Exceptional Merit (8 page)

“Really?  Not today.”  He feigned disappointment.  “Let me give them a call and see what this is about.”

Keegan carefully punched in the numbers to his office.  He listened as it began to ring.  “How ya doin', Cap, it’s Jimmy.  You paged me?”

Kate, who was only able to hear one end of the conversation, listened attentively.  After a brief pause, he continued.  “Right.  Yeah, I'm familiar with it.”  He rolled his eyes for effect.  “Where are they now?”

He looked at his wife as he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  “Okay, it'll probably take about forty five minutes or more until I can get there though.”

Keegan hung up the receiver which had still been ringing at the other end.  “I'm sorry.  It's one of those times I can’t say no.  A couple of guys in my team are staking out a place they think those Middle-Eastern radicals are storing explosives and they need me there right away.”

Kate understood how important her husband was and how important the job he does was, but nevertheless, she was greatly disappointed.  “What time will you be back?”

“I have no idea.  Why don't you and the kids just sleep here, either way? I'm sure Mom will enjoy the company.”

“I love you, Jim.  Be careful.”

If there was one thing he could count on tonight is that he would certainly be careful.  “I love you too.  I'll see you later.”

Keegan made a left hand turn, and got on the entrance ramp of the Long Island Expressway eastbound.  He put the radio on to enjoy the last half hour of the radio program.  He could feel the nervousness in the pit of his stomach.  Just like every other time he had done his part.  He had to draw the line somewhere, put an end to his involvement before it backfired on him.

He got off the expressway at exit forty nine and drove south on Route 110.  He pulled his Ford Explorer into the parking lot of one of Long Island's many gun stores.  He sat in the car, reached into his inside jacket pocket and reopened the envelope Dan O'Brien had given him the previous Thursday night.  Keegan counted out the money, all in one hundred dollar bills and placed them in his wallet behind his police department identification card.  He then read the list that had accompanied the money.

It had been a rather small order this time around.  He put the list back in his pocket and put the single key which had also been in the envelope on his key ring before he entered the store.  It was a long and narrow store.  There were hundreds of guns in glass display cases on one side of the store and an assortment of hunting and fishing gear on the other side.  Against the wall, behind the glass display
cases were rifles and shotguns of every size and caliber standing upright.  The man behind the counter was in his mid thirties; he had medium build and stood just under six feet tall.  Keegan noticed right away the Browning nine millimeter handgun strapped to the storekeeper’s right side.  “Can I help you?”

“You certainly can,” Keegan replied as he took the list out of his pocket.  “I'd like to buy three Beretta model 92Fs, one Intratec-nine machine pistol and five hundred rounds of ammo.”

“That's a big order.  I assume you have the proper identification.”

“Of course I do.”

Keegan reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet.

The store clerk handed a clipboard with a number of forms he intended Keegan to fill out.  “I assume you have a collector’s license.  You'll have to fill out these forms for the background check, then by next week, assuming all goes well, you can come back and pick up the guns.”

“No. I don't have a collector's license.”  Keegan handed the clerk his N.Y.P.D. identification card.  “I'm a police officer in New York City.”

The man examined Keegan’s credentials.  “I'm sorry, Mr. Keegan,” the man began as he handed Keegan back his identification card.  “It's just that most guys who come in here and want to buy so many guns at one time are either dealers or collectors.  Dealers usually get the guns at wholesale, so I assumed you were a collector.  As a matter of fact, I can't ever remember a police officer coming in here and buying so many guns at one time.  Would you like to go downstairs to the range and test fire the guns to make sure you like them before you buy them?”

“No thank you and no need for apologies.”

Keegan felt he should explain.  “Things are getting pretty bad out there.  A few guys in my office decided they should carry a second more powerful gun on patrol with them as a back up to the standard issue .38 caliber
revolvers.  I mentioned I was going to pick up a Tec-9 this weekend and they asked if I would mind picking them each up a Beretta since I was coming here anyway.  The paperwork involved with selling guns between cops is minor, so we will take care of that first thing Monday morning.”

The man never seemed to doubt his story for a second.  Keegan had used it many times before, and never once was there a question.  “Let me just go to the stock room and get you those guns, and I'll be right back to ring you up.”

As the clerk went into the back of the store, Keegan reflected on how the new laws have made it so hard to legally purchase a gun for the common citizen.  There were half a dozen forms which had to be filled out.  An extensive background investigation had to be done by the F.B.I. and by the local police.  Even in the southern states, you couldn't buy a gun with only a driver's license anymore.  Keegan hoped that the new laws would slow down the amount of illegal guns on the street.  All of the laws, new or old didn't apply to police officers, however.  All a police officer had to do was walk in to a gun store, show his identification card and walk out with whatever firearm he desired; from a pellet gun to an assault rifle.

“Here you go, Mr. Keegan.  I have everything you wanted.  Do you need any gun cleaning kits or holsters?” asked the man, trying to improve on what was already the day’s biggest sale.

“No.  That will be it.  Thank you.”

Keegan paid the merchant in cash and put his identification card back in his wallet.  He wished the man a good day and left the store.  Keegan made one more stop on the way back to his house.  He stopped at a sporting goods store and picked up two identical duffel bags.

As he approached his home, he activated the automatic garage door opener and drove the Explorer inside the garage.  He closed the garage door behind him.  After removing his coat, he walked over to his workbench.  He picked up his drill and inserted a medium sized bit.  He plugged the drill in and pulled the trigger.  The drill jumped to life.  He put on a pair of plastic gloves so he was sure he wouldn't leave his fingerprints on the guns, as he removed them from their boxes.  He examined each one, making sure they hadn't somehow been loaded.  One by one, he took the guns and drilled out their serial numbers, permanently defacing them.  He drilled down about an eighth of an inch, making sure even acid could not possibly raise the serial numbers.

It took about a half hour until all four of the guns were completely defaced and he was confident they were untraceable.  He held the Tech-9 in his hand thinking about what a destructive weapon the machine pistol was.  He laid the weapons out along his work bench, picked up a couple of unused t-shirts that had been cut up to use as rags, and wrapped the guns in them.  After wrapping each gun, he placed them inside one of the duffel bags, along with the ammunition.  He then placed a ratchet and sockets in the other duffel bag.  He zippered the second duffel bag closed folded it up and placed it inside the bag with the guns.  He ripped the boxes, which the guns had originally come in, into small pieces and threw them into the garbage along with the plastic gloves.  Keegan got back into the Explorer with the duffel bag.  The garage door opened.  He was surprised to see that it was now dark outside.  He hadn’t realized how much time he had spent in the garage.

He backed the car out of his driveway and hit the remote control, closing the garage door.  He sifted through the assortment of music he had in the car and selected a collection of Irish rebel songs to listen to as he drove into Manhattan.  The traffic was unusually light.  Going into the city after nightfall on a Sunday was about the best time to go if you wanted to avoid traffic.

As he drove down the West Side Highway on Manhattan's Lower East Side, he saw a Toyota Camry parked in the spot where he had seen so many other cars before.  The Camry was parked just off the highway near one of Manhattan's many piers.  He parked his Explorer down the block and walked back to the Camry with the duffel bag in his left hand.  He examined the key which had been in the envelope and sure enough, it was a Toyota key.

Keegan stopped next to the car, looking around to make sure he was not being watched.  Not seeing anybody, he opened the car door using the supplied key.  Reaching in, he tugged at the hood release and then picked up the copies of today's New York Times which had been left on the front passenger seat.  He opened the duffel bag and removed the second duffel bag which he had earlier stuffed inside.  He unzipped the bag, removed the ratchet and socket set and placed the folded up newspapers inside the now empty bag.  He compared the two identical duffel bags.  They were both rather bulky now and nobody would really be able to tell the difference.  He placed the duffel bag containing the news papers on the passenger seat and carrying the other
bag; he got out of the car.  He opened the hood of the Camry and once again looked around.  There was nobody on the street anywhere near him.

Across the highway, he could see a couple of prostitutes on the prowl and a couple of parked cars on the side streets.  More than likely, the cars were johns getting blowjobs from the whores, he decided.  He couldn't understand how anybody could go to a prostitute in today's day and age with all the diseases out there.  Keegan quickly looked at the Vehicle Identification Number in the windshield of the car. 
It looked pretty good
.  This was definitely one of the better VIN jobs, as cops called it.  He thought about how much money criminals made off VIN jobs.  First, someone steals a car and buys another car which is the same year, style, color and make from a junk yard.  They usually pay a very minimal amount for the wrecked car.  Then they remove the V.I.N. plate from the stolen car and replace it with the one from the junked car.  Now if anybody were to run the V.I.N., it would come back to the correct car and nobody would be the wiser.  It took a highly trained cop to recognize a good V.I.N. job.  Most street cops could not spot a
tagged
car, so a few of the more shrewd criminals in the city were driving around in a car they spent only a couple of hundred dollars for, even though the car could be worth in excess of tens of thousands of dollars.

Keegan put the duffel bag down on the ground next to him and took out the ratchet set from his pocket.  He started to loosen a few bolts on the firewall, which should not have been there to begin with.  As Keegan removed the bolts one at a time, the firewall became loose exposing a hidden compartment behind it.  It was about one foot deep, one foot high and two feet wide.  He pulled the false firewall forward until he had enough room to stuff the duffel bag inside.

He only played a small part in the transport of the guns.  There were probably very few who knew exactly how it was done, but Keegan had a theory of his own which he knew was probably very close, if not right on the money.  The way he saw it, someone on the other side put the order in and contacted Dan.  Dan would contact someone to steal the car and alter its V.I.N., undoubtedly someone familiar with cars.  That person would park the car in the designated spot and leave it there.  Keegan would be supplied with a key for the car and the money to buy the guns.  He would then buy the guns, deface them, stash them in the false wall, drive the car to the next designated location and leave it there.  He would lock the key in the trunk.  The next guy would pick up the car have it shipped to Ireland, where a member of the I.R.A. would be awaiting its arrival.

Castillo was unable to tell exactly what Keegan was doing under the hood of the Toyota, as he watched him from across the West Side Highway through his binoculars.  He knew for sure Keegan hadn't realized that he was being followed since he left his home on Long Island.   There had been a couple of times during the ride that Castillo was afraid Keegan realized he had grown a tail.  Castillo thought for sure he had blown it when Keegan exited the highway near the Toyota.  With such little traffic in the area, Castillo couldn’t just stop, so he kept going and made his way around to the other side of the highway.

It was almost by pure luck that he found Keegan again.  Castillo knew if he had stopped in the same vicinity as Keegan, the entire last few hours of sitting on Keegan's house and tailing him to Manhattan would have been a waste.  It may have even blown the entire operation.  If Keegan knew he was being watched, he surely would not continue doing whatever it was that he was involved with.

Castillo desperately wanted to get closer and see what he was doing but he knew if Keegan recognized him from the bar the other night, it could jeopardize the entire investigation. 
What was in that duffel bag and what was he doing here on a Sunday night?
  Castillo couldn't see the duffel bag anymore, nor could he see what Keegan was doing under the hood of the car.  Castillo picked up his department issued cell phone and dialed 911.

The radio run was picked up by sector Ida.  The call was for a male white stripping a blue Toyota Camry on the service road of the West Side Highway near Pier 26.  The call further said the male had a black gym bag containing a gun.  The sector pulled up quietly behind Keegan with their headlights off.  He was just finished tightening the last bolt and had never heard the cops approaching him from behind.  The female officer saw the gym bag on the front seat of the auto and alerted her partner.  Police Officer Kenneth Williams approached Keegan from behind.  “Police.  Don't move!  Keep your hands where I can see them!”  Williams commanded, as he held Keegan at gunpoint.  P.O. Laura Reed opened the door to the blue Toyota and looked in the bag, only to find today's edition of the New York Times.