The Invictus

2 Special Duty-1

“All this 9/11 s**t keeps us jumping through hoops, you know?” Detective Ramirez complained about an all too familiar situation as they made their way toward an auditorium in Chicago’s Seventh Precinct.

“Maybe they’re changing the color of the threat level again,” Danny piled on, faking trepidation. “Hopefully, it hasn’t reached hot pink!”

It was midmorning, and Detective Danny Walsh and his colleague were being called in to yet another impromptu briefing. Ramirez, a detective in narcotics, was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—his usual daily attire—with his shield and identification on a lanyard around his neck. Danny wore a sport coat and slacks and used a plain fiberglass cane to assist with walking.

As they neared the auditorium, Danny continued to vent. “With all our resources getting pulled in every potential threat related to 9/11, you’d think the city would be ready to take any help they could get with the normal bullshit: the trafficking rings, homicides, the mob, and everything else in the stew.”

“For real,” Ramirez agreed. “You itching to get back at it, my man?”

“You know it. Homicide was always good for me, but now I’d even settle for something in Organized Crime.”

“Walsh, you know that none of those wise guys wants a piece of you.” Ramirez spoke of Danny’s reputation.

“Sure. Something like that.” Danny knew Ramirez didn’t mean it. He would have meant it in the past, but things were different now, and they both knew it. Danny’s injuries had left him less than intimating compared to his old self. He still talked a good game, but the nagging doubts echoed in his mind.

As the officers gathered for the meeting, Danny couldn’t help but feel invisible. Before the attack, his commanding presence and gregarious nature would have generated buzz and banter in the room. He’d always been the center of attention. But consciously or subconsciously, his colleagues were treating him differently. The novelty of his return to the force after a dramatic, life-threatening experience had worn off. Now, with each passing day, he felt less like a cop and more like a walking publicity stunt. Devalued, marginalized.

In the year that had passed since the ceremony that reintroduced him to the force, he had become resigned to covering cursory duties that left him feeling frustrated: desk work, research, and an occasional investigation. The attack occurred at the end of 2000, and he hadn’t made enough progress to rejoin the force in limited capacity until the spring of 2002. While he had gone through a lot of changes to get to that point, there had also been changes in the law enforcement landscape during that time. The Chicago Police Department’s attention and resources were being pulled into preparing for, assessing, and investigating real or suspected threats from Al Qaeda and other potential terrorist cells in the city.

The seats in the auditorium were small and cramped, and Danny had some difficulty settling in with his cane. At the front of the auditorium, Jack Mason, his new lieutenant, stood beside a woman who was preparing to get the meeting started. Danny saw that the lieutenant had noticed how he’d settled into his seat. Danny caught his eye and gave a nod and a half smile in a gesture of respect.

Mason reminded Danny much of the way he used to be; if he were being honest, he’d admit that Mason was probably a more impressive version. Mason had been a Green Beret and had left the military unexpectedly several years ago. The departure was rumored to have been about a family issue, and Danny had been wary about asking about it.

Danny’s main focus was on his own continuing convalescence, sharpening his physical fitness, and his policing skills. He’d been working up to a conversation with the new lieutenant in the hopes of gaining his confidence enough to the point where he could once again be assigned the more demanding types of investigative action where he felt most useful. A parade of lieutenants had passed through the precinct since Danny’s old boss, Eric Hammond, opted for an administrative role at headquarters several months ago. But, despite the turnover, it appeared that Jack Mason was there to stay. And because of that, Danny had taken time to ready himself for the conversation.

The briefing started with an overview of a new Office of Emergency Management and Communications, as well as “Alert Chicago,” a website designed to keep citizens aware and connected to the actions of the Department of Homeland Security.

After reviewing and sharing more perfunctory information, Mason zeroed in on a discussion of terrorist threats. “We know the Willis Tower was on the original list of the 9/11 hijackers. So, we know the city was and probably remains a target. I’m gonna ask for your coordination with Homeland. But at the same time, be as vigilant as you can behind the scenes. Learn more, connect the dots, but do it quietly. We can’t let the public feel like they’re trapped between an increasing police state and fear of imminent attack,” he said. His face flushed red, and his voice rose. “We can’t let these bastards disrupt our way of life and how we operate as a country!”

Danny wasn’t the only one taken aback by Mason’s passion. And warning a bunch of cops about a police state? That struck Danny as especially odd, and he believed it probably did a number on the other officers too.

Mason’s posture and tone seemed to ease as he wrapped up his comments, touching on several investigative efforts underway related to suspected terrorist activities. Then he shifted emotional gears, becoming more guarded as he prepared to hand the discussion over to the woman who had joined him.

“And as we come across potential suspects in these cells, the force has decided to draw on some additional psychological resources to help us in these efforts.” He turned to the woman, clearly unenthusiastic about her presence. “Deborah Wood is from Homeland. She’s going to walk us through the resources they’re making available to us.”

Wood told the assembled officers that Homeland would be sending military experts to various large city police departments, including Chicago, for use in tactics for dealing with potential enemy combatants, including interrogations. Given Mason’s military background, Danny wondered if he was skeptical of the military assistance.

As Wood continued her briefing, Danny’s mind wandered, mulling over how to approach Mason. He was tied to the administrative work he had been relegated to since returning to work, wanting instead to return to the detective work where he excelled. Today would be the day. Danny was eager to get back into action, both for himself and to show those close to him that despite his obvious physical limitations, he was otherwise fully recovered.

As Wood droned on, Danny’s colleague, who was seated behind him, leaned forward and said, “Hey, Walsh. Munitions has something waiting for you. A special duty weapon that Hammond arranged.”

This was news to Danny. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. The quartermaster wanted me to make sure you swing by and get it soon. ’Cause he doesn’t want to keep hiding it on the down-low.” Danny was opened his mouth to ask for clarification when Mason’s stern voice boomed from the front of the room.

“Hey, guys, we’re trying to have a meeting here,” the lieutenant admonished.

Shit. thought Danny. This was not the impression he wanted to make today.

Danny made an effort to refocus his attention on the woman from Homeland. What she was saying now was thought provoking. “The gentleman we have identified to assist the CPD is someone who served time as a POW in Vietnam. Specifically, he has skills and experience in dealing with the guerrilla tactics of enemy combatants. To be honest, Colonel Bishop tends to be reclusive, but we’ve convinced him to spend some time with your investigators.”

Reclusive? Now Danny was intrigued.

Wood wrapped up the discussion by laying out a general timetable for when the colonel might visit the precinct. Then Mason closed the meeting with several reminders and general updates.

As the group filed out, Danny held back. He wanted to let the room clear so he could talk to Mason in private. He caught the lieutenant as he started to head for the door. “Chief, can I get a minute?”

Mason appeared unwilling to engage, responding over his shoulder, “Walsh, I got a lot lined up for today. Is this something that can wait?”

“No, not really.”

Mason turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

“I wanted to let you know . . . I know it’s been a long road back. It’s taken time and a lot of work. But I’m ready now.”

“Ready for what exactly?” Mason said, his tone dismissive.

Danny was caught off balance by a curt response right out of the gate. Mason appeared to sense this and adjusted his tone.

“Listen, let’s rewind a second, all right? There’s nothing personal here. The city’s got things jumping off in all directions: coordinating with DHS on this terrorist stuff, homicides left and right, racketeering, the mob.”

“I know. And I want to pull my weight,” Danny pressed. “I’m good at what I do. I can deliver for this department.”

“I’ve read up on your file, and I know what you used to do.”

Danny tilted his head and squinted, irritated by Mason’s insinuation that those days might be over. Standing at six foot three with closely cropped blond hair, Mason was as imposing as Danny had been when he was at full strength. Typically in such a tense encounter, others were intimidated by Danny. Mason was unfazed.

“Walsh, I just have a lot of questions, is all. I’ve read up on you about how all this happened,” he said, gesturing to Danny’s prosthetic and cane. “But I need to know more. And I need to be sure of where your head is at and whether you really are capable of performing up to my standards for this department.”

“Fine, sure,” Danny agreed. “Let’s talk it through.”

Mason looked Danny up and down again. “As far as getting back in the field . . . I mean, can you even qualify with the stuff you gotta deal with?”

“I assure you that I can take care of myself and whatever I’m up against,” Danny said, his initial apprehension about the conversation giving way to impatience. “And I’m a damn good detective. If you’ve read up on me, you know that’s an understatement. I just need a chance to prove it again.”

Mason stood silently, as if processing what Danny had said. Then a uniformed officer entered the auditorium. “Lieutenant, we got a situation. We’ve still got that informant in holding—the mob guy we need to either catch or release. Well, now we got more rolling in on gang charges. We need that holding space. What do you want to do with the informant?”

Mason kneaded his forehead before coming to a decision. “Okay, Walsh. Let’s start with you helping me out. You know how much of our resources have been pulled from mob cases and all these other rabbit holes we’re running down with the feds. I know you did Organized Crime before Homicide. How about you handle this guy in holding?”

Danny let out his breath. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Okay. We’ll talk more later about what you want. For now, focus on lightening the load we have right now. That’ll be a big step in the right direction.”

It wasn’t exactly a return to the work he was best at, but Danny was eager to take it. It was a crack in the wall, and he was intent on making it wider. “You got it,” he responded before turning to the uniformed officer. “Which hold is the guy in?”

“Twelve, the one along the back hallway.”

Mason appeared satisfied with the compromise and nodded to Danny as he left the room with the uniformed officer.

Encouraged by the conversation, Danny set off toward the hold, determined to see whether the man cooling his heels there had anything of value to offer.