He switched to a new slide: "MODERN POLICE OFFICERS."
"There are exceptions, of course, but today's cops really are an entirely different animal. And they're damned scary," Bright declared.
He read the slide aloud: "'Born between 1961 and 1981, these are the Baby Boomers' kids. Dubbed Thirteeners, by authors Strauss and Howe in The Fourth Turning, they're the thirteenth generation of Americans.'
"Excellent book, by the way. Even a hardheaded Marine could get a lot from it," Bright grinned.
In a rapid machine-gun staccato, he read a series of slides, salting the book's quotes with his own commentary:
"Thirteeners are a unique bunch, shaped by their time. According to The Fourth Turning, they're the first 'latchkey' generation—kids who spent too much time unsupervised—and a product of open classrooms, divorced parents, devil-child movies, the AIDs epidemic, a weird sexual landscape of unconventional 'courtship rituals,' and a general shift from a G- to R-rated society. Today, Thirteeners are a 'splintery culture' with a cynical, 'hardened edge,' characterized by pragmatism, not idealism.
"At the high end of the spectrum, Thirteeners are the cyberspace whiz kids who founded Google, Facebook, Amazon and other high-flying Internet companies. Risk taking is their norm, whether on the battlefield or in the board room. That can be good or bad, of course."
Manor nodded in agreement.
Bright took a swig of coffee, slammed the mug down and jabbed the laptop's touch pad.
"However, on the lower end, we damn sure have a problem, Houston. The dregs of Thirteeners are what social workers called 'drug babies'—kids born to drug-addicted mothers. These were scary critters, I tell ya. Absolutely no compassion and completely devoid of conscience.
"Those who grew up as fat kids and skinny nerds were teased, humiliated and marginalized. They brutalized animals, beat up old folks for fun, and, ultimately, killed people with no reservations whatsoever.
"Nowadays, those badass drug babies are in their twenties and thirties, and the worst are found in two distinct populations: Criminals…and cops."
Manor rolled his eyes at his boss, who was half smiling. "Yeah, yeah. Your BS flag's waving. Trust me. Every damned thing I'm telling ya is backed by solid, irrefutable data, son. Stay with me here… ."
Todd drained tepid coffee and wrinkled his nose. "But here's the ultimate kicker: Low-functioning Thirteeners, whether they're hard-core criminals or overly aggressive cops, share a couple of sobering characteristics. They tend to be cowards—zero courage under fire—and they shoot without hesitation, rather than risk taking a hit.
"Now, there's a good explanation," Bright added, changing slides again. "Thirteeners were raised on video games. New-generation cops have been killing everything from monsters and aliens to bad guys of every stripe, since they were six years old. And always without consequence! That's incredibly important.
"These kids' brains have literally been wired to shoot and kill—and with nary a wisp of regret. They have no brain governor of empathy, like us old farts do. None! That's why young cops routinely jump to the lethal end of the force spectrum, going for the gun, when a less-lethal option is still available.
"And that, ol' boy," Bright declared, "is one reason we see a skyrocketing increase in officer-involved shootings across the nation. Badass Thirteeners make badass killer-cops, and America's police forces have hired an inordinate number of 'em. They're out there, killing innocent citizens every day. Primo, upstanding folks like Erik Steele."
Manor stared at Todd's white screen, now blanketed in statistics, nodding. Too much coffee and too little breakfast, compounded by what he was hearing, had turned his gut to soggy campfire ashes. An unpleasant, familiar mixture of regret and anxious despair settled over his being. His neat, orderly world view was being hammered.
"Christamighty, Todd. I don't know… . If what you're pitching is valid, we have a boatload of rogue cops on the streets."
Bright nodded gravely. The big man dropped into a chair and tipped it back, balancing on spindly legs.
"'Fraid so, son. And they're not just in America. Hell, you were in Iraq, when the Abu Ghraib jailhouse fiasco took place."
Manor tipped his head in agreement, grimacing.
"You might recall that most of the soldiers abusing Iraqi prisoners were National Guardsmen and Reservists," Todd pressed. "Several of those guilty part-time soldiers were cops back home.
"This handful of jerks caused an international incident, embarrassed Uncle Sam big-time, and probably were responsible for another hundred or so GI fatalities at the hands of inflamed Islamist fanatics. All because a few Thirteener mil-cops saw nothing wrong with humiliating and abusing Iraqi prisoners and terrorists. 'We do it back home, so what's the big deal in Iraq?'"
Bright tapped the computer and switched gears. "But this ol' dog can see his favorite Marine's sittin' over there thinking, 'Shoot, a batch of rogue cops hardly constitutes a serious national security threat.' And he'd be partly correct. Badass cops are just the front line of INDIGO, the cornerstone of a much bigger, more pervasive terrorism issue."
He tickled the computer's touch pad, displaying a new slide: "LAS VEGAS - A FIVE-HEADED SNAKE."
"Which brings me to Las Vegas and your man, Steele," Todd said, standing again. "Vegas is new-generation domestic terrorism in spades. It's the centroid, and it's damned serious.
"Massive amounts of money flow through 'Lost Wages,' billions per year. Follow the money and here's what you'll find: Corruption on a scale that makes New York and Chicago pale in comparison.
"You lash up giant multinational gaming corporations, a shamelessly corrupt police department, and complicit district attorneys, public service employee unions, and powerful politicians, and you have a den of evil that's destroying lives in droves.
"Steele's merely the latest casualty. This clique of crooks and killers is responsible for thousands of bones bleaching in the Nevada and Eastern California desert Sun.
"The details are on this," Bright said, sliding a flash-drive memory stick across the table. "Everything our intel team has uncovered, plus my analysis of what it all means.
"In short, Metro—Vegas cops—are the enforcers for giant gaming firms, taking care of the bodies and other 'business' for potent string-pullers like Antone Galocci. There are a half-dozen major players, but Galocci's the kingpin. He calls the shots and tells the sheriff what to do.
"The chicken-shit district attorney and his minions make sure dirty cops are never held accountable, primarily through the most un-American travesty of due process in the kingdom, the Clark County Coroner's Inquest."
Manor started to speak, but Bright waved him off.
"No sense jumping into that cesspool, son. The county statutes are on that thumb drive, and you'll get a gander at that sorry perversion soon enough. They'll have to convene an inquest for Steele's murder."
Todd commanded a new slide. "Stir in one of the most arrogant, crooked police unions on the planet—the Las Vegas Police Protective Association—and this brew really stinks.
"Finally, toss in the political ingredient. On the local scene, Metro's Sheriff Alex Uriah and his senior staff—which Metro patrol cops derisively call 'The Tower,' because it's hopelessly disconnected from street-reality—answer only to a coterie of county commissioners. But the commishes can't get elected, without the backing of cops. So, damned few commissioners challenge anything ol' Uriah and his killer-cops do, no matter how appalling.
"On the national front, Senator Alfred Slaten routinely carries the water for big-money gaming gurus, and consistently protects the local gendarmes and so-called 'justice' cowboys from federal interference.
"Goes deeper and is far more complex, of course," Bright said, waving a hand, "but that's the gist of how Vegas operates. Without a doubt, this is the most dangerous, corrupt cabal of evil you'll ever encounter."
Manor cracked a half smile. "Really? I tracked down Saddam Hussein, you know. He and his kids weren't exactly saint
s!"
Bright laughed. "Yeah, yeah. For sheer ballsiness, flagrant corruption, and in-your-face thuggery, though, Vegas wins a gold medal. It was recently ranked the ninth most dangerous city in America—and that didn't consider murders committed by police officers. Las Vegas cops have wracked up three hundred and ten officer-involved shootings since nineteen ninety. A hundred fifteen of 'em were fatal.
"Fact is, Vegas cops consistently have one of the highest OIS rates, per capita, in the nation."
He pointed to a new slide. "According to news reports, 'Las Vegas has seven times more officer-involved shootings than cities with populations over one million!' And comes in first in Taser use.
"Gray, Las Vegas cops have killed Americans at a far higher rate than any terrorist has, post-nine-eleven! And nobody—especially the FBI—is doing a damned thing to stop 'em."
"Until now," Manor interjected forcefully. "Hell, Todd! We've got video data of Erik's shooting. Documented phone calls that prove Captain Greel and his detectives corrupted and manufactured evidence, stole firearms from Erik's condo, and conspired to cover up this grossly negligent shooting. And eyewitnesses who saw the whole damned thing!
"The Justice Department will have to investigate, once we turn this over to the attorney general!"
Bright chuckled, shaking his head. He paced slowly, back and forth through the projector's bright beam. Slump-shouldered, Todd's shadow on the white board resembled that of a slimmed-down Alfred Hitchcock, the master of intrigue.
"Son, think this through. Do you really think our current weasel of an AG won't back down, if 'requested' to do so by the senior senator from Nevada? The same senator who controls the Justice Department's budget? No way.
"And that's just for starters. When Antone Galocci and other big-dollar donors show up on the White House porch to bitch about an 'unwarranted' FBI investigation into Erik's shooting and the 'alleged' Metro cover-up, do you honestly believe the AG will ignore his president's 'suggestion' to just forget about that li'l ol' Erik Steele thingy?"
Manor's jaw muscles were flexing again. The conflicted Checkmate director ran a hand through short-cropped hair and muttered, "Dammit, we can't let these shit-birds kill our operatives and just ride off into la-la land! Not going to happen, sir!"
Bright nodded, switching to a new slide. "Agreed. But this is bigger than Erik Steele. Son, Vegas may be the shortest burning fuse, but America, in general is ready to explode. Without all the gory background, it boils down to this: U.S. citizens—the taxpayers—are ready to revolt. Not just rednecks and loose-hinged lefties. I'm talking about Middle-America, the hardworking men and women who suck it up and go to work every day. The folks who've always left governing to the political class.
"Until now. They're pissed, and they've had it with out-of-control spending, overregulation, spiraling taxation—and devil-child Thirteener cops."
Todd stood in the bright-white projector beam, ticking off bullet points by jabbing a finger against the white board. "One: Citizens see law enforcement agencies as the mask of abusive big government, because today's cops repeatedly cross the line. They're arrogant, corrupt, abusive and in-your-face. More and more Middle America folks absolutely despise cops. And for good reason.
"Too damned many police officers are scared little Thirteeners. Weak police-department screening, poor training and lousy leadership have resulted in bullies and nerds being given badges, guns and unchecked authority. Unfortunately, a large percentage of those cops are cold-blooded killers, and they're out to get even.
"Two: So many police forces are corrupt that communities are literally disbanding them! Purging entire departments is a concept that's gaining favor, even in big cities. In fact, there's an impressive law journal paper circulating on the Internet, entitled Are Cops Constitutional? Sounds off-beat as hell, but a few heavy-hitters are seriously contemplating an entirely new model of law enforcement for America.
"Third: When citizens fear, distrust and despise local police forces, crime flourishes. Citizens don't report crimes—especially in Las Vegas—because calling the cops too often results in innocent citizens being abused or killed.
"Consequently, powerful gangs look for cities where citizens hate cops. The bad guys then move in and set up shop. Never fails: A corrupt police force that tolerates a bunch of rogue cops translates to a sharp spike in crime.
"Fourth," Bright continued, "our current crop of national leaders has launched an all-out, covert effort to enact the Mother of All Gun Control Laws. To make that happen, they've undertaken a blatantly illegal program called Fast and Furious. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—what you and I know as the ATF—allowed more than two thousand high-powered weapons to be purchased illegally, then 'walked' across the border into Mexico."
"That makes no sense," Manor interjected. "Why would the feds orchestrate something that stupid?"
Bright grimaced. "To throw gas on the anti-firearms fire in this country. Yeah, it's sickening, warped logic, but antigun ideologues planned to show Congress that weapons bought in the U.S. were winding up in drug cartel hands and, in turn, were responsible for thousands of Mexican deaths. That was supposed to justify passing draconian gun-control laws, both in the U.S. and through the United Nations.
"Thank God the ATF still has a few honest agents, and they blew the whistle on Fast and Furious. The facts haven't gone public yet, but two dogged reporters are all over it. This is serious enough to bring down that foul U.S. Attorney General."
"And this is tied into your cops-as-terrorists theory?" Manor asked.
"Yep. Hang on to your skivvies. This cow pie gets even smellier. Next," Bright said, turning back to the screen, "take a gander at this factoid: The number of gun owners in America now tops eighty million. And growing daily. Firearms and ammo manufacturers have posted staggering profits, thanks to sales fueled by rabid antigun rhetoric emanating from the White House and the Hill."
He pointed to a slide's subparagraph. "When hunting season opens in Wisconsin, three-hundred-thousand-plus rifle-toting, camouflaged hunters hit the field. They constitute the world's eighth largest army!"
"And they're viewed as a threat, at least by the antigun wing-nuts?" Manor suggested, lifting an eyebrow.
"Well… sort of," Bright hesitated. "Let me drop a couple more on ya, before herding all these mavericks into one corral, okay?"
Manor nodded, tipped his chair back and interlaced his fingers.
"So, to summarize: People are frustrated by ever-more-intrusive government, and abusive, arrogant cops who think they're above the law. Throw in a growing hatred of those cops, the fact that roughly twenty-five percent of all Americans are armed to the teeth, and a growing conviction that this country's on the brink of a second revolution, and you have the makins' of disaster."
Bright circled the table and brought up another PowerPoint slide. "Which brings us to Las Vegas. Good ol' Sin City is tinder dry, ready to explode. It's where my li'l band of analysts believes outright revolt will be ignited, then spread across the nation. Notice I didn't say 'maybe.' Will!
"All the volatile elements are there in spades. I've already outlined those linked to the Cartel of Corruption, but there's one more critical ingredient: A local economy in shambles.
"Vegas was one of the fastest-growing communities in the country, before the Great Recession tanked the whole damn place. Up to twenty-five percent of homes are on the market, and most homeowners are underwater on their mortgages. Unemployment hovers around fourteen, fifteen percent, in real terms. Tax revenues are down drastically, which means more layoffs and strained services.
"But here's the city's dirty little secret, son," Bright said, hands on the conference table, leaning toward his guest. "Vegas is no longer the big dog of gambling and entertainment. It's in decline, and Antone Galocci and his big-money buds know it. Macau, the gambling Mecca near Hong Kong, now wracks up five times the annual revenue of Vegas. Wealthy Asians who kept the green flowing in Southern Nev
ada aren't flying to the desert these days. They're staying close to home, going to Macau, instead.
"In the U.S., Florida is on the verge of legalizing gambling, which virtually guarantees millions of east coasters would no longer flock to Vegas for fun. Two of the richest Vegas gaming gurus are on record, saying they'll build new hotel-casinos in Florida, if gambling is legalized. The largest Asian gambling consortium recently bought fourteen acres outside of Miami, and is spending millions 'encouraging' Florida politicians and voters to approve large-stakes gambling."
Bright slapped the table and straightened. "Son, the Las Vegas economy is already in the toilet. When the big-money honchos flush it, a hundred thousand folks will suddenly be out of work, on the streets, and royally pissed off. A spark like young Steele's murder-by-cop, at precisely the right time and place, will blow Vegas to smither-frickin'-reens.
"Metro's killer cops will be hunted down by pickup-loads of armed-and-furious folks, and all-out war will erupt. The first casualties will be hundreds of Metro's brown-shirts, including a hell of a lot of good ones. But itchy-finger Joe Taxpayer won't give a flyin' frap whether that AR-15-totin' cop is a good guy or one of the Metro shit-birds who murdered Erik Steele and dozens of other white, black and Hispanic kids.
"It'll be one hell of a bloodbath, Gray."
Bright refilled his coffee cup and dropped into a chair.
"Questions?"
Manor shifted uncomfortably, staring at a slide projected on the wall. "Well, it's clear that Vegas is a mess and could easily spark a riot. But I… I… ," he stammered.
"Hell, Todd. How does this constitute a 'clear and present danger?' And why would Checkmate be involved? I don't see the golden link, boss."
Bright smiled broadly, rotating the coffee cup between rough paws. "Here 'tis, son. Last week, Antone Galocci contacted one of the Mexican cartels. Not just about running drugs, though. Looks like Galocci's peeved over being tracked by Checkmate. He wants revenge above and beyond having young Miles killed, possibly through terrorist-like attacks. He provides the money and planning, and the cartel provides the muscle.
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