After getting a degree in criminology at the University of Maryland, Morrow became a police officer with Metro D.C. While on the beat, he obtained a master’s degree in law from Georgetown University where he’d met Elizabeth in the library. She was a research assistant for the U.S. Attorney General. Two years after he’d joined the FBI, they were married.
Morrow had had a good run with the bureau. He was recognized twice for exceptional service on organized crime and kidnapping cases he’d led in Chicago before transferring to New York, where Hailey was born. In New York he’d been assigned to the Joint Bank Robbery Task Force, working with FBI agents and NYPD detectives investigating major crimes like kidnappings, extortion, threats, bank and armored-car robberies.
In the wake of September 11, Morrow joined a special group of FBI agents that traveled to Afghanistan to question captured Taliban and al-Qaeda suspects.
He had devoted himself to keeping America safe. But even though Bin Laden was dead, there would always be a new threat, he thought, wheeling through Lower Manhattan, a few blocks from Ground Zero, before coming to the sentry posts and the barricades that sealed the streets surrounding Federal Plaza.
This quasi militarization was all in keeping with the so-called new normal, for the protection of the institutes and symbols of freedom that are sacrosanct. They define the nation. The security is insurance, he thought as the guard waved him through the check stop. That’s when Morrow made a mental note to check his policy and federal death benefits for Elizabeth, to ensure that she and Hailey would be financially secure, that she would not have to worry about the house, about Hailey’s college fund.
He’d take care of it.
As Morrow’s car entered the parking garage he glanced up at his building, gleaming in the twilight like a bastion of justice. After parking, he swiped his security ID then stepped into the elevator.
As it climbed he checked his watch: 5:47 a.m.
The case briefing was at 7:00 a.m.
We’ll see where we’re at then, Morrow thought, stopping off at the cafeteria for a large strong, black coffee before continuing up to the twenty-eighth floor. He went down the main reception hall, passed the framed photos of executive agents, as he did every day. This time his thoughts lingered as he glanced at the display nearby, the one honoring agents killed in the line of duty as the result of a direct adversarial force. The Service Martyrs.
Now we have one more.
Entering his office, Morrow saw that most members of his squad were at their desks, working the phones and studying data on their computer monitors. He set to work, reviewing everything they had so far, and made notes to prepare for the briefing. Twenty minutes later, agents and detectives from a spectrum of agencies crowded into the same boardroom where Glenda Stark, the assistant special agent in charge, had first alerted them to the case less than twenty-four hours earlier.
The air was a mingling of coffee, cologne, mint and righteous determination. Copies of a stapled six-page summary of the incident, encompassing statements, diagrams and preliminary results and analysis of a scene search, were circulated.
After a quick roll call of those in the room and the people whose voices echoed through the speakers of the teleconference line, Stark got to the point.
“Four people are dead. It is our solemn duty to see that those responsible for their deaths are brought to justice. We will bring to bear the full weight of every law enforcement arm involved in this case to ensure that we prevail, and we will prevail.”
As Stark let a moment pass, Morrow glanced around the table at the scattering of notepads, cell phones, coffee cups and morning papers. Every newspaper—the New York Times, Newsday, the New York Daily News and the New York Post—carried stories of the heist murders on the front page. He caught the glitter of traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge and the FDR Expressway. Radio stations would be reporting the story to commuters.
“Now,” Stark said, “before I turn it over to Special Agent Frank Morrow, I want to emphasize that any unauthorized release of information on this case will not be tolerated. Leaks will be deemed an obstruction of justice. Is that clear?” Her eyes scanned the faces in the room. “A reminder, we’ve called a news conference for 11:00 a.m. Okay, Frank, over to you.”
Morrow ran through key aspects of the investigation so far, then gave a brief background on the victims and the timeline of events as he flipped through the pages of the summary.
“You’ll see here that during the heist, the restaurant’s cook, who was out back, ran into the lot to a rig operated by a driver from Tennessee and urged him to call 911. The trucker got off a cell-phone photo of our suspects fleeing, but the quality is extremely poor. A retired parole officer at the gas pumps took a photo from another angle when he heard gunfire, but it’s out of focus. And two Yale students got clear footage, but from a great distance. We’re looking at it all, trying to enhance the images, but they’re not very helpful.”
Morrow hit on other key elements, most of which posed a challenge. The FBI’s Evidence Response Team was still processing the scene.
ERT’s work there so far confirmed that the service center’s security cameras had been disabled and that no cartridge casings had been recovered; it appeared the suspects had collected them.
“All the kill shots were head shots. Preliminary information gleaned from the scene by ERT and the Rockland County medical examiner indicates the rounds used were 9 mm. One of the witnesses, a gun-store owner, suggested the suspects used Beretta M9s. So far we have no latents, no DNA. We expect to get an update from Ramapo this morning.”
“These guys are smart, very smart,” someone said.
Morrow nodded and continued. The Critical Incident Response Group, CIRG, had dispatched a team from the Behavioral Analysis Unit out of Quantico to conduct an on-site examination.
“Van, want to jump in here?” Morrow said.
The voice of Van Brogan, a BAU supervisory agent, crackled loud through the speaker.
“As you all know, our aim is to characterize the fugitive suspects to aid our pursuit and ultimately to provide interview strategies once we make an arrest.”
“Glenda Stark here, Van. What can you tell us at this stage?”
“Obviously this attack was very organized, almost commando, militaristic in its execution. This kind of discipline is indicative of a number of possibilities—a group on a mission, possibly domestic terrorists, entwining an ideological motive with a financial one. The detached manner of the homicides, particularly once it was established by the suspect that the fourth victim was a federal agent, suggests ideological motivation typical of a crusade, or mission.”
The briefing evolved into a short brainstorming session.
“Says here the loss was 6.3 million dollars— Was it an inside job? Did the suspects have help?” a New York detective asked.
“We’re going through the background of every employee and ex-employee at American Centurion and the service center.”
“Including the guards?”
“Everybody.”
“I’d check with military records and polygraph, everybody,” an FBI agent advised. “Get warrants for all phone records.”
“What about confidential informants?” a Manhattan agent asked.
“Yes, we’re asking everyone to press their C.I.’s. We understand American Centurion will put up a reward, and the bureau is also looking into a reward for information,” Morrow said.
“Was Agent Dutton shot going for his weapon?” a New York detective asked.
“That’s consistent with our information,” Morrow said.