Date: Sat, 12 May 2007 07:27:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro2@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Powers, Part 19, Adult Friends, 19/20

Arrest Record, Part 19
By Jacksantoro2@yahoo.com

Note: Sorry, but this chapter has no sex in it.
There's too much going on to allow any time out for a
pleasurable interlude.

	Ed and I quickly showered and dressed, and got on the
road. Driving seemed to be the quickest way to get to
Washington, as the Grumman was down there and it would
take too long to obtain reservations on a commercial
flight. We had to struggle through New York City's
rush-hour traffic, but once we were on the New Jersey
Turnpike we were able to make good time. I was driving
as Ed briefed me on what he knew:
	"The boss told me that Harold had gone out with an
arrest team to pick up one of the terrorists in
Tyson's Corner. This time the guy resisted, pulled a
gun, and shot Harold. Harold's not seriously hurt, but
we'll have to wait for the details until we get
there."
	We pulled into a service area where we filled up on
gas, hit the bathroom, and bought a couple of
sandwiches and Pepsis to go. We didn't want to waste
time so we planned to eat while on the move. By
midnight we were at headquarters in Washington, where
Novick, one of the supervisors, filled us in on what
had happened:
	"We've been trying to round up these people as fast
as possible, and that's why we pulled Harold from your
team in New York. He and three other agents went out
to Tyson's Corner to pick up one of the people on the
list. Harold and George Armstrong were the primary
arrest team, and two other guys were their back-ups.
This guy answered the door with a 9mm in his hand and
started shouting `Allah Akbar' as he opened fire.
Armstrong was on the other side of the door-frame from
Harold, and when he saw the gun he pushed it to the
side with one hand and clobbered the guy with the
other. So instead of getting shot in the body Harold
caught a bullet in his arm. It went into his muscle,
but didn't hit bone. He lucked out, but really
Armstrong saved his life."
	"Then I guess they took the guy alive, didn't they?"
Ed asked.
	"Oh, he's alive, but barely," answered Novick.
"George hit him in the head, fractured his skull, and
gave him a brain concussion. He's in intensive care,
but probably will make it." We'd heard of George
Armstrong, whom other agents called "Strong-arm
George." He was big, about 6'6" and 250 pounds. He
certainly had the beef to fracture someone's skull
with one blow, and we knew him to be vicious as well.
Ed and I were convinced that George had been a
schoolyard bully, relishing physical confrontations.
As an agent, he also was smart enough to know when he
could get away with it. This had been a deadly force
case, with an officer shot, and if George had killed
the suspect it would have been justified.
	"Ted and Paul won't be happy over this," Novick went
on. "They want to interrogate prisoners, and this guy
may not be in shape for questioning. Even if he
survives his brain's so scrambled that he might be
totally ga-ga."At this point I didn't care much about
what Ted and Paul preferred. The important news was
that Harold wasn't seriously injured.
	"We'd like to see Harold," Ed told Novick, who told
us what hospital was treating him. A phone call
established that Harold was scheduled for discharge in
the morning, and Novick gave us permission to go home
and sleep, given the lateness of the hour. When I
asked if we could pick up Harold in the morning,
Novick agreed. On the way Ed reflected on Harold's
vulnerability:
	"Harold's a nice kid, a very nice kid," a sentiment
with which I agreed wholeheartedly. "Maybe he's a
little too nice and doesn't realize how vicious or
dangerous some people can be." I agreed with that too.

	"Maybe he was a little naïve," I suggested. "Remember
how uneasy he was when he found out what Ted and Paul
do?"
	"I remember," Ted affirmed. "Maybe after this he'll
take a little more care in these situations."
	Once home we stripped down and fell into bed,
exhausted from the day's events. We awoke at eight,
and Ed phoned the hospital to notify the staff that we
were on our way. After a quick shower we dressed and
got on the road again, Ed driving because he knew
exactly where the hospital was. Upon arrival we went
though the formalities, signing releases, and a nurse
wheeled Harold down to the lobby to meet us. It was a
gripping moment, and we shook hands without saying
anything, just glad that we hadn't been permanently
separated.
	"I'm hungry," Ed said. "Let's get something to eat
before going home. You hungry, Harold?"
	"I think I am," Harold replied. They fed me
breakfast, but you know hospital food." I nodded, for
I was well aware that, if you wanted gourmet dining
there were three places to avoid: hospitals, the
airlines, and prison. We stopped at a diner we knew
was good and ordered conventional ham and eggs
breakfasts. Harold's left arm was in a sling but he
was able to eat with his right. Ed cut his ham slice
into bite size pieces for him.
	"Does it hurt much?" I asked.
	"No, surprisingly it doesn't," Harold replied. "They
gave me a vial of Vicodin for pain, but I haven't
taken one yet. It just feels a little sore."
	"You were lucky," Ed told him.
	"I know I was," Harold agreed. "The other arrests we
made went down so well I didn't anticipate that this
guy would be a fanatic, that he'd actually come out
shooting."
	"You never know what can happen," Ed admonished him.
"That's why we take the guy down right away, no
questions asked. That's how we've stayed alive so
far."
	"I know you're right," Harold admitted. "I saw how
you and Jack took them by surprise, and how Ted and
Paul got them on the ground and needled them before
they knew what hit them."
	"Don't blame yourself too much," Ed reassured him.
"Other guys were there with you. They should have
known better."
	"George saved my life, I guess," Harold said. "If he
hadn't hit that guy so fast he would have killed me."
	"George is fast and he hits hard, but it shouldn't
have gotten to that point," I told him. "He should
have been more careful, maybe grabbed the guy the
moment he opened the door and floored him." Ed nodded
agreement. We ate in silence after that, interrupted
only by a call from Novick on Ed's cell phone. He
wanted us to report in to work with an arrest team. Ed
said we'd be in as quickly as we could. When we'd
finished eating, we took Harold to our house and told
him we'd be back whenever we could.
	Back at the office we met Novick, who assigned us to
work with Ted and Paul, since we'd worked together
before. I was happy with this arrangement, knowing Ted
and Paul's no-nonsense approach to their work.
	"Bitch what happened to Harold," Ted commented as we
rode out to a suspect's address in Vienna, Virginia,
in a van.
	"Just shows we have to be careful," Ed added.
	"Yeah, but we don't have to half-kill the guy like
Strong-arm George did," Ted told him. "He's got to be
in shape to answer questions."
	"No argument about that," I said.
	"Those guys in New Jersey were assholes," Ted said,
commenting on the previous day's events. Six terrorist
suspects had been arrested by the FBI for planning to
attack soldiers at Fort Dix.
	"Yeah, can you imagine anybody stupid enough to make
a tape of themselves shooting and yelling `Allah
Akbar' and then bringing it in to a duplication store?
Even the FBI were able to follow up on that," Ed said.

	"Yeah, they were amateurs, not trained in the Middle
East," I agreed. Trained terrorists would have been
more professional and would have made a serious effort
to blend in with their environment, instead of
advertising themselves in such a stupid manner.
However, the ominous aspect of this case was that
these terrorists were free-lance, unconnected with the
Middle Easy groups. There was no way of knowing how
many other individuals or groups were planning
attacks.
When we got to the suspect's address, a private house,
we quickly conferred on the arrest plan. Paul had
followed the van in an old car, and when we'd gotten
confirmation from the surveillance team that the
suspect was home Paul drove it into his driveway,
smashing the rear end of the suspect's car with a loud
crash.
	The suspect came out of his front door, a look of
anguish on his face as he surveyed the scene and saw
Paul staggering as if drunk, not noticing Ed and me on
either side of him. We had him flat on the concrete
before he knew what hit him, and as we handcuffed him
Ted ran up and slipped a needle in his wrist. Seconds
later, our suspect stopped screaming and went limp. No
neighbors had appeared to notice the commotion, and we
guessed that they were all at work or out shopping. We
brought him back to headquarters, because the
interrogation facility was already filled to capacity.

	We had barely finished the paperwork after locking
our prisoner in a cell than Novick caught up to us
with another assignment. This one was potentially more
hazardous than the previous one because there were two
suspects sharing a house. I remembered an instructor
at the academy telling the class that the difficulty
of an arrest increases with the square of the
suspects. I didn't know if this was literally true but
I knew that we had to be prepared to cover two
suspects and that we might need more manpower than for
the previous arrest. When Ed asked Novick about this
he replied that we were stretched too thinly, and that
we'd have to make do with only the four of us. Worse,
there was no surveillance team to keep us up to date
or to lend assistance.
	"We're screwed," Ed said with disgust as we walked to
the parking lot. "If these guys are hot fanatics like
the guy who shot Harold, we could have a real fight on
our hands." I didn't like it either, and wondered if
we could come up with an innovative tactic to flush
out or two suspects. Time was pressing, and we just
could not wait until they emerged of their own accord.

	"Let's stop in at the local fire station," Ted
suggested during the drive out. "Maybe we can make
something happen." I wondered what he had in mind. I'd
already thought of starting a fire next to the house,
but the danger to other houses and possibly their
occupants' lives was too great to consider this
seriously.
	At the fire station, Ted showed his credentials and
asked to see the captain. He outlined his plan to the
captain and two lieutenants the captain had called in
for the conference, and then he borrowed four helmets
and turn-out coats from the captain. We followed the
two pumpers and one hook-and-ladder truck to the block
where the suspects lived, parked our car, and then
joined the firefighters, who were going door to door
along the block telling people that they had received
a report of a gas main leak and were evacuating
residents as a precaution.
	Ted, Paul, Ed, and I walked to the suspects' address.
We were in luck. The flashing lights and commotion
outside had brought the suspects to the door, and when
we walked up to them we told them the gas main story.
The moment we were within reach, we floored them, Ted
and Paul working in conjunction to put one suspect
face down on the walkway, while Ed and I tackled the
other. We had them cuffed within seconds and then Ted
brought out the flat plastic case with his syringes to
make them relaxed and docile.
	Their dazed state also made them unable to reach for
any suicide pills, in case they were packing them. So
far, we had not encountered this, but we searched our
prisoners thoroughly for these and other materials
that might be evidence, just to be safe.
	We packed our prisoners into the van and drove back
to headquarters. There, we experienced a repetition of
the earlier scene, because as we were finishing the
paperwork on our two suspects Novick came in with
another assignment. He gave us the address of another
terrorist to pick up.
 	We were tired, and very cognizant that the suspects
we were arresting were not compliant, over-the-hill
types such as Massad, but terrorist front line
soldiers ready to sacrifice their lives for the cause.
If they didn't give a damn about their own lives, they
wouldn't hesitate to kill one or more of us if they
had the opportunity. To them, we were unclean
infidels, lower than animals.
	I phoned Harold at the house and told him we'd be
home late, as the investigation was culminating and we
were making a maximum effort to round up the
terrorists quickly. I told him that there was only one
terrorist involved this trip, and added that we'd be
all right. I certainly didn't feel the confidence I
expressed to him. As we walked out to the parking lot,
something struck me.
	"Hey guys, let's put on our vests," I said, realizing
that we'd become so tired that we'd neglected to don
our ballistic vests before going out on the
assignments. This was rank carelessness, and could be
a deadly oversight. The others looked at me as the
same realization dawned on them. We were not in the
best shape to carry out an efficient and neat arrest,
tired as we were, and we had to be extra careful not
to make any stupid mistakes.
	We retrieved our vests from the van. We wore Second
Chance Kevlar vests, Level II, which would stop a .44
Magnum if ever we had the misfortune to be hit by one.
We took off our jackets and shirts, putting the vests
on, and then got dressed again. This didn't attract
any notice, as our parking lot was fenced off from the
sidewalk and street. Despite the summer heat, the
vests were comfortable. Some vests were not. This
provided a strong disincentive to leave them in the
locker, and a couple of law enforcement officers had
been killed because of this. I preferred to wear a
vest despite any discomfort. As one of our instructors
had told us at the academy:
	"A vest is hot, but a bullet's hotter." This was good
advice. Anyone who ignored it was taking an
unnecessary risk.
	By the time we'd reached the suspect's address, it
was dark. There was a parking space almost in front of
the apartment building and we took it. Inside we
searched out the apartment manager and explained the
situation to him. He placed a call to the suspect's
apartment and told him that there was an electrical
problem and that there was possibly a short circuit in
his wiring that might start a fire. He told him that
he was sending an electrician up to look at it. I
borrowed a work jacket from him and we took the
elevator to the fourth floor where the suspect lived.
	I knocked on the door while Ed stood to the side. The
suspect opened the door and as soon as he stepped into
the doorway I grabbed his arm and pulled him through.
Ed tackled him from the other side and within a second
we had him face down on the floor. I put the cuffs on
him as Ted and Paul ran up from down the hall, where
they'd been waiting. A quick jab with Ted's syringe
and our prisoner was dazed and docile.
	"This stuff works pretty well," Ted said to us. "It's
the same stuff they give to guys on death row before
they execute them. One shot of this and they don't
know where they are. Some used to put up a hell of a
fight as they were being dragged to the electric chair
or gas chamber. Now they go very quietly." We took our
prisoner downstairs, thanked the manager for his help,
and I handed him back his jacket. Then we drove back
to headquarters.
	By this time there was a traffic jam in the holding
cells. They were chock-full of prisoners, so
successful had been our efforts, and those of other
agents, that day. There was no hope of flying any of
them out to the interrogation center, as it was full
to capacity. Strictly speaking, this wasn't our
problem. People in higher pay grades than ours had to
cope with these problems, and we were happy just to do
our jobs.
	It was no surprise that Novick handed us yet another
assignment as we finished processing our prisoner.
This was yet another apartment building but in
Rosslyn, a suburban town. We drove out there, yawning,
because we were desperately tired. I knew that this
was a dangerous state, but by this time I was too
tired to care. At the back of my mind I knew that we
were too tired to maintain the degree of alertness
that the situation required, but I didn't say
anything, calculating that the other knew this as
well.
	We stopped at a drive-through hamburger joint, as we
had not had anything to eat for many hours. We ate on
the road, to save time, and had finished our burgers
and drinks long before we arrived at the address.
	As we got out of the van Paul slammed the door. I
didn't think anything of this at the time, and
although I saw a curtain move in a second floor
window, I didn't attach any importance to it. As the
electrical problem trick had worked so well before, we
decided to use it again. The apartment manager
dutifully made the phone call, and I donned a work
jacket over my shirt.
	This time we took the stairs, as the suspect lived on
the second floor next to the stair well. By this time
it was near midnight, and we treaded slowly and
carefully, not wanting to awaken anyone except the
suspect. The building was very quiet, and we crept up
the stairs and slowly opened the door.
	The plan was for Ed and me to approach the door,
while Ted and Paul waited in the stair well, close
enough to rush in and reinforce us when needed. I
walked a couple of steps to stand in front of the
door, facing squarely the way a service technician
would. I could not act furtively, because that would
alert the occupant that something was wring. Ed, on
the other hand, stood by the wall next to the
door-frame, ready to act.
	For some reason I felt very apprehensive as I knocked
on the door. I saw a flicker behind the peep-hole and
I announced myself:
	"Electrician." The door opened and a short, slight
man stepped halfway out. He looked down at my hands
and perhaps was surprised that I was not holding a
toolbox. I grabbed his right arm as Ed grabbed his
left, and we threw him flat on the floor as Ted and
Paul rushed from the stair well. Ed had him already
cuffed as Ted slipped in the needle. I stood and faced
the interior of the apartment. There was a doorway to
the immediate right of the entrance, and suddenly a
bearded man jumped out, holding a Makarov pistol
pointed at me. I froze, shocked that this could be
happening to me.
	The pistol, I knew, was a 9mm, but the hole in the
barrel looked huge as I stared at it for an instant. I
opened my mouth to shout a warning, but at that moment
flame exploded from the muzzle and I felt a heavy
impact, like being struck hard with a ball-peen
hammer, in the center of my chest.

Continued in Part 20