Once a Noble Endeavor

by Michael Butler

  Within three days the IB had made some progress. They discovered that almost all of the fifty-six railway stations had closed-circuit television cameras which could be monitored at a railroad central command center. Civilian observers under the supervision and with the assistance of police from the railway and IB were assigned to watch the monitors and report any suspicious-looking characters.

  The threat assessment prepared by Sergeant Sean Lambert’s squad began to come together.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Sean, what do you have?”

  “Well, Lieutenant, there are some things we have preliminarily concluded. Out of all the stations, only thirty-six can accommodate a baby carriage or stroller—you know, tall stairways without elevators or escalators and all that. Most are at the far-out stops, which are unlikely to have large crowds either on the platform or in the train carriages.”

  “Good point, but some times we have to consider the possibility of the unpredictable. Suppose that is exactly the plan, getting on a train far out with the idea of blowing up the charge further in, where a confederate might get on and meet up with the woman or the guy disguised as a woman on the train and maybe bring the payload with him or her.”

  “Right, Lieutenant, we considered that. Our best estimate is that if someone starts to bring a baby stroller up those multiple steps we can do a quick interdiction. Every station will have a plainclothes cop. If we are having a really good day, we could catch some transvestite radical with a package and not a baby in the basket.”

  “Do you have anything else, Sean?”

  “Yes sir, we have been recording the baby strollers and carriages getting on board. So far there are virtually none during the two daily rush hours and very few off-peak, and so far none of those twenty far-outlying stations have had anyone with a baby stroller. We, however, do have an infinite number of backpacks on passengers everywhere.”

  “Makes you sort of wonder why our bomber would use a baby carriage, doesn’t it?”

  The use of the carriage as a vessel to blow up a train or a train station bothered Nick to no end. Except for perhaps deterring an inspection at some random checkpoint, its use seemed unnecessary. There were so many easier ways to do the job. A dedicated bomber could wear a suicide vest, put a bomb in a garbage can or wrap up a package with the deadly cargo inside. Why the hell would this wacko use a baby carriage? Nicky couldn’t sleep with this thought on his mind.

  Several days later and well into the two-week period of danger Tom DeBoer again came into Nick’s office with a tear-line message.

  “Nicky, the FBI has determined that the threat is credible and they are going to become fully involved in our open case. They bring with them classified information, intelligence analysts, manpower, and some help from other intelligence agencies.”

  “Right you are, Tommy boy, and the resources probably have already been brought to bear.” Speculating, Brennan added another thought, “I bet NSA has intercepted messages confirming the action. Now the feds know it is for real and so do we. Get the word out to the whole IB we’ve got a bomber out there and we have to find that nut before that goddamn bomb goes off!”

  ****

  Brennan’s first meeting with the female FBI supervisory special agent came out as he expected: a broad-based covert surveillance of all fifty-six stations and all trains. With the limited number of strollers on any given day, each could be covertly inspected, said the agent. She added that the FBI analysts would continue researching, but so far they had nothing to work on. All considered, Nicky wasn’t satisfied. It didn’t explain the mindset of the killer—why a carriage? The central piece of information was the carriage. We need some critical thinking quickly.

  ****

  After three days more and only three days left in the fourteen days deemed to be the period of action, feds and cops discreetly examined every stroller while the command post directed the discrete interventions. Nothing was happening.

  The next morning Erin Peters asked to see Lieutenant Brennan. Officer Peter’s supervisor Sergeant Sean Lambert was out of the office supervising the federal and local surveillance, and Erin had a thought and wanted to discuss it with a boss.

  Erin, about twenty-eight years old, a new mother, was small, pretty, with full lips and a thin build complemented by long, straight, dark brown hair parted in the middle. She always dressed in a form-fitting professional suit including a short skirt and often carried herself with a confident walk that was both feminine and distinctive. As she approached from a distance moving rhythmically side to side, one always knew Erin was arriving, and she often turned some heads. Nick believed she was a thoughtful cop and perhaps his best analyst.

  “Lieutenant, you know I am a little troubled with this whole carriage thing?”

  “Yes, Erin, so am I. We are down to just two days. Maybe the covert surveillance has scared off our bomber. Maybe it was bad information.”

  “Lieutenant, I had a baby last year and I got to thinking about carriages, strollers and all that. At first I did some research on anything that can be used to carry a baby—no luck. A couple of my friends are stage moms—you know, women who push their kids to get on stage or in a movie or commercial, anything like that.”

  “Erin, you have a theory?”

  “Yes sir. It may be nothing, but I did a little open-source research. This time using a variety of dates and the term ‘baby’ and anything related to it, I think I found something.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Well, Lieutenant, today at noon there is an open casting call for babies under one year old to be used in commercials, movies, plays—an open call means anybody can try out, audition. These stage moms socially network, and an open call often attracts a lot of people, in this case a lot of babies. I figured all those mothers would have to transport the kids, and that—”

  “Okay, Erin, I get it. Where, where?”

  “That’s it, Lieutenant: it’s on the main concourse, the mezzanine at the Grand Terminus Plaza railroad station, the last inbound stop for all the light railway trains!”

  Nick looked at his watch. It was 11:25. Nick yelled out to Tom, “Tommy, call the railroad command post. I think Erin figured it out. I need you to talk to the supervisor of the operations center right away.”

  “Nick, I just got called by Lambert. He says the surveillance is being overwhelmed with hundreds, maybe more, mothers with babies in strollers, carriages, back packs throughout the system. We don’t have enough agents and cops to keep up. They are coming in on all the lines. We need more officers for the inspections.”

  “Tom, tell the command center to quietly stop all train traffic forthwith, have the FBI respond to the main concourse at Grand Terminus Plaza. I think there is a bomber in the middle of all those carriages. Erin, get my car!”

  “Yes sir!”

  “Tom, have our people and the FBI analysts research an open casting call for babies at the Grand Terminus Plaza railway station and relay the information to responding agents, have the officers and agents who are at the station begin to conduct a discreet inspection on the mezzanine. The largest number of kids and mothers will be there in about forty-five minutes. If we spook the bomber, he or she might detonate the device early.”

  “I got it.”

  “I’m headed there with Erin now. Have all units respond silently, lights only, and have the entrances closed. I’ll be on the emergency frequency. Let the chief know what’s going on.”

  “Done.”

  Erin swiftly pulled up in Nick’s unmarked car with the small revolving red light spinning on the roof. With Erin behind the wheel they drove off from the curb with the tires screeching as they pulled away.

  “Okay Erin, let’s free associate. It’s going to take us ten minutes to get there and we have to figure out what we are looking for when we arrive.”

  “Lieutenant, the main concourse is pretty large in square footage. The floor is decorated with a series of circles running out from
the middle with a high, round ornamental ceiling. The check-in point for the mothers with the babies is in the center of the concourse, the center of the circle.”

  “Okay, Erin, I get the picture.”

  “Our bomber wants the bomb to be right in the middle—the best kill zone with the greatest number of casualties, multiplying the effect of the attack on all those small children.”

  “Erin, the carriage we are looking for will probably be guided by a woman or someone dressed like a woman, but we can’t be sure. It could be a suicide attack or a remotely detonated device.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  “I am going to have you move through the throngs. Put on your mommy face. Take off the scarf and jacket—dress down.”

  “Okay so far.”

  “Move towards the center of the group and start looking women right in the eye. Our killer will probably be nervous, maybe sweating and looking about. I will be up above the mezzanine looking down from the top of the stairway. Watch for any abandoned carriages or strollers.”

  “Okay, Boss, I’ll leave my microphone open and keep you advised. I’ll hide my earpiece under my hair and wait for your instructions.”

  “Listen Erin, if you have to shoot, and I pray to God you don’t, it has to be a head shot. We are talking about the possibility of a suicide vest or a handheld detonator. We have to take this one out fast and final.”

  It was about forty minutes after the hour when the lieutenant and Erin pulled up. They were met at the large stone archway into the station by a railway police supervisor, an FBI agent and an FBI intelligence analyst.

  “Nick, the station has been closed from the outside and all inbound train traffic stopped or diverted. All garbage cans have been discretely inspected and removed.” The agent then asked Brennan, “What do you think?”

  “I think this is it. How many people do we have? Maybe we should just order an evacuation. What do you think? You guys do this shit more than we do. The bomber could even be outside the station right now or maybe stuck on one of the trains we diverted—so what do you think?”

  “I don’t know—we have about thirty cops and agents all in plainclothes, but mostly males. So far, all of our visual inspections have shown nothing.”

  “What about the dogs?”

  “The canine unit hasn’t picked up anything either, but some types of explosives won’t set the dogs off. We are not making the K9 people too obvious. They are standard procedure here anyway.”

  “Evacuate?”

  “If we order an evacuation right now, we could witness instant carnage. Nothing worse than a cornered rat.”

  The FBI analyst, being cautious, added, “Lieutenant, even now, with entrances closed and the trains delayed…”

  “How many kids?”

  “This open call could include one hundred kids or more, all carried in here some way or another.”

  “The bomber could be right there in the middle right now!”

  “Lieutenant, if the bomber is in the center or even off to the outside of that group, it is not going to be easy to detect that. Maybe we should just clear the whole damn area.”

  “I understand, but on general principles we have to assume the bomber is in the most congested area, the center of the concourse, and my guess is we can, at least for a few minutes, employ some of those behavior detection principles you feds use: nervous, pale, looking around. Let’s go!”

  “Lieutenant, this isn’t some TSA practical exercise, this shit is for real!”

  From the top of the stairway Nick, sweating profusely, tried to look casual as he peered down at the crowd. It was a large swath of bodies embedded with perhaps a hundred carriages and strollers. Maybe I should just shout a direction to evacuate immediately, Nick thought. But what if the bomber just blows the damn thing right there and then? Well, at least we have stopped people from coming in and minimized the casualties, he thought now. Just like in the alleyway at the Bayside Bar, he was unsure and indecisive about the plan and even arguing with himself.

  Meanwhile, Erin courageously made her way deep into the crowd into the “center of the circle.” She walked in ever-larger circular or concentric patterns away from the check-in point. As Brennan looked at his watch, he knew they were only ten minutes from that critical moment. As he watched Erin, he thought, she fits in perfectly, looking like a mom with stars in her eyes.

  The agents and cops continually passed through the crowd looking like busy commuters with a destination in mind. No one was reporting anything suspicious and Nick began to think, maybe even hope, this was a false alarm. Finally, he decided he didn’t want to just evacuate the terminal because he knew in his heart of hearts that was a catalyst for action by the potential killer.

  Suddenly, Nicky saw a heavy woman in a white, almost ankle-length dress with a thick cream-colored sweater pushing a large carriage impatiently toward the middle of the crowd. Some of those in the disorganized gathering began to angrily stare at her with grimaces on their faces.

  Brennan spoke into his microphone, falling back into his quick staccato pace. “Erin, to your back at twelve o’clock a woman in a white dress and sweater. Heavy, short dark hair moving toward you. Intercept her.”

  Erin did an about face and quickly moved in that direction. She encountered problems moving in a straight line, so she decided to push her way through. When Erin Peters was about three feet from the target she locked her eyes on the woman’s face. The woman looked up and to the right, as if she was thinking. Erin saw her hands trembling and tightly gripping the handle of the large, black old-fashioned carriage. Erin wondered if her hands were actually shaking or it just seemed that way. She recognized the face to be ethnic, dark skinned with broad, dark circles beneath her coal-black eyes. She had the eyes of a vampire, lifeless.

  Erin approached as if she was going to pass the woman. Moving to the right side of the carriage and turning to her left, Erin carefully looked back and down into the large stroller. There was a blanket in the basket, she noticed, but as a new mother she knew the shape couldn’t possibly conform to that of a small child. It was perhaps a bundle or maybe even a package, Peters thought. Instinctively and perhaps foolishly, Erin reached back and pulled the blanket out and exposed more blankets and a pillow folded over lengthwise. There was no baby! The dark-skinned heavy woman looked at Erin’s face and her small frame. She thrust herself toward the cop and lurched at Erin with both her large, dark, bulging hands. She pushed Erin away and down to the concrete flooring. As she fell back, Peters screamed into her radio, “Lieutenant, the carriage is empty!”

  Hearing what she surmised to be a radio transmission, the large woman left the carriage behind and forcefully and recklessly pushed through the thick crowd. She began to knock over mothers and their children in their carriers in all directions. Stumbling and falling to her knees, she got up and crashed through the congestion out of the mezzanine. She was apparently running towards a tunnel that led to nearby tracks.

  That route was a dead end, but probably provided protection from a large explosion in the main terminal. The bomber had a plan. This was not a suicidal act, it was homicidal. She didn’t plan on dying on this mission. She was planning her escape; it was to occur in all the carnage and confusion after the detonation.

  Brennan, thinking quickly, decided to make a general transmission over the radio. “Clear the goddamn mezzanine immediately, leave the carriage untouched, somebody help Officer Peters in pursuit of the suspect moving easterly towards tracks seventeen, eighteen and nineteen.”

  Nick stopped, took a deep breath and paused for a second and then added, “All units please be aware that the suspect may be armed with a detonator and/or a suicide belt or vest, and you are directed to employ fire discipline to the extent possible.”

  He stopped again and finally said, “We have a large crowd in a contained area.” Nick ran down to the main concourse as he spoke into his radio looking to his left, the direction he had last seen the woma
n headed. Brennan for a moment looked back at the unattended now solitary baby carriage and began to run towards the tunnel leading to the tracks.

  Concurrent with Nick’s radio announcement, Erin had recovered from her fall, jumped to her feet, kicked off her high heels and began to chase her prey into the darkness of the tunnel. As Erin ran in hot pursuit of the attempted killer, twenty or more of the officers and agents loudly and impatiently began to order all the gawking people to move away from the center of the mezzanine and out the nearest exits. Five or six agents and officers drew their weapons and joined the hunt and followed Erin’s trail.

  The heavy woman was no match for Peter’s speed. Erin was perhaps thirty feet from her target with Nick and three agents and two cops about forty feet further behind. Suddenly the big woman stopped and began to fumble with something in her hands. In the dim light Erin could only determine it was black and square. At that moment the image filled Erin with blinding thoughts and flashing perceptions. That is the detonator, she realized as she pulled her pistol. A head shot, she remembered Nick saying. With the terrorist now perhaps ten feet away, Erin took timely and steady aim and produced three quick shots from her 9 millimeter automatic, fatally striking the bomber in the forehead. The target was thrown backward off her feet with the detonator held tightly in her right fist.

  Nick and the agents heard the loud cracking sounds that echoed off the tunnel walls and recognized them as the report from Erin’s weapon. Now with the critical action already taken, they breathlessly pulled up to Peters, who was standing with her gun in hand surrounded by light gray smoke and staring at the body lying on the platform.

  “Good job, Erin! Don’t anybody go near that detonator. My bet is that carriage out there is filled with explosives, and that thing in her right hand,” he said, pointing at the body, “is the plunger she was going to use to kill all those mommies and their babies,” Nick said as he looked back up the covered passageway toward the main terminal.