Stateside, meanwhile, Manuel Noriega was awaiting trial, scheduled to begin on September 6th in Miami. Conviction was a foregone conclusion, with the full weight of Justice bearing down on him, but lawyers Jon May and Frank Rubino promised to mount an energetic defense.
And Hardy wished them luck. All bad.
FBI Field Office, Manhattan: October 10, 1991
Erin O'Hara, raised a Catholic through childhood, hadn't been to Mass since she'd joined the Bureau, other than her father's funeral, but now news bulletins emerging from Louisiana had her thinking of the church again. Specifically, Reverend Dino Cinel—a fifty-two-year-old priest born in Italy, assigned to St. Rita's Church in New Orleans—had been caught with a huge stash of child pornography, including 160 hours of homemade videotape that showed "Father Dino" engaged in anal sex, oral sex, and group sex with underage boys (plus his fluffy white lapdog). Now the scandal was exploding to include more predatory clerics, while the D.A.'s office seemed intent on doing squat.
The problem, based on news reports, was Harry Connick Sr., elected in 1973 as successor to Big Easy District Attorney Jim Garrison. One of his aides, Gary Richmond, had compiled a dossier on Cinel and, in his own words to a journalist, "literally begged" loyal parishioner Connick to put the serial molester on trial. When Connick wouldn't budge, Richmond resigned in protest, but later met Connick on the street, asking when he planned to indict Cinel. Connick's response, according to Richmond: "Never, as long as I'm district attorney." When that exchange leaked to the media, Connick finally filed a single felony count against Father Dino, but the heat was on, forcing Connick to file sixty charges of child porn possession in the interest of his own reelection. Even then, Connick admitted to one TV interviewer that his negligence stemmed from a personal reluctance to humiliate "the Holy Mother Church."
Meanwhile, Cinel had moved on to teach at Tulane University, then wound up in Gotham, earning $90,000 yearly for a grueling half-course per semester at the College of Staten Island. That included tenure and a $20,000 bonus for "distinguished-professor" status based on his authorship of From Italy to San Francisco: The Immigrant Experience, published by Stanford University Press in 1982. Once reporters blew his cover as a scholar, college administrators found that tenure made Cinel untouchable, so they'd created a sham job for him at CUNY Press that kept him under wraps and out of classrooms. As Vice President for Academic Affairs Dr. Barry Bressler said, "The highest priority is to avoid contact between him and students."
While Cinel fought extradition to Louisiana, clinging to the remnants of his shredded reputation, ex-G-man Richard Miller had faced a second jury last October, again convicted of espionage. He'd tried to sell the story of a one-man drive to bust Soviet spies while pocketing KGB cash for his betrayal of the FBI, but jurors couldn't swallow it. On February 4th he'd drawn a twenty-year sentence.
Another spy, Jonathan Pollard, was five years into a life sentence based on his guilty plea to spying for Israel, his spousal accomplice already free after serving three years when he surprised her with divorce papers. He now had eyes for Esther Zeitz, a Toronto teacher and activist lobbying for his release from prison. Another fan was Mordechai Eliyahu, Chief Rabbi of Israel since 1983, and Tel Aviv had proposed a three-way deal in which Pollard would be freed and deported to Israel, followed by Israel's release of Soviet spy Marcus Klingberg, whereupon Moscow would use its influence to liberate American hostages held by terrorists in Iran and Syria. The U.S. State Department turned that down, leaving Pollard to pursue a fruitless series of federal appeals.
In Chicago, Operation GREYLORD was winding down with the onset of trial for its last defendant, Judge Thomas Maloney of the Illinois Supreme Court. Specific charges, filed in June, named beneficiaries of Maloney's corruption as two killers from the El Rukn street gang, three hitmen for the On Leong Chinatown syndicate, and Owen Jones, a burglar who'd beaten a victim to death during a home invasion. Also favored with probation was swindler Ronald Roby, who'd coughed up five grand to avoid jail time. Maloney's trial was expected to last for a couple of years, but prosecutor Mark Filip seemed confident of conviction.
What Erin needed was a case like one of those, to move her up the Bureau's ladder of command, She glanced up from her paperwork, toward Stephen Barnes's desk, but couldn't spot him anywhere.
And asked herself, So what's he up to now?
One Police Plaza, Manhattan: October 19, 1991
The FBI "Most Wanted" flyer on his desk reminded Sergeant Payton Sawyer that he hadn't heard the last of the Black Liberation Army yet. Issued from Washington last night, it named Arthur Lee Washington Jr. as No. 427 to make the Bureau's dishonor roll since 1950, sought on charges of attempted murder and terrorism.
Sawyer remembered the case well enough. Washington—"no known nicknames," if the Bureau was correct—had been pulled over by a New Jersey state trooper in April 1989 and opened fire, missing the cop but managing to get away. He was said to be an AIDS-infected intravenous drug user, already more than two years in the wind and maybe dead by now, but when the Bureau had an open slot to fill they always found a candidate.
Maybe it's time to dust off those retirement papers, Sawyer thought. Lord knew he wasn't getting any younger, and each time he donned his badge and gun they seemed to weigh a little more.
Miami: November 1, 1991
Opening day for Billy Bathgate at the Loews Cineplex on Sunset Drive, and Dom Giordano made sure he was first up in line. He liked the movie's stars—Dustin Hoffman as Dutch Schultz, Bruce Willis as Bo Weinberg—and had glimpsed both real-life characters during his childhood in New York, though he'd never personally met them.
Mobsters, now, released from Hollywood four months ago, was something else entirely. As a kid, Dom had been introduced to Lucky Luciano and his consigliere, Frank Costello, men who shook his hand and smiled at him but didn't look the least bit like the actors chosen to portray them by some genius at Universal Studios. Costas Mandylor was Greek, but still did okay as Costello, with his understated style. But Christian Slater cast as Luciano? Model turned TV star Richard Grieco playing Bugsy Siegel after 21 Jump Street? Strangest of all was Patrick Dempsey as Meyer Lansky, offering Lucky his bride-to-be on the eve of their wedding, as some whacked-out test of friendship.
Dumb, but lots of action, which somewhat redeemed the film.
Speaking of action, back in April Brooklyn hitmen had rubbed out Gambino Family soldier Bobby Boriello for reasons unknown, likely related to John Gotti's upcoming trial. Two months later, a federal appellate court had reversed the 1988 racketeering convictions of Tony Salerno and ten codefendants, rebuking their trial judge for failure to admit grand jury testimony into evidence. Now the feds were appealing that reversal and it might drag on another year, at least, before the case was settled one way or another.
Meanwhile, in Colombia, all three Ochoa brothers—big wheels in the Medellín Cartel—
had surrendered to police in January. Pablo Escobar followed suit in June—"coincidentally" on the same day that legislators amended the national constitution, banning extradition to America. He was jailed for the moment, but Dom figured that wouldn't last long. In Mexico, seven federales sent to intercept a cocaine shipment from Colombia had been ambushed and killed by army soldiers moonlighting as cartel hitmen. Around the same time, Mexican President Carlos Salinas limited the number of DEA agents permitted in Mexico, restricting them to specific cities, denying them diplomatic immunity and stripping them of weapons.
In a world like that, Dom thought, just as the lights went down, only a moron couldn't get rich running drugs.
Birmingham, Alabama: November 16, 1991
Fiona O'Hara was back in D.C. for Thanksgiving, huddling with the remnants of her family. Dave Jordan didn't know if she'd be coming back to Birmingham, although he'd seen in her the same edgy signs that showed up more often of late when he looked in the mirror.
He supposed they'd both done Dixie and might well be getting over it—but was it don
e with them? Or, more specifically, with him?
The politics of race still fascinated and repulsed Jordan, with David Duke a prime example in the flesh. This year, despite repudiation by the GOP, he'd campaigned to become Louisiana's governor, running as a Republican of sorts. In October's initial election he'd faced two other Republican hopefuls, six Democrats, and two longshot independents, placing second to force a November runoff with Democratic leader Edwin Edwards—a Cajun who'd served three previous gubernatorial terms, all marred by scandal, the last capped by indictment and trial for bribery, mail fraud, and obstructing justice. Jurors had acquitted him, but he'd lost a third bid for reelection to a rival campaigning on the slogan "Anyone But Edwards."
Now he was back with a twist, casting himself as the Bayou State's savior from incipient fascism in the person of Duke, who'd once said "niggers are basically primitive animals" and called American Nazi Party founder George Rockwell "the greatest American who ever lived." Mainstream Republicans despised Edwards but had supported him regardless, circulating bumper stickers that read "Vote for the Crook; It's Important" and "Vote for the Lizard, not the Wizard." Edwards helped by vowing that the race would be his last, regardless of who won.
Now it was over—for the moment, anyway. Edwards had garnered 61 percent of the vote to Duke's 39 percent, but the "ex"-Klansman wasn't retiring. Tonight he'd told reporters, "I won my constituency, 55 percent of the white vote," and exit polls confirmed it. So did the final tally: 671,000 of Louisiana's 17.2 million voters—39 percent overall—had backed the neo-Nazi ticket.
What did that say about the state at large?
Dave knew from history that when Adolf Hitler ran for president of Germany in 1932 he'd received only 36 percent of the popular vote, but within a year he'd been appointed Chancellor, then Führer in 1934. Duke, encouraged, was already gearing up for next year's Republican presidential primaries.
The news from Mobile had been more encouraging to enemies of classic white supremacy. Frank Cox had brought his lynching case three times before Alabama's Court of Criminal Appeals, rejected in March, with a rehearing denied in April and certiorari to the state Supreme Court quashed in August. He could still try the federal route, but Dave saw little chance that his life sentence would be shortened, much less cast aside.
A tropic beach he'd never seen and couldn't name was often on Dave's mind these days, and each time that he pictured it, he wondered how much longer he could wait to seek it out.
FBI Headquarters: December 5, 1991
Wyman missed the old days, back when Edgar Hoover ran the show and he—Wyman—had been one of the Bureau's "beards" who'd infiltrated and betrayed an ever-changing list of New Left radical outfits. He even missed the freaking Unabomber, who was well into his fourth year of retirement since his last device had detonated.
Never mind, Gantt thought. As long as any crackpots on the street believed they had some special right to terrorize their fellow citizens, Wyman could coast on toward retirement with a full load of peculiar cases to keep him from getting bored.
First in the federal spotlight this year was far-right isolationist Randy Weaver, who'd incurred the ATF's eternal wrath by refusing to help them spy on Idaho's Aryan Nations. Already indicted on dubious weapons charges, Weaver had been arrested with wife Vicki in January, after they stopped to help ATF agents posing as stranded motorists. Released on bail, Randy was told that his trial would begin on February 19th. Judge Harold Ryan appointed counsel for him on January 22nd, and the lawyer sent Randy three letters, the last on February 5th, trying to arrange a meeting. No answers came, and Ryan scheduled the trial to begin on February 20th, but a careless probation officer sent Randy a letter citing the date as March 20th.
When Weaver understandably missed the February trial date, Judge Ryan issued an arrest order. The probation officer confessed his error to Ryan, to Weaver's attorney, and to the U.S. Marshal's Service, but Ryan stubbornly refused to withdraw the warrant. Worse yet, prosecutors convened a grand jury, withholding the probation officer's admission of error, and the panel indicted Weaver for willful failure to appear. That entitled the Marshal's Service to bust him, but they were stalling, afraid of what might happen if they stormed Ruby Ridge. A federal "threat assessment" noted that Weaver was an ex-Green Beret and crack shot, capable of booby-trapping his wooded mountain acreage, and there matters rested for now, going nowhere.
Out west, G-men still claimed they were investigating the Judi Bari car-bombing, while Earth First! activists accused the FBI of botching a murder attempt. San Francisco's KQED TV station countered with a documentary pointing a finger at Bari's ex-spouse, Michael Sweeney, but no charges resulted. The case was going colder daily, with no ultimate solution visible.
June struck another blow at Philly cop-killer Wesley Cook, aka "Mumia Abu-Jamal," with the U.S. Supreme Court's second refusal of certiorari. Four months later, Christopher King of the United Freedom Front—now "Kazi Toure"—made parole at forty, after serving nine years for his role in twenty bombings. Around the same time, on October 9th, jurors convicted Black Guerrilla Family member Tyrone Robinson of killing Huey Newton back in 1989. Yesterday morning, Judge Robert Burns had sentenced him to thirty-two years.
More victories than losses, Wyman realized, but no fight against radical subversives ever truly ended. Bury one or lock him up, and there were always half a dozen more waiting in line to take his place.
Upper East Side, Manhattan: December 26, 1991
FBI agents and spies were all the rage in Hollywood this year, from Jodi Foster hunting serial killers in The Silence of the Lambs to Keanu Reeves as a smartass G-man in Point Break, Nazis battling The Rocketeer in 1938 Los Angeles and high school slacker Richard Grieco drafted by the CIA on a field trip to France, government conspirators stalking a president in JFK and Russian dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov teamed with Gene Hackman as spooks in Company Business, to a foxy android assassin running amok in Eve of Destruction.
Special Agent Stephen Barnes rarely wasted his time on movies, but he had agreed to meet KGB handler Alexander Bobrik at the Bleecker Theater on Second Avenue for a microfilm pass in the dark, while Al Pacino and Michelle Pfeiffer filled the big screen as Frankie & Johnny, a depressing "comedy" about an ex-con's frustrated romance with a diner waitress. Bobrik was running late—potentially a danger sign—but Barnes could wait a while, pretending to enjoy the show.
And he had plenty on his mind while munching popcorn in the theater's backrow. Last month, the KGB had officially ceased to exist, replaced by the Federalnaya Sluzhba Kontrrazvedki (Federal Counterintelligence Service) with most of its old staff intact. Bobrik had been promoted to a full colonel's rank, but his assignment in America as an "illegal" still remained the same, at least for now. Director Viktor Pavlovich Barannikov came to the post after spending a year as the USSR's Interior Minister.
As in the recent past, 1991 had rocked the Soviet Union with turmoil. In January, Red Army troops had seized government buildings throughout rebellious Lithuania. May saw the Moldavian SSR reborn as the Republic of Molodva. On June 12th voters chose de facto Moscow mayor Boris Yeltsin as first president of the Russian Federation, and the Warsaw Pact dissolved on July 1st. Hardline Politburo members attempted a communist coup on August 19th, but it collapsed two days later. Seven leaders of the ad hoc State Emergency Committee—tagged the "Gang of Eight" by Putin—shuffled off to prison, while Interior Minister Boris Pugo and wife Valentina Ivanovna apparently killed themselves to escape arrest.
While that was going on, leaders of Estonia and Latvia declared independence, swiftly followed by Ukraine and the fledgling Republic of Kyrgyzstan. Moscow recognized the Baltic states' independence on September 6th, while on October 27th President Dzhokhar Dudayev unilaterally proclaimed freedom for the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria, a district spanning 7,451 square miles on the southeastern slope of the North Caucasus with its capital at Grozny. Six weeks later, Russia, Belarus and Ukraine signed the Belavezha Accords, dissolving t
he Soviet Union. On Christmas Day, Mikhail Gorbachev resigned as president of the late USSR.
Who am I fighting for after all that? Barnes asked himself, and knew the answer instantly.
He fought on for his father's legacy and for himself, reared from the cradle to become the man who broke the FBI.
As for America, the foreign land where he had come of age while hating everything about it, President George Bush had drawn the fabled Land of Opportunity into another foreign war. Few native citizens realized that their country had engaged in 97 wars since declaring independence from Britain in 1775, many of the conflicts overlapping so that Barnes had to suppress laughter whenever he heard someone blathering about the county's "love of peace."
How would they know, when combat only ended for a few months at a time over the past 216 years?
The latest conflict had begun on January 17th, when Iraqi forces missed their deadline for withdrawing from Kuwait. Operation Desert Shield had transformed in "Desert Storm" that same day, with troops from thirty-four other nations joining America's army to clear Kuwait of invaders. Saddam Hussein promised enemies the "mother of all battles," but it quickly turned into a rout, with mopping up completed by February 28th.
No such speedy solutions were expected in Afghanistan, where civil war raged and the U.S. Congress had earmarked another $200 million for mujahideen guerillas, American contributions matched dollar-for-dollar by Saudi Arabia. Human Rights Watch reported that CIA agents vied with Pakistani ISI operatives in their support for atrocities disguised as "freedom fighting," and Barnes foresaw no prospect for a truce.
A shadow loomed beside him in the Bleecker's backrow, the familiar form of Alexander Bobrik settling as his handler asked, "Is this seat taken?"
Law of Honor Page 12
