A Sense of Justice

by Jack Davis

  Both men knew there were only 307 agents in the field office.

  “That’s why we’re going out to lunch.” Tate punched up the last word in the sentence as if to say, now you’re getting it.

  “No, we’re going out to lunch because you know if word leaked out that we were considering giving two coveted ECSAP slots to these two guys, without buy in from the ECSAP AT, it would be corrosive. It would be that creature’s blood eating through the floor of the spaceship in the movie Aliens corrosive. It would burn through most of the office.”

  Tate slowed as they came to a light. “First off, I think you mean Alien. Aliens was the second one, but I get your point, and you’re right. This is not going to go over well with a lot of people in the office, supervisors or rank and file. I need to know that I’ve got you on board before I float this to anyone else.” He turned to look at Morley. “PJ, they’ve earned this. I’ve been their Group Leader for the majority of their time in New York. No one works harder than these two. They’re past due to move to another squad, and I want them to go somewhere where I know they’ll get looked out for.”

  The light changed, and Tate once again focused on traffic.

  “Corny, you really think they can pass the schools.” Morley went back to his first question.

  “The first one, yes. It’s mostly hardware. I’ll give them some after-hours training and I don’t have any doubt. The second one, that could be a little more dicey.” Tate rubbed his chin as if trying to remember all aspects of the class. “If they had to take it when we went through, no,” he shook his head, “they couldn’t pass. It was too technical. You really had to know coding and how to debug software. These days it’s more automated, plug and play. I honestly think they can get through it, otherwise I wouldn’t put you or them in this position.”

  Morley had always respected how his friend supported the good people who worked under him, so he proposed a compromise. “How ’bout we send one, you pick, to the first school and see how he does. Then if he passes, we send the other to the next school.”

  “I thought about that too, but the two of them are a team. They’ve been together in everything since Parris Island. It’s been like twelve years. They play off each other, and it brings out the best in them, mostly. I don’t think they would do as well if the other wasn’t there, especially in this instance.”

  Morley couldn’t argue with his friend’s logic. “If you feel that strongly, I’ll support you, but it’ll cost you lunch.”

  “Deal.”

  Back in the office, Morley had time to ponder what he’d agreed to. His dealings with Murray and Kruzerski were limited and normally in the gym. They didn’t give him the impression that either had any desire to be in his cutting-edge squad. Also, and maybe the source of his later Clydesdale analogy, they didn’t look like ECSAP material. They were weightlifters and thick, particularly Kruzerski. Their heavy, solid features and eleven a.m. five-o’clock shadows were more than underscored by their dress. Wide lapels and even wider clip-on ties gave them the appearance of 1970s NYPD detectives. They just didn’t look the part of high-speed, low-drag, twenty-first century cyber-crime investigators.

  The ECSAP training, held in conjunction with other federal agencies, consisted of the best computer forensics training in the world. Each agency was allotted a limited number of slots each year. Of those slated for the Secret Service, the NYFO was normally given just six, sometimes eight. Taking the chance and giving a third of his yearly seats to individuals who didn’t really want them and/or might not get through the rigorous training didn’t seem like the best allocation of resources. But Morley knew what Tate said was true: the two had earned the opportunity.

  Kruzerski and Murray’s reservations about trying out for the ECTF were at least as significant as those of their future boss. Their reluctance had both internal and external components.

  Externally, the personnel in the ECTF seemed to have an I’m-smarter-than-you attitude, which normally translated into an I’m-better-than-you attitude. The agents in the task force had all the fancy gear and seemed to get every new electronic toy to test out, or “pilot.” They also got a lot of press. Good cyber cases could always be counted on to get publicity. The ECTF was the showpiece of the NYFO. Before Morley had taken the squad, some ECTF personnel were even exempt from protective assignments and travel. This shifted the protective load to the other squads and helped engender the divide between the ECTF agents and the rest of the office. Murray and Kruzerski, and many of the other agents in the NYFO, felt there was a kind of Animal Farm, equals-and-more-equals situation going on between them and the ECTF.

  Internally, the former Marines had dealt with the feeling of being in the “equals” class their entire lives. They knew the attitude. They didn’t look forward to it again in this setting. Especially from a group that, as Kruzerski so eloquently put it, “don’t look like they could bench their body weight.”

  The second internal component was the fear of public failure. Murray and Kruzerski knew how difficult the prerequisite courses were for the squad. It was the only squad requiring the candidate to pass two classes, the second one being very technical. Neither had excelled academically, and now their future depended on getting through six difficult weeks of classes and tests. Both knew there was a strong possibility of failure. Selection for the slots was competitive and known to the whole office. If Kruzerski or Murray didn’t pass, they wouldn’t be placed in the ECTF and everyone would know they had failed.

  The last piece of the pressure puzzle was the thought of disappointing the man they respected most in the Service; the one who they knew had pushed for them to be given the opportunity—Cornell Tate. Tate had been their training agent when they came to New York. He had shown them the ropes and been their mentor. He had guided them through the office politics and always looked out for them. Even with everything they had done in their lives and careers, the thought of letting down a man they admired and respected bothered them deeply.

  This combination of factors made the two feel self-conscious and hyper-sensitive. To compensate they did what they had always done, fall back on their strengths and each other for security. They hit the streets and the gym hard. They led the office in arrests in the months leading up to the schools and pushed each other through grueling workouts. Tate tried as hard as possible to act as a calming influence; he was only marginally successful.

  As the selection deadline loomed, more people started to focus on it. Human nature being what it is, when word leaked out that Kruzerski and Murray were being considered for the ECTF, there was pushback. The members of the squad let it be known they didn’t feel the two were “the best candidates” for the sought-after slots. The ECSAPers felt pride in what they did and what they had accomplished to get there. They were some of the best in the world in their field. The thought of just taking two agents with no particular aptitude for this type of work, or desire to be in the squad, and placing them ahead of other more qualified personnel didn’t make sense. To a person, everyone in the squad had a friend—more often than not, friends—who desperately wanted to be given a chance. Now, not having just one, but both of the less qualified agents filling the training slots seemed like a slap in the face.

  Sentiments that had been harbored, if not in secret, at least only mentioned between friends, were now voiced to the Group Leaders. They resolved to use the weekly ECTF staff meeting to let their AT know the mood of the squad.

  Just before 0800 hours the ECTF Group Leaders, Ron Greere, Keith “Doc” Swann, Kay Pencala, and Jaime Posada strolled into Morley’s office. Morley, sitting at his desk, had a large stack of paperwork in front of him, the majority sporting yellow Post-it notes. Shaking his head, he stared at a set of papers in his hands.

  “Boss, you mind if I grab a water?” asked the Samoan-sized Greere.

  “Go ahead.”

  Greere ambled to the silver Costco refrigerator before asking his co-conspirators. “You guys want anything?”
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  “I’ll take a Coke,” said Swann.

  “Throw me a water,” responded Pencala, Posada seconded the request.

  Greere handed out beverages as Morley started to speak. “Are you guys trying to drive me back into protection?”

  Swann verbalized the group’s puzzled looks. “What?”

  “The paperwork this month is worse than last month, and I didn’t think that was possible.” He held up a set of papers in each hand with red-pen corrections and Post-it notes. “I know how smart you guys are, and the paperwork is so bad, the only conclusion I can draw is you’re doing it on purpose. So, if I follow the, you’re-doing-it-on-purpose premise, the only explanation I can come up with is you’re trying to drive me out.”

  “No,” said Pencala, “at least not anymore.”

  “Yeah, we’ve just about got you trained. It would be too much work breaking in a new AT,” added Posada.

  Morley turned to his Networks Group Leader. “So, you’re telling me you can track hackers through multiple proxies, dark networks, and other continents, but you can’t remember to sign your work?” He held up Posada’s monthly, red arrows pointing to a blank signature block.

  Morley handed the slightly embarrassed agent the paperwork. Seeing his opening, he turned to Greere, who was smiling. “Ron, how is it you can search a hard drive and find the minutest piece of evidence, but you can’t add three numbers correctly?” He held up another report with red arrows pointing to a circle containing an incorrect sum. “You guys are finding new and innovative ways to screw up a simple paperwork process.”

  Swann leapt to the defense of his friends. “Maybe if it weren’t a ‘paperwork’ process. Maybe if, in 2009, three-hundred-plus agents in the flagship office of the premier electronics crime investigative unit in the most elite law enforcement agency in the most powerful nation on earth didn’t have to generate ten pieces of paper per month to get paid; maybe we wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

  “What he said,” added Posada.

  In mock defiance, Greere spoke up, “That’s crazy talk. That’s dogs and cats living together kinda talk. It’s dangerous, bordering on subversive. I think someone,” he turned to look at Swann, “needs some reeducation.”

  Morley turned his attention to Swann. “Doc, you’re telling me that by not filling in the back of the monthly,” he held up a form and slowly turned it over to show the former Navy corpsman blank spaces where there should have been data, “you’re striking a blow for your fellow technologically oppressed brethren and protesting the Service’s lack of advancement in the IT arena?”

  Not missing a beat, Greere jumped in, “I’ll get the torches, Kay, you and Jaime get the pitchforks, we’ll meet at the SAIC’s office.”

  “I’ve got a better idea: maybe you guys should spend a little less of the government’s time playing COD or Modern Warfare or whatever FPS game it is you’re playing these days on the undercover T3, and pay a little more attention to detail.”

  “That’s hurtful,” said Swann.

  “They always try to punish the leaders of the movement. The innovators are natural targets,” added Greere.

  Swann continued his offensive. “You know we only play the first-person shooters to keep our tactics sharp, maintain our undercover personas, and make sure the equipment is functional.”

  Morley gave Swann a you-can’t-be-serious look. “I want an improvement in the paperwork. Understood?”

  There were nods all around.

  “Next on my list, I laid out your proposal to allow some of the team to work from home a couple days a week. It was given due consideration and rejected.”

  “Did you show them the charts and supporting background data?” asked a stunned Posada.

  “Yes, I don’t think it had as much to do with them not thinking it would be beneficial, as the fact the other squads don’t have the ability to conduct their work from home.”

  “That’s the progressive thinking we’ve come to expect from the front office.” Swann shook his head in disgust.

  Greere piled on. “If everybody can’t have the life-saving vaccine, no one gets it.”

  “The Flat-Earth Society has spoken. There will be no dissent,” quipped Pencala.

  “The Flat-Hair Society better watch herself,” said Morley, getting immense satisfaction as Pencala involuntary put her hand to her head.

  Pencala huffed, obviously annoyed that Morley had gotten the better of her.

  Morley cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the work from home proposal has been turned down. Jaime, I want you to implement it starting next Monday.”

  All the Group Leaders smiled.

  “You need to have a one-on-one conversation with everyone in your respective teams and let them know in no uncertain terms that if this gets screwed up, they only have themselves to blame…and I will personally kill the offender. Is that clear?” asked Morley.

  More nods.

  Morley used the good mood of his audience to start the next topic. “Item three, Kruzerski and Murray will be the next two NYFO representatives to attend ECSAP training.”

  Morley was surprised how quickly the mood changed. Before allowing anyone else to speak he continued. “Kruzerski and Murray have led the office in arrests, real arrests not paper collars, for most of their time here. They are two of the hardest working agents in New York. That has to mean something in the office. There has to be some reward.”

  To drive his point home, he personalized it. “In the same way I’m not going to let the front office limit the opportunities of some of our more…protection-ally challenged ECSAPers,” code for the ECTF agents who didn’t look the part of PPD or VPPD, “to rotate into the protection squad or go to the big Details, I’m not going to exclude these two. They have more than earned their choice of assignments. We’re not going to lower the standards for them, but if they are able to pass the classes, they’re in.”

  Next Morley turned the tables on his team of supervisors. He used one of their recurring complaints against them. “And besides, if they keep making all those arrests over here, it will take the pressure off the rest of your team for stats. Your folks will be able to concentrate on the large multi-jurisdictional cases you keep telling me they can’t work because you’re too busy trying to make the monthly quotas. You should be pulling for these two to make it, then you and your teams can flesh out the more complex cases.

  “Please relay my decision and rationale to your personnel. If anyone has an issue you can’t address, I’ll be happy to discuss it with them. Any questions?”

  Morley knew he had preempted any objections. After a moment he moved on to more mundane issues. The meeting was over by 0830 hours.

  The universal respect for Morley, as much as the logic behind his decision, kept any further discussion under the radar. Most personnel expected the ECSAP Schools to wash the two out anyway. Then, although the New York ECTF would be out two slots for the fiscal year, at least they would still have kept their standards.

  It was a horribly humid day in July when Tate rushed into Morley’s office, face and body tense as if he was expecting to get hit by a Giants’ linebacker. “You got the results?”

  “The Vegas money took a beating on this one—your boys passed.” Morley stood up and offered a hand to his friend.

  “Yesssss!” Tate immediately went into his exaggerated version of the Carlton dance in triumph. “I knew they could do it. I knew it.” His voice was ripe with vindication.

  Seeing his friend’s ridiculous exuberance made Morley laugh. “Hey, don’t get too pleased with yourself, coach. They both had to take the final exam twice, and even then, Murray got a seventy-two and Kruzerski got a seventy. One point less and he’d have failed.”

  Morley noticed Tate’s smile widen. “PJ, you know what they call the very bottom person graduating from med school?”

  PJ shook his head.

  “Doctor!”

  Part Five

  14 | Alvaro’s Alternatives />
  1985-2008

  Alvaro’s experience with alternatives had started sixteen years earlier, growing up as a kid working for the local street gang. If he had been asked at any time during those sixteen years, he undoubtedly would have said he didn’t have any alternatives. All his friends and most everyone he knew had dropped out of school and started to do something, often illegal, to make money. It was what kids from his neighborhood did if they didn’t have good grades or weren’t talented in sports. They were a cheap pool of labor for the street gangs to harvest. The difference was this crop didn’t have a season; it was ripe all year long in Mexico. Thousands died every year in the most vile and gruesome manner, yet there was no shortage of willing replacements.

  At eight, when Alvaro first started hanging around members of the Latin Kings, he could only see money, security, and a sense of belonging. At that age, belonging meant being a lookout, a mule, and doing any odd job that anyone above him wanted. It wasn’t until he had become a full-fledged member and had earned respect, via the normal means of cutting someone else’s life short, that he was able to get his tattoo and shed the menial jobs. He was fifteen.

  When he started, things were simple. He relied on street smarts and toughness to do his job. He had plenty of both, but what set him apart from most of his contemporaries was his intelligence. He thought about things, where others rushed in and made mistakes. He also had the benefit of having grown up in this world and witnessing so many mistakes, often fatal. He had learned what not to do, which in his line of work was more important than knowing what to do. He had basically gotten what amounted to his MBA and PhD in street crime and criminal behavior from one of the most prestigious learning institutions in his chosen field: the Mexican street gangs. He was good at what he did. He worked hard and moved up quickly. He was happy and content, or at least that’s what he thought.

  Maria Orantes

  Alvaro could never have known the part Maria Orantes would play in his life when he first saw her on a pleasant fall afternoon at his cousin’s confirmation party. Alvaro had only come to appease his aunt, his deceased mother’s favorite sister. He hadn’t planned to stay long after saying hello and congratulations. That was until he noticed a pretty dark-haired girl, standing in front of the punch bowl.