“What argument did I miss?” Coarseni asked. “Who changed the name of the investigation to Task Force T? Why the hell do I miss everything, who decided to recruit the stink bomb hippie?” He shut up when MacJames gave him a stern look only a woman could give.
Moss quickly reviewed the status of “Task Force E”: location of stakeouts, and the list of suspects, which were weak at best. Moss explained how almost forty miles of lakeshore was being monitored, and the manpower involved. Four boats patrolled by day, one, maybe two boats at night. The night cruises were cut back for two reasons: first, as a revision to Operation E’s strategic plan and second, the crews were fearful of going out at night. All the officers had gone missing at night, and the night crews were so paranoid that they had become ineffective. This was the second time the FBI reviewed this material with Mitchelli in two days, the third time in ten days; he was going to go back on his word with MacJames and rip Freed a new asshole if he had to sit in this conference room for another day wasting time reviewing the same data. He calmed down when Freed asked for comments.
Mitchelli waited for the others to step up, but when no one spoke, he began, “I’m always looking for new spots to anchor so the kids can swim. I’ve studied the history of the river and parts of the lake going back to the war of 1812. My wife didn’t like to sit at the marina; she called the gossip dock talk. So to get away from the marina we traveled along the coast searching for new locations to spend the night. I’ve been studying my charts since returning from Baltimore.”
Mitchelli thought the area under surveillance was too large. “The waterfront property south of Lackawanna was privately owned or public beaches. During boating season, privately owned property is in constant use. Our winters are long and summers short. My neighbors own a lakefront cottage in Angola; they’re never home during the summer. They commute to and from the cottage. Owners spend as much time as possible at their summer homes. The beaches are lit up at night with hundreds of bonfires as families stay up late into the early hours of the morning, drinking and sucking up as much summer as possible. The cottages are too close together with unobstructed views of the water, beaches, and other cottages. A nosey neighbor would have seen or reported something suspicious.
“The public beaches are gated and locked after hours and are patrolled by the New York State Parks Police. No Parks policemen have been reported missing, unless there’s a conspiracy in the Parks police force, the contraband is not entering the country through New York’s public parks.”
Mitchelli explained how he took his family to the public beach in Angola. The teen-aged female lifeguard on duty would not let his children on the beach from the boat; they had to enter the park via the mainland entrance; they could not swim to the beach even if wearing life preservers. Mitchelli explained, “This was a high school lifeguard watching the beach but she acted like she was with the Secret Service guarding the President while he’s making a sand castle.”
Coarseni interrupted him, “Can we eat now? I can’t focus on an empty stomach.”
Freed looked at Coarseni. “Dom, back off, let him finish.”
“Dom,” Mitchelli continued, “the next largest piece of water frontage is the former location of Bethlehem Steel, several miles south of Buffalo. Because this land is allegedly highly contaminated with hazardous materials it is gated, patrolled, and locked down. It’s mostly barren; few buildings, very little vegetation, too many unobstructed views. Any boat anchoring off the shoreline of Bethlehem Steel is going to draw attention. It’s highly visible, an unlikely location for smuggling. The Niagara River’s shoreline is dotted with private homes, public parks, restaurants, roads, and marinas. The river is not wide enough for someone to overpower a police boat without being seen from someone on shore. It’s also extremely difficult for the criminals to pull a SAFE Boat against the current up river, especially under the Peace Bridge at the mouth of the river, a location extremely visible from the U.S. and Canadian shoreline. The current is a swift 8 miles per hour, as you know water from four of the great lakes pours into the river.”
Mitchelli stopped for a brief moment; all eyes were on him. Moss was quickly writing down everything he said. Freed, MacJames, Coarseni, and Buckala stared intently at him waiting for his next word. Mitchelli began doubting himself; had he rambled on for too long, was he making sense? Did he sound like a know it all, a wannabe? He looked at MacJames. She also had been taking notes, and he again noticed her big beautiful green eyes behind those cheap glasses. It had been a long time since he noticed a woman’s eyes, for that matter anything about a woman. She looked at him, nodding slightly in reassurance. Buckala winked at him, tapping his finger on his watch.
Coarseni broke the silence, “Is that it? I have to go to the bathroom, come on, it makes sense, can we take a break, I have to go! We going for Chinese tonight?”
Mitchelli ignored him and continued. “The area between the Chinaman’s lighthouse, and Bethlehem Steel is teaming with small boat traffic. The four-mile stretch is home to many private marinas sheltered from the rough seas of Lake Erie by a five-mile-long stone break wall. A mile off the beach, the break wall runs parallel to the shoreline, which creates a safe inner channel for boats. The break wall has a fifty yard break almost halfway in it length, which is a convenient cut for small boats entering the lake in calm seas, or convenient for a smuggler to slip in and out of the inner harbor. A boat could easily get lost among the thousands of other small boats, slips, restaurants, grain elevators, old buildings, and commercial ship moorings.” Mitchelli passed out eleven by seventeen inch satellite photographs he had downloaded and printed at his office.
Buckala whistled. “These are nice, were these taken by a military satellite?”
Mitchelli answered, “No it’s from a website for real estate brokers, searching for vacant land. A military photo would have more definition and clarity.”
Freed asked, “How do you know that?” Mitchelli ignored the comment.
Buckala is animated. “I know this area, the northern third is Buffalo PD jurisdiction, and southern two thirds is Lackawanna PD. Neither police department really patrols the area. The only complaints are of kids breaking into boats to steal booze. I’d like to walk the area to get the lay of the land. The Don may have a point, we should check it out.”
Moss looks puzzled. “Who is the Don?”
Coarseni is getting antsy. “Do I have to get another phone for Don, is he with Lackawanna PD? I have to take a break, I’m going to explode. When I come back we’re doing Chinese.”
Freed knew Mitchelli’s points were well founded. “We had surveillance teams in the southern part of this area, and they were among the twenty-one who disappeared. We were never sure of their last location their patrol area was ten miles off the shoreline.” Freed admitted, “Pat, the areas we’ve been covering are much too large for a single team.”
Moss explained, “Bob, we simply didn’t have the manpower, and had no good reason to narrow the search.”
Freed agreed with him. “We should walk this area tonight before the sun goes down.”
Mitchelli asked everyone to look at the numbers on their copies. He marked three primary locations he thought traffickers were likely to use. Everyone agreed they should check them out tonight. Buckala also suggested that the federal members of the team should start dressing like boaters, vacationers, anything other than federal agents or bankers. “Even the bankers have casual Fridays,” he said, “you people are the only assholes in Buffalo wearing suits during the summer. Angela, you’re a handsome woman--you could make a good distraction for a stakeout. Use your assets, dress normal. Roberto, loosen that frickin’ tie before I cut it off your neck.” He looked at Coarseni who gave him the cut sign; he was anxious to eat. “I’m good with Chinese, I’ll pick it up and we can eat in the van as we drive. Roberto, you got a van, right?”
Freed smiled and as Buckala leaves to pick up dinner, Moss and Coarseni ran out, attempting to beat each other to the m
en’s room. Freed, MacJames, and Mitchelli were left alone in the room.
Freed spoke first, “Peter that was pretty convincing, what do you think the odds are for a civilian to point this investigation in a conclusive direction?”
Mitchelli looked at MacJames and then at Freed. He raised his left eyebrow slightly and said, “slim to none.” He then looked at MacJames for a reaction. I’ve made a fool out myself, what am I doing here?
Freed replied, “two hours ago, I thought the same thing. But listening to you ramble on, I realized something very important. Until we signed you up, none of the investigators involved in Task Force E even own a boat. We never looked at our work from a pleasure boater’s perspective; we were too busy studying full moons and looking for powder residue. We never anchored in the lake and studied the shoreline; we’ve never slowed down. We exhausted ourselves thinking of reasons, good solid police reasons, to expand the crime scene, not shrink it. Angela, he’s not Stuart’s fisherman, but he’s the closest thing we’ve got.”
Freed got up to leave the room. MacJames and Mitchelli were alone.
MacJames said, “Your apology to Bob was impressive, you didn’t have to do that. You caught him off guard.”
Mitchelli smiled. “Well he didn’t look impressed; he probably thought I was going to kiss him. I was out of line, and I know firsthand the damage stress can cause. I am not going to be the cause of Bob’s nervous breakdown. I’m still wondering why the hell I’m here. I figure foolish or not, I have to give my opinion. If I hold back it’s time wasted away from my kids. I almost forgot I never thanked you for taking care of me in Baltimore; my kids never noticed the bruises.”
MacJames blushed, “You’re welcome, it should have never happened. I felt bad, the fight caused your crippling migraine, I wasn’t sure if you had a concussion. I kept thinking about your kids, seeing you all beat up. I didn’t want them worrying about their dad.”
“I never told you the fight caused my migraine.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Then what the hell did?”
“I haven’t been away from work or my kids since Ann died: I was thinking about them all morning and my headache got to the point where I was ready to leave the class to take some pills when O’Shid volunteered me for his little demonstration.”
MacJames leaned in, incredulous. “You’re kidding, how did you beat up four men with a migraine headache? When I saw you later, you couldn’t even hold your eyes open”
“I . . . let’s forget about it.”
“No way, we’re going to talk about it. Tell me how the hell you did that, what was on your mind?”
Mitchelli stood up. “Let’s go, we have work to do; this isn’t important.”
MacJames quickly popped out of her chair, leaving her glasses on the table. She squared off with Mitchelli and grabbed both his forearms almost to his elbows with her hands. “The hell it isn’t, answer the damn question!” She had caught him by surprise by grabbing him; she could see it in his face. His eyes opened wide, and his body stiffened. It occurred to her it was not wise to push Mitchelli; she did not know him well enough. She had no idea when he would snap.
Mitchelli looked deep in MacJames’s green eyes, his smile gone, tight lipped, eyes squinted. In an instant his hands were on top of her forearms, their arms intertwined. Firmly but delicately he held her. She could not move.
“Are you analyzing me? I’m not positive, but I think you’re analyzing me.”
“No.”
“I’ve been analyzed before and I’m pretty certain you’re analyzing me.”
“I want to make sure you’re ok.”
“Do you grab all your federal underlings? I thought there were rules; federal employees shouldn’t touch each other. I don’t grab my employees to see if they’re feeling ok.”
MacJames was too old to let Mitchelli embarrass her for her sudden outburst of emotion. She did the opposite of what a professional should have done, she moved closer to Mitchelli, which surprised him. “What’s wrong Mitchelli, you can’t handle the physical contact? Don’t forget, I’m your nurse. Answer the damn question.” She knew how to use her assets.
“I’m not sure what happened, when O’Shid hit me. I forgot about my migraine; all I thought about was . . .” MacJames noticed the change in his tone. The inflection in his voice was low, deadly calm. “During a high school football game, my coach called a time out to yell at me. I was letting the other team’s quarterback run all over us with an option play. He was faking me out every time. He was fast, and I was slow. I hesitated, just long enough for him to make the pitch to the running back or he would keep the ball and run up field, leaving me standing there beaten. He made me look like a fool. The coach asked me if I ever hit anyone; really hit someone as if I wanted to kill them? My teammates laughed in the huddle. They couldn’t envision me wanting to kill anyone. I answered my coach, yeah I’ve wanted to hit someone so bad I wanted to kill them, my mouthpiece dangled from my teeth. They thought I was telling the coach what he wanted to hear, they roared with laughter when he left the huddle.
“The coach told me to hit the quarterback on every play; whether he kept the ball or pitched the ball; I was to hit him, as if I wanted to kill him. I had no other responsibility other than to hit that quarterback. I didn’t even look to see if he had the ball. Every play I tackled him, play after play as hard as I could. I was not a great football player, so it wasn’t pretty. Eventually he was so scared he didn’t pitch the ball. I just wanted to hit him, as if I wanted to kill him. I didn’t care about the game. He quickly realized he was going to get hit no matter what he did with the ball. When he passed the ball, I clobbered him, I hit him after he threw the ball. I drove his face into the grass so hard my teammates quickly helped him up, hoping the referee would not penalize our team for roughing the passer or illegal conduct; they pulled the sod from his facemask, and patted him on his back as if he was an old buddy. My teammates begged me to back off, even though we began winning the game. They thought we would lose because of my penalties. I ignored them; it went beyond a football. I was going to destroy him. I didn’t want him to get up. He was so afraid of me; he became dysfunctional. When he ran out of bounds, I tackled him and his coach. His coach tried to get me thrown out of the game. Then the coach pulled his quarterback.”
Mitchelli looked into MacJames eyes. “He was petrified. I scared the hell out of him but he wouldn’t admit it.”
“What quarterback wouldn’t be?”
“Not the quarterback, my coach; he shook my hand after the game. He looked me in the eye and apologized for embarrassing me in front of my team. He said I took the quarterback out of the game. The coach never asked me again if I ever hit anyone; really hit someone as if I wanted to kill them? There was no doubt in his mind that day on the field.
“Weeks later, a friend of mine on that team told me that quarterback quit football for good. He was expected to get a full scholarship at a big ten school. After that year, I gave up football. I lost control that day on the field; I couldn’t stop. God placed his disciples in a state of grace. I was in a state of rage.”
Mitchelli looked away. “Last Friday, the fury in my mind blocked everything else out. I felt no pain, certainly no migraine, I couldn’t feel them hitting and kicking me. I hit O’Shid as hard as I could, except I didn’t have any teammates to stop me. . .”
MacJames consoled him, “I saw everything. You’ve been trained to stop the threat, applying reasonable force, and that is precisely what you did. There was no excessive force; you had to stop the perceived threat, that is how you we’re trained. O’Shid was way out of line. He provoked you; he assaulted you. You took control of the gun, you could have easily killed them all, but you restrained yourself. Peter, you stopped on your own. No one helped you. You stopped the aggression.”
MacJames moved closer to him. Mitchelli had been placed in a difficult position; probably an impossible position. She convinced him to accept it. She would not let him demoni
ze himself for reacting to O’Shid’s adolescent violence. From the first time they met, MacJames could interpret his expression, his tone of voice the sadness in his eyes as if she knew him her entire life. Why did she care how Mitchelli felt? Maybe she sympathized with him over the loss of his wife. The partner he loved. She remembered the love destroyed in her three marriages. It had been a long time since she cared for a man. MacJames was falling for Mitchelli, which was not part of her plan; the big guy was overwhelming her and he wasn’t even trying. She had agreed with Freed; Mitchelli’s involvement was an exercise in appeasing Secretary Stuart. However, MacJames couldn’t help but be impressed with his innocent sincerity of wanting to succeed in his investigative role. It was heroically childish.
Mitchelli was full of surprises. His unique style and mannerisms were even winning over Freed his biggest critique. He passionately spoke about his ideas, and they made simple sense. The circumstances of Mitchelli’s life had beaten him physically and mentally, but he was not giving up. Professional law enforcement instructors had humiliated, slapped, choked, kicked, and held him at gunpoint. He fought back with a furry of violence that was stunningly impressive. Mitchelli’s mind did its job focusing the middle-aged man to overcome and destroy any adversity in his path. She regretted pressing him on the incident; she could see remembering the fight disturbed him.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 12
