White Death (11 page)

I lost it and blurted out. “I’m going to put up with all of this prison crap, make friends with a thug, fly drugs from Colombia through the Bahamas into the U.S. using airplanes with no maintenance records, over open seas notorious for severe storms,
learn who the bad guys are without being able to speak Spanish, and not get killed in the process? Is there anything else?”

Inspector Schmidt spoke, “When you put it like that, it sounds…”

“Don’t patronize me! It
is
crazy.”

An awkward silence hung in the air. Nobody moved or talked, and heads dropped imperceptibly so eyes would not meet.

Captain Roy Wilson broke the silence. “The odds in warfare are often poor. You have faced extreme danger, but only for short periods. All of your points are well-taken. This assignment will be extremely dangerous. You will be under and alone except for contact with your FBI housemate.”

“Why,” I asked, “isn’t BNDD doing this?”

“It’s my turn to speak candidly,” said the inspector. “They are a new agency, poorly resourced, and have little credibility within the brand-name federal law enforcement community. They have a few pilots who are quite visible in their jobs. They would be made and executed trying to go undercover. Also, we have information that their intelligence side has been penetrated by at least some of the drug cartels.”

“The FBI,” I offered, looking at SAC Floyd Wainwright.

He responded, “The authors of the Harrison Narcotic Act were unsure if an outright ban on heroin and cocaine would be constitutional, thus it is a tax code provision. Accordingly, the FBI’s view is this is a problem for local police and Treasury agents, who seem more concerned with moonshine. We are willing to help, but not take the lead. Because of the scope and international dimensions of this case, however, we will make our resources available to you. Before you ask, the CIA is working with us on this regarding information gathering. Of course, they are prohibited from leading any domestic law enforcement initiative.”

“Your willingness to consider this assignment is deeply appreciated,” said the inspector. “You may not need the money, but
you will receive a special hazardous pay rate, a substantial bonus at the end, and an automatic promotion to sergeant. We ask that you give us an answer within two days. Unfortunately, you cannot discuss this offer with anyone. You can call Captain Wilson or me with any further questions.”

Inspector Schmidt rose to stand, signaling an end to the meeting.

“No need to wait,” I said. “I’ll do the job. How do we begin?”

Everyone got out of their chairs, smiled, and pumped my hand in what seemed a spontaneous gesture of both relief and good will. A tense meeting suddenly had become more cordial.

“I’ll be your primary point of contact in the Division,” said Captain Wilson. “We have an arrangement with the Justice Department and the U.S. Marshals Service, under which they will swear you in as a Special Deputy U.S. Marshal. In short, a federal agent, not a D.C. cop freelancing. Your undercover identity is James Sixkiller, a traditional Cherokee name. We thought you would enjoy that. We checked, and no Oklahoma Cherokees are in Coleman. With the help of FBI and CIA experts, we constructed Sixkiller’s life. Where you were born. What happened to your parents, everything. Coordinating with the Bureau of Prisons, we will insert this identity into BOP’s record system. Come back tomorrow, and we have prepared a complete, tabbed notebook: biographical section; juvenile and adult rap sheets;
Admission and Orientation Handbooks
for El Reno and Coleman; selected articles from former prisoners on prison survival; a summary about Jesus Ramirez; a more complete intelligence overview covering much of what we’ve discussed today; information about Jamie Hudson, your FBI housemate; and a list of critical phone numbers, including ours. The notebook carries a ‘Secret’ classification, but is paragraph marked. Before each paragraph a code will appear in parenthesis as (U), (C), or (S) or unclassified, confidential, or secret. Even though it includes unclassified material, keep in mind all of this is sensitive and for
your protection. We cannot allow you to carry the notebook out of the Division. One of the secretaries will set up a desk to study and make phone calls. How long do you need to become familiar with the notebook?”

“Three or four days,” I guessed. “Also, my captain made it clear to me he would like to know what’s happening.”

“I’ll take care of the problem,” replied Inspector Schmidt. “I have known him for years and can smooth things over a little. We are detailing you to Internal Affairs (IA) for one year. That is your story to co-workers. Everyone understands that cops from IA don’t talk about what they’re doing or where. The re-assignment will help insulate you from pressure by the curious or pushy about your whereabouts or work. As of tomorrow, however, you begin here. After one week here, you meet the famous trainer we call Jerry for a few days of counseling and role-playing. Jerry is a former prison guard who has received special training in helping to place federal agents undercover. For you, Jerry has no last name, and he can be very intense to work with. Meanwhile, we will make the necessary changes to insert you into Coleman. Come in late tomorrow if necessary.”

A few more handshakes, and the meeting ended. I couldn’t help but make mental notes of these three people. To some extent, my life would depend upon their diligence and honesty with me. I was pleased the inspector named Captain Wilson as my primary point of contact. His penetrating blue eyes conveyed directness and integrity. They told me he understood what I had committed to do. He would be an ally if things unraveled. The inspector had a job to do. Although he was a politician-bureaucrat responding to pressure from the Chief, and indirectly from the President, he needed me to succeed. His motives were a bit different, but he was also in my corner. Roberts was likable and a little inscrutable. I believe that cops who work narcotics too long become cynical. They believe no real victory is possible. The best outcome is “to make a difference.” I was more wary of him.

I thought about why I accepted this assignment. Partly it was the right thing to do. Maybe my work can help alleviate the pain on the streets. Personally, the mission appealed to the darker side of me drawn to danger, fear, and conflict. I complained about the seduction, but saw it coming. I didn’t know what “it” was going to be. The edge is normal for me. My worst fear was getting too old to enjoy the fear.

Gordy’s

“Mike!” I gestured across the locker room for him to come over. My area was empty, and the next shift had headed up for roll call.

“I got stuck on a run,” said Mike. “What are you doing still loitering around here? Time to saddle up and go home. By the way, I didn’t hear you on the air until this afternoon.”

“Yeah. That’s why we need to talk. How about Gordy’s in ten minutes?”

Mike regarded me somberly and said, “Sure.”

We found the same corner booth as before. It was my dime. We ordered beers, and Mike sat back to contemplate me, a friend of many years.

“I passed most of the morning with some new acquaintances from headquarters. They’d also invited an FBI SAC from a major city to join the discussion. I’ve accepted an assignment lasting from four to five months. It’s dangerous and will take me far from this area.”

Mike continued to sit back, look out the window, and drink his beer.

“Why? Don’t you get enough adrenalin with people trying to kill you here?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“That’s so lame, especially because you always understate danger. You couldn’t resist, could you? Well, you are who you
are. I’m going to miss you – you stupid son of a bitch. Can you call?”

“I think so. I have a favor to ask.”

“You need a will? Ask a lawyer.”

“Would you call and visit with Karen occasionally? She’s not going to handle this well. Maybe take her to dinner and a movie; she likes you. I’m trying to think of ways to decrease her sense of isolation.”

“Sure. But, I wonder if having me around will make it better or worse.”

“I see your point. Try it and notice how she reacts. If it doesn’t seem like a good idea, just ease back to her comfort zone.”

“Jake, remind me of why we became friends.”

“You found somebody crazier than you to hang out with.”

“Good luck, and please return.”

“Thanks. I will. Remember, while I’m gone, you are the thin blue line.”

Smiles, another beer, and lighter conversation concluded the evening.

Karen

Karen’s reaction could have been worse – maybe. There is no way to dress up a bombshell, so I did not try. I told her the Chief of Police had handpicked me for a lengthy and
somewhat
dangerous assignment. I added that the purpose of the FBI re-investigation was to give me a national security clearance of secret because of the importance and nature of the work. I told her the job involved a lot of travel, and I might be out of contact with her for long periods. I emphasized that I would call, but could not disclose my location. Watching her trying to keep a stiff upper lip almost killed me.

“How long?” she finally asked.

“About four to five months.”

The stiff upper lip gave way to some sniffling as I held her tightly. I told her I loved her and reminded myself this scene has been played out so many times before in other houses, for other reasons. The expectations, however, were different. She married a cop, not a soldier. Accepting this was asking a lot of her, and I hoped she would not pull away from me emotionally to save herself. I worked a dangerous job, but at least I returned home every day.

“How dangerous is it? Tell me the truth.”

“The Chief picked me because I have the talents to achieve our goal. My ability to read and remember almost everything will be important. They have created a new identity for me, and I become this different person based on the details of his fictional life. All of these efforts are in cooperation with other relevant governmental agencies to ensure that this ends successfully.”

She was studying my eyes and body language for additional information.

“I’ll tell them no tomorrow if this might ruin our marriage. That’s more important than anything.”

“Would you do that?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“No. You will always be my husband. On the one hand, I’m proud they picked you for this. On the other hand, I’m afraid. I can tell you’re downplaying the danger involved. This is your nature, a man who loves living on the edge. I knew that when I married you. This is a big one, however, long and dangerous. I guess I’ll learn how tough I am.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I held her again.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “I read about a new position I want to try. We need to make the most of our remaining time.”

And she led me upstairs by the hand.

Jerry

The Intelligence Division had booked a suite with two twin beds for prison training in a local hotel. Jerry and I arrived about 4:00 p.m. on Tuesday. He was a taciturn, fit, black man around 50. The door had barely closed when he said, “What’s your name?”

“Jake Stone,” I said.

“Wrong!
It’s James Sixkiller – you never heard of this guy Stone.”

“Where and when were you born?”

“Stilwell, Oklahoma in 1944.”

“Why are you inside?”

“I got caught after I landed in Tulsa with a planeload of Mexican marijuana.”

“What kind of work did you do in El Reno?”

“I made furniture for government offices.” He grilled me until we broke for dinner, where he continued to call me Sixkiller. A common saying exists about prison guards with twenty years of experience. They have one year of experience, repeated twenty times. Jerry was an exception. With his sharp intellect, he had memorized my new identity to ensure that I didn’t trip up.

Over the next three days, we covered a dizzying array of information and slang known to all experienced cons during daily conversation. What are the basic prison types and charac-teristics: minimum or Federal Prison Camp (FPC); low security or a Federal Correctional Institution (FCI) with a double fence perimeter; medium security could be an upgraded FCI or part of a high security U.S. Penitentiary with double or triple fences with electronic detection systems. Some penitentiaries have high walls, and all have the highest staff to inmate ratio. In addition, about five other administrative facilities exist for special purposes, such as medical or temporary detention.

Jerry emphasized knowledge needed for daily life. Know that a
call out
is an appointment; get used to being counted five or six
times a day and night. Become familiar with the staffing in your unit, this determines where you live and who your team members are. Each unit has an overall manager, a case manager, a counselor, and a secretary who manages inmate schedules. Understand the role of a basic correctional officer, or guard, also known as screws, hacks, and other uncomplimentary titles.

The overview covered the use of phones by inmates; dining etiquette; regulations; prohibited acts and the disciplinary process; money and the commissary; pat downs and searches; visitors (Karen can’t come); health care; cell and job assignments; permitted and standard work clothing, including approved colors; emergencies; authorized personal property by category, and more.

Even though this was only a transfer from another federal lockup, they still need to decide where to put me and what assignments to give me. This process takes about five days while I stay in administrative segregation or the hole. Jerry told me to bring two soft-cover books, as hard covers are not permitted; practice deep breathing for stress relief; do whatever exercises are possible in the confines of the hole; such as pushups, squats, and jogging in place. Accept the offer of one hour of recreation five times a week. Do not talk to other people unless spoken to; respond with minimal, polite answers. Although designed for two, this small space houses three or even four. The pecking order of who gets which bunk bed or uses the toilet first is based on length of time there.