Chapter 6

The classes I was taking during the first summer session met Monday through Thursday, giving me a three-day weekend for each of the five weeks. On Thursday of the second week of classes, I got a phone call from Dwight. “Jim, I wanted to give you a heads up. The Resident Agent for the FBI just called to warn me that some agent is being sent from D.C. to investigate allegations of excessive brutality and endangering civilians during a shootout with the escapees,” he warned.

“What?” I exclaimed. “We didn’t fire a single shot the entire time. Someone has no fucking idea what they’re talking about. This has to be from one of those fucking American Communist Lawyers’ Union hacks that needs to be disbarred. As far as excess brutality, I struck the guy we caught in Illinois in the armpit one time when he tried to pull his gun out from under his pillow. That blow was to disable his gun hand long enough to cuff him and secure his gun. I didn’t even have my gun out when I did that,” I said angrily.

“I believe you and I read the report. I just wanted to warn you that you might be called in for questioning tomorrow in case you have class,” he said. “Even Larry, the head agent locally says he’s on your side. He heard that the person coming down is a real asshole. Once he gets started, the witch-hunt is on,” Dwight warned.

If they wanted a witch-hunt, I’d give them one. I talked to Dwight; he called someone else, who gave me two names. I spent the next two hours of the afternoon on the phone, finding the right attorney. Once I found him, I had him find a press agent and a second attorney to represent Charlie. I wanted to blast this bullshit story across front pages nationwide to draw attention to the criminal sympathizing Communist pinko assholes involved.

The retainer that I wired the attorney was hefty, but it was for two attorneys and a press agent. All three had to fly here and the attorney had promised to meet me tomorrow morning at 7:00. I called Charlie to warn him that I had hired him an attorney, and how I hoped to turn this back on the idiots involved. When he protested that he couldn’t afford an attorney, I told him that I intended to pay for the attorney. He met me at the office where we got copies of our reports and faxed them to the attorney.

Then I asked Dwight if the questioning could occur in one of our interrogation rooms, and asked if the interrogation room could be set up so that the video and audio feed went to two separate viewing rooms. If the agent coming here insisted on turning it off, or insisted on keeping the recording, I wanted a second recording available. Dwight agreed to have it ready by tomorrow morning.

When I woke up at my usual pre-dawn hour, I felt better about what might happen today. I still didn’t feel any danger, although I didn’t know if I could sense this kind of danger. Dwight let us use his office for the meeting with the attorneys and the press agent. From 7:00 to 9:00, we were on the phone. We got reports, photos, and newspaper stories. We even got copies of security video clips sent to us.

When we weren’t actively doing that, I peppered the attorneys with dozens of “what if” questions, hoping that I had all contingencies covered.

Evidently, the two convicts that we picked up near Nashville had gotten into a fight trying to escape right after we left them there. They were definitely severely bruised during the escape attempt. The video showing Charlie and me turning the pair over showed conclusively that there were no bruises when we left.

The man we caught heading for Chicago cried for hours about possibly having his arm paralyzed for life, even though he had regained full use of it by the time we turned him over. Video from the prison shortly after his arrival showed him using both arms effortlessly.

At 9:15, FBI Agent Hector Daniels swaggered into the Marshals offices, demanding to see the two Rambo-like agents he intended to take down a few notches. He laughed that we had attorneys, saying that only guilty men needed attorneys. I bit my tongue. I wanted everything on tape.

Even before the door to the interrogation room closed, I asked him, “Are we under arrest?”

“Not yet,” he replied smugly.

“What proof do you have of what we’re being accused of?” I continued.

“I’ll ask the questions, and you’ll answer them,” he replied tersely.

“Unless you tell me what proof you have, we’re out of here,” I replied calmly, standing and turning towards the door.

He did something I hadn’t expected. He grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“You do know that you just assaulted a federal officer, don’t you?” I asked him as I glared at his hand on my arm.

“So, sue me,” he replied, and the contest of wills was underway.

“Either let go of me immediately, or I’ll arrest you for assault,” I warned.

“You need more help than what you have here,” he laughed. “I was third in my class in Martial Arts and can easily take two punk Deputy Marshals,” he bragged.

We glared at each other for at least thirty seconds. Finally, I grabbed his hand and pinched a pressure point. “Ow! What the fuck? Are you trying to get hurt?” he hollered belligerently as he jerked his hand back and rubbed the spot I pinched.

“No, I was merely removing your hand,” I replied brusquely. “Since this is going nowhere, I’m leaving,” I told him and turned towards the door again. He grabbed my arm this time and turned me back towards him.

“You don’t go anywhere until I give you permission,” he exclaimed angrily. When I reached to remove his hand, he slapped my hand away. After reviewing the small room and the lack of space to move or to do anything without hurting someone besides Daniels, I again went to remove his hand. Once again, he brushed my hand away, except that my hand wasn’t where he expected it to be when he thought he’d be slapping it.

A stiff-handed shot to the solar plexus sent Daniels to his knees, eyes wide in shock as he tried to remember how to breathe. While he was still struggling to breathe, I stabbed him once in the front of each shoulder to disable each arm temporarily. Then I pulled the limp arms behind him and cuffed him while everyone else stared, slack jawed. Rubbing a few pressure points, I helped him start breathing again.

Once he was no longer gasping for air, he glared at me. “You’re dead, motherfucker,” he growled.

“Okay, add one charge of threatening a federal officer to two counts of assault,” I replied. “I suppose that I should read you your rights,” I said as I pulled the business card out and read it slowly.

“Do you understand these rights?” I asked, “Or were some of the words too big for you?” I taunted.

“Fuck you. Senator Ludmill will have your badge, and your ass,” he threatened.

“Ooooohhhhh, Senator Ludmill isn’t going to be happy with you for telling us whose lackey you are,” I taunted him as I looked up at the cameras. I saw his eyes widen in fear when he realized what he had just done. He shut up after that.

After personally making sure that the recording devices were off, I asked Dwight to make me six DVDs of the incident. “If I’m right, the shit is about to hit the fan,” I warned.

I invited Dwight, the Bureau Chief, and the head of ATF and the DEA to join us. Dwight suggested using his office since there was more room than in the interrogation room. When everyone was there, I addressed them. “Gentlemen, I believe that today was merely the preliminary skirmish. I didn’t realize that it involved a U.S. Senator, and that changes everything.

“When Charlie and I captured the last of the escapees, he claimed that the first two were expecting assistance in Nashville from someone with enough influence that they expected to be safe. I thought he was talking about a drug gang or wealthy businessman making shady deals on the side. I mentioned it in my final report, but had no evidence as to who the contact could be.

“Now, however, we suddenly have a U.S. Senator who is not only interested in a case that should draw no attention, but one who sends his lackey after us with trumped up charges and no evidence. I can only guess that he’s trying to manufacture a claim that we used excessive force against the two cons to make the escape charge go away. I don’t understand what good that will do since the two men were already convicted of assault and selling drugs, and are awaiting sentencing. In addition, they’re facing charges of kidnapping and murder during the escape and dozens of other charges.

“I want to keep the federal agencies out of this as much as possible, so I intend to hire a civilian team to watch the Senator, especially his finances. I will have them run background checks on his staff to see if they are who they claim to be.

“We need to backtrack and find out who the two escapees worked for when they were arrested. Why are they important enough to Ludmill for him to risk exposure by helping them break out of prison?

“It might be a good idea to move them farther west to a maximum-security facility so they know they won’t be escaping again,” I suggested.

Turning to the press agent, I continued. “Can you cut sound bites out of the dog and pony show earlier to release to the media? All we have to do is hint that an FBI agent claims that Senator Ludmill sent him to investigate trumped up charges against two U.S. Marshals. They’ll be like sharks when they smell blood and will probably do a better job of investigating the Senator than any investigators I hire.”

“Jesus,” Dwight sighed, “who’d have thought a twenty-year-old kid would be such a shit-disturber?”

I grinned at the compliment. “I’ve got years of experience mucking out stalls, and it looks like I might be mucking out Senator Ludmill’s stall now,” I replied. Handing the press agent one of the DVDs, I added, “You might want to start working on a second press release to counter the charges we talked about this morning. Include videos, newspaper reports, and any other corroborating evidence. If ... No, when he raises the issue again, I want to be ready to respond immediately. I don’t think he’ll be expecting that. Make the release question his mental stability or credibility as a Senator or something,” I suggested.

My attorney handed me a business card when we were alone for a few seconds. “You have no idea where you got this,” he said, winking at me, “but this team is the best I’ve ever found. It includes former elite forces, CIA-types, and NSA types. I can get them started if you want,” he offered. I told him to go ahead, and I would wire him the money later today.

As the meeting was breaking up, I took Dwight aside. “Can you put a separate surveillance system on the area where you store the recording from today? I don’t think the Senator can afford to leave video of that fiasco lying around.” The two attorneys each had a copy and the press agent had a copy. Charlie had a copy and Dwight had the original copy. I had two copies.

One DVD was going into my safe deposit box where I kept Floyd’s money. The other would go into a new safe deposit box that I intended to rent today at my bank. The key for the money-filled safe deposit box was in the bottom of a brick of rounds for my Glock, beneath everything in my locked gun safe. I would keep the key for the box I got today on top of my dresser in the bowl where I kept loose change.

When I got home, I made a yet another copy of the DVD, hiding it in one of my textbooks. Grabbing the safe deposit box key hidden in my gun locker, I headed for the bank. I spoke with the woman in charge of safe deposit boxes. When we finished, she attached a note to the back of the signature card. That note had a copy of my driver’s license picture, as well as a passphrase. They were to ask me how Janie was doing. I was to reply that she was as obnoxious as ever.