Peter Sawyers came out as directed with his hands held above his head and walking with his back towards Nick. Nick loudly announced, “Put your hands behind your back, Peter.” As Sawyers quickly complied, Nicky added, “Menthol or regular?” then paused and said, “I have both.”
“Regular—what do I look like, a pussy?”
****
The prison library was an elaborate operation with over eight hundred square feet of volume after volume. The room had a twelve-foot ceiling, dark wooden walls with row after row of eight-foot-tall bookcases and ten-foot-long tables with chairs made of some kind of light, almost beige-colored composite material. The center of the area included three walnut desks and a U-shaped white countertop for use by the institution’s librarians.
The law books were the most popular texts with the prisoners, but many of the younger inmates realized the Internet provided far more information about the law and any other subject. There were about a dozen largely unused desktop computers with large monitors resembling small televisions spread across one corner of the room.
As Steven Clinton sheepishly sat in front of the computer, he was exploring its use.
“Hell, there are all kinds of things you can use this for, right?” he said to the man, an older black inmate seated to his left, ironically at the age of sixty the resident computer expert.
“Yeah, let me show you how to look up the stories about what got you sent up here. Let’s see, Steven A. Clinton, Montwood. Right, what was the name of the bar?”
“Bayside, the Bayside Bar and Restaurant, but it was just a bar; no one ever really ate there—shit food,” Steven responded.
“Okay, put that all up on this blank space on the screen and hit enter like this.”
“Holy shit, look at all the stories about that shooting. Here’s Epstein’s picture, and he is quoted too. Here is another one, and there’s another one.”
“You can probably find almost anything ever written about it. Look, I’ll show you the court record.” Clinton’s companion entered his name and date of birth in a state court website. “Here it is, the whole court story.”
“Does that show any juvenile records?”
“Nah, it only shows convictions for crimes which aren’t sealed, and no petty offenses at all.”
“How about YO records?”
“Nah.”
Clinton was fascinated with the machine. Every day after his maintenance job duties, the gym and therapy, he ran to the library to take a seat in front of the new-age device. He searched the Internet for all kinds of topics. He read the penal law and all the commentaries associated with each section. He paid particular attention to First Degree Assault, the sections of law to which he had entered a guilty plea. He studied the rules related to sentencing, work release programs, parole and early release.
As time passed, Clinton expanded his searches. He was able to get real estate records, the value of homes, when they were bought and sold, the names of owners and maps diagramming their exact locations.
Public records listed the names of cops, teachers and firefighters, their individual salaries and those retired had their pensions posted as well.
As he became more adept at the use of the computer, he started to compile and store particular websites and databases. Some of the sites provided a telephone number, cell phone numbers, email addresses, home addresses and even the names of family members and associates.
****
“How are you doing, Steven?” Doctor Weigand asked one day during an individual session.
“Good, Doc. It’s been fourteen years already and I feel great, no more anger. I use all my emotional energy working out.”
“When’s the last time mom and dad came up?”
“About four months ago. They hate to travel in the winter, and my father is suffering from heart problems. I don’t know if I told you that.”
“No, I didn’t know. But cut them some slack; it is a treacherous drive sometimes.”
“Yeah, Doc, I understand.”
“Steve, what do you want to do when you get out of here?”
“Doctor Weigand, I have been taking a lot of computer courses through the library and I really like working on the computer. I could do it forever.”
“Maybe you can work in computers when you get out.”
“I hope so. I especially like searching through databases. They are interesting and challenging. You have to think like the machine.”
Later that night, Clinton went to the library and got on the computer and searched the net for more information about the shooting in the Bayside Bar.
He typed out “Shooting Bayside Bar” into a search engine in a news website. He looked in the papers’ archives. After quickly striking the enter key, an old story appeared about the shooting and Lieutenant Nicholas J. Brennan winning a departmental award for meritorious service involving his actions that night. In a related picture Brennan is seen in a photograph shaking a man’s hand with the caption below reading “Lieutenant Nicholas J. Brennan receives his medal from the police commissioner as his wife Joann and their infant son, Michael, proudly look on.” So he got a medal. Wow, his wife is really good looking—nice ass, with great legs, too, Clinton thought.
Chapter 7
“Lieutenant, we are starting an intelligence unit that will be much different than the one we now have,” Chief Chapman said to Nick Brennan on an icy-cold sunny day in February. The two had met in Chapman’s chilly and drafty ten-by-twenty-foot bright cream-colored windowless office. Deputy Chief Charles Chapman was the commander of the special services division and relatively new to the notion of modern police intelligence. As a senior member of the command structure and a thirty-year veteran of the police department, he was chosen by the police commissioner for the task because of his skill in delegating—“fitting the person to the job.”
“Yes, Chief, I have heard that,” Nick responded.
“I would like to offer you the job of commanding officer of this new unit. Are you interested?”
“Well, Chief, it is an honor, and I have some experience in military intelligence, but I’m not sure I understand the concept of police intelligence or if I could even fit the bill. Could you explain it?”
“Brennan, this is all new to me as well. A lot of what we will be doing will be hitchhiking—you know, building ideas from other ideas, looking at other agencies. There has been a proliferation of terrorist acts around the world. More and more often the actors seek out soft targets: buses, trains, restaurants and clubs, churches, synagogues, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, I have seen that, but intelligence is designed to stop things from happening or at least predicting some future action by the bad guys. Frankly, Chief, I’m not sure even a large police department like this can gather the resources necessary to meet that mission.”
“I know, Nick. Up until now, our intelligence squad was just a bunch of older detectives following street gangs, criminal hotspots, motorcycle clubs, career criminals and gypsies.” Looking down at a report on his desk, the chief continued, “With a small measure of organized crime thrown in. Now we need to create a unit that still does that but also protects our more than one million residents from an attack by a terrorist. This is coming straight from the top.”
“What does the boss envision, Chief?”
“Not sure, but I figure we will probably increase the intelligence unit from a squad to a bureau; a bureau with three squads within it. One would continue with criminal intelligence, basically common criminals, repeat offenders and gangs and crime mapping.” He stopped talking and pulled a paper from a pile on his desk. “Another squad would be dedicated to general intelligence-gathering—working with our federal partners using a lot of predictive analysis. The third squad would work with the FBI task force and tackle counterterrorism.” Squinting and looking at another document, he added, “We also will coordinate with correction officers working in the jails and prisons who will keep their ears to the ground an
d report back.”
“Sounds interesting and challenging, Chief. I’d take the job if it is being offered, yes!”
“Well, it is being offered, so let’s get to work.”
****
Nick decided to visit the present intelligence squad and examine it in its current formulation. He found an office filled with senior detectives who were reading magazines popular with motorcycle gangs, had a paper filling system listing career and repeat felons, and collected volumes of photocopied newspaper articles describing gypsy scams and senior citizens who had been conned out of their money. Crime patterns were charted on a pin map on the wall.
The office with four separate rooms looked like a squad room out of a 1930s movie: metal desks, old manual typewriters, gray lockers covered with scratches and dust and a lot of irrelevant conversations humming in the background. Hell, this isn’t going to work, Nicky thought. Great intelligence officers? These guys are not the essence of intelligence. Attention to detail? No way, he thought. They barely knew or even cared when Brennan had entered and left their work area.
Nick called the chief as soon as he got back to headquarters and went right at it. “Chief, I need to get rid of most of the investigators who are assigned to the squad right now. I need skilled detectives and officers with a desire to acquire computer skills, people who want to learn. I need computers, and if the budget allows I need the office painted and some new furniture put in place.”
“Yeah, go on. You sure you don’t want a free Caribbean cruise on the Queen Mary II?”
“Gee, Chief, thanks for the cruise offer. I’d really love to, but I don’t think I have the time right now. Anyway, Boss, we have to have a professional intelligence bureau so that our team members think of themselves as professionals.”
“I understand, Nick, I’ll do what I can. But for now, go over to personnel and go through the computer files there and start to pick some cops and detectives with the background and potential you are looking for.”
“Yes sir!”
****
It was a warm day with bright blue, cloudless skies in late June when Nick Brennan had put together a final list of potential intelligence bureau members for approval by the commissioner of police. Along with thirty cops and detectives, Nick had interviewed and accepted three sergeants, one for each squad. Brennan expected Commissioner Robbins to approve all of his choices, but he had some backups just in case. As it turned out, it went well, and the top cop went with all “Nick’s picks” as they came to be known.
Now formally the Intelligence Bureau and called IB, Brennan had newly painted light blue offices filled with new cabinets, new desks, albeit with older chairs, and six computers. Nick had a small room for his use, and each squad had a separate area with each squad supervisor’s desk stationed there. Nicky had gotten some of his team members to do a lot of the painting and moving and even had a detective with carpentry skills expand a room to provide a conference area with a fifteen-foot-long table for bureau meetings.
Nick addressed the group on their first Monday morning, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the department’s newest bureau. As I discussed with each of you at the interview phase, we are putting together a professional intelligence operation. We are going to track criminals, gangs and terrorists. We are going to plot crime patterns, study suspicious inmates, and coordinate with our federal partners, adjoining agencies and other states. There are essentially two things we must do really well. We will collect information and we will analyze it. That will helps us predict and thus stop crimes and acts of terror before they happen. If those acts do happen, I have failed. We must all hit 1,000 percent in this league; we must get it right all the time. Questions?”
A petite female officer with dark hair and light brown eyes started it off. “Lieutenant, what kind of training can we expect to receive?”
“Preliminarily, you will all take courses in computers and analysis. As we go along, you will receive abbreviated training in surveillance, communication and cell phone analysis, terrorism, and gang activity. For example, cell phone technology is changing things. In many cases we can read a phone’s unique signature and triangulate on it with three or more cell towers to place it within a certain general space and perhaps infer a specific purpose that can be very helpful. ”
“What about the laws associated with all these areas?”
“Erin, as you probably know, the laws involving all of these are separate but related. Missions are still developing. It will be my responsibility as an attorney to stay current in all relevant areas of law and train you all both collectively and individually.”
An older detective with gray hair and glasses raised his hand. “Lieutenant Brennan, what hours will we work, and when will we meet for updates?”
“We will eventually work two tours, days and evenings, and will meet as a group on Mondays. I will have two bureau meetings on those days, but you are to remain in contact with each of your squad supervisors at all times.”
Nick continued, “As you know, our work here is confidential, and the counterterrorism squad which will be attached to the FBI task force will be receiving classified information that is not to be disclosed to anyone without a need to know, in an appropriate facility and where there must exist a need to share. Every one of you will be investigated by the FBI to acquire the appropriate clearance. Breaches of security cannot be tolerated. If you cannot keep our investigations confidential or our nation’s secrets safe, please leave this bureau!”
****
Sergeant Tom DeBoer, newly assigned to the Intelligence Bureau, entered Nick Brennan’s office with a teletype message in hand based on a cable sent to the intelligence community.
“Nicky, we have information which has been declassified to LES, and we need to check this out!” Tom said, referring to law enforcement sensitive information—the most common and lowest form of declassified yet restricted information used in the intelligence community.
“Nick, according to the declassified tear-line cable from the Department of State, a walk-in to one of our undisclosed Middle Eastern embassies has reported a possible attempt on the light rail system right here in our general area by a bomber using a baby carriage for cover. The time frame is a two-week window beginning early next week.”
Brennan knew that a tear-line memorandum meant that US officials had redacted information from the upper part of an official correspondence and Nick also knew that the full document was probably classified at least, secret. The author of the original cable would create an abbreviated report below a series of dashes in the middle of the sheet of paper reporting the threat. That abbreviated report was torn from the full report and dispatched. The tear-line report was designed to protect sources and methods used by the federal government but it also frequently left the recipient unable to assess the credibility of the source.
“Tom, is there any way we can quickly follow up with a threat assessment and determine the value of the information? I mean, is this a cover-your-ass type advisory or is it based on solid info?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant, but we can’t sit on it. I will check with my guys on the task force and see if we can narrow this down geographically too, but they can’t compromise any sources or methods either.”
“Okay, check with them and call a bureau meeting for four o’clock and have both tours there.”
****
At four that day the conference room was filled to the walls with the criminal intelligence squad, the intelligence squad, and members of the federal task force. There was a palpable buzz of excitement as Nick Brennan entered the room.
“Okay, boys and girls, we have some general information on a possible terrorist attack in this overall metro region, an area of fourteen hundred square miles with at least two major police departments and several other village, town, railway, park and city agencies. Sergeant DeBoer, please distribute the copies of the tear-line cable,” Nick announced, slowly enunciating as he spoke. He
knew he needed to be profoundly precise with cases like this. While it was his custom to speak quickly in a staccato fashion, now he would slow down to give everybody the time to absorb the importance of the matter before them.
As DeBoer passed around the papers, all the officers, detectives and the other two squad leaders quickly cast their eyes down to read the report.
“Sergeant Schaffer,” Nick said, directing his comments to the criminal intelligence squad supervisor, “we have predication, so please open a case and let’s start an investigation.” Schaffer knew that predication meant there was sufficient reliable information to start a case file and assign an intelligence investigation number to it.
Reading off a list he had put together, Schaffer said, “Lieutenant, I will have my squad coordinate with our police partners in the region, get a complete list of rail stations, research the CCTV resources available, get rail schedules and try to calculate a plan for some form of covert surveillance of the train entry points and platforms in our jurisdiction with our colleagues in adjoining areas doing the same.”
“Good. Get started right after the meeting. Sergeant Lambert, we need to have your squad start the computer research and thinking critically. Put together possible scenarios. You know the deal—the baby carriage will probably be pushed or pulled by a woman not wearing any kind of foreign garb, maybe a suicide vest with a bomb, and probably trying to enter a station or a train at rush hour and so on…” Nick said, thinking out loud.
“Lieutenant, we’ll put together a threat assessment and try to figure the most likely targets, but we have to keep a lid on this. If the press gets this, they may shake up the bad actor, cause unpredictability and make our job harder.”
“Right. Hey, Sergeant Schaffer, when you contact our partners please make sure they all keep their collective mouths shut. Have your first meeting with the railway cops—they are going to get a copy of this forthwith. Obviously, if we find some imminent threat we go to the media right away to warn the public. Right now we would only cause panic with no useful information to release,” Brennan directed.
Once a Noble Endeavor Page 11