The Permit

by William B. Scott

  "Hell, we've got 'em cold! The feds will rip Metro from gizzard to gonads!"

  Bright nodded slowly, studied folded, meaty paws, then leaned forward and said softly, "Gray, under normal circumstances, I'd agree with you. I'd back you a hundred percent. But not this time, son. You are not turning this over to the FBI."

  He raised a hand, shushing Manor, before the general could object.

  "Hold on. Say you and I waltz into the FBI director's office and show the man a private company's security-system video. A digital video file that shows a Las Vegas police officer shooting a man to death at high noon, in a crowd of maybe seventy, eighty folks.

  "Then you play two voicemail messages left by another public official on a cell phone owned by the shooting victim's brother.

  "Finally, you dazzle the good director with a series of intercepted police-officer phone calls, and another between a cop and one of the most powerful, wealthy casino barons in Vegas."

  Bright stood slowly, jammed fists into his slacks' pockets and started pacing.

  "Of course, the top-dog fibbie immediately wants to know how we obtained all this incriminating evidence of a police department's wrongdoing. And he'd really appreciate an explanation of exactly why Erik Steele was working for you, and what he was doing carrying a forty-five, while shopping with his girlfriend.

  "Ultimately, he'd insist on a full, detailed briefing about Checkmate. Why it was set up. How it operates. What it's accomplished to date. Who authorized its formation. How it's funded. And, finally, why the hell he, the FBI director, for God's sake, was never briefed on the organization's existence, let alone it's astounding, inside-the-U.S. mission.

  "Let's assume he somehow skips over the trivial, such as how many laws Checkmate is probably breaking on a regular basis," Bright continued, "and how Congress might kinda sorta liketa know something about this outfit. Remember that itsy-bitsy constitutional provision about congressional oversight of Executive Branch activities?"

  Manor was silent, gray-blue eyes tracking his boss's wanderings.

  "Son, we can't afford to have Checkmate's cover blown by turning this Steele murder over to the FBI. Now, don't get me wrong. Nothing has changed, since Checkmate took on its first mission. America's very existence is still at stake, as you, more than anybody, understand. The enemy is still out there, still living among our people, still prepared and committed to striking and killing.

  "Bottom line: You and your folks have done one hell of a job, Gray. I can't risk losing Checkmate, and that's exactly what would happen, if you turn over this Steele case to the Justice Department."

  "We just tuck our tails and shuffle off into the sunset?" Manor retorted. "Those Metro bastards shoot an innocent American patriot, thumb their noses and get away with it—again? Like they always do?

  "C'mon, Todd! Erik Steele was one of us! I can't live with that! I know damn well you can't, either!"

  Red-faced, he fought to suppress an infamous temper.

  "That's absolutely correct. I can't. And I won't," Bright assured. "I don't expect you to accept this atrocity, either.

  "But let me remind you, general. Your job is to execute, to perform ops that carry out Checkmate's assigned objectives. Mine is to get you resources, approve target candidates, and keep an eye on the big picture.

  "Well, here's a big-picture tidbit you'd better understand: Our esteemed U.S. Attorney General won't give a rat's ass about Erik Steele, and he will never order a Justice Department investigation of Las Vegas Metro, regardless of how much evidence you dump on his desk."

  Manor was taken aback. "Beg your pardon, sir. Why… ?"

  "Very simple," Bright interrupted. "Erik Steele was a middle-class, white, Anglo-Saxon, former Army officer. The AG is on-record, publicly declaring that he will not pursue civil rights-abuse cases, unless the victim is 'disadvantaged' or 'of color.'"

  "Bull," Manor scoffed. "No attorney general would say that!"

  "This one did. Look at his record. In less than two years, he's taken on fifty-plus civil rights cases. Every single one involved a victim 'of color.' No redheaded white dudes in the lot. Young Steele doesn't qualify.

  "Furthermore, the AG absolutely will not take on the megabuck boys who control Las Vegas. Those filthy-rich cockroaches wrote big checks to fund this president's campaign. They also elected the senior senator from Nevada—who just happens to be the current Senate leader. And they have a whole shit-pot-full of Washington politicians in their britches' pockets.

  "Las Vegas Metro cops are the enforcers for those same big-bucks moguls, too. Do you really think the AG will risk upsetting a Vegas Daddy-Mega-Bucks by busting a few killer-cops who shot and killed a middle-class white guy? No blippin' way," Bright declared, flicking a hand dismissively.

  "Which brings me to the reason I asked you to come over."

  He walked to the den's soaring window, flipped a wall switch, and drew heavy drapes closed. A muted hum emanated from the window, which vibrated at random audio frequencies generated by a transducer mounted on the glass. A nosy neighbor beaming a laser at the den's window to detect microscopic vibrations would now hear nothing but muffled white noise, not the conversation in Bright's den.

  Such stringent security measures meant Todd was about to get into something highly classified.

  "Gray, as you know, Checkmate was set up to root out and covertly neutralize terrorist sleeper cells. You and your team have succeeded beyond my wildest hopes. What you haven't been privy to, though, is an intel operation—I publicly refer to it as a 'study,' but it's far more than that—which has uncovered yet another serious national security threat."

  Bright set the coffee mug aside, placed the knuckles of both hands on the conference table and glowered at Manor. The retired general returned the favor over his mug's lip, eyeballing his boss through a swirl of steam.

  "Son," Todd said, "that intel team has identified a new, incredibly dangerous terrorist cabal. I believe it's the most grave domestic threat to national security the U.S. has faced since nine-eleven. This bunch has killed more Americans, over the past nine years, than al Qaeda killed on nine-eleven!"

  Bright resumed pacing, one hand in a pocket, the other gripping his coffee cup's loop handle.

  Senses now hyper-attuned, Manor waited, familiar with Bright's manner of shifting into professor mode.

  "These terrorists are deeply entrenched in our society. They look like us, talk like us, live in our neighborhoods and are, for the most part, well-respected citizens. But, as a group, the bastards are killing Americans and undermining individual freedom throughout this great country. And they're becoming more powerful every day."

  "They have a name?" Manor asked.

  "For now, their code name is 'INDIGO.' It's sorta descriptive."

  Bright switched on a projector and fiddled with a laptop computer. A PowerPoint title slide appeared on a compact white-board nestled between two of the room's floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcases: "INDIGO: DOMESTIC TERRORIST THREAT. PRIORITY ALPHA," accented by "Top Secret-Eyes Only" labels and red/white-striped edging.

  Bright continued, "INDIGO is directly responsible for an imminent, clear-and-present national security crisis, and Las Vegas is its centroid. All the elements that make INDIGO the most dangerous, fastest growing, and scariest threat in America today are present in Vegas."

  "And that's why your intel team has been focused on Vegas the past six months," Manor added, a thin smile creasing weathered features.

  "So you figured it out. Smart ass," Bright chuckled. He downed another swig of Colombian dark roast. "What tipped you off, son?"

  The former two-star leaned across the highly polished table to retrieve a stainless-steel coffee pot, then topped up his mug.

  "Couple of my guys were tapped to help your snoopers put the pieces together. Your team claimed to be from a three-letter agency that couldn't be divulged. Put that together with your order in late oh-nine to beef up the Vegas Checkmate cell, and I assumed something big was abou
t to pop."

  Bright chuckled again, a throaty rumble, and wagged a finger at his former student. "Bloody nice deduction, Sherlock! Ya never fail to impress, Jarhead."

  The smile vanished, and Bright's hooded eyes were again deadly serious.

  "Yeah, I've been noodling for some time on how to handle this new, unconventional threat. In a thimble, here's the deal: We're launching a large-scale operation to take INDIGO down. It'll kick off in Las Vegas, then be expanded across the entire nation. Steele's execution just lit the fuse."

  He tapped the computer's touch pad and pointed at a new slide.

  "Here's the cornerstone of INDIGO," he said, then resumed pacing.

  Manor read and re-read the slide, before answering.

  "You gotta be… . Are you serious, Todd? The front line of this INDIGO terrorist bunch is American police officers? C'mon!"

  "'Bout the response I expected, my boy," Bright interrupted. "But ride this pony for a minute, okay?

  "Police officers—who, by the way, like to be referred to as law enforcement officers or 'LEOs' these days—are killing citizens at an alarming rate. Americans are eight times more likely to be killed by a police officer than by a terrorist, according to mortality data from the Centers for Disease Control. Mostly via shootings or brutal beatings. Hundreds every year, and the number is climbing, damned near exponentially."

  Bright tapped the touch pad, changing slides. "Check a few stats: In Los Angeles, officer-involved shootings [OISs] are up forty percent in the past year. The Justice Department has opened investigations of police-abuse cases in dozens of big cities: Newark, Seattle, Denver and Atlanta, for example. And, of course, the infamous New Orleans Police Department, which, until now, set the standard for corrupt forces. One hell of a lot of New Orleans cops will be going to prison for killing citizens in the Katrina-hurricane aftermath. More on that later," he said.

  "Take a gander at this brief sample of cases: Kathryn Johnson, a ninety-two-year-old grandmother in Atlanta. Shot thirty-four times in her own home by cops, because they made a terrible mistake. Broke into Mrs. Johnson's place at night, based on bad poop from a drug-addict snitch.

  "'Oops! Wrong house. Sorry, we accidentally shot poor Miz Johnson to death. Here's four-point-nine million bucks for the heirs. Move on now. Nothing to see here!'

  "Four Atlanta cops went to prison, and nine others either were disciplined or resigned for conspiring and covering up their deadly deed. Damn near got away with it, too. If the feds hadn't jumped in, those lyin' fart-knockers would have walked!

  "Here's one of the worst New Orleans cases: After Katrina, several black kids out hunting for food are shot to death on a bridge by 'courageous' cops. Hasn't gone public yet, but the FBI is all over this one, too.

  "Right now, it looks like five 'Nawluns' officers may serve life sentences for not only murdering those kids, but for taking part in yet another elaborate cover-up-by-cops. This one stinks like a striped skunk-kitty in a French sewer, son. You'll be hearing a lot about this sorry-assed case."

  For the next five minutes, Bright ticked off a half-dozen other cases. All senseless and all egregious. Every victim had been shot, beaten or tasered to death by police officers.

  "Guess what," Bright concluded. "Most of these low-life cops had been involved in previous incidents, but never disciplined. Not fired. Not jailed. Because cops are routinely given a bye, doncha know. Real people would be fired and thrown in the clink for the same violations. But not holier-than-thou cops!"

  Manor eyed his boss in mild surprise. He'd never seen Todd so cranked up. The guy was practically spitting bullets.

  Manor stood and pointed to the screen. "I hear ya, Todd, but these are all anecdotes, not data. Yeah, they're outrageous, appalling cases, but they're exceptions, not the norm. You know damned well that today's cops are up against heavily armed gangs committing violent crimes throughout the nation.

  "These aren't the good ol' fifties, when Officer Mulligan patrolled the neighborhood with nothing but a nightstick and bought five-cent lemonade from the kiddies. Police officers today are being gunned down by drug-crazed killers armed with full-auto AK-forty-sevens! Especially along the southern border, where Mexican gangs are crossing over and bushwhacking folks in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California."

  Bright shook his head vigorously. "Only get partial credit for that, ol' boy. That's precisely the perception police chiefs promulgate, aided and abetted by cop-union thugs trying to scare the hell out of taxpayers."

  A key-tap brought up another slide. "Your false perception is not backed by stats, either, son. 'Officer deaths are down nearly fifty percent over the past twenty years,'" he read. "The number of police officers nationwide doubled, during that period. Cops are far safer today than they were in 1974, when the U.S. logged the highest number of police officer fatalities.

  "On the contrary, 'An officer is one-hundred-thirty times more likely to be implicated in an act of misconduct than to be killed by intentional violence in the line of duty.' These are facts backed by independent research, son!

  "And Hollywood is stoking this nonsensical notion of 'cops-under-siege,'" Bright stressed. "How many TV shows about police are on the tube every week? Ten? Twelve? Hell, we have Cops, half a dozen versions of CSI, NCIS-type shows about military services' law enforcement, and one gawdawful puker that glorifies jailhouse guards in Las Vegas! Now, tell me, Gray: What's the common theme of these shows?"

  Manor glared at his boss, jaw muscles twitching. "Enlighten me, sir."

  The Checkmate director took note of an out-of-sorts annoyance spreading from gut to chest to cranium. Todd's cops-as-terrorists theory was damned irritating.

  Bright spread his arms and grinned. "Hell, cops are cool, man! Cops are handsome and beautiful, smart, witty and oh so courageous! Cool TV cops risk their lives three or four times an episode, taking out ugly, remorseless sleazebags who prowl parking lots and threaten what they call 'civilians'—us lowly taxpayers.

  "Sure, these brave officers routinely bend the rules and operate outside the law, but, what the hell? They're doing it to protect us, for Heaven's sake!

  "Son, American TV viewers and moviegoers are being brainwashed with the absolute falsehood that police officers and federal law enforcement dudes and damsels are saint-like heroes! People are subtly programmed to accept rule-bending and lawbreaking by cops as the price of public safety.

  "Consequently, rogue killer-cops know damned well they can shoot, murder, execute, beat and do whatever the hell they please, and get away with it! There's no deterrent to abusing citizens.

  "That's why your agent, Steele, was shot and killed yesterday. And, without intervention from outside, Steele's killers will get away with his murder and cover-up!"

  Manor grimaced, nodding reluctantly. "Ahhh! I hear ya, and you may be right. But my gut says this is a huge stretch, Todd.

  "Okay. No argument about the Hollywood cop glorification and its brainwashing effect. That's the subtle power of entertainment, the most powerful 'psywar' tool known to man. We use it to great advantage in the special ops community.

  "But I fail to see the harm. People want to believe their police officers are good-hearted public servants, and Hollywood just plays to that sentiment. Exaggerated and over the top, maybe, but TV shows and movies also breed respect for law and order."

  "Again, only partly correct," Bright parried. "That's an outdated perception, my boy. Things are a-changin' damned fast, and those changes are cause for alarm. In the last few months, we've seen a spike in police fatalities. Nationally, they're on track to top a hundred-fifty this year—roughly a seventeen-percent jump in twelve months—which would make twenty-ten the deadliest in decades.

  "In Los Angeles alone, assaults on cops are up forty-two percent. Oh, and officer-involved shootings in L.A. also are up forty percent. Hold that thought, son, because there's a correlation.

  "Based on data acquired through another research project, we're seeing a huge backlash against t
he escalation of police-abuse cases. One hell of a lot of people hate cops these days, and the number's growing like crazy. Some of that vitriol translates to intentional attacks on cops."

  "With due respect, sir, that reeks of academic bullshit," Manor declared, louder than he'd intended. "Give a professor and his eager grad students a juicy research target, and they'll find data to support the sponsor's premise! Pardon an aging jarhead's skepticism, Todd, but the idea that millions of Americans hate their cops pegs my BS meter. I don't buy it."

  "Not surprising. Data I'll give you later will change your mind, though. I'm not going to go through 'em here, but read the comments pulled from news outfit websites. Bunch of pissed off readers and TV viewers ranting about corrupt law enforcement types'll roll your socks down," Bright declared. "Some of those good ol' boys get damned descriptive about 'cop hunting,' too. Scary, son.

  "Point is, when a community's citizens don't trust their cops, and actually hate the boys in blue or brown, chaos and crime soon follow. Most people can't—or won't—consider frightening futures like that, so they blindly place their trust in police forces. And therein lies the root of a serious problem.

  "Something like ninety-five percent of police-abuse cases are never brought to trial, because juries are inclined to take a police officer's word over that of an average citizen. Why? Because juries are average folks, who desperately want to believe that an officer testifying on that stand is like your good ol' Officer Mulligan.

  "But there aren't many Mulligans in uniform now, and old-school good cops are vanishing faster than fresh lettuce at a jackrabbit convention," Bright stated flatly.

  "Todd, give me a break. The Mulligans are being replaced by young officers," Manor declared in exasperation. "Again, where's the problem?"

  "Today's new cops are the problem, Gray," Bright said. "In general, the young cops replacing old-school officers are ruthless assholes. They lie. They cheat. And they kill without remorse. Ask any trial attorney who's had to deal with this new generation of police officers, and you'll hear the same tale: Today's cops are a breed apart from the ones we knew and admired."