Chapter 11 - Master Handler

I had seen Finne cross the parking lot and enter the store as we flew past towards our landing site at the National Geospacial Intelligence Agency nearby. After a swift drop-off, I was being driven in discreet looking Chevy blazer for the quarter mile distance to the Target. Based on the comm. chatter, I had estimated that Finne would be deep inside the store before my arrival which would allow me to enter without drawing any attention to myself.

The dark blue SUV pulled in and along the fire lane curb to the sidewalk in front of the store beyond the view of persons looking out of the windows and doors. Upon exiting the vehicle, the driver drove off slowly, but with purpose to join the fleet of support vehicles staged nearby. Before proceeding to the entrance I quickly scanned the landscape of the parking lot. There had not been any comm. chatter about this area of the “playground”, but something seemed askew. Then I saw it. Barely visible above the second to last row of cars was the dark silhouette of baseball cap that I recognized as the standard issue headwear for the contract security personnel hired by Target.

[“SMACK come in!”] Jack blurted over the comm. from the microphone embedded in his collar. [“Command and Control here, what is it Jack?”] was the reply. [“There is a uniformed security guard headed for the front door. Confirm that you have the rest of them contained, I’ll head this one off before coming in.”] Jack informed them. [“Roger. We’ll confirm the schedule and roster”] was returned with a subtle tone of dejection in the speaker’s voice. SMA protocol’s required precision, and the loss of control over external security and management personnel that were affected by an operation was unacceptable. This could have been a huge mistake if the approaching guard – probably late for his shift or coming in off the clock - had breached the playing field.

I reached the guard just as he had crossed the service lane to the sidewalk at the far end of the store’s front wall. This was a safe distance to have a conversation with him without attracting anyone else’s attention. I approached him with my left index finger extended and pressed to my lips motioning him to be quiet while reaching out towards him with my right arm to present a set of FBI credentials. I have used badges and commission books from the FBI, Secret Service, State Police, DEA, ATF, ICE, and CBP because they were better cover for our organization then any of the intelligence agencies could provide. Frankly, when you approached someone and told them you were with the CIA, you ended up with more trouble than you would if you said you were with the gas company. Either you encountered a spy buff that would dive head first into nostalgia or you would elicit tirades of opinions judging you for the nefarious actions of the company - both true and based on conspiracy. The FBI credentials seemed to be the most easily accepted among the average American citizen. Mostly due to the amount of time and effort that they put into their public image versus the other smaller and more narrowly focused law enforcement agencies, such as the DEA and ATF. The FBI were always on the scene and helping take the credit for the major busts brought in by any of the other agencies. In fact, the FBI was generally responsible for calling the press conference in the first place. This attention to PR has served them well, allowing them to retain the all-encompassing jurisdiction they operate within, crossing over the line between domestic law enforcement and global intelligence activities for counter-espionage and counter-terrorism. From this, the FBI has produced the most accepted brand identity, and therefore has become my choice in under cover credentials.

“Special Agent Jack Wooten, FBI” I stated in a low volume but with a firm and authoritative tone. “I need you to make alternate plans for the afternoon. We are engaged in a surveillance operation inside and have taken over security operations from the store’s management under federal authority. Our suspect is in the store at this moment and you are restricted from entering at this time. The rest of the security staff is sequestered in the management offices on the second floor. Until we have released the store back to its management, you are to leave the premises. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir” was his only reply.

“And hand me your radio!” I continued. The last thing we needed was someone interfering with or corrupting the “airspace” – or radio communications spectrum - over the playing field while this operation took place.

With a stunned look, the young man reached to his belt and unfastened his walkie-talkie and handed it to Jack. “This is only my second day” he said with a slight tone of fear penetrating through his words. “If I don’t clock in, I’ll loose my job.” He said.

“What’s your name? I’ll make sure you get credit for being here.” Jack responded with a sigh of frustration with the length of time this conversation was taking and therefore keeping him from running the plays from inside. Jack knew that he had a top-notch staff controlling the game inside, but he couldn’t help himself from wanting to play quarterback every chance he could. He loved making things happen from the control position.

“Sam Peterson Jr., sir” he uttered, “My father has been a guard here for five years. He got me this job. I came in yesterday to sign a lot of papers and get my uniform and sit through a bunch of training videos, but today was going to be my first day really working.”

“Sam, I can take care of all of this. Just take off for a while and don’t tell anyone about all of this. It will just cause us interference. Why don’t you come back to clock-in in two hours? I’ll make sure you get paid for this down time, ok?” Jack asked empathetically.

“Ok. Thank you, sir.” Sam responded.

Sam turned around and headed back towards the lane of parked cars from which I had first spotted him. I was thankful to have headed off that disaster before it happened. I turned and headed towards the entrance.

Once inside the automatic bi-folding doors, the starting line was easily spotted inside the store. It was marked by two yellow folding “Wet Floor / Piso Mojado” placards that were separated by a distance of twelve feet between the last register and the store greeter, who was being played by an SMA agent. There was little room to maneuver around this starting line, but it was there as required by the rules of engagement. Just like a sobriety check point risks becoming an illegal search and seizure if it is placed along a route that has no viable alternative, the successful outcome of our gaming could be nullified by a tainting of entrapment if there was no path around the starting line.

I approached the greeter and asked where the target was located. “He is straight ahead in the electronics department. He has spoken with our floor sales staff and has just requested to see the floor manager to discuss the advertisement”, the agent replied. “He is poking around the DVD racks while he is waiting, so be careful as you approach” she continued.

“Thank you. Take this radio, please.” I said as I headed toward the electronics department.

The SMA command and control (SMACK) office was set up in an upper level manager’s office that had a bird’s eye view of the store layout and access to the array of video surveillance feeds coming from the 75 cameras positioned around the property. Directions to the field actors and agents was being delivered via comm. channels and by use of the store’s overhead speakers as coded control messages disguised as innocuous store broadcast interruptions to the background music that was playing. Messages, such as a request for manager’s assistance or a price check were in reality basic play calling for the benefit of the team on the field playing with or against Finne.

As I neared the large enclosed area beneath the hanging sign that read “Electronics”, I spotted Finne. He was strolling the aisles of DVDs with his head down and his hands buried deep within the outer pockets of his overcoat. I was confident that my approach hadn’t drawn his attention so I continued to the sole entrance to the enclosure that was located between two cashier stands. I just had stepped past the inventory control scanners that read the magnetization status of the security devices enclosed in the boxes of expensive electronics equipment and accessories sold in this part of the store when a play came over the loudspeaker.

“Scott Adder there is a call waiting for you on extension 33” said a polite yet monotone voice for all of the store to hear. This was a general announcement. It let everyone know that the SAC was on the field. Then again, the same announcement was repeated, “Scott Adder there is a call waiting for you on extension – Dad, the FBI says I can’t come in….”
Damn It! I cursed myself. Someone had broadcast on phone or walkie-talkie from within the control room while the PA was on. I kept my eyes trained on Finne looking for a reaction to the breach of the operation’s security. Sure enough, he raised his brow in surprise and muttered softly but with enough detail on his lips for me to read him say “huh? F-B-I”. This was a disaster. All I could think about was Best Buy.