the Task Force, and who are used to lousy hours anyway, man the fort on weekends and holidays.
Harry Muller asked me, “What are you doing this weekend?”
This was the start of the Columbus Day three-day weekend, but as luck would have it, I was scheduled to work on Monday. I replied, “I was going to march in the Columbus Day Parade, but I’m working Monday.”
“Yeah? You were going to march?”
“No, but that’s what I told Captain Paresi.” I added, “I told him my mother was Italian, and I was going to push her wheelchair in the parade.”
Harry laughed and asked, “Did he buy that?”
“No. But he offered to push her wheelchair.”
“I thought your parents were in Florida.”
“They are.”
“And your mother’s Irish.”
“She is. Now I have to find an Italian mother for Paresi to push up Columbus Avenue.”
Harry laughed again and went back to his computer.
Harry Muller, like most of the NYPD in the Mideast Section of the Task Force, does stakeouts and surveillance of Persons of Interest, which, in politically correct speak, means the Muslim community, but I do mostly interviewing and recruiting of informants.
A large percentage of my informants are total liars and bullshit artists who want either money or citizenship, or who want to screw someone in their close-knit community. Now and then, I get the real deal, but then I have to share the guy with the FBI.
The Task Force is comprised mostly of FBI agents and NYPD detectives, plus retired NYPD, like me. In addition, we have people assigned from other Federal agencies, such as Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), plus state and suburban police, Port Authority Police, and so forth, too numerous to name or for me to remember.
Also included in our collegial group are people who, like ghosts, don’t actually exist, but if they did, they’d be called CIA.
I checked my e-mail, and there were three messages. The first was from my boss, Tom Walsh, special agent in charge, who had taken over the ATTF when my old boss, Jack Koenig, died in the World Trade Center. The e-mail read: CONFIDENTIAL-REMINDER-IN THE RUN-UP TO POSSIBLE HOSTILITIES WITH IRAQ, WE NEED TO GIVE SPECIAL ATTENTION TO IRAQI NATIONALS LIVING IN CONUS.
“CONUS” meant “Continental United States.” “Hostilities” meant “war.” The rest of it meant “find an Iraqi we can link to a terrorist threat against the U.S. so we can make life easier for the folks in Washington before they bomb the shit out of Baghdad.”
The message went on: PRIMARY THREAT AND EMPHASIS REMAINS UBL WITH NEW EMPHASIS ON UBL/SADDAM LINK. BRIEFING ON THIS NEXT WEEK-TBA. WALSH, SAC.
For the uninitiated, “UBL” is “Osama bin Laden,” which should be “OBL,” but long ago somebody transliterated the Arabic script into Latin letters as “Usama,” which is also correct. The media mostly uses the “Osama” spelling of the scumbag’s name, while intelligence agencies still refer to him as “UBL.” Same scumbag.
The next e-mail was from my second boss, the aforementioned Vince Paresi, an NYPD captain assigned to the ATTF to keep an eye on the difficult cops who sometimes don’t play well with their FBI friends. That may include me. Captain Paresi replaced Captain David Stein, who, like Jack Koenig, was killed-murdered, actually-one year and one month ago today in the World Trade Center.
David Stein was a great guy, and I miss him every day. Jack Koenig, for all his faults and for all our problems with each other, was a professional, a tough but fair boss, and a patriot. His body was never recovered. Neither was David Stein’s.
Another body that was never recovered, along with two thousand others, was that of Ted Nash, CIA officer, monumental prick, and archenemy of yours truly.
I wish I could think of something nice to say about this asshole, but all I can think of is, “Good riddance.”
Also, this guy has a bad habit of coming back from the dead-he’s done it at least once before-and without a positive body identification, I’m not breaking out the champagne.
Anyway, Captain Paresi’s e-mail to all NYPD/ATTF personnel read: YOU ARE TO STEP UP SURVEILLANCE OF IRAQI NATIONALS, REACH OUT TO IRAQIS WHO HAVE BEEN HELPFUL IN THE PAST, AND BRING IN FOR QUESTIONING IRAQIS ON WATCH LISTS. YOU ARE TO PAY SPECIAL ATTENTION TO IRAQIS WHO ASSOCIATE WITH OTHER ISLAMIC NATIONALS, I.E., SAUDIS, AFGHANIS, LIBYANS, ETC. STAKEOUT AND SURVEILLANCE OF MOSQUES WILL BE STEPPED UP. BRIEFING NEXT WEEK, TBA. PARESI, CAPT. NYPD.
I think I see a pattern here.
Hard to believe, but it wasn’t so long ago that we were trying to figure out what we were supposed to be doing every day, and memos were more carefully worded so as not to appear that we disapproved of Islamic terrorists or that we were upsetting them in any way. That changed real quick.
The third e-mail was from my wife, Kate Mayfield, whom I could see at her desk across the NYPD/FBI great divide of the 26th floor. My wife is a beautiful woman, but even if she weren’t, I’d still love her. Actually, if she weren’t beautiful, I wouldn’t have even noticed her, so it’s a moot point.
The message read: LET’S KNOCK OFF EARLY, GO HOME, HAVE SEX, I’LL COOK YOU CHILI AND HOT DOGS, AND MAKE YOU DRINKS WHILE YOU WATCH TV IN YOUR UNDERWEAR.
Actually, it didn’t say that. It said: LET’S GO AWAY FOR A ROMANTIC WEEKEND OF WINE TASTING ON THE NORTH FORK. I’LL BOOK A B amp;B. LOVE, KATE.
Why the hell do I have to taste wine? It all tastes the same. Also, bed-and-breakfast places suck-cutesy run- down hovels with nineteenth-century bathrooms and creaky beds. And then you have to eat breakfast with the other guests, who are usually yuppie swine from the Upper West Side who want to talk about something they read in the Arts and Leisure section of the
I typed my response: SOUNDS GREAT. THANKS FOR THINKING OF IT. LOVE, JOHN.
Like most men, I’d rather face the muzzle of an assault rifle than a pissed-off wife.
Kate Mayfield is an FBI agent, a lawyer, and part of my team, which consists of another NYPD guy and another FBI agent. Plus, now and then, we add a person or two from another agency, as needed, such as ICE or CIA. Our last CIA teammate was the aforementioned Ted Nash, who I strongly suspect was once romantically involved with my then future wife. This was not why I disliked him-it was why I
I noticed that Harry Muller was cleaning up his desk, locking away sensitive material so that the cleaning people, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, couldn’t photocopy or fax it to Sandland. I said to him, “You got twenty-one minutes before the bell.”
He looked up at me and replied, “I have to go pick up some Tech stuff.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I’m doing a surveillance upstate. The Custer Hill Club.”
“I thought you were an invited guest.”
“No, I’m trespassing.”
“How did you catch this one?”
“I don’t know. Do I ask? I own a camper, a pair of boots, and a hat with earmuffs. So, I’m qualified.”
“Right.” Harry Muller, as I said, is former NYPD, like me, retired with twenty years in, the last ten in the Intelligence Unit, and now hired by the Feds to do stakeouts and surveillance so that the Suits, as we call the FBI, can do the cerebral work.
I asked him, “Hey, what’s with this right-wing stuff? I thought you were with us?” “Us” meaning the Mideast Section, which makes up about 90 percent of the ATTF these days.
Harry replied, “I don’t know. Do I ask? I just have to take pictures, not go to church with them.”
“Did you read the e-mails from Walsh and Paresi?”
“Yeah.”
“You think we’re going to war?”
“Duh… let me think.”
“Does this right-wing group have any Iraqi or UBL connections?”
“I don’t know.” Harry glanced at his watch and said, “I need to get to Tech before they lock up.”
