Switchback Stories (3 page)

‘And the third option?’ asked one of the newer members, the son of a Cuban family who’d long been major players in the trade.

‘The third option is we call on one of our associates, a lower-tier brothel owner that operates just outside the city. He will choose one of his girls to be our patsy.

‘We send in our “kill” team – not to kill Carpenter but to render him unconscious with tranquilizer darts. They will spirit him away from his home to the brothel and pump him full of drugs. He’ll be placed in a room with the girl, who will also be doped up to her eyelids.’

Guiterrez took a breath and cast his gaze over the men at the table. All eyes were fixed on him in anticipation.

He continued: ‘We then have Carpenter stabbed to death and the knife used placed in the hands of the prostitute, with his blood smeared over her. The brothel owner will testify that Carpenter was a regular customer, that this time he’d been out of his mind on drugs, attacked the girl when they were alone in the room, and that she’d murdered him in self- defence. The girl herself will have no memory of what really happened. She’s a whore and an addict and she’ll attract no pity. What happens to her is of no further consequence to us.

‘The “revelation” that Carpenter himself was a drug user and a sleaze will dominate the media, his reputation will be in tatters, the politicians and the do-gooders will quietly step back and dissociate themselves from him. His campaign won’t be dropped. It will still have strong vocal support, but of course it will be subtly and slowly abandoned over time.’

The bald-headed man, energized by the plan, stood and addressed the group. ‘If this plan can be staged effectively, then this Initiative will eventually be dead-in-the-water.’

‘Precisely,’ Guiterrez responded. ‘He simply becomes, not a symbol, not a hero, but just another high-profile imposter who dies a tawdry and pathetic death, an embarrassment to all those who’d supported him.’

‘I say we take a vote on the third option,’ said the bald-headed man.

The vote was unanimous.

‘One question,’ said a stern-faced, bespectacled man near the head of the table. ‘Carpenter is due to give a televised address to a Senate Sub-Committee this afternoon. Aren’t we running too far behind to stop this runaway train?’

‘It’s true there’s been a rapid escalation this past fortnight,’ said the leader, ‘which is why I suggest that the time to put our plan in to action is right now. Tonight.’

‘Tonight?”

‘Our team is in place, awaiting the order to strike. Carpenter’s immediate fall from grace will overshadow any influence his speech will have.’

The cartel members grunted their approvals.

Occasionally, Guiterrez liked to create a dramatic effect. Right then and there, standing at the head of the table, he tapped a number into his cell phone, placed it to his ear, and said, ‘Proceed.’

He pocketed the phone. ‘You’ve watched the rise of Matthew Carpenter,’ he said, ‘now get ready to enjoy his spectacular fall.’

T
he Secretary of the Sub-Committee introduced Carpenter to the meeting. He announced that this testimony would outline reasons for turning the Initiative in to a draft bill.

From the moment he strode to the podium, Matthew Carpenter owned the audience. His gaze was penetrating. His voice commanded attention.

He’d trained himself for years for moments like this.

The hearing was attended by the public, the media, and members from the House of Representatives and the Senate.

‘For as long as I’ve been alive,’ he announced, ‘there has been a war going on.

‘I’m not talking about a war against a foreign country, or against a military dictatorship. I’m not talking about a war because of an invasion, or a war over land, or a war against slavery or racism.

‘I’m not even talking about the gender wars.’

Carpenter paused after that last comment, with just the hint of a smile on his face. It was a moment this audience hadn’t expected. There was a subdued ripple of laughter around the chamber, but that was to be the only light moment.

Within a beat Carpenter resumed his serious air.

‘I’m talking about the War Against Drugs, a term with which we’re all familiar. I grew up with it. It’s been woven into our country’s social fabric for four decades.

‘A number of years before I was born, in ‘73, President Richard Nixon created the Drug Enforcement Administration. The DEA was part of, and I quote, his “all-out war on the drug menace.”

‘Thirty five years later President Bush signed the Mérida Initiative, to provide Mexico and other countries the partnership and funds to disrupt organized crime. So, how are we doing? Are we winning the War?’

Carpenter paused again.

There wasn’t a sound.

Every thought in that room was paralyzed by the unspoken answer to that question.

All eyes were riveted on the speaker.

In offices and homes around the country the effect was the same.

‘Over the past forty years our government has spent over two and a half trillion dollars on this War. It’s estimated that in our country today, there are more than nineteen million illicit drug users. The current estimate on the annual income to the drug cartels, from U.S business alone, is more than sixty four billion dollars.

‘
Sixty four billion
.

‘I lost my parents to drugs. You may have known a friend, a neighbour or a family member whose life was lost to drugs. Their memories deserve better than this.’

Carpenter looked restless. He turned from the podium, took a few steps to his left, nodded to the dignitaries who sat to the side, looked out on his audience, almost forlorn in his expression, and then purposely strode back to center stage.

All of this took less than ten seconds.

Carpenter was just getting warmed up.

Another speaker might not have been able to convincingly pull off a momentary pause and walk gimmick like this, but to Carpenter it came naturally, and struck a chord with his audience.

‘Here’s what I believe with every ounce of my heart and my soul. We can win this War but we have to be utterly ruthless and obsessively one-eyed.

‘The first major change we have to make is to the way we perceive the problem. The War On Drugs isn’t just a slogan. It really is a war, but like no other war that’s ever been fought. It has no boundaries. It has no armies. The enemy is, to most intents and purposes, invisible.

‘Our police forces are equipped to investigate and combat crime – but our police, our SWAT teams, our DEA and other law enforcement agencies – whilst they are doing an excellent job – do
no
t have the military prowess or funding to fight a global assault against the international drug cartels.

‘We need less emphasis on prosecuting the victims, and more on going after the manufacturers, the distributors and the corrupt officials.

‘This war has to be fought as if were fighting the Nazis, as though we were fighting to abolish slavery or to hunt down terrorists.’

There was a thunderous wave of applause. This crowd wasn’t waiting for the address to be over. They were reacting now.

‘I
want to change tack here and look at some images from our drug enforcement history.’ Behind Carpenter three men moved a large viewing screen in to place.

There was a slight dimming of the lights and the screen came to life with news footage. Armed troops moved around the exterior of a large building. Loudspeakers, placed around the perimeter, blared heavy rock music at thunderous volumes. A helicopter hovered.

The legend across the foot of the screen read: Panama, 1989.

‘The Panama Canal Treaty granted US forces access to protect the canal, and they were there to arrest and remove a drug kingpin, Panama’s military governor, Manuel Noriega.

‘Noriega had retreated and taken sanctuary, out of reach, in the Embassy of The Holy See.

‘The Army used psychological warfare. They secured the area, set up helicopter landing pads and used loudspeakers 24/7 blaring heavy rock and US propaganda. The intent was to wear Noriega and his guards down. Eventually, Noriega surrendered.

‘Is this an operation that can be mounted at any time in any place? No. But it’s a stunning example of what
can
be achieved by combining psychological tactics and military force.

‘There have been missions where our Navy Seals were deployed to infiltrate powerful offshore drug syndicates. Just recently, after a long-term covert investigation, the DEA swooped and made over twenty arrests in Chicago. These are just a couple of random, off-the-top-of-my-head examples of resources currently being used.

‘Now imagine merging the best of all those resources into one super powerful organization

‘My Initiative is for the creation of an Anti-Drug Army to fight – and win – this war.

‘This is
not
an army that will invade countries, fire missiles or undertake combat that causes destruction and collateral damage. It will
no
t place the lives of innocents in danger. This is an intel-gathering, search, infiltrate and arrest operation on a global scale, bringing together skills from our crime detection agencies and our Armed Forces, backed by diplomatic treaties.

‘Just as we have armies that undertake peace-keeping missions on foreign soil, so we need a specialist army that undertakes Drug Offensive missions both at home and abroad.

‘This is not an Initiative that’s to be used for anyone’s personal political agenda. The passage of this Bill needs genuine bipartisan support, transcending political parties and transcending any of the agencies already fighting the drug menace.

‘This is a new Army for the 21st Century, with new methods to fight a very old enemy.’

The applause was deafening and continued for what seemed forever. Carpenter waved, acknowledging the response, and each time the applause began to fade, it would suddenly resurge again, even after Matthew Carpenter had left the podium.

C
arpenter’s Georgian-style house, an easy drive from Capitol Hill, was in the historic area of Georgetown on the Potomac River. Built a hundred years earlier, it was set well back from the street, with a parkway and biking trails running alongside it. The property’s stonework fence and heavily landscaped garden created an idyllic privacy.

These affluent, tree-lined streets, close to the river and to nearby Washington Harbor, were home to many politicians and lobbyists.

But to the men who watched the house, it made no difference whether their mission was undertaken in quiet, privileged surroundings, or in a chaotic, poverty stricken ghetto. They simply adapted their operation to suit.

Efficiency was never compromised.

The unit leader had coined his own particular catchphrase, a variation of a theme, one that his men often repeated with their own sense of pride: ‘Failure is not on our list of options.’

Six teams, each consisting of two men, were stationed at the front, rear and side of the property.

They also had contacts within the Senate building, keeping track of Carpenter after his address to the House.

The unit leader received a message on his communicator. ‘Carpenter dined near the Hill with a TV newswoman and cameraman. They are driving him back to Georgetown in the news station wagon.’

‘Roger that.’ The unit leader relayed the message to his teams.

Carpenter was minutes away.

• • •

Closer to the city, another team arrived at the brothel. The owner, a weedy little man whose manic eyes made him look much more dangerous than most men twice his size, led the team to a room at the back of the establishment.

‘The girl’s drink was sedated earlier, as you instructed.’

The girl, skinny with pouted lips, lay on the bed.

‘Give her the drugs,’ the older team man said.

They were expecting the other teams to arrive, with Carpenter, within the hour.

• • •

Sam pulled the station wagon up on the street outside Carpenter’s home. A long driveway sloped down toward the house.

Alison got out of the car with Carpenter. Although the house was partly obscured by foliage, she could see enough to make out it was a two-storey structure of timber, stone and terra cotta.

‘Nice digs,’ she said.

‘My parents managed to take out a mortgage on this when they were in their 20’s, at a time when they were both doing well financially.’

‘And you were able to hang on to it.’

‘After they died my aunt had it rented out, kept the mortgage going until the time when I’d be able to take it over myself and move in. Paid out that mortgage just last year.’

‘How’s that incredible aunt of yours doing?’

‘She died last year.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Matthew.’

‘She was in her 80’s, a grand old dame if ever there was one. I owe her a hell of a lot of everything. Miss her as much as I miss my parents.’

Sam was out of the vehicle, prepping his equipment. ‘We’ll finish up today’s footage with you heading down your driveway, a quiet, reflective close to a day of intense activity.’

‘Hey, I’m the one supposed to be coming up with the good lines,’ Alison quipped. Turning back to Carpenter, she said: ‘It would be really great to have the camera follow you, take a visual tour of the house, not that I totally want to invade your privacy or anything.’ She flashed that winning smile.

‘I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. But we definitely should do that one day this week. Nancy’s the best one to find a spot in my schedule where we can fit that in.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘It’s a terrific old house,’ Carpenter said. ‘And like all the older homes around here, it’s part of the history of the riverside area. You probably knew that the harbor was a bustling port back in the 19th century.’

‘Oh yeah. I’m a bit of a DC history buff. And all this background stuff will add a personal angle. We want to see other sides to Matthew Carpenter, not just the side the public already knows about.’

‘Hey gang, I’ve got an actual life I need to get back to,’ Sam said.

‘My ride’s getting anxious,’ Alison said, grinning. She felt like she could hang around with this man all night.