Authors: Craig Buckhout
The woman said, “Ah, it’s okay. Thanks just the same. San Jose State isn’t that far, we’ll just walk.”
As they watched her walk off, another thought came to Max. If the actions of DHS were causing people to distrust all cops, and it became known that cops and their families were sheltering at the substation, then the security risk goes up. Their little refuge might just become a target instead of a safe haven. He was going to have to do more to secure the facility.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The hourly news began just as Max and Steve pulled up to the gate. After they signed in and were waived through by Officer Maureen Cooney, the story Max wanted to hear came on the radio. They stopped momentarily to listen.
The newscaster, a man with a deep baritone voice, who painfully stretched out the last word of each sentence, simply stated there had been a small disturbance caused by a street gang near the Federal Building in San Jose, and it was quickly controlled by the Department of Homeland Security. There were several injuries when officers used rubber bullets to stop the violence, but no loss of life was reported. That’s it; all there was to it. He seamlessly went on to the next story as if the event in San Jose was a minor occurrence of only passing interest.
“What the hell?” Steve said.
“I was afraid of that,” Max commented. “Only I figured the government censors would just minimize it rather than completely lie about it. People will get the word, though. There were too many out there. There’s no way they’ll keep what we witnessed a secret, and my bet is stuff like that happened all over the country. They’re making another mess of things.”
“Yeah, but to lie like that. And for the press to let them get away with it. They were right there filming. I saw ‘em.”
“Hey, our fearless leader and the rest of ‘em have been flat-out lying to us for the last, what, seven years now, and most of the press lets them get away with it. Look, the way I figure it, we have one primary objective. It doesn’t matter what those DHS dummies do as long as we do our best for the people who want our protection. It also doesn’t matter what bullshit laws and rules the feds make; we still look out for the best interests of our people, even if it means breaking a few of those rules.”
Max paused, thought a second and added. “Speaking of taking care of our people, we need to harden the target. We gotta make sure only those we want get inside the grounds. If we let outsiders come in at will, we may as well not even be here.”
“So, what do you have in mind?”
“A lot of things. I want to get direct, real time communication set up with dispatch at the department. We need to know what’s going on as it’s happening. Another thing, and I know this may sound a little overboard, but I want to set up a sandbagged position near the front gate so whoever is standing there isn’t exposed to gunfire should some knot-head get the idea we’re an easy target. Maybe even put another on the roof. We also need handheld radios. We gotta be able to communicate with one another when we’re on opposite sides of the property.”
“About the radios, Central Supply has a bunch of the old ones nobody uses anymore. They’re bigger and heavier than what we’re issued now, but they still work.”
“Can you take care of that? And some chargers and extra batteries, too.”
“No problem.”
“Okay, after I meet with Jessica, I’ll see what I can do about getting some protection for the people at the front gate.
As if to make the point, Maureen and one of the non-sworn resident helpers approached the truck. “Just thought you should know we’ve had a few people nosing around this afternoon.”
“What do you mean?” Max asked.
“You know, neighborhood types. Most just slow down, stare, and then drive off, but a few of them have actually stopped to ask what’s going on.”
“What have you been telling ‘em?”
“Well, I didn’t know what to say but figured we didn’t want to tell them the truth because then we’d have people showing up, wanting in. So I just said we’re conducting a disaster preparedness exercise. Seemed to satisfy ‘em.”
Max nodded. “That’s as good a thing to say as any. Can you pass it on to your relief?”
Max found Jessica in the kitchen talking with Frank, who was wearing his Vietnam era boonie hat, a white V-neck tee-shirt, and a pair of faded and patched, olive green cargo pants, under an apron that read, “The Chef is Never Wrong.”
“I don’t know if you’re keeping track,” she said, “but we now have one hundred thirty four residents, and the way it’s going, I’ll bet we’ll be over one fifty or sixty by tomorrow. Now I know you want to be the gatekeeper and all, but here’s what I propose. All the requests for shelter come to me, and I only refer to you the ones who aren’t police department employees or their family. I’ve got a system set up to keep track of who we have here and even a questionnaire for them to fill out when they arrive. It covers such things as special skills and background, contact information, vehicle description, plus any medical and diet issues we might need to be aware of. Myra helped me set that part of it up. It just makes sense.”
Max thought about this for a second and had to admit she had a point. He was fielding maybe fifteen calls a day from people who would automatically be allowed to stay because they were part of the police family. For each of those calls he received, he then had to make a call to the front gate to let them know someone new was coming. When you factored in all the calls that weren’t answered the first or even second time, well, that was a lot of time spent receiving and making calls.
“Okay, deal,” he said. “I’ll call the Police Officers Association and let them know to refer any calls they get to you. Anything else?”
“Yeah, there is. The committee has talked it over and we think we can get by with less than ten dollars a day per person. Here’s the thing, though, we want to frontload it, so to speak, and lay in a good, basic supply of food before we start cutting the contribution back.”
Frank nodded his head and added, “Yeah, if it hits the fan and we get a big influx of people, we want to be ready for ‘em. I’ve got a list of the things we need.” He handed Max a sheet of lined, yellow paper with writing on it.
“So what happens if we all go home next week? What’s the plan with the leftovers?” Max asked.
“The food bank,” Frank said.
Max nodded his head.
Jessica picked up the conversation again. “Now doing it this way will be a little unfair to the people who got here first, because they’ll be paying more than those who come here after we reduce the fee, but we don’t really have much choice. Maybe we can give the later arrivals a little more work to do to make up for it, just like we are doing for those who can’t afford ten dollars a day for every family member.”
“I think that kind of thing is your decision. But as far as I’m concerned, it sounds like the right way to go.”
Max looked at the list Frank had handed him and said, “If somebody has a Costco card, you can use my truck.”
“I have one, and I’ll use
my
truck,” Frank said.
“Okay, perfect. Good job. This is exactly the sort of stuff I hoped the committee
would
be taking care of. It all sounds good. If you have any problems, let me know, otherwise it’s all yours.”
“Okay, real quick, a couple things, just to let you know what we’re doing. We have so many kids now that we’ve set up a schedule for supervision in the day care center. We figure the spouses of sworn officers are probably pretty safe, so we’ve got it arranged so there’s always at least one of them in the room with any other adults who may be helping. Also, every third family seems to have a pet of some kind, mostly dogs. So Will is going to construct some dog runs in the underground garage using temporary, chain-link fencing. The owners know they are responsible for care and feeding.”
“Thank you, Jessica, I hadn’t thought of any of that.”
She smiled. “That’s it for now …except, well, just one last matter.” She looked sideways at Frank and then back. “That guy who gave you a hard time at the meeting, that lieutenant, well he’s been asking me a lot of questions about how we’re running things.”
“Yeah, I had to kick his butt out of my kitchen because he wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Frank interrupted.
“I can handle him,” Jessica continued. “I’ve worked around people like him before. Just thought I’d let you know is all.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I guess there’s one in every crowd, huh?”
Max next tracked down Will Mason.
“Hey Will, I need a load of sand.”
Will squeezed his eyebrows together. “Now what the heck do you want with sand?”
Max explained how he wanted to build a sandbag barrier for the on-duty sentries to stand behind.
Will thought about it a minute before saying, “You know what, leave it to me. I have a better idea. Just the thing and it won’t look like we’re preparing for war. We can even move it around if we have to fine-tune it a bit. Sandbags for the roof, though. I’ll get right on it. Show me where you want them.”
Max pointed out two ground level locations for the gun pits and where he thought something should be erected on the roof. As they were parting, Max’s phone sounded off.
It was Walt Briggs. “Big shootout on the west side. The feds got a place surrounded and rounds are flying all over the place.”
“You think it’s those two college students?” Max asked.
“That’s what most of us think. There’s no way of telling, though, DHS isn’t letting us anywhere near the place.”
“Well, if it is the two they’re looking for, and they’re part of all this, I hope the feds take care of business. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed they don’t screw things up again.”
“Already have.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve already screwed up. I guess there was a car leaving the area at a high rate of speed, and the trigger-happy jerks on the perimeter unloaded on them. It was a husband and wife. Young couple. They were just trying to get away from all the shooting. She’s dead and the guy is critical.”
“The media have it?”
“They were on scene but nothing on the news yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
June 19
TH
Max felt great. The first full, seven hours of sleep in several days. He got out of bed, dressed, and went down to the lunch room for a cup of coffee and something to eat.
As soon as he entered, he saw Myra seated at a table with an almond-eyed, raven-haired woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Myra waived him over, so Max grabbed a cup of coffee and an only slightly warm breakfast burrito before joining them.
“Man, I’ve got so much to tell you,” Myra said, “but first I want you to meet Doctor Amisha Patel. She works at VMC and will be helping us out while she and her family stay in the executive suite.”
“Executive suite?” Max said.
“Yeah, the conference room on the second floor. Bathroom right down the hall. Window view of the parking lot. Nothing but the best.” Both Myra and Amisha laughed.
“Oh, and she’s already got her first patient, Frannie Pence. They released her from the hospital, and I guess the Chief suggested she come here so she’d have round the clock security.”
“Frannie?”
“Officer Pence. You know, shot in the legs in the mall.”
“Oh, sorry, yeah, the Frannie threw me off.” The truth is he hadn’t even remembered her last name, if he ever knew it. She had been that new to the team.
“Yeah, they’re getting her set up now. Rented hospital bed and everything.”
“Well, thanks for joining us doc. I think we’ll need your help.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. Even though I love my job, my husband and I we’re talking about leaving the city for a safer place. Now we can stay …at least for a little while anyway.”
Max took another swallow of coffee. “So, what else is up?”
“Well, for one thing, there’s been another bombing, this one in Denver.”
“A dirty bomb? Radiation?”
“Yeah, it came over the news about an hour ago. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Max wondered if the attacks were becoming so commonplace now people were already relegating them to water cooler news. “Casualties? Where in Denver?”
“A lot of them,” Myra responded. “Caught the tail-end of the commuter crowd. Right at the main terminal in the airport.”
Max made a mental note to catch what he could on the news. He shook his head. “It’s been almost non-stop since the mall attacks.”
Two men walked in the door. One he recognized as a fraud investigator, Jeff something, he thought, the other he’d never seen before. The pair walked to the table with the breakfast burritos and picked up a couple of paper plates. They stood shoulder to shoulder, touching, and then the one he knew, the cop, just briefly put his hand on the other’s small of the back. The one he didn’t recognize leaned into the cop, kind of like bumping shoulders, straightened, and went for a burrito.
Jeff was a little over six feet, maybe two-hundred and twenty pounds and built like a weightlifter, with thick shoulders and a big neck. The man with him was of slighter build, blond, and neatly dressed in a light green polo shirt with a logo on the left front, a pair of British tan khakis, and tasseled loafers.
Myra reached out and touched Max’s hand to get his attention. “The Chief stopped by. Seems like a nice guy. Handsome. He said not to wake you. Wants you to call him when you get a chance. He seemed pretty pleased with what he saw here. The only thing he had a question about was what was happening at the front gate.”
“What
is
happening at the front gate?” Max asked.
“Those piles of rocks.”
Max got out of his chair and walked to the window where he had an angled view of the area Myra was talking about. There he saw four wire rounds, four feet tall and about the same in diameter, filled with stones. They were setting on pallets, on the ground, off to one side of the gate, one against the other, formed in the shape of a horseshoe. Further away from the gate was maybe two cubic yards of sand. And next to that was a huge forklift Max assumed was to move the rounds of rocks. The whole set up, the rocks and sand and forklift, gave the impression they were waiting to be used in some sort of construction project rather than what they were truly intended for; something security could duck behind to keep from being shot, as well as a good solid position from where they could return fire.
As Max sat down again, he heard footsteps nearing.
Myra nodded her head toward the person approaching them and whispered, “That’s the last thing I was going to tell you.”
Max turned around and saw Lieutenant Myles Godfrey coming right at him. He turned back to Myra and the doc and said, “Feel free to save yourselves.”
Myra touched Dr. Patel’s arm and said, “Yeah, let’s get out of here. This guy is worse than a hospital administrator.” With that, they both rose and walked off just as Godfrey came to a stop, facing Max.
“You’ve really done it now, Calloway. You’re in deep, deep trouble.”
If it had been any other command officer or supervisor, he might have been worried about that pronouncement. Instead, he was just mad and getting madder. He forced himself to remain calm, though, picked up his cup, took a drink of coffee, set it back down, and said, “Yeah? And what trouble is that, Lieutenant?”
In a loud voice Godfrey announced, “DHS wants to interview you.” And then, with even more dramatic flair, if that was possible, he pointed his finger at Max’s chest, leaned closer, and said, “It’s criminal.”
“And exactly what crime is it they suspect me of?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about; the riot, you participated in a riot where people were injured and property destroyed.” He stepped back and smiled, “They got you on film …face recognition technology.”
“Now that’s interesting, what riot is that? According to their press release there wasn’t a riot, only a minor disturbance involving street gangs.”
Godfrey got a funny look on his face, paused, and said, “Well, that was just something they said to calm things down.”
Behind Godfrey, Max could see the fraud investigator watching and listening to their exchange.
“No, Lieutenant,
that
was a lie. They lied, just like the administration has been lying to us all along.”
“Well …that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is they have you at the scene of a crime, and you need to talk to them about it.”
“I didn’t participate in any riot. I was watching a demonstration along with two other officers, saw the federal cops start shooting rubber bullets at the crowd, saw a woman and a child get knocked down and stepped on in the panic, and went to their aid just as those DHS jerks shot CS at them.”
“That’s what
you
say happened. They say different.”
“Yeah, and who is they? A couple of DHS cops, one with a tattoo from his ass to his knuckles?”
“Oh, so you’ve talked to them?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve talked to them all right; a few days ago when I caught them planting dope on some poor bastard who complained about them.” There was no way Max was going to mention Steve’s name to Godfrey.
“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it.”
“Tell you what, Lieutenant; since you seem to be their little errand boy, you can give them a message for me. Tell them they can kiss my ass.”
Godfrey’s face reddened to the point Max thought his head was going to pop.
“They’ll come for you, you know. You can’t avoid them. This is the federal government.”
“Yeah? Well if they try any of that rendition crap on me, they better come with a lot of guys.”
The fraud investigator, who had moments before walked in the room with his partner, approached, pulled out a chair, sat down next to Max, and looked up at Godfrey.
Godfrey’s eyes shifted to the investigator for just a second and then back to Max. “Are you making a threat against the federal government?” He then looked back at the fraud investigator, pointed at him, and said, “You heard that. You’re a witness. He’s threatening the federal government.”
“I didn’t hear a thing, Lieutenant.” He continued to stare.
“Tell you who I am making a threat against,” Max continued. “I’m making a threat to a couple of lug-heads and any who help them. I’ve committed no crime. So if they try to take me, I’ll consider it a kidnap attempt and react accordingly.”
“You’re making a big mistake, mister.”
Max shrugged his shoulders. In his head, though, he wondered if Godfrey wasn’t right. Not that he feared Tattoo and Shorty, or any who would come with them, he was wondering if setting up a confrontation with DHS might be bad for the people he was protecting. If DHS tried to come in here to grab him, it could destroy what little sense of security these people had, and then where would they go? The police department would be without half its workforce.
After staring at Max for a few seconds, Godfrey turned and started to walk away.
“Tell you what, Godfrey.” Max stopped paying Godfrey the respect of his rank. “I’ll meet with them, but not at their place. They want to interview me; I’ll meet with them at the Police Union hall at 10 AM tomorrow. They can have only two people there. If there are any more than that, I walk. I’ll bring one person with me. Those are my conditions, they can take them or leave them.”
“You can’t tell them how to conduct their own interview.”
“Like I said, take it or leave it. Now, why don’t you run off and deliver the message to your crook friends and let me know what their answer is.”
“You cocky son of a bitch. What goes round, comes around.”
“So they say.”
Max turned to the fraud investigator, dismissing Godfrey by ignoring him, stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Max. I take it you’re staying with us.”
Godfrey turned and stomped off just as the fraud investigator said, “Jeff Zito. And I hate that jerk.” He waived over the man he’d been standing with earlier, before Godfrey went into his tirade. “This is Tony, my partner,” looking straight at Max, perhaps looking for a negative reaction to their relationship.
Tony stopped next to Jeff, resting his hand on the back of Jeff’s chair.
“And yeah, we’ll be staying here along with Tony’s sister and her baby until things calm down a little.”
“Well, glad to have you guys.” He saw Jeff smile. “We can use your help, too. You meet Jessica yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Efficient. Had us filling out papers as soon as we walked through the door. We already have our assignments, too. Tony’s kitchen staff, and I’m security. Gotta meet with Steve Woods for assignment times. But now, I have to get back to the department. They’re pulling all the investigators off their assignments to look for that judge.”
“What judge?” Max asked.
“That federal judge. The one who issued the search warrant for the dentist’s house. I guess a militia group claiming to be the real Bear Flag Patriots Brigade, killed his bodyguard and snatched the judge on his way to work this morning. We’ve been assigned to canvas the entire route from his home to the ambush site about a mile away, to see if anyone saw anything. They gave me some time to get Tony and his family squared away before reporting for assignment.”
“A federal judge kidnapped? Hadn’t heard anything about it.”
“That’s because it’s not on the news. The feds are trying to keep it quiet so it doesn’t inspire other kidnappings. Supposedly the press has the story, but have been forbidden from saying anything. As soon as we start asking questions, though, the word will hit the net. They can’t censor Twitter fast enough to keep it hushed.”
“Kinda screws the judge over, don’t you think, not getting his face out there on TV. Somebody might spot him and call it in.” Max shook his head in disgust.
“There’s a lot of stuff they’re keeping quiet.”
“Yeah, like what else?”
“Well, for instance, like the kids waiting for a ride outside the Jewish Community Center getting shot. We got those guys. Skinheads. Or the ones who broke into that gun shop on Camden Avenue. The owners were sleeping inside because they were afraid something just like that would happen. They shot one, but the other two got away. Somebody also shot out the windshield of a DHS vehicle as it passed under the Story Road overpass on Highway 101. That caused them to sideswipe a minivan travelling next to them, injuring three people. And maybe worse, we’re getting missing person reports; not a lot, but enough to be concerned. We think it’s the feds snatching people they consider a threat to national security, but who knows. They aren’t saying. Oh, oh, almost forgot. Get this. The gangsters are setting up these hit and run roadblocks and ripping people off for their jewelry, money, cellphones, in some cases even their vehicles. And heaven help you if you happen to be wearing the wrong color shirt. A couple of people have been stabbed for wearing red. I’m telling you, it’s getting pretty crazy out there. I think you’re going to be seeing a lot more people showing up.”
As Jeff got up to leave, Max said, “Hey, do me a favor, whenever you come back, tonight, tomorrow, can you check out a shotgun or carbine and bring it with you?”