by JL Curtis
As the last stragglers wandered back to their seats, he tapped the mike on the podium and started the introductions. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the next panel is on smuggling of both drugs and personnel via both sea and land. I’ll let the three presenters introduce themselves and give a quick overview of their paper and then we’ll open the floor for questions.” With that, he waved to the old man to start.
Stepping to the center of the stage the old man began. “Morning folks, I’m Captain John Cronin, Pecos County Texas Sheriff’s Department chief investigator. The paper we co-wrote is based on a small sample of smuggling operations the three of us have directly participated in either individually or together in Europe so this will be a micro view of a much larger picture, but in our case we have complete documentation and photos and video in many cases. I’m a graduate of the NA back in 1983, and investigator since 1984. My co-hosts are Sergi and Antonio.” Waving at Sergi, he walked behind the table and sat down.
Sergi walked to the center of the stage and introduced himself. “Sergi Laine, Keskusrikospoliisi or NBI, our equivalent of your FBI. I am a graduate of this National Academy in 1986 and I am a field operations person specializing in smuggling into Finland. Approximately eight of the examples are from my borders.”
Tony got up next. “Antonio Russo, Carabinieri, Direzione Anti Droga, our anti-drug task force,” Tony said. “ I, too, am a graduate, 1988 and I am specialist in drug smuggling with a minor specialty in slave smuggling out of Africa. Four of the events are ones that we performed as part of Interpol operations and two of the events are joint smuggling events that both the Cowboy…” He paused as he smiled at the old man. “…and the big Finn…” He waved to Sergi. “And I ended up working as a team during 1996. The first event was originally thought to be a simple cigarette smuggling case from Corsica but turned out to be a cartel operation from Columbia and Mexico via the Bahamas and the United States to smuggle both marijuana and cocaine into Europe disguised as a standard cigarette smuggling operation.
“The second operation was from a lead from that led to a much larger organization smuggling slaves out of Ghana on coastal freighters to the Mediterranean and drugs and slaves being transshipped to other ships and to both Macedonia and the Baltic regions.”
Pacing the stage, Tony looked out at the audience, and waved at Sergi. “Sergi was brought in through Interpol and was instrumental in getting us assistance from the Baltic nations to allow a focal follow on the ship of interest to its final rendezvous with small boats off Hanku, Finland and the final end point of Helsinki; while the Cowboy and I picked up the trucks and small boats used to deliver the product and slaves into Albania, Yugoslavia, and finally ending in Skopje, Macedonia. Since then, Sergi and I have cooperated through Interpol on six other cases.”
The old man got up and gave a précis of the article, delving into the similarities observed in the way the smugglers set up their vehicles and/or ships. He also talked to the apparent international spread of very similar plans for adding concealment and spaces which they believed were probably based on the cartels’ reach into international crime. Sergi and Tony both discussed specific cases they had each worked on. Finally, they opened the floor to questions, most of which revolved around key points for determining whether there were compartments and cues to look for.
Then Professor Klopstein strutted to the microphone, rattling papers and adjusting his glasses and ostentatiously clearing his throat, he glanced out around the audience. “I am Professor Klopstein from Columbia University, head of the Criminal Justice Forensics Department and based on my twenty years of research in this area, and my modeling which is used by a number of organizations world-wide, I find that your entire premise is flawed because your sample size is not statistically significant, I find no definition of the so called ‘slavery’ you claim to have observed, and I can help but notice that you killed nine, let me repeat, nine people in these two so-called coordinated takedowns. My question to you captain—or should I call you ‘Cowboy?’ –is what was your justification for all these people being killed without arrest or trial?”
Rustling his papers again, he stood in the aisle awaiting a response.
The old man started to get up, but Tony put out his hand. “I will handle this if you don’t mind, sir.”
Walking to the front of the stage, Tony went from happy-go-lucky to deadly serious. Even Klopstein took a step backward. “Signor professore, if I may call you that, you have insulted all of us with your comment, and you are lucky we are not in Italy, because I would personally take you out in the street and whip you. But I will deign to answer your pathetic little question.”
Putting his hands behind his back, Tony paced slowly from one side of the stage to the other. “Remember this distance please: I will refer to it later. Now to your first point, we stated both here and in the paper this was a limited sample and we were very specific about that. There was no attempt to place this in any larger context than that of a limited look at drug smuggling specifically coming in from South America, and slave smuggling from Ghana. As for the definition of slavery, you should really keep up with the INTERPOL definitions professore, you are sadly uninformed in reality. Secondly, for a so called world-wide presence, we looked at your pathetic little model and summarily recommended not adopting it because you had nothing in the model that actually supports any law enforcement agency other than a US federal agency.”
Walking back across the stage, he stopped at the edge. “Please dim the lights up here and down in front if you would please.” As the lights dimmed, he paced slowly to the center of the stage, stopped, put his hands behind his back and bowed his head for a minute.
Klopstein started back to his seat, but Tony yelled, “NO, YOU STAY RIGHT THERE. You want answers? I give you answers.”
Klopstein froze in place, as Tony walked back to the side of the stage. “Signor John, or Cowboy and I call him that in honor, as you so derisively called him killed four people in the first operation for two reasons. You see, I was the lead boarder when we did a covert boarding of the first ship. It was a little darker than you see here. We used two Zodiacs with five people in each, one driver and four boarders. I was first up the rope to the starboard stern of the vessel. It was about seven feet up that boarding rope. As soon as I got on deck, I crouched until I was sure Cowboy was almost on deck and I started moving forward.” Tony walked quickly to the center of the stage. “I was shot by at least three smugglers at this point, actually shot multiple times in the vest, but one shot hit me in the side of the head and I dropped immediately.”
Murmurs and one “ouch” were heard from the audience as Klopstein glared at Tony.
Pacing to the far side of the stage, he continued. “Cowboy was barely aboard when they shot me. He took out his pistol and shot all three of the smugglers with head shots from this distance, in less light than we have now. He took five rounds to the vest, and one shot in the left bicep. He then rushed forward and charged the bridge. As he was coming up the ladder, a fourth smuggler tried to shoot him off the ladder. Cowboy put him down also with a head shot.”
Stalking back to center stage, Tony again put his hands behind is back. “Cowboy then captured the captain and the bridge, forcing them to kill all power on the ship and putting it adrift in the Adriatic while the rest of the team boarded. These smugglers did not go easily, and in fact we killed eight just in this boarding alone. I was medically evacuated by a helicopter, so you might ask how I know this. I know this from my team, who followed Cowboy and completed the takedown. And I have no doubt, nor do any of the men there that night that Cowboy saved my life. Lights, please.”
As the lights came back up, Tony walked back to the table and leaned on it rubbing his hands. “Sergi and the Cowboy finished my job in Skopje, and only two smugglers were shot there when they first shot at us.”
Walking back to the front of the stage, Tony looked down at Klopstein and asked softly, “Have you ever been in the field ‘profess
ore’?”
Klopstein flushed. “No,” he blustered. “My work does not require me to go in the field. I rely on the ‘proper’ documentation from field agents for my work.”
Laugher was heard from the audience and Klopstein glared at those close to him.
“You don’t remember me do you?”
“No, why should I? Klopstein asked in puzzlement.”
“Professore, or should I say Analyst Klopstein, does the name SNC Technologies bring anything to mind? 1988 in Hogan’s Alley?”
Klopstein visible recoiled at that, turned pale and sat in the first seat he could find.
Tony looked out at the audience, which was riveted now. “In 1988 as a student here, I among others was invited to participate in a new training technology called Simunitions today. That is the reduced power and reduced velocity polymer rounds used for force on force training. Analyst Klopstein here, who used to be employed by the FBI in that capacity here, decided that he needed to participate in the exercise to quote, get a feel unquote for how operations are handled. He was placed on the hostage guard side of the exercise to get an understanding of how fast a takedown had to take place to save the hostages. When he was hit for the first and ONLY time with a Simunition, he dropped his weapon and ran screaming to the corner and collapsed, yelling for us to not shoot him anymore.”
Dead silence fell on the audience. “Are there any more questions?” Tony asked. The audience sat very still. Professor Klopstein had flushed beet red, his eyes fixed on his shoes. “No? Thank you.”
The SAC stepped to the podium and thanked them for the presentation and called a lunch break for all.
As the old man, Sergi and Tony walked off the stage, Miller met them at the bottom of the steps. At the same time a young Thai policeman approached them diffidently and then gave the traditional bow and hands together gesture to the old man, “Sawasdee krup.”
The old man returned the gesture and greeting, and the young Thai continued, “Sir, Pan Wattanapanit asked to be remembered to you and hopes that you and your family are well.”
The old man stood there for a second or two, and then looked sharply at the young Thai policeman. “You mean Joe? What is that bastard up to these days?”
A bit taken aback by the response and not sure how to answer, he said, “Sir, Pan Wattanapanit is the director of the Central Investigation Bureau now, and my superior.”
The old man started laughing, to everyone’s surprise. He shook his head. “Joe or I guess ‘Cho’ as you say it was my roommate here, and talk about a homesick sumbitch, and lousy card player, but smart as a whip and all whang leather tough and damn that little shit could drink! And he loved Kentucky sour mash! That Joe?”
“Yes sir,” the young Thai said smiling, “He still loves it and requested that I bring him some Blanton’s home. He said he will never forget that gift.”
Turning to the others, the old man said, “On the tenth and twentieth anniversaries of our graduations, I’ve sent him bottles of Blanton’s and all I get back is that damn Sang Thip.” Turning back to the young Thai he smiled. “And you are?”
The young Thai bowed slightly. “My name is Som Anuwat honored Sir. Here, I go by Sam.”
Returning the bow, the old man said, “Thank you, Sam, and pleased to meet you. Please see me tomorrow and I will make sure you have another bottle or two to deliver to that old souse…”
Bowing, the young Thai nodded and left. Miller just shook his head. “Okay guys, we need to make a little road trip here, so if y’all will join me, we’re outta here.”
Sergi and Tony just looked at each other, but the old man nodded.
“Let’s go, I need to eat something though, Milty.”
Laughing, he just led them out to his car. “Y’all are going over to the Marine side, and give another brief and Q and A with a few military folks. This one is going to be NATO Secret, and you’re all cleared to that level.”
After crossing through the gate, the SAC turned again. “McDonalds?” They all laughed and agreed, so they did the drive through and proceeded over to the Marine Corps Combat Developments building.
After clearing the front desk, Miller told them he would be back to get them in an hour. They were escorted to a secure conference room by a young Marine captain, and offered coffee. Shortly thereafter, the room began to fill with various very fit young men in civilian clothes, and one older Coast Guard Captain. The old captain did a double take, then walked over to them. Sticking out his hand he introduced himself, saying to the old man, “Captain Jeff Carson, you don’t remember me do you?”
Shaking his hand, he said, “No, Captain, I can’t say that I do, John Cronin by the way. Should I remember you?”
The captain laughed. “Probably not. The last time I saw you, you were playing at being a second class petty officer and that was in 1979, remember? And hopping on and off a Cutter down off Columbia in the middle of the night?”
Slapping his head, the old man grinned. “LTJG Carson, how you’ve changed! My God that was years ago! I see you’ve stuck it out, and done pretty well since I know they don’t make a lot of Coastie Captains!” Looking over at Tony and Sergi, he quickly related the tale of his dropping in on the Coasties in the middle of the night as a DEA agent to do a takedown on a particular mother ship off Columbia.
A Marine colonel entered and the room came to attention. Motioning the three to the front, he introduced them in a very truncated fashion and said, “Gentlemen, these folks have been there and done it, you’ve all received copies of the paper they wrote and now is your chance to ask any questions and get any details you think are pertinent. Captains, these young men are from a variety of military organizations and are here for special operations joint training using new technology in a program called Visit, Boarding, Search and Seizure or as we know it VBSS. This is not your generation’s version of it, and we are doing our best to standardize this across services and countries so that we can operate effectively not only with each other, but from a variety of platforms. Gentlemen, you have one hour.”
An hour and a half later, John, Sergi and Tony thought they had been through the wringer.
SAC Miller picked them up and took them back to the theater, and pulled the old man off to the side, handing him a flyer. “John, I know you’re still a shooter, and this is right up your alley if you’re not too old. It’s a little competition over in West Virginia in about six months. If you want to take a break, this would be a good one to go do, and you’ll be against the best around. Trust me.”
The old man looked at the flyer and folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. “Thanks, Milty, maybe this will be my last one. Speaking of which, are we gonna go shoot or not?”
“Not this trip, John, but Becky wanted to invite y’all to come to dinner tonight at six thirty if that works for y’all.”
Shaking hands with him, the old man replied, “We’ll be there with bells on.”
Back at the hotel the old man pulled the flyer from his pocket, read it and thoughtfully tapping it, decided this would be an opportunity to get Jesse out of Texas for a few days and let her see some real snipers at work. And maybe this would be his final fling in that arena.
5 WV Six Months Later
The young deputy guarding the parking lot didn’t quite know what to make of the old Suburban driving past the gate: it had a Texas plate and was dirty as hell and the old man in a grey work shirt driving was probably lost. He decided he’d be polite if nothing else and get the old truck out of the way.
Not even thinking about it, the deputy let his hand rest on the butt of his pistol as the truck pulled up next to him. “Afternoon, sir, can I help you?”
The grizzled, gray-haired old man behind the wheel cocked his head and said, “Yep, you can point me to where the competitors park, son.”
“Sir, you do know this is a restricted competition don’t you? It’s limited to military and law enforcement only?” The deputy said politely, as he casually scanned the truc
k, and suddenly realized there was a good looking young girl sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“Yes, I do son, and I’m deputy sheriff out in Texas. That’s why I’m here. Now where can we park?”
Chagrined, the deputy replied, “Oh, well, park over there next to the fence and the check in is in the clubhouse up to the right”, now looking at the young girl and realizing she was wearing what looked like a full sized revolver on her belt. She just looked back at him and smiled as the old man drove off.
As he rolled the truck across the parking lot, the old man chuckled and glanced at Jesse sitting next to him. “Dammit, I knew this was a bad idea to bring you. This ain’t going to be fun, and it’s gonna be nothing but trouble.”
Jesse rolled her eyes, shook her head and looked over. “Well, Grandpa, who else could you bring? I know how to spot for you, I’m in better shape than anybody else in this truck; and for damn sure nobody else was going to put up with riding with you for three days in this beat up old truck! And all I’ve heard is how I need to get out of Texas and see the big world, and yada, yada.” She rolled up her window. “Besides, I can out shoot everybody but you anyway.”
“I know, honey, but this is still a man’s game, like it or not. And they’re not going to like you messing with their egos when we start shooting.”
He rolled the truck against the fence, looked around and liked what he saw. This was a really nice range, and it looked like there would be some climbing, probably some running, and the longest ranges would be about 7-800 yards. It was one helluva lot greener than West Texas, and he just hoped the light and shadows wouldn’t be a big problem, since they were used to open shooting. Getting out and stretching, the old man stamped his feet into his boots, shrugged into a light jacket to cover the 1911 riding on his hip, and patted his badge to ensure it was still sitting on his belt.
The old man looked around casually, noting the positions of the range, the hills, and where people were moving in the parking lot. He shook his head, looking at the greenery and hills brought back memories he’d rather forget, but this was really not about him, not now.