From the Pulpit, Chapter 9

Chapter 9
Tuesday, October 25th, 2011
FBI Regional Headquarters
Office of the Ohio Valley Anti-Terrorist Task Force
3 PM

Agent Hogan led Martin and Farris through the security doors, past the multiple guard stations and through more security doors until they reached a small windowless conference room inside the FBI Regional Headquarters building in Columbus.

“Welcome to the bowels of the FBI.” Hogan said, “Agent Rottbruck will be here in a few minutes, she is the best surveillance specialist I have ever met and will be handling the microphones, cameras, satellites and such as we try to track this guy down.”

“Rottbruck?”  questioned Martin, “What kind of a name is that?”

“You think that’s something?”  asked Hogan, “Her first name Hildegard.  She’s of good stout German stock.”  He flexed his arms, making fists with both hands to exaggerate the image of a stocky German Frau.

“Oh Jeez,” Exclaimed Martin, “What is she, one of those super butch East German hairy wrestler dykes or something?”

“What can I say?  The FBI is an equal opportunity employer, we hire….” At the moment the door opened.  “Well, speak of the devil…here she is.”

The view from the angle at which Farris and Martin were sitting was obscured by the door, which opened inwards from the opposite side.  A slightly higher than normal but masculine voice grunted as the person pulled something heavy into the room.

There was a flurry of cloth as a skirt briefly billowed out from the door then two large hands with dark hair on the knuckles appeared from behind the door and dropped a heavy box onto the table.  The hands backed out, there was a metallic sound made as a cart of some kind was wheeled away, then a raspy female voice called out, “Thanks Hank.”

The person with the voice backed up, and let the door shut, her back to the men in the room for a brief moment as she coughed, clearing her throat.  As the door shut she turned around and Martins jaw fell open as he laid his eyes on the form and face of Hildegard Rottbruck. 

Hogan smiled widely at Martins expression.  Farris glanced at her and nodded politely.  Hildegard looked at the two new men in the room and with only a slight smile of greeting, cleared her throat again then spoke to them. 

“Hello, I am Agent Rottbruck, and, uh…judging by your expression, it looks as though Agent Hogan has taken the liberty, once again, of trying to build an image of me ahead of time.”

“I only said your name, and that you were German, Hilde.  Whatever they thought was up to them.”  Said Hogan.

“Yeah, right…. you know Paul…one of these days I’m going to turn you in for harassment.”  She said without a hint of humor in her voice.  Then she abruptly got a wide smile on her face and added, “But looking at the expression of certain men when their face drops and they start to drool like dogs, does kind of make me want to take a picture to send home to his significant other.”

She looked at Martin and said, “Close your mouth detective, you look like an idiot.”

Hildegard Rottbruck was in her early thirties, about five feet four inches tall with dark red auburn hair, perfectly smooth cream colored skin and deep green eyes.  She was perfectly proportionate, slender but not too thin, full figured but neither overweight nor overly buxom.  Her conservative skirt and blouse lay pleasantly over her very feminine shape.  In short, she was incredibly beautiful.

Mike Farris did note her attractiveness, but was not overcome like Martin.  With the death of his wife still fresh on his mind, he had no desire to look at other women. 

“You must be Mike Farris.”  Hilde put forth her hand to him.

“Yes ma’am.”  He answered.

“Sorry about your loss.”  She replied, “We’ll do everything to get this guy.”

“Thanks.”

Hogan pointed to the box Hilde had brought in.  “What you got in the box Frauline Rottbruck?”

She grabbed the handle on the side and pulled it to the middle of the table.  The box was a standard size file box filled with a heavy mass of folders and papers. 

Hilde pulled out a couple of paper folders and laid them on the table. 

“Before I start, are these guys cleared to see this information?”  she said.

“Farris is for sure,” Hogan answered, “Mike you are still good on your Alpha clearance right?”

“Yeah, it was just renewed a few months ago actually.”

“Martin,” Hogan asked, “have you ever had a federal top secret clearance?”

“Are you telling me that I have to leave the room?”  he became indignant again.

Rottbruck looked at him coldly and said, “You may be asked to leave if we come up to certain types of material.”

“I am a senior detective with CPD.  I’ve been to the national academy and all of that.  If you can’t share your evidence with me I am going to have to go over your head.”

“That won’t do you much good, unless you are best buddies with the President.”  Replied Rottbruck.  “Some of this material is Top Secret Alpha, which means there are only a few dozen people in the world who can look at it.  If you have at least a Top Secret level I can let you see everything else though.”

“What?”  Martin stood up from his chair.  “You mean to tell me that this preacher has this Top Secret Alpha clearance, or whatever, that gives him access to stuff that I can’t even see?”

Hogan was clearly enjoying this, “Yes Danny Boy, as a matter of fact this preacher just happens to be on a first name basis with the past several presidents, including the current one.  Like I said earlier, be nice to us, make friends and this thing will go a whole lot smoother.”

Martin looked at Farris who was sitting forward in his chair,  looking at the surface of the table.

Rottbruck said, “While we are all here let us go over what we can.  We will save the highly classified stuff for later.  Are you ready Detective Martin?”

Martin grunted his disapproval and dropped into his seat, glaring sideways at Mike out of the corner of his eye.

Hilde opened the folder in front of her and spread out a couple of photos.

“This is Akbar Usein.  He was last seen in Uzbekistan trading drugs for weapons for the various Al Qaeda allies in the region.  He dropped off The CIA’s radar again sometime in December last year and we hadn’t seen him since.  Until this morning, that is.  Right after you called me this morning Paul, I ran a digital facial recognition scan against INS and DEA databases on him with a couple of file photos and within less than thirty minutes got two hits.  This picture was taken at Miami International airport last Friday coming in on a flight from Barbados, we don’t know where he came from before there though, and suspect he was smuggled in with a drug shipment.  This next one was taken at Ohio Stadium on Sunday.”

Hogan raised his eyebrows.  “Sunday?  He just got here into town this weekend?” 

“We actually just got the download of that particular camera this morning.  The system had logged a dozen or so potential tangos over the weekend and automatically sent them in.  His was one of those suspected faces that the database caught.”

“We have that technology?”  asked Martin. “I thought that was illegal in America.  I thought only the British had that stuff.”

“Actually, we’ve had it and been using it since the late nineties.  This is confidential information though, so I expect you will not be telling your friends detective.”  Said Hogan.

Martin glared at the agent spitefully then looked down at the photos laid on the table. 

Farris picked up the Ohio Stadium photo.  The date and time stamp in the lower right corner showed that it had been taken at three in the afternoon.  It was a perfect shot, full face with good afternoon sunlight.  The photo left no doubt in his mind that this was Akbar Usein.

As he stared into the face in the photo his mind went back to that blazing hot day in Somalia in 1995.  He could see that face staring into his, the evil in Usein’s eyes, the pulsating scar.  He could almost smell the Khat weed on Akbar’s breath. 

Hildegard Rottbruck looked down at Mike Farris.  The expression on his face was far away and desperate.  A lifetime of pain etched itself in the corners of his eyes as he squinted at the picture.

“It’s him isn’t it?”  She asked.  “You can verify his identity?”

“Unless he has a twin brother with the same scar on his right temple,” answered Mike, “this is definitely him.”

“Well then,” said Hogan, “what else have you got in that there box Hilde my dear?”

“Mostly tons of file items related to where he has been over the past twelve years since we started keeping tabs on him.”  She said. “Some of it may be relevant, most of is pretty general.   But…”

She reached for a couple of photos that were in the pile from which Farris took the one of Usein.  “…this one is a panned out image taken just a few seconds before the one that caught his facial profile.  It shows several other people around, a couple of whom seem to be with him. These others are zooms I did on three of the men standing closest to him.”

She handed the pictures to Farris.  He looked at the first one, a massive looking white man in his late twenties or early thirties, and handed it Martin who in turn passed it to Hogan. 

“That first picture, the white guy, I don’t know him.”  Mike said, “Never seen him before.  The second one is Cold Bones, leader of the Uni-Thugz gang.  He’s the one who had my family killed.” 

He held the last photo in his hand as he spoke, studying it closely.  “This guy, I know him from somewhere.  I just can’t place where it is that I know him from though.”

He handed the last picture to Martin who glanced at it and shook his head.  “I don’t know this guy either.  But you are right about Cold Bones, that is definitely him in the second picture.  The white guy in the first picture though, I have seen him.  His name is Lucas Ring.  They call him RingMaster.  He used to be a bouncer at a couple of nightclubs on the west side. He was pretty aggressive and kept hurting customers.  That energy got him fired and blacklisted after a couple of assault charges put him in jail.  No one wanted to have him around anymore.  He dropped out of sight about six or eight months ago.”

“Does he have any known associates?”  asked Hogan.

“What?  You want me to share information with you?”  sneered Martin.  “Maybe you’d better treat me nicely, huh?  If, that is, you want this information I’ve got.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself Detective Martin.  I’ve got plenty of friends in the Westside precinct who can answer any questions I’ve got.  If you want to stay on this case and see it through, you’ll mind your manners. ” 

Hogan wasn’t laughing this time. His humor had dried up as they looked at the photos.  He too remembered that day in Somalia when he looked at Akbar Usein’s picture.  He remembered coming in on the Blackhawk in the furnace of that desert, looking across the radiating heat waves toward the tiny collection of huts.

A young marine next to him pointed to a circle of men, two men in the center, one tied to a pole, completely naked.  When they hit the ground the only thing on his mind as the other Marines mercilessly killed the thugs in the circle, was rescuing his commander, his friend.

He fired a couple of bursts into a tall Somali’s back just before the man planted a knife in Captain Farris’s chest.  When he got all the way up to the captain, and reached up to cut the ropes that bound him, he wasn’t at all certain that his boss was still alive. 

His face was a swollen and bloodied to the point that he was not recognizable except for the horseshoe high & tight haircut he always sported.  There was a slice that went all the way across his chest, blood ran down his midsection in thin sheets.  He wasn’t moving.

When Hogan lifted him onto his shoulder Farris fell totally limp.  Out of desperation he shouted his signature slogan, “Hogan and company is on the job!”  He was really just trying to get a reaction, to verify that his captain was still alive.

“This is pretty one sided, don’t you think?” snapped Martin, jerking Hogan’s thoughts back to the present.

“Yes, it is.” Retorted Hogan, “Deal with it.  You’re in over your head already cop.  If you stick with us in thing you’re going to see things that may make you reconsider your chosen profession.”

Martin’s face went red again.  He stood from the chair and shouted at Agent Hogan.   “You keep talking to me like I don’t know what I am doing.  I have been a cop for almost twenty goddamned years!  I think I can handle it!”

“How many men have you killed detective?” said Farris in a voice barely audible.

“What!?”  shouted Martin.

“I said, how many men have you killed?” the preacher repeated.

“What does that have to do with anything?”  Martin snapped, “I can handle myself in a fight just fine!”

“I’m not talking about taking down a drunk in a fight, or breaking up a brawl.”  Said Farris.  “I’m talking about sneaking up behind a man in the dark and slitting his throat, holding your hand over his mouth as he bleeds out until he goes limp in your arms.  Have you ever looked into a mass grave filled with the bodies of dozens of women and children massacred because they refused to convert their religion?”

Martin stared blankly at him.

“Have you ever sat in a shadow until someone stepped outside to piss in the dirt?  Then in the most private of moments, when he is unaware of anything but the peaceful feeling of relieving himself, while he is standing there thinking who knows what, you take aim at the back of his head, pull the trigger and blow his brains out?  Have you ever had to decide on firing your weapon into a crowd of civilians because that’s where your target had hidden himself, behind innocent children in a schoolyard, behind a bunch of little girls in a market.  And you had to risk hitting one or even several of those kids because if you didn’t that evil man in there was going to launch a rocket that would kill more civilians than you might have to while trying to get him.”

Martin’s expression sagged.

“Because if you have never done those things, if you have never had to make that decision, Detective Dan Martin, then you don’t know what you are up against.  These guys are not psychopathic serial killers leaving a body here and there for the cops to find.  These men we are up against, Usein and his kind, are warriors with a mission.  They are not in it for money or for pleasure or for any motive men like you would really understand.  Their sole purpose is to utterly destroy western civilization, at any cost.  It’s that simple.  They want to kill you and rape your wife and enslave your children.  I have seen it with my own eyes in Somalia, Sudan, Bosnia, Indonesia, and a dozen other places on this planet.  I have fought it face to face for longer than you have been a cop.”

Martin looked almost timidly at the preacher.  “Look, I may not have been to those kind of places in my lifetime.  And I may not have seen or done the things you and Hogan have, but I have put myself on the line for the safety of the people of this city for my entire adult life.  I am ready for whatever comes, just don’t cut me out of it.  I want to catch these guys just as much as you do.”

“Then maybe we can work together peacefully.”  Said Hogan.

Hildegard breathed a sigh and said in an almost whispered voice, “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air of that formality, can we get back to the pictures?”

“Let’s,” replied Hogan.

The information that lay before them was sketchy at best.  Detective Martin opened up and told them everything he knew about Cold Bones operation, which was admittedly very little.  The Uni-Thugz were not in his precinct and therefore he did not have first hand knowledge of their methods of operation. 

“Basically, gentlemen, and ma’am, all I can say is that Cold Bones and the Uni-Thugz are a mid-sized gang with only a two or three neighborhood reach, all of those neighborhoods within a mile or two of the OSU Campus.”

“Thanks detective.”  Said Agent Rottbruck.  “My people are working on setting up surveillance at 1639 Loyal and the immediately surrounding area.  We are also going to start tracking his vehicles as soon as we can get a device attached.”

Martin started ringing his hands and leaned forward in his seat. “I hate to come back to question your tactics, but is that legal?  Tracking him with a homing device, I mean? I’d really hate to capture everyone then have them set loose on a legal technicality in court.”

“I understand your concern,” Hogan responded, “but because of the presence of Usein, a known international terrorist, we are not bound by domestic law on this case.  We can operate under the Patriot II act.  Cold Bones and his crew have just become terrorism suspects due to their association with the wonderful Mr. Usein.“

Paul Hogan clasped his hands together and smiled adding, “Mr. Reginald ‘Cold Bones’ Whorley, et al, have just waived their collective rights as US citizens.  And that, my friends, makes our job much easier.”

“If I can add something about Mr. Whorley.” Said Mike Farris.  “I do not know his full area of operation but I do know that the word on the street is that he has recently become a franchise of a much bigger player.  Before the hit on my house, LeRon had mentioned hearing about some guy called Mr. White who may be controlling several of the gangs in the area.”

Martin looked at him quizzically and asked, “Mr. White?  I’ve never heard of him, but I will check into it.  You say he is trying to take things over on the street level?”

“Yeah, well, LeRon told me about it almost with a bit of humor.”  Mike continued.  “It seems that Mr. White is offering salaries, rather lucrative ones at that, as well as benefits packages including health insurance, 401k’s and stock options.  It’s as if the new neighborhood Godfather is trying to legitimize the drug trade.”

“Wow,”  said Hildegard, “sounds like a good place to work.”

“I will look into that with the west side precinct.” Said Martin.  “This Mr. White seems like a odd cookie though.”

“It sounds like he may be an MBA looking for big dollars fast or perhaps even a legitimate businessman using his company as a front while working into the drug market.” Said Hogan.  “Let’s look into it that way regarding Mr. White.  In the meantime we need to figure out just what it is that Akbar is up to in the quaint little city of Columbus.  Hilde?  What have you got going on?” 

“Like I said,” she answered, “I’ve got surveillance teams working the address you gave us Mr. Farris.  Paul, do you want me to send out an APB to the local police stations?”

“No.” he answered. “Usein is the kind of guy who could have moles just about anywhere, so let’s keep it tight for the moment.  If we don’t have any information in twenty four hours or so, we’ll release to the local police.  You gonna work with us on this Dan?”

“No problem,” replied Martin, “I think I can keep my mouth shut for a day or two.  But pretty soon my boss is going to ask what’s going on.  He saw the fax from Farris.”

“Stall him for the moment.”  Hogan said.  “I don’t want it leaking out that a known international terrorist is plotting something in Columbus Ohio.”

Hogan turned to Mike and said, “Pastor Farris.  Are you ready to go all in?”

“I’m already in,” said Farris, “let’s just bring this guy down.” 

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