Once In, Never Out

by Dan Mahoney

  “Tell me about his new car,” McKenna said.

  “It’s a pretty new maroon Chevy Lumina. On the way home from Hunter we stopped in a service area to get some coffee and use the men’s room. When we came out we saw two guys leave the car and go into the McDonald’s. Mike watched them to make sure they were sitting down to eat, and then he stole the car. Amazing, took him only moments. I waited in my car and he took his knapsack over. Next thing I knew, he had it started and waved as he passed me. Heard from him since, but that was the last I saw of him.”

  “Where were you supposed to meet him tomorrow with his kids?”

  “At Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. Nine-fifteen. Told me he might be late, that I should wait until he got there.”

  “He beeped you to give you the instructions?”

  “Uh-huh, but the beep wasn’t to his usual number. Sounded like he was in a bar somewhere. Am I still picking up the kids?”

  “Sure are, but you’re leaving your kids home.”

  “What about the polygraph for me and Dorothy?”

  “I don’t think we’ll have to do that. You’re off the hook,” McKenna said.

  After leaving the O’Reilly’s house, McKenna took 39 and 91 to Finan with a request. Finan briefly examined the devices, then took them into the Bomb Disposal truck and easily dismantled them for McKenna in minutes, removing from each the C-4, the detonator, and the AAA battery that powered the radio receiver once the small bomb was armed. He gave what was left of the inert devices back to McKenna.

  Thirty-Six

  The NYPD’s radio shop in Queens occupied a modern, three-story facility bristling with antennas. The building was large enough to be police headquarters in any medium-sized American city. In New York, a city with forty thousand cops requiring constant communicative capacity while working between the skyscrapers and in the subways, it was simply the radio shop.

  Before his assignment to TARU, Gaspar had worked as a technician and electronic jack-of-all-trades at the radio shop and Sheeran had given him the message. He was to meet McKenna there, but McKenna got to the shop first after the short drive from Jackson Heights. Although there was certainly an evildoer afoot in the land, Cisco was finally resting and snoring loudly in the seat next to him as McKenna called Rollins at Scotland Yard. It was ten o’clock in the morning there and Rollins was at his desk. “How are things progressing?” he asked McKenna.

  “Things are certainly progressing, but it doesn’t look good for us at this precise moment. We need some help, and I believe that you’re in a position to give it to us.”

  “Naturally, I’ll do whatever I can,” Rollins said.

  “There’s a rumor floating around Belfast that you folks have developed a transmitter that detonates IRA bombs a trifle prematurely. According to this rumor, you’ve managed to blow some bombs while they were still in the bombers’ hands.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that rumor.”

  “Time’s getting short here and I can’t waste it on bullshit, Inspector. Do you have it or don’t you?”

  “I’m trusting you and violating the Official Secrets Act, but we have it. However, I must tell you that its uses are limited. It only works on a radio-detonated bomb, and then only once that bomb is armed.”

  “We’re talking radio-detonated bombs here. I’ll worry about the arming part later,” McKenna said.

  “Are you telling me that you want to borrow one of our Paddy Poofers?”

  “Paddy Poofer? Is that what the thing’s called?”

  “Yes, colloquially. Rather derogatory and facetious term for such a thing, I know, but I don’t come up with these names.”

  “The bad news for us is that I’d like to borrow one, but I don’t think we have enough time for you to send it here. We have to make one.”

  “Really? If time is your major problem, I don’t know if that’s possible. I’m certain they must be rather sophisticated, complicated devices.”

  “We’re gonna try. I’ve got a rather sophisticated guy meeting me shortly, so here’s what I’d like you to do. Get ahold of the schematics and a technical person who knows how the thing works. When you’ve done that, call me back.”

  “That’s a tall request, but I’ll do what I can. Of course, I’ll have to run it by my superiors first.”

  “Good. While you’re doing that, try to keep in mind that we’re fighting your miserable war over here.”

  According to Gaspar, Rollins had been wrong on both counts. After talking to the British technician and studying the schematics he had faxed to the radio shop, Gaspar concluded that the British secret weapon was neither sophisticated nor complicated. “No new technology involved,” he told McKenna. “Could build one in the basement of a Radio Shack in a day. With all the parts and tools we’ve got here, we’re talking only hours. Of course, it won’t be a small, mobile model like theirs, but we’ll still be able to transmit all the frequencies from here.”

  After Gaspar had explained to McKenna in simple layman’s terms how the Paddy Poofer functioned, McKenna thought that Gaspar was selling the British short. The key to the device was the computer program they had downloaded into the radio shop’s communications computer. This program selected each ultrahigh frequency in the range known to be used in the IRA digital radio detonators and electronically instructed the transmitter in the Paddy Poofer to broadcast it for a microsecond before moving on to the next.

  It took the Paddy Poofer just under fourteen seconds to cover all the frequencies in the range. That was too long for McKenna. Mulrooney could arm one of his bombs and be away before the Paddy Poofer found his frequency, so McKenna knew he had to take a chance and narrow the range. He gave the inert bombs to Gaspar. “How long will it take you to determine the frequencies these are set to?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes apiece.”

  “Then that’s our new range for the Paddy Poofer. Just cover all the frequencies between the ones those are set to. Can you do that?”

  “Sure, once I get it up and running.”

  It took McKenna only one phone call to establish that Mulrooney had stolen the car from the thruway service area merely for temporary transportation. The state police had taken the report from the owner at the thruway service area and the car was recovered two days later in Midtown. Mulrooney had left it parked at a fire hydrant.

  McKenna wasn’t surprised and hadn’t expected Mulrooney to still be using the car. Mulrooney had grown up on the streets of Belfast, a place where some kids steal cars just to take their mothers to church. Since Mulrooney could so easily take one in under two minutes, McKenna figured that he used a different car every day and hadn’t bought gas in years.

  McKenna then hid out and took a nap in Brunette’s office while Sheeran explained the plan of the day to the new teams arriving from home. In an effort to lull Mulrooney into a false sense of security, the teams set up near the Mullen home in Woodlawn and those surveilling Jack O’Reilly as he picked up Mulrooney’s kids would remain on the old PD frequency, the one McKenna figured Mulrooney would be monitoring. The base would also maintain a sporadic chatter on the old frequency with nonexistent units spread throughout the city.

  Meanwhile, the real manpower would be using the FBI radios Brunette had gotten from Shields and would be concentrated in Midtown. Those units assigned to surveil the British installations and Brenda McDermott’s apartment building in Woodlawn would also be using the FBI radios.

  It was D day and Sheeran wanted to field the maximum manpower possible, so he broke a few rules and further depleted his overtime budget. Most of the detectives who had been scheduled to go off duty at four that morning were permitted to remain working for more overtime dollars if they felt up to it. Sheeran had plenty of takers and was able to field an additional twenty-two teams. He also had every member of the Bomb Squad working and positioned throughout Midtown, as well as two helicopters from the Aviation Unit. It was Mulrooney’s move.

  McKenna awoke at seven-thirty, feeling refr
eshed. He washed up in Brunette’s bathroom, then went downstairs to the Major Case Squad office. Eddie Morgan and three other men were there manning the radios, talking to one another over the air for Mulrooney’s benefit. McKenna found Sheeran in his office, sitting back in his chair with his feet up on his desk as he read the morning edition of the New York Post. The headline on the tabloid was HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN? and McKenna could see that Mulrooney’s old NYPD arrest photo filled the rest of the front page. The Times and the Daily News were stacked in front of Sheeran on his desk.

  “How’d we do?” McKenna asked.

  “The Jackson Heights stuff is there, along with everything Ray told them last night.”

  “How did they treat Ray?”

  “Not too badly, considering. Matter of fact, better than I’d expected. See for yourself, but let me give you some good news first. I talked to Tavlin and you were right about Crowley.”

  “When he told Mulrooney he was on a pay phone, he was really sitting at Brenda’s?” McKenna asked.

  “Uh-huh. Mulrooney doesn’t know we know about her. I’ve got a good team up there, just in case they show.”

  That’s just an outside chance, McKenna thought. They’re gonna all be in Midtown this morning. He grabbed a chair and picked up the Daily News.

  The News’s front page also featured Mulrooney’s old arrest photo under the banner and subscript:

  HE’S MEAN, HE’S MAD, AND HE’S BACK FORMER NYPD COP TERRORIZES CITY AND WORLD

  The eight-page article described Mulrooney’s history and heinous crimes, with special emphasis given to his most recent spree in Jackson Heights and at the Harbor Lights Motel. He had fulfilled every editor’s dream: bombings, terror, murder, and mutilation, all wrapped in one large, nasty package.

  Although Brunette took a few slaps in the article, there were no body punches thrown at him; it emphasized the positive role of the NYPD in the affair, crediting the department for identifying Mulrooney and associating him with his bombings and killings.

  Brunette even fared fairly well in the editorials. While the fact that Mulrooney had worked for the department for seventeen years wasn’t glossed over, his hiring was attributed to the looser screening policies of previous administrations. It noted that Brunette had tightened up the screening process considerably, leading McKenna to conclude that attacking a popular police commissioner like Brunette doesn’t sell too many papers. However, McKenna realized that political popularity was a fleeting thing, easily eroded. Another bombing by Mulrooney involving major loss of life would leave Brunette with many tough questions to answer, and they wouldn’t be asked with a friendly smile.

  “Have we gotten any calls yet?” McKenna asked Sheeran.

  “Three, so far. One came from a desk clerk at the Holiday Inn in Staten Island. He says Mulrooney stayed there one day last week. Paid cash, hasn’t seen him since. One came from a guy with a brogue. Wouldn’t leave his name, but he said he saw him in the Pioneer last week. Then, of course, we got one from a woman who said she was in psychic communication with Mulrooney and that she’s pretty sure he was her father in her last life. She wants police protection before she’ll tell us what he’s thinking and planning, so she’s not completely bonkers.”

  McKenna thought there was some good news in the calls. The fact that a man with a brogue who drinks in a radical, Irish bar like the Pioneer called with information indicated to him that Mulrooney had little support in the Irish community; the newspaper articles about the darker side of his activities had denied him one likely support base and a place to hide. The fact that Mulrooney stayed only one night in the Holiday Inn confirmed another of McKenna’s suspicions: Like Martin McGuinn and Yasser Arafat, the man never slept twice in one place.

  There would be more calls, so Mulrooney would be unwise to show his face around town with his picture plastered on the front page, McKenna thought. Matter of fact, he’d be crazy not to get out of town now.

  Sheeran read McKenna’s mind. “You think he’s gonna stick around long enough to pull whatever he’s planning?” he asked.

  “Certain of it. We’ve still got big problems.”

  McKenna and Sheeran left the office in separate cars with different missions in mind, but both were headed for Midtown. They had each checked out both a PD radio and an FBI radio. Sheeran intended to get closer to the action and check up on his troops in Midtown while McKenna went to the Plaza to pick up Thor. He valued Thor’s insight and wanted to tell him the plan of the day with one question in mind: What else could we be doing to get Mulrooney? In his present state of mind, Thor would have the answer.

  Thirty-Seven

  The accounts in the newspapers about him and his history enraged Mulrooney, but he couldn’t stop reading. Before that day, many people would have considered him a hero and a patriot, but he realized that he was now being portrayed as a monster to all. He would never be able to face his sons again under those conditions, but he had a plan that offered him a faint glimmer of hope. He thought he might succeed because he had already overcome the main obstacle. The body stretched out at his feet on the floor of the maintenance shed in the center of the park offered a silent testament to his success.

  Mulrooney recognized that he had been lucky so far, but thought he might pull it off. With just a little more luck, those responsible for his misery would be made to pay.

  Those responsible were Brunette and McKenna, but it wasn’t Brunette who had brought him to Gramercy Park. As far as Mulrooney was concerned, Brunette’s fate was already sealed. It was McKenna he was after. Feck with me and mine, I’ll feck with you and yours, he thought as he threw the Daily News on top of the body. He had the doors cracked open on both sides of the shed, so he looked around outside once again to make sure everything was in place.

  Through the spokes of the high wrought-iron fence surrounding the park, Mulrooney could see the Gramercy Park Hotel on the other side of East 21st Street. Parked across the street from the hotel was a news van, and a group of reporters were gathered in front. Mulrooney figured that they were all waiting there to solicit comments from either McKenna or his wife about the infidelity story hinted at in yesterday’s Post, but they served another purpose as far as he was concerned. A show of activity by the reporters would tell him that either McKenna or, better yet, his wife was leaving the hotel.

  Ambery and Crowley were also in place, dressed in blue maintenance workers uniform, armed with pistols under their jackets, and raking the grass outside the shed. Although Ambery still looked stiff and obviously in pain, Mulrooney knew that they were accepted in their disguises. None of the women with their children or the joggers strolling the inside track in the park that morning paid his men the slightest bit of attention.

  Mulrooney crossed the shed to check out the other half of the park through the door on that side. As he looked around, he noticed a new family arriving in the park via the East 20th Street gate. While the husband held the gate open, his attractive young wife pushed their wide, ornate baby carriage into the park. He followed, holding the hand of his young daughter.

  At first, it was the husband who held Mulrooney’s interest. He was a big man and looked either Asian or Polynesian. He was wearing a suit and looking around as his daughter jabbered away to him. Everything about him screamed “Cop!” to Mulrooney, but there were a few other things about the family he noticed. Both parents had dark hair, yet their daughter’s was sandy-colored. Then there were the noises coming from the wide carriage. To Mulrooney, it sounded like two babies crying loudly, and he knew that McKenna had a young wife and three children: a two-year-old daughter and a new set of twins. If it wasn’t for two questions he had, Mulrooney would have acted on the assumption that he was looking at the McKenna family. Who is the big guy? was one question and, If that’s the McKenna family, then where did they come from and why did they use the gate farthest from the hotel? was the other.

  As the family walked across the park, they had Mulrooney’s total attention. The
woman was rocking the baby carriage as she pushed it slowly, and the man was engaged in conversation with the little girl. They passed from Mulrooney’s view and he went across the shed to the other door to track them. “You see them?” he whispered to Crowley and Ambery. The two men said nothing, just nodded their heads as they continued raking the grass outside.

  Then confirmation came from an unexpected quarter. One of the reporters outside the hotel had also seen them. He detached himself from the group, walked across the street to the park fence, and yelled to the woman. “Mrs. McKenna, can I have just a few minutes of your time?”

  “No, you certainly may not. Leave us alone,” Angelita yelled back.

  “Listen to the lady, Tommy, or I’ll come over there and give you a few minutes of my time. You wouldn’t like that,” Pao added loudly and with menace in his voice.

  “C’mon, Pao. Have a heart. I’ve got a job to do,” the reporter pleaded.

  “To hell with you and your job. Get lost, leech,” Pao yelled back. Then the family turned left and walked slowly on the path, away from the shed with their backs to Mulrooney and his men. The reporter didn’t say another word, but he walked along the fence outside, keeping pace.

  “The big one’s a cop, so be careful. Kill him and get the woman and the little girl,” Mulrooney whispered to Ambery and Crowley. “I’ll cover you from here.”

  Once again, Ambery and Crowley merely nodded their understanding. They slowly walked on the grass toward the family, raking the ground as they went. Mulrooney stayed out of sight inside and took out his pistol. Bracing his arm on the door frame, he lined up on Pao’s back as his men raked their way toward them. Angelita had stopped and was bending over the carriage. Pao stood beside her holding Janine’s hand, still with his back toward Mulrooney, but he was looking all around with his other hand under his jacket.