by Joe Nobody
He’d learned that the police were always conscious of cameras and witnesses. Like the night Jacob had been mauled, they formed a tight semi-circle around the captured carjacker. This ploy often resulted in questionable cellphone videos… the angle, view, and clarity allowing the cops to claim all sorts of justification for their actions. That tactic wouldn’t work with the Gripen.
The lack of light didn’t compromise the aerial vehicle’s camera. In fact, the view was unequaled; the huddle of officers had not bothered to shield any activities from the skies. Gabe had the balcony seats at the opera.
He could see there was a brief struggle, five officers surrounding the prone man, forcing his hands behind his back. And then it was over. No beating, no kicking, no punches thrown.
In a way, Gabe was disappointed. “If you flee, we have an open license on your ass,” one entry on a police forum had boasted. Adam had confirmed the same mentality existed among many cops. Yet, the handcuffed carjacker, now being led back to a patrol car, hadn’t suffered any abuse.
He nudged the G-1’s control, keeping a bird’s eye view as the officers escorted their takedown back to the waiting armada of cruisers, but his mind was no longer centered on the scene playing out below the drone.
“Adam was right,” he whispered. “Not all the cops are bullies. The guys I just watched were the ultimate professionals. Was Jacob’s encountered really the ultra-rare exception?”
Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, Gabe told himself that his newfound doubt was unjustified. His research had shown that the Houston Police Department received over 650 complaints of excessive use of force a year. That statistic equated to almost two grievances per day, and a large percentage of those were submitted by fellow officers within the force.
Yet, he also knew HPD conducted hundreds of arrests daily. The accusations against the force were mathematically a tiny percentage. It only made sense that his first “observation” had been a clean arrest.
With faith in his mission reestablished, Gabe completed his scrutiny of the handcuffed suspect being guided into the backseat of a cruiser, and then ordered the G-1 home.
After verifying the flying robot was indeed plying the correct route, Gabe leaned back in his chair, finally content with the first experiment and already processing a list of improvements that needed to be implemented to ensure his project’s realization.
The rain had finally let up, the stalled front hanging over southeastern Texas for the better part of two days. The Gripen couldn’t fly in high winds or wet weather. It was a weakness in Gabe’s grand scheme of aerial surveillance.
Clear skies and a calm atmosphere confined him to the assembly room, the nearly constant background noise of the police scanner filling the air while he worked on piecing together the G-2 unit.
This time, the call for additional backup units involved three individuals causing a disturbance at a convenience store. The on-scene officer had been assigned to a complaint that one of the individuals was harassing customers. Upon assessment of the situation, he was now requesting assistance.
Gabe turned on the voice to text translation that constantly monitored the police frequencies, converting the radio calls into searchable data. He highlighted the address, listened to make sure the software had it right, and issued the command string to the G-1 unit.
It was late afternoon, and the daylight posed additional risk. Gabe would have to be careful to keep his secret weapon close enough to provide meaningful video, but at a distance not to be noticed by anyone on the ground.
He modified the unit’s programming to cruise at 380 feet, hoping the small profile and grey color exterior would avoid curious eyes. In reality, it was only the authorities or people at the crime scene that were a serious concern.
Less than 15 minutes later, the camera detected several police cars, the responding units parked haphazardly on the lot of a corner gas station and a convenience store. Gabe slowed down the G-1, keeping his distance, and hovering above a nearby empty lot. A quick sequence of buttons engaged the zoom, bringing the picture in close.
There were seven cops now, all of them gathered around three men alongside the building. Gabe could tell that things were getting tense, the body language and hand motions indicating the situation was escalating.
Without warning, one of the cops moved on the tallest suspect, spinning the civilian around and forcing him against the store’s outer wall. In the blink of an eye, all three of the suspects were in a similar position.
Gabe wasn’t listening, but knew the computers were recording both sound and video. He wanted to focus all of his attention on obtaining clear footage.
The largest man against the brick structure wasn’t happy, his head half turned, bobbing up and down as he shouted at the cops. Gabe could see one officer frisking the gentleman while the other kept a close eye on the angry suspect.
When they started to pull the big guy’s hands behind his back, he half turned to protest, and then the cops swarmed in.
Three of the officers tackled the suspect, throwing him to the ground and then piling on. They quickly formed their huddle, but Gabe had been anticipating the move.
Zooming in, he saw a cop manage to handcuff one hand and then the other. By the book, the guy on the ground was now subdued, helpless, and extremely unlikely to pose any threat to the surrounding police.
But they didn’t stop. One policeman stepped forward, landing first one, then a second, and a final, third kick to the prisoner’s ribs. Another officer knelt down, placing a knee onto the back of the man’s head while yet a third pulled his nightstick and struck two blows into the prone fellow’s leg.
Gabe had watched hundreds of internet videos, many of them more disturbing than what was flashing across the Gripen’s monitors in real time. It was still sickening, a knot of bile forming in his stomach.
Evidently, the cops felt enough punishment had been delivered, the huddle breaking up and the now-grimacing suspect half-dragged by his upper arms to one of the police cruisers. The other two men were released.
After ordering the G-1 home, Gabe decided some fresh air was a necessity. Part of his brain was feeling the positive emotions of success, of a reward from all of his hard work and investment. But there was a dark side to the episode as well… the suspect’s beating reminding him of Jacob’s experience.
Stepping out onto the roof and half-watching for the G-1 to return, Gabe realized he was troubled by more than just memories of that horrible night with his son. The ass whooping he’d just witnessed was not the major factor in his funky mood either. The amount and duration of the violence captured by the Gripen’s camera was insignificant as compared to a good bar brawl or gang fight. Most G-rated movies contained more grit.
No, what was eating at Gabe’s soul was the fact that it was the police who had crossed the line. The men who were paid to protect and serve had become the judge and jury, and they had taken it upon themselves to issue the punishment. Public servants… peace officers… government authority… it was all so fundamentally wrong, and that was making him ill.
For the first time in his life, Gabe could relate to the feelings experienced by an abused child. He had just witnessed the trusted guardian, the authority figure charged with protection, suddenly become violent. And for no good reason.
Gabe didn’t know what accusation had been leveled against the trampled man, had zero idea of what had been said during the pre-beating exchange with the cops. According to the law, the suspect’s words didn’t matter: foul language, insults, or calling the cops names should have no bearing on an officer’s handling of the situation. Everyone was supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. What the Gripen had just recorded wasn’t the American way.
As he mulled over what he’d just viewed, a slight buzzing noise sounded from the east. Gabe looked up to see the Gripen approaching, the steady drum of its propellers nearly inaudible until the machine was decreasing its altitude and making for the rooftop landing zone
.
He watched the flying robot lower gently onto the pad, and then shut down its electric motors. The video and audio files had long since been transferred back to the main servers, two backup copies probably working their way through encrypted cloud storage even before the drone had flown away from the crime scene. Again, Gabe was proud of his accomplishment. “Now the game begins,” he said to the silent robot. “Now things start getting serious.”
Chapter 8
Peelian Principle
The securing and training of proper persons is at the root of police efficiency.
The squawk of Tony’s cell phone roused the assistant DA from his dreams. With a scowl he snarled, “What now,” reaching toward the nightstand, fumbling for the offending device.
“Tony,” he answered, squinting at the small, but bright display.
“You better switch on the news,” Karen’s voice advised. “This is weird.”
“Yes, ma’am… but… news? What time is it?”
Breathing hard, she answered, “It’s 5:30 AM, Sleeping Beauty, and I am running on a treadmill at the gym. I’m watching the morning show on channel 17, but I’m sure all of the local networks are covering the same thing. Call me back when you are coherent.”
He found the remote and flipped on the bedroom TV. It took a few more clicks before he found a news station.
“Channel 21 Eyewitness News received this video last night from an anonymous source. It shows an interaction between what appears to be Houston Police officers and an as of yet unidentified suspect. We want to warn you, the content of this clip is troubling.”
Tony watched what appeared to be a standard police encounter, noting the number of officers and suspects. At first, he thought the footage was from just another cell phone video, snapped by some onlooker who happened to be in the area. He assumed the elevated angle of the recording was likely someone in a high-rise office building pointing a camera down at the incident.
But when the police started using force, the image gradually changed, obviously being adjusted to see inside the ring of officers surrounding the suspect.
The attorney had to admit it was excellent camera work, the image stable and clear. But how had it been done?
Standing in front of his television, barefoot and in boxer shorts, the attorney stood mesmerized by both the scene and the technology used to capture it. “How in the hell…” he started to question, watching the prone man take several blows from the cops.
The video ended with the suspect finally shoved into the back of a police car. But then something really odd happened. A solid white screen appeared, with the black words, “Citizens Observation Committee – Police Brutality Will Not Be Tolerated.”
Tony was shocked, his thoughts interrupted by the anchor’s voice returning to the air. “Again, Eyewitness News 21 received this video, in its entirety, via an anonymous email late last night. Our video engineers have verified its authenticity, but are unable to determine exactly how it was recorded. Joining me now in the studio, and making a rare on-camera appearance, is our executive producer, Carl Whitfield.”
The broadcast changed to a scene of two men sitting behind the news desk. “Carl,” the announcer continued, “you have over 30 years of experience with video technology. Before we went on the air, you told me this recording was an extremely interesting piece of work. Could you explain to our viewers exactly what is so intriguing about this example?”
“Sure,” replied the obviously uncomfortable gent sitting beside the on-air personality. “The quality of this recording is far and beyond the capabilities of any cell phone or handheld movie camera I’ve ever seen. Its pixel density and sound characteristics are equal to Hollywood movie studio equipment, and yet it obviously was created on a mobile platform.”
“So this wasn’t recorded by someone just passing by the scene?”
Carl shook his head and then seemed to remember he was on the air. “No, I don’t believe it was. If you watch the video frame by frame, there is no evidence of any editing or tampering. Whoever recorded this had access either to a crane or some other aerial device, in addition to some very expensive hardware.”
The studio cameraman then focused back on the anchor’s face. “Thank you, Carl. Our researchers here at Channel 21 have been unable to locate any information regarding the Citizens Observation Committee. Your Eyewitness News Team has, however, verified that HPD did respond to a call at the corner of West 34th and Baker Avenue at the exact time and date noted on the video. We are awaiting verification that the recording is from that incident, as well as further details of any arrests made at that time. Moving on to your morning weather forecast….”
Tony muted the television, his mind processing dozens of questions at once. Padding to the kitchen, he put on a pot of water to heat for instant coffee. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he wasn’t going back to bed.
He’d spent the previous evening preparing the captured video for delivery to all of the local newshounds, a task that was complicated by the need to set up dead-end email accounts. Using an abundance of caution, he’d actually created and utilized the fictitious addresses while riding up and down the city’s metro rail line, using an open laptop, just like the dozens of other passengers aboard the electric train. Access to the internet had been accomplished via a no-contract phone’s WIFI hotspot. The cell had been wiped clean, crushed, and deposited in a dumpster after the last email was on its way across the digital landscape. It was the most expensive email package he’d ever distributed, but it was untraceable. The peace of mind he felt was well worth the extra expense.
It had seemed like an eternity passed while he waited for the morning news programs to splash his masterpiece. Far too keyed up to sleep, Gabe had occupied himself installing the latest upgrade to the system software. He had requested the modifications a few weeks ago, hoping the new code would allow even faster response times and more automatic transfers to and from the drone’s computer brain.
After spending the morning flipping channels and relishing the results of his work, he’d finally grown tired of the same old news being repeated over and over again. He could finally sleep, confident that all of his time, expense, and effort were paying off. Jacob’s death would have meaning after all.
He awoke several hours later, refreshed with a newfound purpose and reinforced vigor. After a quick meal, he returned to assembling the G-2’s final components.
The hours passed, the next generation drone taking shape on the large worktable. Gabe, working with an expensive digital kitchen scale, was using the household hardware to weigh and log each component before attaching it to the new airframe. The goal was to reduce the drone’s girth by nearly two ounces in order to extend its maximum flying time.
A beeping arose from the control panel.
The new software was working, he quickly surmised, abandoning what he termed “playing with the erector set,” and moving to gaze at the bank of computer screens. The system was sounding an alarm beep, the electronic brain having recognized certain words streaming across the police radio. Gabe hustled to sit down, rapidly performing the now almost-routine actions required to launch G-1.
“At least it’s nighttime,” he whispered. “Maybe my little toy will get a chance to show off its real technological capability this time.”
What had attracted the computer’s attention was a call for a SWAT team, an armed suspect barricaded inside an apartment. Shots had been fired.
The Gripen performed flawlessly, zooming over the suburban landscape at 250 feet like a hawk chasing a mouse across the field. Again, the monitors displayed a large cluster of flashing emergency lights, announcing that the drone had indeed arrived at the correct location.
The G-1’s microphone began eavesdropping, easily picking up the conversation and commands of the on-site supervisor. The suspect was currently barricaded in a second-story apartment. Apparently, when the cops had tried to serve an outstanding warrant, he had fired two shot
s.
It was some time later that Gabe discovered a major weakness in his system. SWAT teams specialized in negotiating with suspects, taking their time in order to accomplish their primary objective and “talk the suspect down.” After hovering for close to an hour, it became evident that the Gripen didn’t have enough battery power to wait out the lengthy arbitration process.
Gabe rotated the drone’s camera, trying to identify a suitable location to land his flying machine until the action started. He wanted the drone’s cameras to remain focused on the scene while stopping the electric motor’s thirsty drain on the batteries. This minor adjustment to his plan morphed into quite the challenging task.
Pulling up a publicly available satellite photo of the area, he searched for just the right landing spot, but there wasn’t one available. While he could detect plenty of flat, unobstructed rooftops in the vicinity, none of them provided an unobstructed view of the suspect’s apartment.
Finally, he decided to touch down and trust the radio to handle the work. While he wouldn’t be able to hear nearly as much information as the drone’s on-scene microphones, he hoped he would have enough notice coming across the police scanner to get the G-1 re-launched and into position.
He spied an apparently abandoned gas station less than four blocks away from the standoff. Slowly maneuvering the G-1 over the structure’s flat roof, he gently decreased the machine’s altitude.
Implementing his scheme was far more difficult than he’d imagined. There was a slight delay between his commands and the Gripen’s response. That time lag was further enhanced by the gap in video feedback displayed on the monitor. After a few white-knuckle moments, the drone was safe and sound, it’s altimeter reading 4.6 meters and refusing to drop any lower. The camera confirmed it was resting safely on the metal pavilion that protected customers from the elements while they filled their tanks.