Warn Me When It's Time

by Cheryl A Head

  “I think they’d be suspicious of an outsider. With a big job coming up they’d want to keep it in the family.”

  “Can we bring Robbie up to speed on explosives?” Rappon asked.

  “No,” Don said not waiting for James.

  “He knows technology.”

  “Not that kind of technology. I don’t care how many ‘how to make a bomb’ videos he’s watched, you also have to have the nerve. Just seeing Robbie’s rants on social media tells me he doesn’t have the temperament for explosives work.”

  “I agree with Don,” James said. “We need to put someone in who has the right personality and look. Someone who can fit in quickly. We can build a profile and create the documents and background. So, I think it’s got to be one of my guys.”

  “I can do it,” Agent Riley said, raising his hand.

  Every eye turned to him. He was six-foot-three, broad-shouldered with a square jaw and penetrating dark eyes. No one responded for ten seconds. Don couldn’t stand it.

  “Are you kidding? You look like Dick Tracy,” Don bellowed. “There’s no way you could pull it off.”

  There was a collective exhale after Don, in his own way, said what everyone around the table was thinking. The agent stared at Don, then at James, and finally, defeated, sat back in his chair.

  They were still debating the infiltration strategy when the other group joined the room’s discussion.

  “We’re still hashing out a plausible plan to get Robbie some backup in the Turks,” James said, “and we’re running with the idea of finding someone with demolition know-how who can pose as a replacement for Wyatt.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Kerner said. “I’ve been telling this group that Robbie’s not going to cut it as an informer.”

  “It’s a good idea for him to have some backup,” James said.

  “What’s the plan so far?” Kerner asked.

  “I want an agent to take the role. We don’t think Agent Riley, here, could pass for the kind of person the group would welcome with open arms,” James said diplomatically. “He doesn’t look the part.”

  Charlie had noted Riley’s good looks and physique earlier in the day. The other agent in the room was a woman, Agent Samuelson, and that left her out.

  “So, no women, no Jews, or any other, uh, people of color,” Kerner said. “Nobody who looks like a fed. Where does that leave us? I can think of a couple of guys in my department who fit the bill, but they might be recognized if the Turks have targeted a mosque in Dearborn or Dearborn Heights.”

  “What about me?” Don asked.

  “What?” Charlie said, loudly, staring across the room at Don.

  The room was quiet again, and everyone stared at Don. Just before it became really awkward, Don began making his case.

  “I look the part. A middle-aged white guy with a bit of weight around the middle. I don’t look like I work out every day. I did explosives in the Marines.”

  “But, people always take you for the police, Don,” Judy said. “It happens all the time.”

  “Well, I’ll say I’m an ex-cop which is true. I understand there are a lot of ex-military and ex-cops in these groups.”

  “That’s what the data says,” James agreed.

  Commander Coleman spoke up next. “You and Ms. Mack have been involved in a few high-profile cases,” she said. “You might be recognized.”

  Don shook his head. “I doubt it. Mack is always the spokesperson. I’m very rarely within camera view or make the newspapers.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” John Rappon said. “A civilian taking this kind of risk just doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Oh, come on, John. You know me. Ex-marine, former Detroit police officer, former Homeland Security agent. I’m not exactly anybody’s civilian.”

  Charlie stared at Don while the conversation continued. He was as courageous a man as she’d ever met, but she was surprised he’d volunteer for work like this. This assignment would take him away from home for a week, maybe two. Undercover work was hard and perilous. She’d done it a few times, and you could never let down your guard. One mistake with these self-made, far-right militia groups could cost Don his life. Sophisticated or not, these guys were serious about disrupting society, and now they wanted to make themselves known with a single act of terrorism.

  Half the task force was against using Don. The arguments included objections to using non-law enforcement personnel, and Don’s lack of bomb-making experience. Those in favor of the idea—and Charlie, oddly, was being persuaded—had solid reasons for recommending Don. First, he was well known and trusted by the law enforcement community in the region. His Homeland Security background would be useful in the job. He’d had some experience with explosives while in the Marines. And, finally, he really did look the part.

  “What do you think, James?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What would this kind of assignment entail?” Judy wanted to know.

  “Well, let’s think it through,” James said. “We’d need to set up a new identity for Don that keeps as many factual things as possible—like his military background and police experience. We’d give him a new surname, new driver’s license, identity cards, credit cards. All of that is easy to do.”

  “Mr. Rutkowski would have to live away from home while he was undercover,” Commander Coleman said.

  “Yes, that’s right. We can put him in one of our safe houses.”

  “I’d need a refresher on explosives, detonation techniques, and chemicals, I guess,” Don said.

  James nodded. “Explosives have changed a lot since your Marine training. Technology has seen to that. We’ll show you enough that you can fake it. People don’t really want to be around explosives, so I don’t think you’ll have to assemble a bomb in front of these guys. We can make it look like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Good,” Don said.

  “We’ll get you another car, some guns. These guys really love guns, and we’ll set up a social media presence for you. You might also want to do some cosmetic changes. Nothing big, maybe dye your hair a bit darker, grow a beard. You have a tattoo?”

  “Semper Fi, and the eagle, globe and anchor.”

  “That’ll do.”

  The task force meeting ended with a consensus to use their collective resources and know-how to help Robbie Barrett return triumphantly to the White Turks, and to introduce Don—using an alias—to the group as a replacement for their arrested demo man.

  Don shook hands all around before the conference room began to empty. He sat next to James and Charlie. Judy sat across from them with Commander Coleman.

  “Well,” Coleman said to Charlie, “It looks as if your agency’s involvement with the task force has, uh, intensified.”

  Charlie wasn’t in the mood to mince words, neither was Judy. Judy was angry, and spoke up first.

  “Don, what the hell are you thinking? You can’t endanger your life like this. You have to think about Rita, Rudy, and the new baby.”

  “Wait a minute—” Don started. Judy cut him off.

  “And you can’t even master your mobile phone, let alone a detonator. You’re going to get yourself killed, and then what are we supposed to do? What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Are you done, Novak?” Don deadpanned.

  “I agree with Judy,” Charlie said. “I get that you have the background and skills for the job, but I sure wish you’d reconsider.”

  “It’s done, Mack. I know what I’m in for.”

  # # #

  They spent the next two hours working out an aggressive timeline for Don’s identity transformation, relocation to the safe house, and training. Charlie and Judy were reluctant participants. The undercover assignment would basically happen overnight. Agents were already hard at work on the back-end duties: new last name, identity cards, and credit background. Anyone searching for Don’s new persona on the internet, or paying for a background check, would find the
new information.

  “You shouldn’t go near your office for the next couple of weeks, and stay away from your wife and kid. I’ll bring you your new documents and everything else you’ll need. You should leave your personal car at home. I can come pick you up if you like,” James said.

  “I’ll pick him up,” Charlie said.

  “I’m going home now,” Don announced. “I need to talk to Rita.”

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Charlie said.

  Don shook his head. “No. Not tonight, Mack. I’ll see you tomorrow. Pick me up at ten thirty. I want to drive Rudy to school and pack a suitcase.”

  They all watched Don exit the conference room. Judy had tears forming in her eyes, and Charlie was trying to control her emotions. Except for weekends, holidays, and vacations, Charlie, Don, and Judy were always together. Charlie hadn’t felt this low since Gil left the Mack agency six months ago.

  # # #

  Charlie cooked dinner but wasn’t much in the mood to talk, so she and Mandy had a quiet meal with WDET-FM in the background. They’d walked Hamm, and watched a bit of TV. Now they were upstairs. Hamm was settling into his bed, and Mandy was reading Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope.

  “I feel horny,” Charlie said.

  Mandy turned to look at her, and slipped a bookmark between the pages.

  “What you really are is worried and scared, and it comes out as horny because you don’t know how to face being scared.”

  Charlie leaned to kiss Mandy’s hand. Mandy stroked Charlie’s hair. They lay entwined together for a few minutes.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without Don.”

  “I understand that. He kind of grows on you. Like roasted Brussels sprouts,” Mandy teased.

  Charlie smiled at the thought. “That may be the one thing he’d never eat. Brussels sprouts.”

  “Don knows what he’s doing,” Mandy said. “He has a lot of experience, and he’ll be alright. I know you’d try to replace him if you could.”

  “I would.”

  “That would be a good one, a Black woman trying to be inconspicuous in a right-wing hate group.”

  Charlie didn’t laugh.

  “I guess there’s no cheering you up, huh?”

  “I can think of something.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “No I’m not. I just have the audacity of hope.”

  Chapter 14

  Robbie felt silly wearing a hooded yellow satin tunic over his shirt and jeans for this so-called induction ceremony. A cheap plastic medallion had been placed around his neck and the man he knew only as “the Angel” said some words over him and the others wearing yellow satin. Finally, they’d taken a pledge of allegiance.

  Two dozen men patted Robbie on the back as they walked around the rental hall moving to or from the food table, or in search of a beer. It was the first time Robbie had seen women at these gatherings. Three of them served the men from steaming platters lined up in the catering pans. Macaroni and cheese, beef stroganoff, northern beans, mashed potatoes, and sliced ham. He got in line behind the last man, but several members stepped back to move him up the line.

  “Get up there, boy, you’re one of us now,” one man said.

  Robbie sat at a front table with the other inductees. He noticed the Angel staring his way, and a few minutes later the man approached him.

  “Talk to you a minute? Come on, let’s go over here. Bring your plate.”

  He and the man stood at a bar top table against the wall. Robbie looked down at his plate. He didn’t think he should eat while the man stared at him.

  “Your chapter leaders have told me some good things about you. I hear the police held you as long as they could before they let you go.”

  “They don’t scare me. If it hadn’t been for that asshole, Frank, they wouldn’t have picked me up at all.”

  “Yes. Brother Wyatt has disappointed many of us. He had a valuable skill, but he couldn’t beat his alcoholism demon. We all have them, you know, demons. For some it’s drugs, or pornography. Some of these men will tell you they like little boys.”

  “That’s sick,” Robbie said.

  “Is it?” The man stared at Robbie. “You should eat your food. A few of the wives prepared this feast especially for the new members.”

  Robbie scooped a forkful of macaroni into his mouth as the man watched. Someone had told him the guy’s real name, but he couldn’t remember it. He ran a media company or something like that.

  “What’s your demon, Robbie?”

  “What?”

  “Is it shoplifting, smoking weed? Maybe you’re like some of these guys who get off on shooting guns or blowing up stuff.”

  “No. That’s not me. I guess I’m a bit addicted to being fit. Exercise and biking.”

  Robbie felt uncomfortable as the man’s gray eyes scanned him. “You’re not a big man but, yes, I can see you are quite fit. Apparently mentally fit too.”

  “Uh. Thank you. You know it’s not just that Frank drank too much. I don’t think he knew what he was doing, uh, you know, as a demo guy. I’m on a lot of chat boards, and I’m aware of guys who have a lot more experience with explosives than that loser, Frank.”

  The Angel’s countenance changed. He was suddenly bored with the conversation, looking around the room.

  “Uh, yes, that’s good, Robbie. Let your chapter leader know how to get in touch with those people. We’re looking for somebody to replace Brother Wyatt. I’m going to get another plate of food. It was good to speak with you.”

  Robbie watched the man turn and walk away. He quickly finished his food and downed his beer. He entered the alcove and took off the clown outfit, dropping it into the cardboard box to be used for the next ceremony. He tucked the medallion into his pocket, and slipped out the door into the parking lot.

  He didn’t think anyone saw him leave, and if they did, he didn’t think they would care one way or the other. Robbie unlocked the chain on his bike, clipped his pants, and gracefully lifted his leg over the seat. He wouldn’t need his helmet for the ride home. It was a short distance away. His mother had been cool since his return, and glad that the FBI hadn’t found a reason to arrest him. His younger brother had shaken his hand, and there was a brief glimmer of the admiring look he used to get when they were kids.

  Robbie thought about the ceremony. The White Turks were an embarrassing bunch of losers, and that Angel guy had creeped Robbie out big time, licking his lips as he hovered over him. Robbie shook with the memory, then let the whirr of the wheels and hum of rubber on the pavement soothe him. He glided into the night air and away from the darkness behind him.

  Chapter 15

  Charlie was parked in front of Don’s house five minutes early. The Rutkowskis lived in a well-maintained, attractive bungalow with a half story and a sloped roof. The house was nestled between two similar homes on a narrow street in Hamtramck.

  At 10:35 the front door opened and Don and Rita stepped out onto the small porch. Don put down his suitcase and held his wife a long time before he kissed her and held her again. When he pulled away to grab his luggage and start down the steps, Rita waved and Charlie waved back. Rita stayed on the porch while Don stuffed the case in the back and wedged himself into the passenger seat of the Corvette.

  “Damn, Mack. Why don’t you buy a real car. Let’s get out of here.”

  Don turned to wave again to Rita, and Charlie gunned the Vette up the street. It was only a fifteen-minute drive to the office.

  “I brought you a coffee.”

  “Thanks,” Don said, swooping up the cup.

  Charlie remained quiet, letting Don sit with his thoughts. After Charlie merged onto I-75, he spoke up.

  “It was tough dropping Rudy off at school. He’s not going to understand why I won’t be home for two weeks.”

  “He knows you have to travel for work sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but this will be the longest it’s ever been.”

  Charlie glanced at Do
n. “Help me understand why you’ve decided to do this.”

  “That’s exactly what Rita asked.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “The last five years have had an effect on me. You know I can’t stand whiners and people who feel life owes them something. Like this Robbie guy. I was raised that you stand on your own two feet. You want something, you work for it. After Rudy was born, I had to think differently about that. Sometimes people get a raw deal. They grow up with circumstances they can’t control. Not only like Rudy’s autism, but you know, someone who grows up in poverty or is hated because they look different from everybody else.”

  Charlie didn’t respond.

  “Aren’t you going to make some kind of wisecrack?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I know you and Judy have made fun of my views. I just speak my mind and tell it like I see it.” Don stopped to take several sips of coffee, then continued. “Some of the cases we’ve had lately have gotten to me. You’ll think I’m crazy for saying this, but I get it now that as a straight white man I have privileges I never had to work for.”

  Charlie was having a hard time keeping the car in her lane.

  “You had an epiphany about that?”

  “I know you’ve called me out on it before, but I really understand now. It started with our work on the homeless killings case, and then the Fairchild investigation.”

  Charlie nodded. The serial murders of the homeless had shaken the entire Mack team. The Fairchild case was a powerful example of extreme privilege leading to the murder of three people. Charlie, Don, and Judy still expected to be called as witnesses in the case.

  “It pisses me off, Mack, when I see these guys who think they have a God-given right to be in charge of the world. It has to be some kind of crazy—mixed with arrogance and ignorance—to blow up a church or mosque because you think nonwhite people, or poor people, or folks looking for safety in this country are keeping you down. It makes me embarrassed for my own kind.”

  “And what about your feelings about Muslims and 9/11?” Charlie asked.

  “Well, I admit I still have some work to do.”

  # # #