor Miller has some brains after all.”
He got up from his desk and came around to congratulate his friend. He shook his hand and hugged him.
“Thank you, Commissioner,” said a flustered Carson. “I’m glad you’re happy for me. I don’t want you to think I went behind your back on this.”
“I would never think that about you, Charlie.”
“Good, because I tried to talk Miller out of it. I told him he had the best there is with you – and I would have loved to have been your chief of patrol or chief of detectives – but politics is a sad, dirty business.”
“I know that all too well. What’s your connection to Miller?”
“A long time friend of my father. I guess he’s been singing my praises to him.”
“Like I said – a great choice. You’ll make a superb PC.”
“But we have to keep this between us until Miller makes it public, okay?”
“Sure, Charlie. Mum’s the word – and thanks for the heads up.”
Harry and Charlie decided to converse only by telephone until the official announcement of his appointment was made public by the Mayor-elect. Their discussions centered on the list of favors Harry wanted to fulfill before he left office. “I don’t want to make any moves you don’t agree with,” he said.
“Harry, you do what you think is right. I don’t want to pre-approve your moves, and I assure you, I won’t reverse any of them after you’re gone.”
“Thanks, Charlie, you’re a class act.”
“If I am, it’s because I learned from a class act – you.”
On the Monday after Thanksgiving, Harry got the call from one of Miller’s political flunkies. “The new Mayor would like to see you in the transition office at City Hall,” he said.
“When?”
“At two p.m. sharp. Be prompt, Commissioner. Mayor-elect Miller is on a tight schedule.”
“I’m sure he is,” Harry said.
Harry was deliberately seven minutes late and Miller glared at him as he offered him a seat. He wasted no time and said, “I’ve got your letter of resignation here. I accept it.”
“Then I guess we’re done,” Harry said, arising from his chair.
“No, sit down, Commissioner,” Miller said, softening his tone. “I want to let you know you were the most difficult of MacDonald’s appointees to fire. You’re a popular guy and this decision to let you go may not sit well with the public.”
“Then why do it?”
“I want a clean sweep of the soon to be former Mayor’s appointees.”
“Despite their proficiency? That doesn’t sound like good judgment to me.”
“What does it sound like?”
“Spite. Vindictiveness. What the hell happened between you and Phil anyway? Did he beat the crap out of you in the third grade?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“How about stealing a girlfriend in college?”
Miller was clearly taken aback and said, “Who told you that nonsense?”
“It wasn’t Phil MacDonald.”
“Let’s get off this subject. I’m going to announce your replacement later this afternoon. He comes from within the Department and I want to know what you think of him.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I know I’m about to fire you, but I do respect your professional opinion.”
“And if I tell you, honestly, you have made a terrible choice, would you rip up my letter of resignation.”
“I might.”
“Who is it?”
“Assistant Chief Charles Carson.”
“Charlie Carson. A most excellent choice. I’d have picked him myself.”
“Really?” asked a startled
Miller.
“Absolutely. I promoted him twice and if I had stayed I would have promoted him again.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Commissioner. You know, I’m a long-time friend of his father and I wasn’t too sure about his police credentials for the top job.”
“Put your fears to rest. You picked the best man for the job.”
“I respect you for your honesty. A more self-serving individual would have bad-mouthed him in order to hang on to his job.”
“You mean like a politician?”
“Touché, Commissioner.”
“Mr. Mayor, I’d like to ask a favor.”
“If I can,” he said warily.
“I’d like to attend Charlie’s swearing-in ceremony in January. I’d like to personally transfer my shield to him and pin it on his chest.”
“That would be fine with me.”
Of course it would, thought Harry. A political coup for you. The outgoing PC agreeing with your choice of his replacement, which will no doubt sit well with the public.
“Thank you, and I assure you Charlie and I will effect a smooth transition. We’ll start tomorrow.”
“And thank you, Commissioner. I wish you much success in your future endeavors, whatever they may be.”
“I’m still up in the air about that, but I’m looking forward to a change. Maybe four years was enough.”
“Carson argued strongly for you, you know. Here I was offering him the top job in policing and he was turning it down on your behalf.”
“As I said,” Mr. Mayor, “Charlie Carson is a good man. May I offer you a few words of advice?”
“Sure.”
“Now that you have your man – the best man for the job – leave him alone. Let him run the Department, not you or any political appointees in your administration. As much as you despise Phil MacDonald, you would do well to emulate him on that point.”
“I believe that may be good advice, regardless of the comparison,” Miller said.
During his remaining days in office, Harry granted all those favors he could. He met several times with Charlie Carson and offered his opinions on who should stay and who should go, and who should get promoted in the top ranks. They were in complete agreement on the choices. “Charlie, do you remember Danny Boyland?”
“I sure do. I must admit I was a bit unsure when you decided to reinstate him back then, but he turned out to be a helluva detective, that’s for certain.”
“Yes, he did. He and his partner, Spider Webb, solved five homicides, two of which were over thirty years old, right before the Romens started acting up. I want you to look after him for me. He’s back in Nassau Homicide now.”
“How’s his personal life?”
“Fine. He married Detective Tara Brown, a great lady. I transferred her to the Nassau District Attorney’s Squad so she can be near him. They have an apartment in Mineola and are looking to buy a house.”
“Anything you want me to do for him?”
“Just let him know you know he has paid for his sins. I already told him, but it would be good to hear it from the new man in charge.”
“I will talk to him. What about the ex-wife? Has she ever forgiven him?”
“Has hell frozen over yet?” Harry asked.
Tuesday, January 1, was a typical winter’s day in the city of New York – cold and blustery with a threat of snow in the air. Harry and Susan were bundled up listening to the new mayor introduce the new police commissioner to the prominent guests assembled on the steps of city hall. “And here,” intoned Mayor Miller, “is our fine out-going Police Commissioner Harold Cassidy to pin the shield of his office on the new Commissioner, Charles Carson.”
The audience broke out in applause as Harry, smiling broadly, pinned the gold shield, with its crown of five silver stars, onto the lapel of an equally, broadly smiling Charlie Carson. “Congratulations and good luck, Commissioner,” Harry said.
“Thank you, Commissioner. I’m sure I’ll need it.”
Harry and Susan attended the reception given by the Mayor for all his new top appointees, but discreetly left early. After all, this party was for the new guys, not the has-beens. He’d had his parties and he would remember them fondly. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to Susan, “and go somewhere warm for a couple of weeks.”
On Harry’s forty-eighth birthday he had been the ex-commissioner of the New York Metropolitan Police Department for exactly nineteen days. He sat with Susan in the living room of their apartment going over two weeks worth of snail mail, e-mail and telephone messages. “Nick was right,” he said. “It seems a lot of people want me.”
“And why wouldn’t they? I certainly want you.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I remember when you were in Internal Affairs – you wanted me all right – you wanted my ass on a silver platter and my balls nailed to your office wall.”
“But I got all of you instead,” she said laughing. “Balls and all.”
“Look at this, Susan. An offer of an associate professorship to teach at John Jay College and letters from the mayors of Miami, Chicago and Atlanta asking if I would be interested in interviewing for their open Chief of Police position.”
“Any interest?”
“None at all.”
“You’re in a funk. You miss the Job don’t you?”
“Yeah, not the routine crap, but I do miss the excitement.”
“I know what the problem is,” she said. “You’re just like Pop Hunter – an aging warrior. All of you – Nick Faliani, John McKee and Walt Kobak – are all the same. Unless you’re out there battling some terrible enemy, you’re just not happy. Would you be happy as a college professor?”
“No.”
“A police chief in a major city?”
“After New York? – no way.”
“In the business world at Sheldrake?”
“Kind of dull.”
“That leaves Homeland Security. At least you’ll be in the same city with your old pal.”
“That sounds dull, too. What the hell will I do there anyway? Sit on my ass and play politics in a huge bureaucracy? That’s not for me, Susan.”
“It could work for both of us. My firm has greatly expanded our operations in D.C. – and they’ve often strongly hinted they would love for me to head it up.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, so why don’t you call Walt and see what the job entails. Who knows? It may be just what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for. It’s nice a lot of people want me, but I don’t think any of them need me.”
“I need you, lover,” she said.
Harry smiled and said, “That’s always comforting to know. I’ll call Walt soon.”
The next evening when Susan returned from the office she asked Harry if he had called Walt. “No,” he said. “I was busy going through all the mail and e-mail. I didn’t have time.”
The phone rang and Susan answered. After exchanging pleasantries, she handed the phone to Harry saying, “It’s Walt. He wants to know why you haven’t responded to his e-mail messages.”
“Hello, Walt,” Harry said. “How are you?”
“Not too good. That was the reason I called. I have to withdraw the offer for the Homeland Security job.”
“Withdraw? Why?”
“Harry, I’m afraid you are getting too old for this position.”
“Too old? What the hell do you mean?”
“You will be traveling a lot and going after bad guys, and you’re pushing fifty now.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it! We just took down those Romens, remember?”
Susan was smiling and listening with interest as Harry yelled into the phone, but she knew exactly what was going on.
“I guess I could re-consider and get you the interview,” Walt said.
“You bet your ass you could. Let me know when you want me to come down there.”
“Tomorrow. Your tickets should be arriving at your d
oor in a few minutes. You and Susan are booked at the Mayflower hotel. A limo will pick you up at ten a.m. and take you to JFK airport. See you then, partner.”
“You dirty dog. You set me up!”
“And you went for it just like a dumb rookie.”
“I’ll get you for this, Mr. FBI Associate Director.”
“That is if you can catch me first, old man.”
Harry turned to Susan and a big grin developed on his face. He said, “We have to pack – we’re going to Washington in the morning.”
“So you’re going for that Homeland Security job?” she said nonchalantly.
“Hey, were you in on this set-up with Walt?”
She opened her eyes wide and brought her hands up to her throat. “Me? Would I do something like that?”
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
“Hey, old man,” she said, “can you still make love to me at your advanced age?”
“You bet I can, sweetheart.”
“We’ll let’s get moving. We have a plane to catch in the morning.”
PART 2
THE APOSTLE
21
After leaving the Apostle Mark’s home in Queens on that early July afternoon, the Apostle Peter arrived back in his suburban Washington, D.C. home in plenty of time to meet with his eight disciples and hand out their assignments. The meeting was over by 9:45 and by 10:30 he was sound asleep content in the knowledge his men would carry out the attacks exactly as planned against their targets in the nuclear power industry beginning on Monday afternoon. At 12:30 Peter awoke to answer a nature call – he’d had just a bit too much cabernet during the meeting with his disciples – blissfully unaware the Savior and the Apostle Mark had just been blasted into eternity by Harry Cassidy and the Task Force.
Peter arose at 8:30 and took a short shower. He dressed and headed out to the diner for breakfast and to buy the day’s newspapers. He chose a booth where he could watch one of the TV monitors tuned to CNN, and he spread out the paper as he awaited his breakfast order.
All was relatively quiet in the nation and the world, and Peter smiled thinking of the chaos the Romen Society would cause commencing in just thirty hours. The TV anchormen and women wouldn’t be so composed Monday night that was for sure. He ate his omelet and hash browns with three cups of coffee to wash it all down, already thinking ahead to the fourth campaign. What would the Savior choose this time? There were so many targets polluting our country – oil and coal-fired plants, metal refineries, over-fertilized farms – that none took precedence. The Romens would get them all in due time.