Gabe’s mornings were spent online, searching local new outlets for any sign of action against Officer Marwick. This morning produced the same result – disappointment. It had been the same, day after day.
He tried desperately not to become obsessed with the topic, but it was a difficult struggle, and he was losing. He’d resigned from his job months ago, the interest income from the settlement providing more revenue than his upper-middle class career had ever produced. The cleaning lady came once a week, even that frequency seemingly overkill as his bachelor lifestyle and tidy personal habits produced little in the way of filth.
At least she can keep the dust bunny population in check
, he mused.
He’d sold Jacob’s Honda, sick of seeing the reminder in the driveway on the few occasions he did venture beyond the front door. Then there had been the random conversations on the phone with Sandy, his honesty and wife’s perception leading her to believe he still wasn’t “ready to let go of this.”
The rest of his time was spent studying every aspect of law enforcement’s use of force.
He monitored dozens of activists’ websites, groups or individuals who reported, blogged, and opined on the topic. He subscribed to news feeds from every major national and regional outlet. He dedicated a significant portion of his day to internet voyeurism, lurking in forums designed specifically for law enforcement officers, online sites designed to allow cops a medium to share common experiences and frustrations.
At first, Gabe had delved into the dark side, convinced that there were fundamental flaws in America’s system of criminal justice. While that notion proved to be true, his analytical mind also had to admit that several issues existed throughout the massive infrastructure, some of which worked against the cops.
Over time, a realization set in – most police officers were professional, even-handed servants to the public. They were asked to perform a nearly impossible job for little pay and even less respect by some segments of the population.
That admittance hadn’t been easy for the still-grieving father to accept.
After three months of anxiously waiting for justice to be served against the man who he believed had ended his son’s life, Gabe found himself as perplexed as Adam had been that day at lunch. He was struggling for an answer, determined to make a difference, committed to the cause of solving the problem. But how?
Glancing up from the computer screen, Gabe noted two squirrels chasing each other around the trunk of a front yard pine. Their movement held his attention, the distraction from web pages and streaming news video a welcome rest for his digital-weary brain.
The cause of the fur-commotion was unclear, each squirrel taking turns pursuing the other. The scuffle appeared pointless as well, neither animal seemingly capable of catching or besting the other. “Why are you guys wasting your time and energy?” he whispered.
On and on the contest continued, small streaks of brown fur and bushy tails flashing round and round the trunk, first this direction, and then in reverse. On the few occasions the two combatants did pause, they remained on high alert, eyeing each other with nervous suspicion.
It occurred to Gabe that he was doing the exact same thing, wasting his time and energy on what was proving to be a fruitless chase. He was circling the tree, just like his yard mates. He had to do something different. He wasn’t a squirrel.
Wandering to the kitchen with thoughts of eggs and toast on his mind, a clarity of sorts entered his otherwise clouded mind. Somehow, that morning, he realized that to address his concerns, he must first find a solution to one simple dilemma. How to identify the bad cops while leaving the good guys alone? And furthermore, that identification process must provide proof – beyond any shadow of doubt when a white hat became corrupt.
“Brilliant!” he informed the cooking eggs. “I think I’m finally seeing the forest and not the squirrel-infested trees.”
Gabe felt a sense of accomplishment with that epiphany, proud of himself for eliminating all of the clutter and rising above the many nuances and dichotomies that had plagued his rational mind for months.
Even that small amount of progress brought him relief. He decided to occupy his mind with something else for a time. He would give himself a break from months of swirling emotion and find another project for the time being.
He returned to his list, penned so many months ago. Most of the items had been crossed off, but a few remained. There, toward the bottom of the page, was the one task that had troubled him the most. “Clean out Jacob’s room.”
He sighed heavily, resigned that today was the day to accomplish this task. Enough time had passed.
Everyone keeps telling me that time heals all wounds. Guess I will test out that theory
, he contemplated. Anyway, Sandy would appreciate the gesture as a sign he was moving on.
It took more fortitude to climb the steps that he had anticipated; several folded, moving boxes cradled under one arm. His hand froze on the knob, uncertain if he really felt comfortable enough to do the job. “Maybe I should ask Manny to come over and help me?” he whispered.
But that wouldn’t be fair. The young girl had suffered just as much, if not more, than anyone. Why drag her through the mourning process again?
For a moment, the father thought his heart might explode, the organ beating so hard that he could easily count the beats per minute. His skin was clammy and his knees weak.
Once your heart has been broken, I am pretty sure you can’t be at risk for a massive coronary,
he consoled himself. Building the confidence necessary to engage the knob required pacing his breathing. After several deep, slow inhalations, he opened the door to the room where his son had taken his final air.
He lingered at the threshold for a few moments, taking in a scene he hadn’t visited in months. His eye was immediately drawn to the wall opposite the doorway where the trophy shelf prominently displayed an assortment of cups, medals, plaques, awards, and certificates – miniature icons of Jacob’s accomplishments still appearing shiny and new. The bed was made, the dresser and small desk neat and tidy. For a moment, he was jealous of the cleaning lady, envious of her ability to enter this part of his house without fear or remorse.
As he scanned the room’s contents, his eyes paused on the drone. It was still sitting on Jacob’s desk, the last material thing that had brought happiness to the tortured teenager.
Gabe thought back to that day… remembered his son’s excited face and bright smile. He was glad he’d spent the money… happy that Sandy had finally understood the importance of the gift. Replaying those brief minutes in his head, Gabe took a step into the space, overcoming the sense of foreboding, lured by an aura of joy that still seemed to surround the bright red machine.
He lifted the toy from Jacob’s desk, stepping back absentmindedly to perch on the edge of the bed, his eyes boring into the machine. His son’s last words that afternoon echoed through his head, “I wish this drone had been hovering over my car that night. With video like this, there wouldn’t be any doubt.”
His thoughts soared as effortlessly as the tiny flyer had that afternoon, his reasoning as clear as the video images captured by its lenses. “With video like this,” he kept repeating, “There wouldn’t be any doubt.”
He left Jacob’s room, any desire to clean and pack left behind with the empty cardboard boxes discarded on the bed. Only the drone held his attention now, a toy… a plaything… a battery powered hobby with propellers. Yet, this odd machine was inspiring him in a way that nothing else had up to that point. It was a solution.
Chapter 7
Peelian Principle
Good appearance commands respect.
Finding the right office building had been easy. The Houston area was full of low-to-midrise commercial spaces. A recently completed, three-story tower sitting less than a mile outside of the city limits had provided the nearly perfect location. Just across the Harris County line on unincorporated land, it was evidence of the ever-expanding metropolitan sprawl taking advantage of cheaper real estate and lower development costs at the fringe of civilization.
The loftiest structure in the complex, it had been situated in an isolated area, surrounded by an impressive greenbelt. The grounds were impossible to view from the street, the entire space private and quite secure. The expansive parking area was a vacant, concrete slab, its perfectly striped spaces and unblemished curbs evidence of the newness of the facility. A key selling point had been the rooftop access via a metal fire door, only 10 concrete steps away from the “penthouse-type,” executive suites. A new corporation owned by a foreign trust signed the lease.
Jacob Industries was described to the mildly curious landlord as a start-up, developing distribution management systems to be utilized by businesses operating fleets of delivery and maintenance vehicles. Implementing such a service would require expensive, sophisticated radio equipment, including rooftop antennas and secure rooms housing computer hardware. JI would do business around the clock, requiring the utmost in employee confidentiality and protection. The agent representing the building’s management company just shrugged, replying, “They can turn it into Fort Knox for all I care, as long as they keep current on the association dues.”
For several weeks, an army of carpenters, craftsmen, electricians, and laborers descended on the top floor, hammering, sawing, and unloading materials. The management company representative stopped by a few times, performing periodical walk-thru assessments. The inspector’s only reaction was a smile, content that a stable, obviously well-funded entity was moving in.
While the build out was in progress, Gabe was busy elsewhere. Fueled by his newfound passion for drone technology, he began absorbing every possible detail regarding the unmanned flying machines. It came easy to him, a natural extension to his engineering education and background. Studying everything from aeronautics to radio frequency controllers, he consumed books, blogs, webpages, and university research projects like a man who had found his calling.
For the first time since his son’s death, Gabe felt a purpose. His heart and soul had been seeking a cause, and now they had discovered it. Jacob Industries would make a difference – would ensure that other people would never suffer the same pain endured by his loved ones.
But he had to be careful.
If his plans worked, Gabe would be walloping a hornet’s nest with a very big stick. He was absolutely certain that the authorities wouldn’t appreciate his endeavors, but that wouldn’t matter if they didn’t realize who was behind it all. Operational security was the absolute top priority, but that wasn’t easy.
It seemed like every step required some form of subversion, illusion, or borderline illegal activity. From setting up an untraceable corporation to acquiring equipment in such a way that there was no direct link to Gabe, establishing the cover business had required extra time.
His biggest single concern was purchasing the parts to assemble the flying machines. Many of the components were built overseas, but not all. Circuit boards, infrared cameras, carbon frames, and even spools of wire shipped from domestic suppliers. Gabe knew enough about law enforcement to know that if one of his “birds” fell into the authorities’ hands, they would take the serial numbers from each manufacturer and trace them back as far as possible.
More than once during the execution of his complex scheme, Gabe had seriously pondered throwing in the towel. The closest had been during a conversation with Adam a few weeks before signing the lease. “You know if they catch you, you’re in for a worse ride than Jacob experienced. Far worse.”
“But I’m not doing anything illegal,” Gabe had countered.
“And you think that matters? We’re about to have the same conversation we did the day that you wanted to post that video. Illegal activity versus operating within the law is no longer black and white, my friend. If they dig hard enough, they can bring anybody up on charges. It’s impossible to live, drive, own a business, or walk down the sidewalk without breaking one law or another. It could be taxes, import restrictions, zoning, or in your case, the federal aviation boys. Talk about regulations that contradict each other. There’s an old saying amongst district attorneys – ‘You can indict a ham sandwich.’”
Just like the day Officer Marwick had been in his rifle sights, Gabe had experienced second thoughts on several occasions throughout the process. The difference now was that he wasn’t taking justice into his own hands, didn’t feel as though he was committing any crime. He was on the moral high ground, and that gave him the strength to push on.
In fact, more so than any period in his life, Gabe was energized with the drive and desire of a worthy campaign. He suddenly found himself needing or wanting little sleep, the whirlwind of mental activity refusing to halt just because his head rested on a pillow. It was glorious work that would produce a cure for a disease-ridden system.
Gabe sat in JI’s new parking lot, watching the movers unload a steady stream of boxes. He didn’t want anyone to see him, wanted no witnesses to his association with the new entity. As Adam had put it, “You just never know whose brother-in-law is a cop.”
And then the last man locked the door and climbed into the big moving van’s cab. Gabe watched them drive away, feeling a sense of accomplishment and the beginning of a new stage in life. He was reborn with the religion, soon to sprout wings and avenge from the heavens.