Arrest Record, Part 19 By Jacksantoro2@yahoo.com
Note: Sorry, but this chapter has no sex in it. There's too much going on to allow any time out for a pleasurable interlude.
Ed and I quickly showered and dressed, and got on the road. Driving seemed to be the quickest way to get to Washington, as the Grumman was down there and it would take too long to obtain reservations on a commercial flight. We had to struggle through New York City's rush-hour traffic, but once we were on the New Jersey Turnpike we were able to make good time. I was driving as Ed briefed me on what he knew:
"The boss told me that Harold had gone out with an arrest team to pick up one of the terrorists in Tyson's Corner. This time the guy resisted, pulled a gun, and shot Harold. Harold's not seriously hurt, but we'll have to wait for the details until we get there."
We pulled into a service area where we filled up on gas, hit the bathroom, and bought a couple of sandwiches and Pepsis to go. We didn't want to waste time so we planned to eat while on the move. By midnight we were at headquarters in Washington, where Novick, one of the supervisors, filled us in on what had happened:
"We've been trying to round up these people as fast as possible, and that's why we pulled Harold from your team in New York. He and three other agents went out to Tyson's Corner to pick up one of the people on the list. Harold and George Armstrong were the primary arrest team, and two other guys were their back-ups. This guy answered the door with a 9mm in his hand and started shouting `Allah Akbar' as he opened fire. Armstrong was on the other side of the door-frame from Harold, and when he saw the gun he pushed it to the side with one hand and clobbered the guy with the other. So instead of getting shot in the body Harold caught a bullet in his arm. It went into his muscle, but didn't hit bone. He lucked out, but really Armstrong saved his life."
"Then I guess they took the guy alive, didn't they?" Ed asked.
"Oh, he's alive, but barely," answered Novick. "George hit him in the head, fractured his skull, and gave him a brain concussion. He's in intensive care, but probably will make it." We'd heard of George Armstrong, whom other agents called "Strong-arm George." He was big, about 6'6" and 250 pounds. He certainly had the beef to fracture someone's skull with one blow, and we knew him to be vicious as well. Ed and I were convinced that George had been a schoolyard bully, relishing physical confrontations. As an agent, he also was smart enough to know when he could get away with it. This had been a deadly force case, with an officer shot, and if George had killed the suspect it would have been justified.
"Ted and Paul won't be happy over this," Novick went on. "They want to interrogate prisoners, and this guy may not be in shape for questioning. Even if he survives his brain's so scrambled that he might be totally ga-ga."At this point I didn't care much about what Ted and Paul preferred. The important news was that Harold wasn't seriously injured.
"We'd like to see Harold," Ed told Novick, who told us what hospital was treating him. A phone call established that Harold was scheduled for discharge in the morning, and Novick gave us permission to go home and sleep, given the lateness of the hour. When I asked if we could pick up Harold in the morning, Novick agreed. On the way Ed reflected on Harold's vulnerability:
"Harold's a nice kid, a very nice kid," a sentiment with which I agreed wholeheartedly. "Maybe he's a little too nice and doesn't realize how vicious or dangerous some people can be." I agreed with that too.
"Maybe he was a little naïve," I suggested. "Remember how uneasy he was when he found out what Ted and Paul do?"
"I remember," Ted affirmed. "Maybe after this he'll take a little more care in these situations."
Once home we stripped down and fell into bed, exhausted from the day's events. We awoke at eight, and Ed phoned the hospital to notify the staff that we were on our way. After a quick shower we dressed and got on the road again, Ed driving because he knew exactly where the hospital was. Upon arrival we went though the formalities, signing releases, and a nurse wheeled Harold down to the lobby to meet us. It was a gripping moment, and we shook hands without saying anything, just glad that we hadn't been permanently separated.
"I'm hungry," Ed said. "Let's get something to eat before going home. You hungry, Harold?"
"I think I am," Harold replied. They fed me breakfast, but you know hospital food." I nodded, for I was well aware that, if you wanted gourmet dining there were three places to avoid: hospitals, the airlines, and prison. We stopped at a diner we knew was good and ordered conventional ham and eggs breakfasts. Harold's left arm was in a sling but he was able to eat with his right. Ed cut his ham slice into bite size pieces for him.
"Does it hurt much?" I asked.
"No, surprisingly it doesn't," Harold replied. "They gave me a vial of Vicodin for pain, but I haven't taken one yet. It just feels a little sore."
"You were lucky," Ed told him.
"I know I was," Harold agreed. "The other arrests we made went down so well I didn't anticipate that this guy would be a fanatic, that he'd actually come out shooting."
"You never know what can happen," Ed admonished him. "That's why we take the guy down right away, no questions asked. That's how we've stayed alive so far."
"I know you're right," Harold admitted. "I saw how you and Jack took them by surprise, and how Ted and Paul got them on the ground and needled them before they knew what hit them."
"Don't blame yourself too much," Ed reassured him. "Other guys were there with you. They should have known better."
"George saved my life, I guess," Harold said. "If he hadn't hit that guy so fast he would have killed me."
"George is fast and he hits hard, but it shouldn't have gotten to that point," I told him. "He should have been more careful, maybe grabbed the guy the moment he opened the door and floored him." Ed nodded agreement. We ate in silence after that, interrupted only by a call from Novick on Ed's cell phone. He wanted us to report in to work with an arrest team. Ed said we'd be in as quickly as we could. When we'd finished eating, we took Harold to our house and told him we'd be back whenever we could.
Back at the office we met Novick, who assigned us to work with Ted and Paul, since we'd worked together before. I was happy with this arrangement, knowing Ted and Paul's no-nonsense approach to their work.
"Bitch what happened to Harold," Ted commented as we rode out to a suspect's address in Vienna, Virginia, in a van.
"Just shows we have to be careful," Ed added.
"Yeah, but we don't have to half-kill the guy like Strong-arm George did," Ted told him. "He's got to be in shape to answer questions."
"No argument about that," I said.
"Those guys in New Jersey were assholes," Ted said, commenting on the previous day's events. Six terrorist suspects had been arrested by the FBI for planning to attack soldiers at Fort Dix.
"Yeah, can you imagine anybody stupid enough to make a tape of themselves shooting and yelling `Allah Akbar' and then bringing it in to a duplication store? Even the FBI were able to follow up on that," Ed said.
"Yeah, they were amateurs, not trained in the Middle East," I agreed. Trained terrorists would have been more professional and would have made a serious effort to blend in with their environment, instead of advertising themselves in such a stupid manner. However, the ominous aspect of this case was that these terrorists were free-lance, unconnected with the Middle Easy groups. There was no way of knowing how many other individuals or groups were planning attacks. When we got to the suspect's address, a private house, we quickly conferred on the arrest plan. Paul had followed the van in an old car, and when we'd gotten confirmation from the surveillance team that the suspect was home Paul drove it into his driveway, smashing the rear end of the suspect's car with a loud crash.
The suspect came out of his front door, a look of anguish on his face as he surveyed the scene and saw Paul staggering as if drunk, not noticing Ed and me on either side of him. We had him flat on the concrete before he knew what hit him, and as we handcuffed him Ted ran up and slipped a needle in his wrist. Seconds later, our suspect stopped screaming and went limp. No neighbors had appeared to notice the commotion, and we guessed that they were all at work or out shopping. We brought him back to headquarters, because the interrogation facility was already filled to capacity.
We had barely finished the paperwork after locking our prisoner in a cell than Novick caught up to us with another assignment. This one was potentially more hazardous than the previous one because there were two suspects sharing a house. I remembered an instructor at the academy telling the class that the difficulty of an arrest increases with the square of the suspects. I didn't know if this was literally true but I knew that we had to be prepared to cover two suspects and that we might need more manpower than for the previous arrest. When Ed asked Novick about this he replied that we were stretched too thinly, and that we'd have to make do with only the four of us. Worse, there was no surveillance team to keep us up to date or to lend assistance.
"We're screwed," Ed said with disgust as we walked to the parking lot. "If these guys are hot fanatics like the guy who shot Harold, we could have a real fight on our hands." I didn't like it either, and wondered if we could come up with an innovative tactic to flush out or two suspects. Time was pressing, and we just could not wait until they emerged of their own accord.
"Let's stop in at the local fire station," Ted suggested during the drive out. "Maybe we can make something happen." I wondered what he had in mind. I'd already thought of starting a fire next to the house, but the danger to other houses and possibly their occupants' lives was too great to consider this seriously.
At the fire station, Ted showed his credentials and asked to see the captain. He outlined his plan to the captain and two lieutenants the captain had called in for the conference, and then he borrowed four helmets and turn-out coats from the captain. We followed the two pumpers and one hook-and-ladder truck to the block where the suspects lived, parked our car, and then joined the firefighters, who were going door to door along the block telling people that they had received a report of a gas main leak and were evacuating residents as a precaution.
Ted, Paul, Ed, and I walked to the suspects' address. We were in luck. The flashing lights and commotion outside had brought the suspects to the door, and when we walked up to them we told them the gas main story. The moment we were within reach, we floored them, Ted and Paul working in conjunction to put one suspect face down on the walkway, while Ed and I tackled the other. We had them cuffed within seconds and then Ted brought out the flat plastic case with his syringes to make them relaxed and docile.
Their dazed state also made them unable to reach for any suicide pills, in case they were packing them. So far, we had not encountered this, but we searched our prisoners thoroughly for these and other materials that might be evidence, just to be safe.
We packed our prisoners into the van and drove back to headquarters. There, we experienced a repetition of the earlier scene, because as we were finishing the paperwork on our two suspects Novick came in with another assignment. He gave us the address of another terrorist to pick up.
We were tired, and very cognizant that the suspects we were arresting were not compliant, over-the-hill types such as Massad, but terrorist front line soldiers ready to sacrifice their lives for the cause. If they didn't give a damn about their own lives, they wouldn't hesitate to kill one or more of us if they had the opportunity. To them, we were unclean infidels, lower than animals.
I phoned Harold at the house and told him we'd be home late, as the investigation was culminating and we were making a maximum effort to round up the terrorists quickly. I told him that there was only one terrorist involved this trip, and added that we'd be all right. I certainly didn't feel the confidence I expressed to him. As we walked out to the parking lot, something struck me.
"Hey guys, let's put on our vests," I said, realizing that we'd become so tired that we'd neglected to don our ballistic vests before going out on the assignments. This was rank carelessness, and could be a deadly oversight. The others looked at me as the same realization dawned on them. We were not in the best shape to carry out an efficient and neat arrest, tired as we were, and we had to be extra careful not to make any stupid mistakes.
We retrieved our vests from the van. We wore Second Chance Kevlar vests, Level II, which would stop a .44 Magnum if ever we had the misfortune to be hit by one. We took off our jackets and shirts, putting the vests on, and then got dressed again. This didn't attract any notice, as our parking lot was fenced off from the sidewalk and street. Despite the summer heat, the vests were comfortable. Some vests were not. This provided a strong disincentive to leave them in the locker, and a couple of law enforcement officers had been killed because of this. I preferred to wear a vest despite any discomfort. As one of our instructors had told us at the academy:
"A vest is hot, but a bullet's hotter." This was good advice. Anyone who ignored it was taking an unnecessary risk.
By the time we'd reached the suspect's address, it was dark. There was a parking space almost in front of the apartment building and we took it. Inside we searched out the apartment manager and explained the situation to him. He placed a call to the suspect's apartment and told him that there was an electrical problem and that there was possibly a short circuit in his wiring that might start a fire. He told him that he was sending an electrician up to look at it. I borrowed a work jacket from him and we took the elevator to the fourth floor where the suspect lived.
I knocked on the door while Ed stood to the side. The suspect opened the door and as soon as he stepped into the doorway I grabbed his arm and pulled him through. Ed tackled him from the other side and within a second we had him face down on the floor. I put the cuffs on him as Ted and Paul ran up from down the hall, where they'd been waiting. A quick jab with Ted's syringe and our prisoner was dazed and docile.
"This stuff works pretty well," Ted said to us. "It's the same stuff they give to guys on death row before they execute them. One shot of this and they don't know where they are. Some used to put up a hell of a fight as they were being dragged to the electric chair or gas chamber. Now they go very quietly." We took our prisoner downstairs, thanked the manager for his help, and I handed him back his jacket. Then we drove back to headquarters.
By this time there was a traffic jam in the holding cells. They were chock-full of prisoners, so successful had been our efforts, and those of other agents, that day. There was no hope of flying any of them out to the interrogation center, as it was full to capacity. Strictly speaking, this wasn't our problem. People in higher pay grades than ours had to cope with these problems, and we were happy just to do our jobs.
It was no surprise that Novick handed us yet another assignment as we finished processing our prisoner. This was yet another apartment building but in Rosslyn, a suburban town. We drove out there, yawning, because we were desperately tired. I knew that this was a dangerous state, but by this time I was too tired to care. At the back of my mind I knew that we were too tired to maintain the degree of alertness that the situation required, but I didn't say anything, calculating that the other knew this as well.
We stopped at a drive-through hamburger joint, as we had not had anything to eat for many hours. We ate on the road, to save time, and had finished our burgers and drinks long before we arrived at the address.
As we got out of the van Paul slammed the door. I didn't think anything of this at the time, and although I saw a curtain move in a second floor window, I didn't attach any importance to it. As the electrical problem trick had worked so well before, we decided to use it again. The apartment manager dutifully made the phone call, and I donned a work jacket over my shirt.
This time we took the stairs, as the suspect lived on the second floor next to the stair well. By this time it was near midnight, and we treaded slowly and carefully, not wanting to awaken anyone except the suspect. The building was very quiet, and we crept up the stairs and slowly opened the door.
The plan was for Ed and me to approach the door, while Ted and Paul waited in the stair well, close enough to rush in and reinforce us when needed. I walked a couple of steps to stand in front of the door, facing squarely the way a service technician would. I could not act furtively, because that would alert the occupant that something was wring. Ed, on the other hand, stood by the wall next to the door-frame, ready to act.
For some reason I felt very apprehensive as I knocked on the door. I saw a flicker behind the peep-hole and I announced myself:
"Electrician." The door opened and a short, slight man stepped halfway out. He looked down at my hands and perhaps was surprised that I was not holding a toolbox. I grabbed his right arm as Ed grabbed his left, and we threw him flat on the floor as Ted and Paul rushed from the stair well. Ed had him already cuffed as Ted slipped in the needle. I stood and faced the interior of the apartment. There was a doorway to the immediate right of the entrance, and suddenly a bearded man jumped out, holding a Makarov pistol pointed at me. I froze, shocked that this could be happening to me.
The pistol, I knew, was a 9mm, but the hole in the barrel looked huge as I stared at it for an instant. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but at that moment flame exploded from the muzzle and I felt a heavy impact, like being struck hard with a ball-peen hammer, in the center of my chest.
Continued in Part 20