Our Brave New World a novel
By PastorAgnostic
Published: September 6, 2009
Updated: September 7, 2009

Chapter 1 - The Beginning of the New Dawn



GENERAL PAUL JAMES SHORES had a busy day ahead of him. As the country’s highest ranking legal officer, there were many demands on his time. Despite so many outside pressures, he remained composed and secure with his God, his duty, and his orders. In that order.


After completing his morning ritual with top staffers, he looked over his private record book. For the third day in a row, Mike Jeeves, the supervisor of federal prison programs, didn’t make it to the prayer meeting.


A holdover from the past regime, Jeeves always completed his tasks when asked, but there was something strange about him. He was single, just a bit too neatly dressed, his clothes were slightly too well pressed and fitted, and his hands were always perfectly manicured. He was almost handsomely pretty. Maybe it was time for a replacement. His position was about to become very, very important. The General needed someone 1000% with the program.


The day earlier, Shores embarrassed himself before Congress with his request to build more prisons. The resulting silence was still booming in his ears. It was clear that his pet project had little or no support on either side of the aisle. Shores had to do something. This was his first step in the campaign to clean up America. For too long, the east coast liberals and femi-nazis had been sending this God-fearing Christian country into ruin. It was his job, no, it was his crusade to save America from further liberal harm. Plus, he had received pretty specific directions from his true boss on how to proceed. His true earthly boss, that is.


Since his earliest memories, when his parents had blessed him with not one, but two apostles’ names, he always heeded his true lord. But, he learned that in order to do good on earth, he must obey his earthly masters as well.


The General called St. Stephen, his nickname for his FBI contact, another true believer from South Carolina. Even though the FBI reported to him, he felt far more comfortable by having his own spy inside the organization. They discussed how to re-organize the crime data and how to present a new presentation for Congress. The problem was that the state and local details had to be fuzzy, or else the locals would notice that the figures weren’t quite right. In fact, crime had never been lower, but he would never allow Congress to learn that fact.


Not only did St. Stephen share all of his beliefs, he also had incredible skills with computers, math and statistics, talents that Shores borrowed often. Plus, St. Stephen had that mercenary quality about him that could be so useful in a pinch. They often prayed together by phone, when they felt the need to do so.


After the call, he was satisfied with what St. Stephen could accomplish. He was sure that he could convince anyone on the Hill that crime was a growing problem, something that needed drastic action.


He looked out of his window, which overlooked the Justice parking lot, wondering how to present yet another next project without scaring his few remaining Senate supporters away. He glanced down and spotted Jeeves getting out of a car. Jeeves leaned back into the car and kissed the driver on the lips. Shores was horrified. The driver was another man!


The General sat down in shock. Seeing his employee commit such a vile act in public was too much. He had actually knelt in prayer with this man! He could not breathe from the shock. One man kissing another man! That was too much for the General.


If he simply fired Jeeves, the press would be all over him. That fact that Jeeves suffered from the homo disease and missed the General’s prayer meetings was bound to come out. There were no secrets in Washington, not after Monica. There had to be another way, one that made him look good, while solving his Jeeves problem forever. He thought about it for a bit. This might actually be an opportunity in disguise.


Shores had suspected that he could never get Jeeves on board with the prison project. Rather than waste time trying, why not just get rid of the queer? But he had to do it in a way that could never come back to haunt him or his plans.


As he fumed, his private line rang. Only four people knew that number, and each one commanded his entire attention. The President of the United States was not one of the four. The caller ID identified his true boss, the real power behind the curtain.


“Good Morning, Mr. Vice President. May God bless you on this wonderful day. How may I serve you?”


“Listen, Jimmy Paul, that Senate show of yours fell like my wife’s soufflé. I don’t have either the time or patience for failure, do you understand?” The VP was always blunt, almost as bad as the SecDef, but today he sounded worse than usual. Unlike most others in politics, the VP was a righteous, religious man. It was all those years in the corporate world that made him sound so short, Shores was sure.


The VP continued. “If I can’t get these prisons built, just how the hell do we start on stage II or III?”


Shores winced at the profanity. “Yes, sir. I’ve already started a way around that problem. It will take three weeks to reorganize the data and bring it into compliance for the Hill. My FBI guy is working on it as we speak. He’s a believer and very trustworthy. It should be ready to leak to the. . .”


The VP interrupted. “I don’t have that kind of time. It has to be done in one week.” He paused for a bit. “Look, John, something big is brewing. Timing is critical. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to have impact. We need to start building, pronto.”


“Yes, sir.” Shores responded.


“Now, what about your guy on prison budgeting? Is he on board?”


“Well, not as of yet, sir. And I just learned that we have a new problem with him. He has the same disease as your daughter. I was thinking of how to remove him, but, frankly, I don’t have any reasons to do so. None that I can use in public, at least.”


The VP sighed deeply. Shores remained silent. He knew better than to interrupt his boss after that sound.


“OK, here’s what we do. First, call Welsh-Turring. They’re gonna build these prisons. Tell Steve Turring personally that we need his help with paper. Explain it to him and he’ll take care of that aide of yours. He’s done it before. Then, have him get in touch with your Quantico friend. Tell him to do a special job on your homo’s Justice computer to jinny up some documents. Then tell Quantico and move up the due date on the data. This is a priority, Jimmy. Drop everything else. We have to have it in a week. No excuses. No delays.


“Finally, start your best boys in the DOJ on some new legislation. Call it “Keep America Safe for Democracy” or “The Security of America Act”, or “Peace in our Time”, or something like that. I want to see it on my desk by Friday pronto. It has to give us powers to get in and out wherever we want when we want. Warrant-less searches. Internet bugs. Add some other stuff to confuse the press. You know, like going after librarians and moving phone taps and stuff.”


The VP went on at some length, explaining what he was looking for. Then he paused. “Look, Jimmy, the timing is really critical. You have to be on board with all of this. Can you handle it?”


“Yes, sir.” He responded.


“Ok. I’m relying on you. And, Jimmy, a hush hush word in your ear. Don’t fly anywhere this week or next. And stay out of New York and the Pentagon. Hear me?”


“Yes, sir.”


The VP hung up without another word.


It was common knowledge that the VP had spent years with Welsh-Turring as its director and vice president. It was not unusual for him to rely on those he knew and trusted. Several others from his company followed him into the White House.


Shores placed his call to the VP’s former company. He was put through at once to the current president. After he hung up, he was surprised how smoothly it went. Clearly, Turring was an old hand at this stuff. Once he mentioned the VP, he was assured that the job would be done. Shores called St. Stephen back and gave him his new instructions.


He then called in his legislative team. These lawyers were best in Justice at both drafting and, where necessary, fighting for and against legislation. Most importantly, they believed in the very same Christian ideals that he stood for. These were his righteous Christian soldiers, ready to do battle in God’s name in any arena. Most of them prayed with him in this very room. He was proud of this team. His own personal Christian warriors.


Shores outlined precisely what he wanted, including some pretty drastic measures suggested by the VP. He never mentioned the source of those ideas. For a group so devoted to their leader, even they managed to find their voices to raise objections. It would never fly. No way could the Supremes keep their fingers off this stuff. The press would kill them. No Senate moderates would ever vote for it. This would never make it into law. We’d be laughed out of Congress. They all agreed that as good as these ideas were, it would backfire on Justice, and on Shores personally.


Shores held up his hands for silence. He explained that some of those ideas would merely be bones for the rabid dogs, something to grab the attention of the press. He explained his plan in detail. By the time he was done, his staff was nodding in unison. As they got into the spirit of the project, it was clear that they understood what he wanted. He sent them off to work. His Christian soldiers wouldn’t sleep until this project was done.


Shores wondered just what would be happening in the next week or so but put the idea out of his mind. He would do what he was told. He trusted the VP as his brother in prayer. They had knelt together often, not as often as he would have liked, but the VP was a busy man.


Everything was right on track for the master plan.




Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5




Chapter 2 – The Sun Also Rises




THREE DAYS LATER, “MICKIE” JEEVES walked into the Justice building right on time. As always, his clothes were perfectly pressed. His tie set off his shirt with just the right snap. His gleaming smile belonged in a toothpaste commercial. Mickie was one happy camper. A graduate from a southern Baptist law school, the last president’s wife personally approved his hiring. Despite that apparent black mark, he managed to say the right things at the right time with the current boss. His choice of law school certainly didn’t hurt.


He worked hard and raised no complaints. He even got on his knees when necessary in order to keep his job. That is, to pray, not for any other activity. From his years in Baptist schools, he could quote chapter and verse with the best of them. He just made sure never to bring in any pleasure reading into the office.


A good paying legal job, supervising federal crimes and prison funding, a great apartment near the river, and most of all, a wonderful new lover. He learned many things in school, including some things never mentioned in his law school’s syllabus. He never could understand football, except he knew early in life that those massive men attracted him a lot more than mini-skirted, buxom cheerleaders. He smiled even more at that thought. He was on top of the world.


Today, Mickie’s task was to make sure that the rehab and medical care provisions of his prison budget were being used properly. It was surprising how much adminis-trivia filled his day to day duties. He rarely used the legal skills he learned down south. Reports, studies, forms, and spreadsheets, not complaints, subpoenas and depositions.


If the national crime rates were really heading south, as rumors indicated, then an aggressive campaign to identify and treat potential criminals could have a substantial impact. For the first time, crime prevention would be given the chance and the money to work. Perhaps all those new prisons that General Shores wanted would never be needed. Then he could satisfy both his boss and his conscience at the same time.


He entered his password and logged on. He picked Michigan to start with. He had lots of data to play with because of all the mandatory sentencing lawsuits in that state. Many people had complained about the total lack of psychiatric and medical care in prison, making both the guards’ and prisoners’ lives miserable and dangerous. Having all their facts at hand made his job that much easier.


He hummed to himself as he began to read. He would try to call his lover during lunch when his classes were over.




* * *




St. Stephen used his electronic ID to get into Justice. FBI always had easy access to Justice. Security was a joke, and anyway, no one in Justice really took it seriously. Still, he was careful about being seen, even though his FBI pass pretty much gave him freedom to roam. It was 11:37am, just about time for his call. He dialed the number he had stored on his cell.


“Good morning, Assistant AG M.E. Jeeves speaking,” came the answer.


“Jeeves, it’s O’Brien in the public relations. The General asked that you gather all of the prison funding files for him in Conference Room G, 3d floor, ASAP. He’s got a meet and greet with some newsies today and you know how he much likes that stuff.” The FBI’s view of the mainstream media was no different than Justice’s. When asked how they liked the media, the typical answer was ‘broiled, with ketchup on the side’.


“The 3d floor? Are you sure? Why not in the rotunda? He’s got the statue’s tits covered by now, doesn’t he? Does he want me there, too?”


It was known within Justice that the AG hated nudity in any form. Early in his term, when the AG learned that a partially naked statute represented Justice in the media rotunda, the AG’s teeth grind so loudly that a security guard was ready to call a repair crew in the check out the source of the noise.


“Search me. I guess he wants to open the files to the press today. I see nothing here about you, so probably not. I’ll call you this afternoon if he wants you there.”


“OK. I’ll do it after lunch.” Jeeves had plans to buy something special for his new friend. He was confused, though. Opening files to the media without cleaning them? That seemed very strange.


“Sorry, Jeeves, but the AG insisted that it be done now. You better make sure that all the stuff is there yourself, just to be sure. Thanks.”


St. Stephen hung up and gave it ten. Sure enough, Jeeves was pushing a cart loaded with folders towards the elevator. It would take Jeeves at least 15 minutes, more than enough time. He walked away from the staircase and headed towards Jeeves’ office. He picked open the door, closed it behind him, making sure that no one saw him go in. He sat at the perfectly ordered desk and looked over the computer. Sure enough, the prissy smart boy was one of the few who used his security software. What would happen next would serve him right. A homo – right here in Justice. The thought of it made him angry. He put on his gloves and went to work.


Breaking into his computer was a piece of cake. He checked to see if Jeeves also used his internal keystroke tracker. It was running. St. Stephen noted the number on the machine, then inserted a disc he programmed with the help of a NSA fellow with whom he prayed. He swapped Jeeves’ State of Michigan correspondence with his own versions. At first glance, one could not tell the difference. They were almost the same length, but deep inside, the changes were brilliant. Mickie the pretty boy homo was going to be toast. He then made sure that all archived files on the network were also replaced with his doctored versions. Finally, he inserted a bit of nifty programming he called Sneak, Peak and Speak. If anyone touched this keyboard, St. Stephen would find out about it. Finally, he accessed the keystroke security program and reset it to the proper number.


He was done. No one could ever tell that these documents were not the originals. No one would know that he was even here. More importantly, he could remotely read everything on this machine the moment it happened. Mickie Jeeves would never know.


He removed his gloves, made sure his FBI tag was on straight, then headed out. He met no one until he reached the elevator bank. He left with a smile on his lips and a prayer in his heart.


Once outside, he called the General.


“General, sir, I accomplished the personal delivery. Service was timely and the respondent will now appear.”


“Good job, my brother. When can we expect his appearance?”


“No later than tonight, sir.”


St. Stephen headed back to finish his work on the new and improved crime-stat presentation.




* * *




A couple of hundred miles away in Philadelphia, the President of Welsh-Turring, Steve Turring, finally received the e-mail he had been told to expect. Sure enough, the documents were a close match to the originals. He had them printed up several times, then began moving the electronic files around. He pulled out a manual date stamp from a locked drawer and changed it back to the date he wanted. He walked over to the filing department and began replacing the old with the new. As president, no one would dare question what he was doing. He was young enough to use computers, but old enough to prefer paper in his hands. Seeing him searching for something in filing was never a surprise. He put the originals in a sealable folder and placed that folder in his personal shred and burn pile.


He returned to his office and sent a quick e-mail to the AG in Justice. It was short, simple and to anyone else reading it, it was totally benign.


He then placed a call to the local office of Justice to arrange a meeting. Every piece was falling into place at his end. Setting someone up was child’s play. Doing it to a queer was just that much more pleasant.






* * *




They ended up calling it the Patriot Act. It had a good, solid, American ring to it. They could only imagine how the leftie-socialists would look if they complained about this Act. It would make them look, well, traitorous. At this rate, this new Act would be done by the evening of Friday, the 8th.


The hard part was not adding new and improved tools; it was deciding how to phrase them so the ones they really wanted sounded innocuous, while the throw-away ideas could be trashed through the normal legislative process. Many of these ideas had been kicked around before, over lunches, and for those few who still drank alcohol, over a beer – kind of a “what if we could only” type of dreaming. But here they were, actually putting it all together on paper.


The scope of the new Act was both subtle and breath-taking. If passed, it would change law enforcement forever. It would allow the FBI to execute warrant-less searches. It authorized the FBI and the AG’s office to lie to Congress in the name of national security. It permitted the NSA and the CIA to spy on US citizens anywhere in the world, even on US territory, if there was the merest suspicion of wrongdoing. It changed the presumption of innocence to one of guilt, and thereby, allowed the secret federal FISA court to authorize whatever other steps the FBI and Justice felt appropriate. And as a final bone to ultra-liberals, it contained a sunset provision.


But everyone knew that once this Act was in force, it would never go away. It offered too many new tools to law enforcement. Once you tasted sweet candy, sour milk never tasted the same.


Even so, they closed up shop late that Friday thinking that despite their strongest prayers, the Patriot Act would never get through Congress, not after the AG’s performance earlier in the week. The Senate was going nowhere on this. But they had been called to do a job, and they had done it on time.


Copies were delivered to the AG and the VP’s residences by hand. Additional copies were made, but their final destinations were kept from the committee.


The committee chairman called the Attorney General to give him the good news. The Patriot Act was ready.




* * *

Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5





Chapter 3 – The end of the world as we knew it




THE WEEKEND CAME AND PASSED. Baseball games were played, hot dogs were grilled, soccer moms drove their kids around, and people enjoyed good weather over most of the country. Kite flying seemed to be making a come-back, as did the Red Sox. The news stations were mostly quiet. America was at peace and enjoying a typical, beautiful summer weekend.


On Monday morning, the world changed.





Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5





Chapter 4 – The Breaking of Dawn On The Morning After






THE ESTIMATES RANGED FROM 1,000 DEAD TO 50,000 MISSING. The actual number would not be known for weeks. The EPA announced that the air in NY was clean and safe, no matter how dirty it looked. Not that they bothered to test anything; the VP claimed that he just didn’t want the public to panic even more.


The SecDef made huge points by checking out the Pentagon ruins without a visible bodyguard. Other real time heroes were the NY mayor and each and every fire fighter in the country, as well as the passengers on the fourth plane.


Everyone involved played their roles perfectly. Even the President began to appear more presidential, it was almost as if he grew into his new role.


While Main Street was screaming for answers, Wall Street might not survive.


It was hard not to overplay their hand. America had just been raped. A symbol of their might and economic power was destroyed. Innocent lives were lost. Something, anything had to be done. Whispers from FBI, the CIA and the NSA to their favorite media sources suggested that Afghanistan may be involved, filled with all those dirty, bearded, Muslimites, the Tabilanskis, or what ever they were called.


For years, mainstream America had ignored, or worse, that poor, war-torn country. Most Americans couldn’t even find it on a map. Now, they could ignore it no longer.


Angry editorials were written. Demands for retribution were everywhere. America was ready to act. Without any warning or fanfare, the Patriot Act was unveiled to an angry, anxious Congress. To the great surprise of the Attorney General, not one item was changed in the Act. No senator and few congressmen dared complain about any of it. To do so would be to appear soft on terror. Most of Congress never bothered to read the damned thing anyway. Those few libertarians who had a chance to actually read it were quickly shamed into silence by questions about where their loyalties lay.


The President soon signed the Act into law. The first step of The Plan was complete. Now, the hard work began.




* * *




General Shores was now busier than ever. Not only was he forced to make public appearances with the rest of the Administration, but he got a whole new list of detailed instructions from the VP. He finally got a glimpse of the total scope of the VP’s plan. It was truly awe-inspiring. Finally, a Christian nation would be born out of the still smoldering ashes of New York.


Shores had just got off the phone with the VP. He was preparing for a very quiet, unpublicized, meeting scheduled for the following week, with a select joint committee of Congress. Each senator and congressman was chosen with care. Each member’s district or state would receive its very own, very large and expensive, prison construction project. And each member was up for re-election, something that no one seemed to notice.


He practiced his delivery one last time. He didn’t think that they would refuse him again, not after the Patriot Act was passed with so little debate. America was still seething. There was a need to do something, anything.


He had three things to accomplish. First, to tie criminal behavior to terrorism. Secondly, he needed to convince them about the need for a whole bunch of new prisons, far larger and more numerous than anyone expected. Finally, he was to push for a pilot program of controlled federal prisoner rehab, release and observation, purportedly for medical, psychiatric and financial reasons.


In reality, the release of prisoners was going to be a secret test of a whole new program, the micro-electronic tagging of individuals on a grand scale. The medical and rehab issues would be dealt with later. If ever.




* * *




One thing that Justice was extremely good at was the so-called “on background only, extremely informative, leaked secrets from unnamed, highly placed sources.” In other words, the infamous non-press release, press release. Rumors immediately started appearing about the serious wrongdoing by someone high up in Justice.


According to these deep cover sources, rather than use money intended to pay for the rehabilitation and medical treatment of ex-convicts, this high ranking Justice employee was personally misusing government funds. Almost apologetically, reports also surfaced that he was a holdover from the last administration, as though that excused his criminal conduct. The fact that he was gay was missed by everyone in the media.


A few days later, Justice released a press notice that a career lawyer in charge of all federal prison programs was placed on administrative leave, effective immediately. Copies of documents received from a Pennsylvania-based construction company supported all of the rumors.


Apparently, this Justice employee tried to strong arm the company into hiring him if he awarded it certain no-bid construction and technical contracts. He attempted to bribe the company, then tried to cover up his acts by changing documents. It was the company’s own president who reported the attempted bribe to Justice. The Department's inspection of the employee’s computer proved the allegations to be true.


Justice began to draw up an indictment of one of its own people, Mike “Mickie” Jeeves.




Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5





Chapter 5 – The Dawn Didn’t Break, It Was Already Broken




MICKIE SAT IN HIS OFFICE A BROKEN MAN. He could not understand what had just happened. It was like being hit by a Mack truck.


Just one week before, he was on top of the world. Right after Monday’s terror attacks, he was convinced that he had an important responsibility and a chance to make good things happen. Today, his career was gone, shattered and smoldering in ruins.


His family was still angry about learning about his sexual preferences years earlier. Not once did they ever agree to meet any of his boyfriends. During the early years, they denied that he was even gay. Now, they simply denied that he was ever a member of their family. Their church would never approve.


They wanted nothing to do with him. His innocence was immaterial.


His own attorney told him that he faced a very long prison sentence. His exact words were that Justice’s case against him was “iron-clad.” He would be forced to surrender himself the following morning.


Even worse, his new lover refused to take any of his calls. He found the house key he gave to his lover in an envelope stuffed in his mail slot. There was no note. That was probably the hardest blow of all. He thought that he had met his soul-mate. That too, turned out to be wrong.


He started cleaning up his personal belongings, under the watchful eyes of three armed federal marshals. Not surprisingly, Mickie completely forgot about the Justice laptop he kept at home. But then again, in these confused and dangerous times, so did the people at Justice. The belongings he was allowed to take out fit easily into one small box. Everything else was tagged as evidence.


On his way out, he tried to see his one last friend, a very plain, tall, gangly girl named Sheila Braun who handled all Freedom of Information (FOIA) requests Justice received. Sheila and he had paired up for bridge occasionally, and being odd ducks in their own way, they supported each other through thick and thin. Luckily, her office was next to the elevators, otherwise, the marshals would have kept him from even saying good-bye.


At least Sheila still acknowledged his existence. She was never invited to any prayer meetings. Being Jewish was one good excuse. Being female was another. And except for Mickie, no one here knew that she was gay, too.


“Hey, Sheila, this is it. I guess I’m out of here.”


She peered through her coke bottle glasses and tried to smile. It didn’t quite make it down to her lips.


“Hey, Mickie. You just keep on fighting. Don’t let those monsters under your bed get you down.”


The marshals pushed Jeeves towards the elevator. He had no fight left in him at all. He left the building with the small, beaten up box under his arm. He stood at the sidewalk for some time, as though he did not know which way to turn. Two cabs later, he finally got into one and went home. Tomorrow, he would turn himself in. Tomorrow his life would be over.


Jeeves sat quietly in his apartment until the darkness fell that evening. He didn’t turn on the lights. No radio, no TV. Finally, he woke up from his trance and looked around his apartment one last time. All his hopes, dreams, and . . .


He couldn't even finish the thought. His eyes were filled with tears. He spotted his Justice laptop on the kitchen table. He called Sheila and left a message on her cell to please pick the laptop up and return it to Justice. He looked around the apartment one last time. He emptied his wallet and threw it and his keys onto his bed. He held his cash in his hand as he closed his door, and headed out towards the Potomac.


Two blocks from the river, there were several bums resting around a small fire in a garbage can, tired from a long day of pan-handling. He had seen most of them every day for four years. He picked out the newest bum and handed him all of his cash and credit cards, including what he emptied out of his savings. It was a tidy amount, at least three inches high.


When the newest addition to bum's corner found a way to look through the new pile in his hands, he almost fainted. For years, he made millions trading options and futures, until an affair, a growing coke habit and a nasty divorce lawyer threw him out of a job and onto the street.


This was a godsend that would let him get back in life. That is, if he could avoid the other bums looking at him with a greedy eye.


Mickie continued on to the Potomac. The water was dark, but it seemed to be serene, almost a dead calm. That thought almost made him laugh. Dead Calm. He climbed over the barricade. The water was colder than he expected. The darkness enveloped him for the last time.




* * *




Sheila left the restaurant with her dinner untouched. The whole affair left her upset and confused. Not only was the country under attack, but her best friend at work was somehow accused of major federal crimes. Stealing from and defrauding the Justice Department? Mickie? Never. No way. Not Mickie.


None of it made any sense. She knew him pretty well and was absolutely positive that he was honest. No way would Mickie try to bribe someone. Justice was going to be his career. He would never want to work for that sleaze-ball construction company.


She checked her cell and saw a message from Mickie. She dialed her voice mail.




* * *




The country was still reeling from the terrorist attacks. It was a surprise that any part of government was able to do its job in the confusion that followed. Despite the craziness, a federal warrant was issued the next morning to arrest one Mike E. Jeeves, a former high-ranking employee of the Justice Department. At some point, the police would be sent out to arrest him, but they would find no one at home.


Because of the huge numbers of other problems facing everyone, including Justice, including the usual copy-cat bomb threats and multiple alleged terrorist sightings, Mickie’s case was put on the back-burner. Even though the police suspected that none of the terrorist sightings would amount to anything, each one had to be taken seriously. It made for many busy days and many exhausted cops. The thousands of Arabs rounded up across the country probably didn’t care for it much either.


The arrest warrant wasn’t even assigned to a particular desk for 72 hours. With their hands full with so many more pressing issues, the delay was understandable. Besides, the perp was a suit, a lawyer, a former G-man. Those guys weren’t smart enough to run and hide. At least, not smart enough to stay hidden long.




* * *




One week later, a body was spotted floating in the Potomac by a six year old girl and her illegal nanny. The nanny absolutely refused to get involved with police for any reason. Still, the little girl insisted until the nanny relented.


When the cops arrived, the nanny was shocked that they did not care about her INS status. They called in a police boat to pick up the body of this 30 - 36 year old male. It had no identification, no marks, no tattoos, nothing to show how he died. His toe was tagged with “John W. Doe 9-0027” and the body put on ice for an autopsy the following week. Only 26 other unidentified corpses were found in Washington that month, not counting the victims from the Pentagon crash. Some were bums, many more were drug addicts. Just a few were government workers. Too much work, too few workers.


It would take almost two months before he was finally identified. It took another week for the body to be matched with the outstanding warrant. Dental records provided the first clue. As a final insult, his parents refused to ID the body.


Many, many weeks later, Mickie’s great life would end with a funeral with no procession, no fanfare, no flowers, not even a public notice in the papers. The only ones in attendance would be a tall, rather plain, myopic, hook-nosed woman who held hands with her female companion and a well-dressed male standing well away from the coffin. The FBI observer hiding behind a tree could not immediately identify either woman or the man in the rain. His report concluded that no further action was necessary. They did not seem to be part of the major fraud Mickie had been accused of.


The cause of death remained undetermined, although drowning was strongly indicated. No foul play was noted. Most of the coroners were still busy processing bodies from the Pentagon.


A dead, corrupt Justice worker simply didn’t warrant much attention. Besides, there was going to be a war.



Chapters: 1  2  3  4  5