Prologue - Undercover Story

California would be a good place to be.  Anyplace, but here in Brooklyn, he thought.



The crowd pressed against him as the subway car maneuvered around the turn leading to the section of track that would take it above ground and over the Brooklyn Bridge.  The sweaty middle eastern guy not two feet from him reeked of curry and b.o., the fading beauty long past her prime was even closer and threw off waves of bad perfume, the construction worker with already dirty clothes was carrying a brown bag that had a large grease stain threatening to burst it’s contents out onto the floor and probably onto the people standing nearby and the teenage girl with black lipstick right next to him had pimples in great profusion.  “The armpit of the world” his brain observed.  Trying to distract himself from the unpleasant surroundings he looked down at the river once the train had broken into the sunlight and begun its’ climb over the bridge.  A small oil tanker was just north, somewhere around 23rd St he figured, heading upriver.  Two helicopters cruised at low altitude using the airspace above the water as their superhighway.  One, distinctly a Coast Guard unit the other unmarked and very expensive looking could have been a corporate craft.  He imagined a solitary middle aged business tycoon on his way to an important meeting where millions of dollars or some other precious commodity was at stake. 



Once again he thought that anywhere would be better than here.



The City Hall subway station let out into the plaza just below City Hall and the myriad of workers dispersed into the many private and municipal office buildings.  Some stopped at the street vendors, which nowadays sold everything including your morning coffee.  People had their favorites and many of the carts had small lines of customers. He walked south one block to Nassau Street and entered a nondescript building in the middle of the block.  Riding the elevator to the 12th floor was a always a welcome if only brief respite from the cacophony of the city.  The building housed about 20 companies of less than glamorous stature two or three to a floor.  The sign on the door of 1202 read Midlantic Trading Company.  He punched in his pass code and heard the lock ratchet open.  The sparse small room was appointed with one desk, one chair, an empty filing cabinet a telephone and nothing else.  No pictures, no calendars, no papers on the desk not even a paper clip.  He unlocked the file cabinet and placed his envelope inside, relocking it he dialed the phone and announced “The package has arrived” to the unknown voice on the other end.  He closed the light and left the office and the building.



Back on the street he looked for the white van.  It was always there when he left the office.  It was never there when he went in, but always there when he came out.  Like a monument parked in front of the fire hydrant.  He wasn’t supposed to know , but after three years it became very clear to him.  It had become one of the reasons that his weekly trip to Nassau St was the only order he obeyed without his own modifications.  If these guys were so obvious in a routine assignment their actions would likely get him killed out in the field.  Every time he saw the van he thought it was a good thing because it reminded him that he was truly the only one keeping him alive.  The occupants were a rotation of several large burly men.  He hadn’t quite figured out the schedule yet.  Today it was “black mustache” man.  He knew that as soon as he had rounded the corner and was out of sight ‘black mustache’ man would go up to the office and retrieve the envelope.  The routine was the same each and every time.  No matter the content of the envelope, it was never left to sit in the file cabinet for more than a matter of minutes.  What sophomoric crap he thought to himself.  I could just as easily put the damn thing in the mail, instead of humping downtown once a week just to drop it into a file cabinet in a make believe office.  Cloak and dagger bored him, but he had his orders.  This is the way it was, so be it.



This part of working undercover was just a boring as other parts of police work.  Not that he knew exactly, because he had never done other police work.  He had been recruited even before he had been sworn in as a police officer.  He had taken the test alright, knew he had passed it handily and was waiting for the official notification when he was approached one morning by a big Irish detective lieutenant as he left for work.



“Alex Hathaway?” the big man had inquired.  “Who wants to know?” was his response in typical New York suspicious fashion.  “My name doesn’t matter.  I am here to talk to you about the test you took for the NYPD”.  The conversation was very brief, lasting no more than five minutes, seven tops.  “You have certain attributes that would be very valuable to the NYPD.  You are smart, you don’t look your age and you got in just enough trouble when you were younger to know your way around the streets.  You would never last as a uniform cop, you are too good for that.  We want you to work on your own.  We will give you assignments completely separate from the rest of the department.  You will continue to live your life exactly as it is now, but with little twists now and again. If you say yes, you start today.  All your records will be completed by me and held in the Commissioners office.  You will answer to no one but me.  You will in no way indicate to anyone, not even your family what your real job is.  This is the deepest form of undercover work.  No gun, no shield, no ID, yet you are one of us.  I will bump into you sometime tomorrow for your answer.”  Alex looked at him dumbfounded as the lieutenant turned to walk away.  “Where will I meet you?” he asked. “I’ll find you” came the response as the big man continued to walk away.



Quite a heady day that was Alex remembered.  He couldn’t concentrate on his daily tasks, had no appetite, didn’t sleep for a moment that night.  What was he being asked to do?  He had only taken that damn test because his mother had nagged him.  She told him just do it for her.  She thought as any mother thought that her son was better than he knew.  It hadn’t been the jobs he held that worried her, she knew in her heart that he would be perfectly fine at being a success in whatever he would do, it was some of the people that were part of his life as a result of the jobs he held.  “Ne’er do wells” and from her love of Western movies “grifters,” she thought and often said.  Alex couldn’t see it but it was crystal clear to Mom.  Enough time spent with those characters and Alex would eventually get in trouble and ruin his life.  The faster she could convince him to look for something better the happier she would be.  Not that she saw civil service, or the police department for that matter to be his career path, it was just a way of making Alex move in the right direction.   



The big man didn’t return as Alex had thought he would, first thing right outside his door.  The day had worn on, morning became noon, afternoon had turned into evening.  Just when Alex began to think he had imagined the whole thing the lieutenant was walking along side of him.  Very easily he said “Hello Alex, have you thought about it?”  “I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”  “And?” said the big man, never looking at Alex as they walked.  “If I say yes, do I spend my whole time doing your special assignments.  Do I ever get to be a regular cop?” Alex asked.  “I don’t think you will every be a “regular” cop. If you mean wear a uniform and walk a beat.  Working for this unit you get to bypass all of that.  After some time with us, depending on the circumstances you will be mainstreamed and work in regular investigations, with regular detectives, but something tells me that you my friend will never be “regular”.  I read your profile and I think you have a gift for this type of work.  Don’t ask me how, I just know it.  I’ve recruited lots of guys, and some girls, and I see something very different in you..”

Not missing a beat Alex said “How long is “some time”?”  “I can’t say exactly but the shortest time anyone has ever spent with us is six months and the longest is still out in the field after eleven years.”  “If I don’t like it, can I get out?”  “Smart question Alex.  Look, because you will do and say things to lots of different people, some very bad people, if you decide that the job is not for you you will be released back to your civilian life.  Your existence as a member of the force will be completely obliterated.  It is for your own good.  If you decide to leave you will be out there truly on you own and it would not be a good thing for someone, someday to out you as an undercover. Do you understand.?”

The all or nothing of it was the deal closer for Alex.  The challenge to succeed had been laid down and he eagerly accepted. 



He was handed a Chinese menu by the lieutenant.  “Order take-out tomorrow night.”