“I think that’s a slight exaggeration, Your Honor.”
The videophone system was full duplex, like a regular telephone, but it would not easily tolerate interruptions— Lassen’s interjection went unheard: “I’ll buy a no-knock and use of military transport aircraft for the raid, Deputy, but the gunship is out.”
“Your Honor… Your Honor, excuse me,” Lassen said, repeating himself to successfully interrupt the judge, “Henri Cazaux is the number-one fugitive on our most-wanted list, with fifty-seven federal warrants issued for him to date. He is an internationally known terrorist and arms dealer. He’s the biggest gunrunner in southwestern Europe, his efficiency and ruthlessness is putting the Italian Mafia to shame in southern Europe, and now he’s in the United States, where he’s been connected to several attacks against military arsenals. He has stolen everything from Band-Aids to glide bombs, and he knows how to use them all — he’s ex-Belgian Special Forces and an accomplished pilot. He has the Marshals, the FBI, ATF, and the state police outgunned in every category. We have to use military air just to even the odds.”
Judge Wyman shook his head at the videophone unit’s camera lens on his desk and continued: “Use of deadly force? Use of military aircraft and weapons? Dead or alive? What is this, a vendetta? I will not sign a ‘dead or alive’ warrant, Deputy.”
“Your Honor, Cazaux is known to have killed four federal officers this year,” Lassen said. “He hasn’t used anything smaller than an M-16 or AK-47 infantry rifle on any of his victims, and one marshal was believed to be killed by a direct hit by a forty-millimeter grenade, a weapon used for punching holes in walls and bunkers. We identified the dead agent by recovering one of his fingers that had been blown nearly a hundred yards away.”
It was the judge’s turn to interrupt — Lassen stopped talking when he saw Wyman talking, and the judge’s stern voice came through as soon as Lassen stopped talking: “… have to remind me of any of that, Deputy,” Wyman said, “and I’m very familiar with an M206 grenade launcher and its effects, thank you. I fully understand how dangerous Henri Cazaux is. But the objective of a warrant issued by this court is to grant legal permission to arrest a fugitive suspect, not carry out an assault — or an execution.”
“I assure you, Your Honor, my objective is to capture Cazaux and bring him to trial,” Lassen said. “But I cannot accomplish this mission safely without substantial firepower. Cazaux is a killer, Your Honor. He has demonstrated that he will fight it out, kill any law-enforcement agents nearby, use the weapons he smuggles for his own defense, even kill his own workers, rather than be captured. He’s like a raccoon caught in a trap, Your Honor, except he won’t hesitate to chew off someone else’s leg to escape. I need extraordinary powers if I’m to try to apprehend him. If I don’t get them, I will not send my men in.”
“Don’t you give me ultimatums, Deputy Lassen,” Wyman said angrily.
“I’m trying to emphasize how dangerous Henri Cazaux is, Your Honor,” Lassen continued quickly. “I attached an FBI psychological profile. Cazaux was imprisoned and abused by GIs when he was a child, and he turned to violence ever—”
“Say again, Deputy Lassen?” Wyman interrupted. “I thought Cazaux had never been in prison?”
“As a minor, he was caught on a U.S. Air Force cruise missile base in Belgium, selling hashish to U.S. security policemen,” Lassen explained. “He was turned over to the Belgian authorities, but not before being imprisoned and repeatedly raped by the guards for two days. I heard they even shoved nightsticks up him. And he was only fifteen years old. He kills foreign servicemen on sight, Judge — he always Tias. I think he’ll target my SOG troops the same—” “I understand what you’re telling me, Deputy,” Wyman interrupted, “but even though he may seem like one, I want him brought to justice, not killed like a rabid dog. Don’t ask this court for the power of life and death, then refuse to carry out your duties if you don’t get it. You want my signature on a warrant, mister, you follow by my rules.
“I’m deleting the ‘dead or alive’ condition — you will bring Cazaux and his men in alive, or you will explain to me and the Attorney General of the United States why you failed to do so, and I assure you, Deputy, your career and where you spend the night — at home, or in a federal prison cell — will hang on your response. And you may use any military aircraft to transport your agents and for observation, but they may not approach closer than five hundred meters from the suspects, and they may not use their weapons unless fired upon by the suspects. Now, are you going to abide by my orders, Deputy Lassen?”
He had no choice. Wyman was the most cold-blooded of the federal judges and magistrates in the District, and if he had objections to any aspect of a warrant, it was best not to argue. The way was still clear to do whatever it might take to put Cazaux out of business, but an unwarranted death would mean the end of Lassen’s career. It might be worth a twenty-year career for the chance to end Cazaux’s miserable life, but playing by the rules was important to Timothy Lassen. Carrying a gun, a badge, and a federal warrant made a man pretty big in some people’s eyes, and it was easy to start believing that justice was whatever you chose to make it, especially with sociopathic killers like Cazaux. Lassen was determined not to let his Constitutionally mandated power corrupt him. Lassen was also determined not to fuck up his career at this point, no matter who they were pursuing. Tall, with an athletically lean frame and dark hair and brown eyes, Timothy Lassen had been with the Marshals Service since 1970, and had several assignments in both California and Oregon. For eight of those years (from 1980 to 1988) he had served in the Special Operations Group (SOG). He was the SOG deputy commander from 1988 to 1990 and then reassigned to the Sacramento office as Deputy U.S. Marshal in 1991. “Yes, Your Honor,” Lassen replied.
“Good. I want Cazaux as bad as you do, Lassen, but you’ve got to do this one by the book or the circuit court will put us both out of business.” Wyman raised his right hand, and in the passenger section of the Black Hawk helicopter, Lassen did likewise. “Do you swear,” Wyman recited, “that all the information in these warrants are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and do you swear to abide by the regulations and restrictions contained herein and execute these warrants to the best of your ability?”
“I swear, Your Honor.”
Wyman signed three documents and handed them to an assistant, who unclipped the pages and sent the pages one by one into a fax machine connected to the same secure communications link. Seconds later, the warrants appeared in the plain-paper fax machine on board the Black Hawk assault helicopter. A recent Supreme Court decision ruled that the faxed copy of a warrant sent via a secure datalink was as good as the original. “I’ll be standing by here in case you need me, Lassen. I’m with you all the way.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Lassen said.
“My clerk tells me that Judge Seymour signed a series of warrants for ATF the same time period,” Wyman said. ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, a division of the Department of the Treasury, was involved with the regulation of restricted, high-value goods such as liquor and weapons. “Since I wasn’t briefed on their involvement, I assume you’re not working with ATF on this one.”