[Lady Justice 15] - Lady Justice and the Vet

by Robert Thornhill

  We followed Ms. Glover up to the second floor. Mark took the key. “Thank you, Ms. Glover. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Will Hamed be back?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh, dear,” she moaned, wiping her nose with a lace hanky. “I’ll miss that boy. He was such a good boy.”

  Mark cautiously entered the apartment and we began a thorough search. At first glance, it looked like any other apartment - books, a small TV and DVD player. The kitchen and closet yielded nothing incriminating.

  Then I spotted it. During my real estate days, I had owned a dozen or more old buildings just like this one. Many of them had window seats built under the tall windows of that era. Some of those window seats were hinged with a storage cavity beneath. I tossed aside the throw pillows that covered the seat and sure enough, there were hinges. I cautiously raised the seat.

  “Mark, I think this is what you’re looking for.”

  Inside was another automatic pistol like the one he had used to the night before, two grenades like the ones we had found in Muhammad’s apartment, and a sheaf of papers.

  Mark thumbed through the papers.

  “Hot damn! I think we’ve found their next target!”

  As Mark’s men carried the evidence to their waiting SUV’s, a distressed Myrtle Glover watched from her porch swing.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Ma’am. We’ll be out of your way soon. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “Why yes there is. Could you please let me know about poor Hamed’s funeral arrangements? I’ll want to send flowers.”

  Poor Ms. Glover had no idea that she had been harboring a terrorist under her roof.

  It made me wonder how many more such men, bent on destroying our country, were hiding as wolves in sheep’s clothing.

  Two days later, the captain summoned us to his office once again.

  Mark was there and he had a smug look on his face.

  “Thought that you’d like to know what we turned up. Those documents in the window seat were maps and schematics of the Liberty Memorial Mall. A huge event is scheduled for Veteran’s Day. It will be almost as big as the American Royal Parade in terms of number of vets attending, high school bands and dignitaries. We made a thorough search of the entire Penn Valley Park, all 134 acres of it. Dozens of agents turned over every rock and looked under every bush. We hit pay dirt. We found a cache of weapons just like the ones on Grand Avenue. Liberty Memorial will be their next target.”

  “Did you remove the stuff?” Ox asked.

  “Nope! We left it right where we found it. Now that we know their plan, we’ll be ready for them. We’ll have agents everywhere that day, walking dogs, picnicking, playing Frisbee. We want them to make their move. That way, we can put an end to this cell once and for all. We did get another bonus. We’ve identified the guy that planted the weapons. It’s our old friend, Muhammad Navid.”

  “How in the world did you do that?” I asked.

  “Street cams. Once we identified the location of their stash, we just reviewed footage from the cameras on the streets leading into the park. We got a hit on Navid parking on the street and carrying a bag into the park. We have his vehicle and license number. If we can nail him before Veteran’s Day that will be one less terrorist that we have to deal with.”

  “We’re going to issue a BOLO on the car with instructions that if it is spotted, the officer will call it in immediately and not approach,” the captain said. “The rank and file will not be aware that the driver is a known terrorist. We don’t want anything to happen that will abort their plan. Mark and his men will apprehend Navid if he is spotted.”

  “This is the break we’ve been waiting for,” Mark said. “Our chance to end this in Kansas City once and for all!”

  “Mark’s men are really going all out on this thing,” Ox said, as we cruised Main Street in our black and white.

  “What’s amazing to me,” I replied, “is how they nailed Muhammad on the street cam. I had no idea that kind of surveillance was possible.”

  “You’re kidding,” he replied, pointing to the arm that held the traffic light at the next intersection. “See that camera on top of the support?”

  I nodded.

  “Well look at all four lights. There’s a camera on each pole.”

  We drove a block to the next intersection. “See any cameras?”

  Again, there was one on every pole.

  “I know that you and Maggie watch the ten o’clock news. Haven’t you ever wondered that no matter where a traffic accident occurs, there is a live video feed covering the area? If you look closely, there are cameras everywhere, on buildings, at ATM’s, at convenience stores, and guess what, people like Mark have access to every one of them.”

  “So the old ‘big brother is watching’ thing isn’t just a myth?”

  “You saw what Mark was able to pull off. You tell me.”

  We were stopped at a red light. A Quick Trip was on the opposite corner.

  “Ox pointed to the parking lot. “Check the BOLO on Navid’s car. Wasn’t it a green Ford Taurus?”

  I looked at the BOLO. “Yes, and the plate matches!”

  At that moment, Navid came out of the store carrying a steaming cup of coffee. The black and white drew his attention. He looked up and our eyes met. He recognized me immediately. He threw the cup aside and sprinted to the Taurus.

  “We’ve been made,” I said. “He’s gonna run.”

  Navid pulled out onto Main Street and headed north. Ox turned on lights and siren but the cross traffic was heavy and it took precious minutes before we could cross the intersection. By then, he had a block and a half lead.

  I called the number Mark had given us. “We crossed paths with Navid and he’s on the run.”

  “Damn! Stay with him no matter what. Which way is he headed. Maybe we can cut him off.”

  “Right now he’s heading north on Main --- wait --- he’s turned East on Truman. Looks like he’s heading to the I-70 on ramp.”

  “Stay with him and keep this line open. I want to know every move he makes.”

  Sure enough, Navid merged onto I-70 and headed east. The Taurus was weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed. Within minutes we were approaching the eastern city limits.

  “Mark, we’ll be out of Kansas City is just a few minutes. What do you want us to do?”

  “You stay glued to that Taurus. This is a matter of national security. I don’t give a damn about jurisdiction issues.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  We had just passed Noland Road in Independence when Mark came back on the line. “Independence cops were close to the Little Blue Parkway exit. They’ve blocked I-70. That should slow him down.”

  By the time we reached the Highway 291 intersection, traffic was already backed up from the Little Blue. Navid pulled onto the shoulder, clipping a couple of highway markers and took the northbound 291 off ramp.

  “He’s heading north on 291. He’s moved to the right lane. Looks like he’s heading for the Independence Center Mall.”

  “Great! Just what we need! He’s probably going to try to get lost in the crowd of shoppers. Maybe hole up in a dressing room. Don’t lose him! I’ll let the Independence cops know. They’ll be coming to back you up.”

  Navid swung into the parking lot, slammed the Taurus into park in front of the Macy’s store and ran inside.

  It wasn’t difficult to follow him. We just ran toward the screams of frightened shoppers who were fleeing from the madman waving an automatic pistol.

  Trying to impede us a much as possible, he had knocked mannequins off their perches into the aisle. It must have been quite a sight watching two cops hopping over a sea of stiff bodies with arms and legs protruding into the air at grotesque angles.

  He ran from Macy’s to the interior of the Mall, knocking shoppers off their feet along the way. He was almost to the next wide exit when a mall cop riding one of those two-wheeled Segway thing
s came barreling toward him. The cop saw the automatic pistol pointed at him and bailed just as Navid sent a spray of bullets into a kiosk of cell phones.

  Navid turned and started toward the exit just as the Independence cops showed up. Seeing that there was nowhere to run he ducked into Auntie Anne’s Pretzel kiosk. The frightened pretzel maker had scampered away when the first shots were fired.

  We had him cornered but he was well protected in the kiosk. With that automatic pistol, there was no doubt that we would suffer casualties if we rushed him, and the last thing we needed was a gunfight at the OK Corral in the middle of a crowded mall.

  Ox and I were squatted behind a couple of big planter pots. Just ahead of us, the miniature train that circled the big mall carrying little kids and their parents for five bucks a pop sat idling. The poor conductor was crouching behind it.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I whispered to Ox. “Cover me.”

  I slipped over to the conductor.

  “How do you run this thing?”

  He pointed to a lever. “This puts it in gear and that other lever is the throttle. What are you going to do?”

  “Take the Orange Blossom Special for a little spin. Where’s the whistle?”

  I nodded to Ox, pulled the whistle cord and put the thing in gear.

  Navid peeked over the counter. I could only imagine what he was thinking as he saw the huge, grinning face that was painted on the front of the engine heading his way. He started to lift his gun to fire, but thought better of it when he saw Ox’ automatic pointed at his head.

  I pushed the throttle all the way and the little engine that could picked up speed.

  I braced myself for the impact that I knew was coming.

  The ‘crash’ that erupted when I hit the kiosk was followed by a scream of anguish as the hot pretzel glaze splashed out onto Navid.

  The front of the kiosk came tumbling down on top of me, but the engine’s canopy gave me some protection.

  The Independence cops were on Navid in a flash, cuffing the terrorist who was still screaming in pain.

  Ox moseyed up and surveyed the damage. “Nice work, Casey Jones.”

  Then he reached down and picked up a pretzel that had landed in my lap.

  “You got any mustard in there?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Twelve grand!” the captain bellowed. “Ten to replace Auntie Anne’s kiosk and two to repair the train.”

  “Will that be coming out of his paycheck?” Mark asked, trying to keep a straight face.

  “It ought to,” the captain replied, stifling a smile, “but we may have a way out. Some shopper got the whole thing on his cell phone video and posted it on YouTube. It’s had over a million hits already. The Auntie Anne’s rep is delighted. He said that there’s no way you could buy publicity like that. He’s willing to make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” I asked.

  The captain turned to Ox. “Talk about stereotypes! Another guy got a shot of you standing amongst the rubble munching a pretzel. The Auntie Anne guy said we could forget the whole thing if he could use that photo in their next ad campaign. How about it?”

  Ox rolled his eyes.

  “You’re a celebrity,” I said, patting him on the knee.

  “I guess,” he replied, reluctantly.

  “How’s Navid?” I asked. “He may be a terrorist but I hope he wasn’t burned too badly.”

  “He’ll live,” Mark replied. “Third degree burns on his neck and back. One less terrorist to shoot up the Liberty Memorial Mall.”

  “About that,” I said, “that’s this coming week. Will Ox and I be a part of your plan?”

  “Definitely not!” the captain replied. “The two of you will be at the St. Michael’s Campus groundbreaking. We’ll get along just fine without you.”

  I was actually relieved. I was really wanting to share that special day with my friends and family.

  Curtis Brown sat alone in his dingy apartment.

  For the third time, he had watched the video of the old cop driving a toy train into the kiosk where his friend was hiding. He gritted his teeth as he listened to the screams of his brother as the hot glaze poured down his back.

  How could this be happening? he wondered. We’ve attacked embassies all over the world and blown up restaurants and shopping malls, but we’ve never run into anything like this!

  They had battled Special Forces and Navy Seals and had suffered less casualties than had been inflicted by this grey-haired old cop.

  The four of them had planned so well, but now he was alone. If there was to be an attack, it would be up to him.

  He thought about abandoning everything and just leaving town; moving somewhere, anywhere, away from Kansas City and the old cop, but he quickly put that notion aside.

  He had enlisted in the Marines to fight for his country. He had willingly gone to that God-forsaken valley and he had watched as his friends were cut down by enemy fire. He had only left his post for a few minutes to buy the drugs that would take away the pain, but none of that mattered. Disaster had struck and he was the one they had blamed. His own country had turned its back on him, humiliated him, and someone would have to pay.

  That day of reckoning would come soon --- at the groundbreaking ceremony.

  He harbored no illusions about escaping with his life. He was ready to die, but he vowed that he would not die alone.

  November 11th was one of those days about which poets like James Whitcomb Riley write. The sky was a brilliant blue and there was white frost on the tips of the grass that would soon burn away as the sun rose in the sky.

  We had all been eagerly anticipating the events of the day and my little flock was waiting on the porch when Maggie and I headed downstairs.

  The 22 acre site was teeming with activity when we arrived.

  Tents had been erected to shelter the dignitaries and chairs were set up to accommodate the hundreds of veterans and well-wishers that were expected to attend.

  On the far end of the field, massive dirt moving machines sat idle, ready to begin sculpting the earth for the first phase of the complex.

  I noticed several men in dark suits and sunglasses with mike cords running from their ears. They were, no doubt, Secret Service agents on site to protect the Secretary of Defense.

  Earl and Morty, honored guests by virtue of their contribution, had arrived early. As soon as she spied Morty, Mary broke away from our little group and hurried to his side. Morty’s face lit up and he gave her a big hug. It was a joy to see the happiness reflected in Mary’s face. She was a woman with a big heart and a lot of love to give and she had finally found someone that she could share it with.

  I spotted Ben Singleton, Archie Langston and Mike from the Three Trails among the other veterans. As promised, Earl and Morty had made sure that Archie and Mike would be among the first to enjoy the benefits of the facility as a condition of their twenty million dollar gift.

  For a moment, my mind wandered to the ceremony at the Liberty Memorial. It was hard to imagine that this beautiful day could be sullied by a terrorist attack, but it certainly seemed a possibility. Mark had prepared well and I hoped that the perps could be captured without further bloodshed.

  We heard the loud speaker crackle and the master of ceremonies asked everyone to take their places.

  The front row had been reserved for the veterans, some of whom were seated, but many were in wheelchairs. The rest of us found seats farther back. Since Ben was seated on the front row with Archie, Tracy Singleton found a seat beside Maggie.

  A representative of Catholic Charities offered a stirring opening prayer.

  After that, each of the dignitaries were given the opportunity of ‘say a few words.’ Naturally, those few words turned into an hour of political rhetoric and patriotic rambling, but finally the master of ceremonies turned the meeting over to the Secretary of Defense who was to turn over the first shovel full of dirt.

  As he was being introduced, I noticed that Archie
had leaned over and was whispering something to Ben.

  No one was prepared for what happened next.

  Curtis Brown had not worn his uniform since his court martial. He had been stripped of his rank, but he had found replacement patches at a military surplus store.

  After putting on the uniform, he stood in front of the mirror for the longest time, his thoughts returning to the day he graduated boot camp and he remembered the pride he had felt being part of ‘the few, the proud, the Marines.’

  He remembered the excitement and anticipation of his first deployment --- the thing for which he had been training for months.

  Then he remembered the disillusionment he had felt when he discovered that the realities of war were far different than the hype that was given to him by the recruiting officer.

  Finally, he remembered the fateful day in Zad Valley when his life changed forever.

  As he thought of these things, his mood changed from somber to resentful and finally to angry as he recalled the sentence that the court martial had handed down.

  Curtis took one last look. He was ready to do what he felt that he must.

  He had arrived early and parked some distance from the dedication site. He didn’t want anyone seeing a perfectly healthy man unload a wheelchair from his car and climb aboard.

  He had some difficulty navigating the thing through the gravel and grass. By the time he reached the site, he was exhausted and had a greater appreciation for the vets whose disabilities were real.

  He was thankful that there was a bite in the air. The blanket that covered his legs was the perfect cover for the automatic pistol tucked away at his side.

  The vets that joined him on the front row, although strangers, were cordial and included him in the camaraderie that only exits between men that have served together.

  Once again, he felt pangs of regret, but he put them aside.

  The meeting was called to order and a prayer was given, followed by a seemingly endless parade of dignitaries getting their photo op for their next campaign.