Broken Shield Read online

  As he walked over to where Thomas was leaning up against the fender of his Charger he tapped a few buttons on the mobile IAFS device. “You sure your name is Thomas Watson?” he asked as he carefully placed Thomas’s thumb against the screen of the mobile fingerprint reader.

  “Yeah…” was the only word that Lawrence was able to make out. A brief second passed before the finger print reader beeped signaling it had finished scanning the suspect’s thumb print and he brought the device back in front of him so that he could read the display. Connecting to the laptop in his vehicle via a bluetooth connection the mobile fingerprint reader began to scan through millions of individual fingerprints in seconds.

  The display screen delivered a “Match found” message and then produced a second message asking the question, “View subject information?” Lawrence tapped the screen and almost immediately glanced up at Thomas hesitating for only a moment before speaking.

  “Thomas Watson?” He asked, “…you sure about that?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Say’s here your name is Thomas Burruel.” Thomas shrugged his shoulders,

  “Whatever man…” Lawrence shook his head and slid his finger across the glass touch screen which moved a different information screen onto the display. He tapped an icon on the mobile fingerprint reader which read Criminal Justice Law Enforcement Data Services. Another question popped up on the screen, “Run suspect information in CJLEADS?” He tapped yes and another moment went by. He grinned knowingly when he saw what was displayed next.

  “Mr. Burruel…” he said, “…it appears you have a warrant for your arrest.”

  “For what?” he asked. Lawrence shifted through the information on the screen.

  “Looks like you missed court for a charge of driving while your license was revoked.”

  “Whatever man…” Thomas responded, “I was in court for that, but you do what you gotta do.”

  Lawrence rolled his eyes slightly before speaking to Morrisey, “Want me to transfer his information to the laptop in your car for the arrest?”

  “Yes…” Morrisey responded followed by, “Can you drive us back over to our vehicle as well?” Lawrence nodded his head as he watched as Hesser placed Thomas Burruel into the back of his patrol car.

  As soon as the back door to the Charger was closed, Hesser could see two more Wilmington PD vehicles coming down the street towards them. One was a Dodge Charger similar to John Lawrence’s car while the other was a new style Chevy Caprice which he recognized as his Sergeant's patrol car. Lawrence waved the first officer on signaling they were no longer in need of assistance. The officer in the Charger sped away onto his next call. The Chevy Caprice pulled up directly behind Lawrence’s Charger and a tall officer stepped out in a perfectly pressed uniform with sergeant chevrons on his sleeves. Appearing to be a mix of black and Hispanic decent and in his mid-forties Sergeant Jamie Gelman had to be at least 6 feet tall with a muscular frame.

  “What have we got boys?” he asked as he walked closer.

  Unsure of how to answer after his earlier chastisement, Hesser glanced over at Morrisey who spoke, “My rookie tried to pull our guy over for a busted tail light…he jumped and ran. Turns out he has a failure to appear warrant for driving while license revoked.”

  Sergeant Gelman nodded his head. “Good job…” he said, “You guys need any help with anything?”

  “I think we got it sir.” Morrisey responded and Sergeant Gelman nodded,

  “Okay, well call if you do.” He said before turning and walking back to his patrol car.

  ….

  Hesser drove his Dodge Charger into the parking lot of the New Hanover County Sheriff’s Office and pulled his vehicle into an open parking space near the main entrance to the intake portion of the jail. Located on county land outside Wilmington’s City limits, the facility was divided into three large interconnected buildings along with three other “support” buildings and several more small structures scattered about the property. The expansive complex housed both the county jail and the Sheriff Department’s main office.

  The section where they were parked in front of was primarily composed of a massive concrete wall pierced by a metal access door with a security camera mounted above it and a second entrance point which consisted of a large chain link garage door big enough to accommodate a patrol vehicle. That particular entrance was used for the most combative of arrestees.

  Parked several spaces down from Hesser’s and Morrisey’s vehicle were two brand new jet black Chevy Tahoe’s with dark tinted windows and all terrain tires. There were no markings whatsoever on either vehicle, but one could see numerous sets of LED lights mounted inside them. A rugged looking tubular steel push guard was mounted to the front of each SUV.

  “NGP is here…” Morrisey said in a wary tone. Hesser nodded his head in response as his training officer turned to look at Thomas through the glass partition of the patrol vehicle.

  “Be glad we were the ones that arrested you and not them.” Thomas did not respond to his statement.

  As the three men walked over towards the steel entrance door and in front of the security camera they heard a loud clank as an unseen corrections officer unlocked the door from an inside control room. But even before either of the policemen had the chance to open it, the door swung open revealing 3 men standing on the other side. One of the men was black while the other two were white, all were tall with extremely muscular builds and it was easy to assume that they all had prior military experience.

  They all wore navy blue Battle Dress Uniform pants along with a button down BDU shirt that was also a dark navy color. Each man wore a black level 3 bullet resistant vest on the exterior of their body with an intricately modeled, highly polished brass badge attached to the upper left side. Extra AR-15 rifle magazines sat snuggly in pouches attached to a lower section of their body armor and in the upper right shoulder portion of the vest six extra Maxstop IRP shotgun shells were slid into elastic loops. The words “National Governing Police” were sewn in gold lettering across the back of the body armor they wore and approximately ten inches below that was a pouch where a gas mask could easily be placed. Colt 1911 .45’s were strapped via thigh holsters to their legs and various other pieces of equipment adorned their equipment belts including extra magazines for their handguns, a radio, handcuffs, pepper spray, a collapsible baton, and a Taser mounted in a cross draw holster.

  Chris Hesser was instantly impressed at what he saw. As the NGP Officers passed by he spoke.

  “Get anything good?” he asked. Morrisey immediately rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance.

  Two of the officers barely acknowledged their presence and continued walking while the other looked over at them with a bit of a smug look on his face.

  “Just some conduct contrary to the interests of the nation…” he responded before turning away and walking over to his Tahoe.

  “I’m surprised they talked to you at all.” Morrisey said.

  “Why?”

  “NGP doesn’t usually talk to us mere “mortals” unless they have a specific reason for it.”

  “Oh…” Hesser responded as he directed Thomas through one of two doorways that would lead into the jail.

  ….

  The patrol car was relatively silent as they drove away from the New Hanover County Jail and began their short trek back toward Wilmington’s City limits. Hesser was already on edge as he awaited another lecture about his actions. He didn’t have to wait long to get one.

  “I don’t expect you to do something like this again. I’ll be putting this incident into your weekly training evaluation.”

  “I told you I didn’t hear you calling me.” Hesser responded in a somewhat exasperated tone.

  “That doesn’t matter…you should already know better than to do something like that.”

  “Was I just supposed to let the guy run away?”

  “Yes…” Morrisey responded. “You had no idea why he was running, what he had on hi
m, or where he was heading.” There was a moment’s pause before Morrisey continued talking, “For all you knew he could have been another suicide bomber with a vest loaded with plastic explosives and nails, or he could have been an Occupy Congress protestor leading you into a trap just like the one Terrance Walth walked into.”

  Annoyed by the constant criticism of his training officer over the last several weeks Hesser spoke without thinking, “Sergeant Gelman and John Lawrence didn’t seem to think I did anything wrong.” The second the words left his mouth he cringed.

  “I don’t give a damn what they think.” Morrisey immediately shot back, “I’m your training officer and you’re going to do as I tell you to!” Hesser immediately felt himself recoil.

  “Sergeant Gelman is getting close to retirement and as long as nobody makes any waves for him he’s not going to pursue anything too heavily…” There was another pause as Morrisey thought for a moment, “…and John…John’s a whole other subject entirely. He wants to do nothing, but chase suspects until the wheels fall off his patrol car, be the first one to every call in the District, and run DWI’s into the ground. He’s been here for years and has yet to get out of that “fresh out of the academy stage” that you are currently still in and that’s why he’s in Internal Affairs at least once a month trying to explain something that he has done. I know you’ve enjoyed riding with him a few times when I’ve been off, but that guy is trouble and a jinx and it would behoove you to stay away from him. It’s only a matter of time before he gets himself or someone else into a lot of trouble.”

  There was another break in the conversation before Morrisey again picked it back up. “Don’t try to be a hero kid.” He said, “They get into too much trouble and are usually fired…or die young. If you wanna last at this job you gotta know how to play the game.” Hesser let out a small defeated sigh in response to this latest rant. Silence once again encompassed the patrol vehicle as it drove onwards down the road.

  CHAPTER 2

  Every pew of the large church was packed to capacity with hundreds of police officers and civilians. The crowd was so large that many individuals were forced to stand in the aisles, entranceways, and foyer area. Sun light cascading into the sanctuary through the beautiful stained glass windows and produced unique color patterns accenting the bundles of flowers that had been carefully placed near the alter. The massive sea of uniformed officers waited silently inside the cathedral all staring at the ornate wooden casket that was draped with an American flag at the front of the church. Standing guard next to his fallen comrade was a solitary Wilmington Police Officer in full dress uniform. The highly polished nickel badges on both his uniform hat and breast gleamed in the light while his white gloves stood out sharply against his black uniform and glistening chlorofram shoes. He stood perfectly still, almost as if he were a statue.

  At last, the time came for him to move and he marched several feet out in front of the casket and then abruptly turned to face it, standing perfectly still for brief moment before slowly bringing up his right hand in salute. A few seconds drifted by as the entire church remained completely silent…waiting. There was a popping sound as the billow to a bagpipe was struck by the instrument player’s hand and he began to play a somber rendition of Amazing Grace. First a solitary bagpiper played, but after a few seconds several more joined him. The music echoed off the walls of the church and all the while the lone officer maintained his salute to the casket. Except for the occasional sound of a few people crying nothing else, but the music could be heard. The minutes slowly passed by until the pipers finished the lament and the church once again fell silent. In that quiet moment the solitary Officer gradually lowered his right hand back down to his side. He completed a slow about face and marched up the aisle at a steady even pace. There was another moment of reflection before an individual stood from his seated position located on one of the front pews.

  Chief Herman Stickel slowly walked up the stairs and onto the stage. An intimidating figure he stood at least 6’5” tall and weighed around 270 pounds. Both sides of the collar of his black dress uniform were adorned with four small gold stars running in a more or less vertical patter and the brim of his uniform hat which was tucked under his left arm had a gold leaf pattern displayed on it. His highly polished gold chief’s badge sparkled in the light as he walked across the stage towards its center. When he reached his position, he turned to face the audience. He carefully placed his hat inside the hollowed out portion of the pulpit and then gripped the platform’s edges with both hands. He took a deep breath and prepared to speak.

  ….

  Jennifer Fields stood at attention and in formation with the rest of her fellow cadets, approximately thirty in all. Her dress uniform was impeccable; a solid black dress Ike jacket with brass buttons and epaulets was pulled taught against her toned body and held tightly in place by her black chlorofram equipment belt. A colt 1911 .45 caliber handgun was located in a holster on her right hip, two extra magazines were on her left side, and a pair of handcuffs sat in a case near her back hip. Under her jacket she wore a charcoal gray long sleeve button down dress shirt and a black tie. Her snug black uniform dress pants had a perfectly ironed crease in them and her shoes were polished to a high gloss shine. A black and leather uniform hat adorned her head with a gleaming brass shield attached to it. Had her long black hair not been braided and tucked into her hat it would have fallen down past her shoulders.

  An ornate brass badge was affixed to the left side of her Ike Jacket. Obviously handmade, most of the badge resembled the stereotypical police shield; however the head and wings of a bald eagle were laid over the top of it. In the center of the badge was the symbol for the United States of America, an eagle with outstretched wings and talons; the claws clutching thirteen arrows on the right side and an olive branch on the left. A red, white, and blue shield with inlaid stars rested on the eagle’s chest. Outlined in royal blue at the top of the badge were the words “National Governing” and “Police” was scrolled across the bottom.

  Jennifer was practically giddy and joyous excitement shone in her large brown eyes. She actually found she was having trouble holding in her smile, every so often allowing it to dance across her beautiful face. The contrast between her fair skin and the black uniform accented her provocative allure. At barely 5’5” she was one of the smaller NGP cadets. Those who had worked with her had learned, often at their own expense, not to let her size fool them. Cunning and determined, Jennifer was unafraid to use whatever means were at her disposal to obtain what she desired. If people tended to underestimate her, that was their problem and it made her all the more dangerous. She had managed to hone the use of her own sexuality against both men and women during her interrogation training with the NGP; a talent that had resulted in one particular cadet being expelled.

  Jennifer eagerly watched the stage at the front of the medium sized auditorium inside the National Governing Police headquarters as NGP Chief Vincent Evans spoke at her graduation. An older male with tanned skin and a fit build who was in his mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair, he too wore the same uniform as Jennifer. He paced back and forth on the stage as he spoke of honor, duty, justice, and discipline. He warned against what he described as the dangers of personal feelings and convictions interfering with governmental obligations, the destructive results of combining any religion and the state at a time when religious extremist terrorist attacks were occurring at an all too frequent rate. Above all, he made it clear that an unquestioned loyalty towards the policies and practices of the NGP was of the utmost importance. Nothing, but the state and its greater good mattered, because if the state prospered, then so did the people. Jennifer eagerly drank it all in as the triumphantly evil smile on her face continued to grow.

  ….

  John Lawrence stood at attention along with hundreds of other officers outside of the large church. His dress uniform was in pristine condition and his nickel plated badge gleamed brightly in the sunlight. He consciou
sly chose to ignore the unpleasant afternoon heat as it beat down on him. Beads of sweat rolled down his face from where his uniform hat pressed against his forehead while the sweat soaked Under Armour t-shirt that he wore beneath his bullet resistant vest clung to his body. Still he disregarded all the discomfort in honor of his fallen comrade as six uniformed pallbearers carried the casket out of the church and towards a waiting hearse.

  John felt that the funeral speech that Chief Stickel had just delivered had been appropriate enough. Nevertheless, he believed that the Chief’s words had ultimately been shallow and meaningless. It was his political obligation to be here, but John was willing to bet that if the chief had been asked just a week ago who Terrance Walth was he would have been unable to answer the question. To Stickel, Terrance was just another officer, one of hundreds who shared little connection to him other than to fill an empty slot on a squad.

  Still, the last few words of the eulogy haunted John, “For a man who has done his natural duty, death is as natural as sleep.” Those words were strangely eloquent coming from a man who had spent the better part of his police career behind a desk filling out paperwork.

  “Officers! Present arms!” a captain shouted from somewhere inside the sea of uniforms. All officers including John quickly raised their right hands and saluted as the pallbearers carried the wooden casket in front of them. The entire area surrounding the church was eerily quiet. Except for the occasional smothered sob, the rustling of trees blown by a gentle sea breeze, or the quiet drone of traffic noise from the nearby roadway there was virtually no sound.