The Vengeance Below

By J E Moore

"And as for himself, he must prepare the instruments of death;" Psalms 7:13. An individual or a group was seizing passenger jetliners in midair by remote control and dashing them into the ground. Crash and burn, no survivors. Were they foreign terrorists or another Home-grown madman? Join Wayne Atkins, a rookie F.B.I. Special Agent with a background in Naval Intelligence and also a former police officer, as he and his veteran partner hunt for the most feared mass murderer in U.S. history. The elusive perpetrator, Syed Azrael, is an avionics-electronic technician who believes he is being directed by God to enact his vengeance on unrepentant sinners. In reality, the man is a psychopathic serial killer and is actually trying to destroy all the people who he feels have wronged him in the past. His next mission, after previously bringing three others, is to crash a fourth plane into a large gathering of his fellow company employees, all of whom he hates. The chase is on to identify, capture or kill the self-proclaimed Angel of Retribution. Suspense, action, tragedy, and even some unexpected humor, is entwined in the hunt for a deranged madman. There's a roaring, spine-tingling conclusion - intended to make you feel safe again. But will it? Sorry, but I must advise you most assuredly the events which transpire here are completely technically viable. Right now, or on any given day. And... I would know. I was an electronic technician also. Sweet dreams!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J E Moore
• Release date: Jan 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463539583

J E Moore

J E (John) Moore, a retired telephone company Electronic Technician lives in south Florida with his wife, Joyce and many of their large family nearby.

Book preview

The Vengeance Below…

By

J.E. Moore

Copyright © 2020 J.E. Moore

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Dedication and acknowledgement

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter One: In the Beginning

Chapter: Two: On its way

Chapter Three: Crash & Burn

Chapter Four: You need to know

Chapter Five: Going forward

Chapter Six: Begin the Investigation

Chapter Seven: The Search is on

Chapter Eight: Say what?

Chapter Nine: Who are you?

Chapter Ten: Digging in

Chapter Eleven: A new player in town

Chapter Twelve: The Pentagon

Chapter Thirteen: Who’s next?

Chapter Fourteen: What if?

Chapter Fifteen: What the Hell?

Chapter Sixteen: I see you

Chapter Seventeen: We need to talk

Chapter Eighteen: On the run

Chapter Nineteen: What’s this?

Epilogue

Other publications by J.E. Moore

Dedication and acknowledgement

I think I can do this.

You can do anything you want, she agreed.

This book is dedicated to Joyce, my wife and soulmate who has loved and supported me in all my endeavors. This is what she does. We shall share this victory together.

And… a special thanks to our friend, Gary J. Chapman for his proofreading and analysis.

Foreword

Sorry, but I must advise you most assuredly the events which transpire here are completely technically possible. Right now, any and every day… and there is no viable defense.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. I, and all of our Miami-based crew would like to thank you for selecting Delta Airlines for your travel today. In a few minutes we’ll begin our descent and final approach into the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport. The weather is a pleasant eighty-one degrees and partly cloudy with a light breeze from ocean-side. It’s a beautiful day for an afternoon visit to the beach and perhaps enjoy a frosty brew in Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville located on the Hollywood Beach Boardwalk. He chuckled, "But, please don’t forget your sunscreen down there. You could get fried like an egg on a summertime Texas sidewalk, and not realize it until the next morning. With that pertinent, special service information aside, I must now ask you to raise your seats and place the food trays in their upright position and fasten your seatbelts. We also request you turn off all your electronic devices, including cellphones and especially laptops. Again, thanks for joining us here on Delta Airlines and please keep us foremost in your mind for future travel plans. Good day, folks."

Delta Airlines flight 1705, Chicago to Fort Lauderdale, cruised smoothly through the clear, warm Florida skies… it was the first.

Someone or group was seizing aircraft in midair by remote control and dashing them to the ground. Crash and burn, no survivors. Were they foreign Terrorists… or another Home-Grown Madman? Who? Why? How?

America’s safest mode of travel was under attack. As a result, many of the airlines in the industry teetered toward financial collapse. Washington feared a snowball reaction, sparking another recession, or worse - a total Stock Market crash which would bring the entire Free World’s economy to its knees.

Sleepless nights, suspicion, anxiety… a young woman in Tampa had been reached out to via the Internet and touched by The Angel.

This could lead to hundreds more being killed, maybe thousands.

It’s now a frig’g race!

"In view of the possible, and or repeated carnage, our team had better well get our act ‘All in’ right now and stop these psycho bastards."

I serve as the Angel of Retribution.

Will the F.B.I.’s Behavior Analysis Unit working with the ultramodern biochemical laboratory in Washington and the C.I.A’s Star Wars Lab electronics analysis center in Langley, Virginia be able to identify, track or stop the assassin(s)?

Suspense, action, tragedy, even some unexpected humor is entwined in this hunt for a deranged killer.

Join Wayne Atkins, a rookie F.B.I. Special Agent and his veteran partner, Gary Taylor in the hunt for the most feared mass murderer in U.S. history.

A roaring, spine-tingling conclusion - intended to make you feel safe again. But, will it?

Prologue

And for himself, he must prepare the instruments of death; Psalms 7:13

Chapter One: In the Beginning

Delta flight 1705, nonstop from Chicago to Fort Lauderdale, cruised smoothly through the clear, warm Florida skies thirty miles west of Tampa International Airport. Below, TPA, similar to all major American facilities, had its own dedicated airspace which entailed a fifty mile outward sweep from its main tower being manned by the F.A.A.’s ever vigilant air traffic controllers. Flight plans showing the entire trip’s route were filed well in advance to insure no crowding or overlapping of airspace at the same altitude. ‘Passing by’ flights as this one routinely stay in close proximity to as many F.A.A. operations centers as economically feasible and over the years have established fixed routes and corridors similar to the sea lanes used in global shipping. Once the aircraft is within one of those zones they can tune into the airport’s Auto Terminal Information System (ATIS) to receive current data regarding local weather conditions, wind shear, runway approach and availability. But most importantly, the real reason why airlines zig-zag to their destinations instead of taking a straight shot as the crow flies, is to cover something else. The dreaded: Emergency Landing.

On this particular day, an ex-Navy and seasoned Delta pilot, Mike Stockley was at the helm, figuratively speaking – another carried over nautical term. The airline industry had borrowed many from the sea faring days of yesteryear. In actuality, the ship’s Captain was cruising on ‘auto pilot’, the preferred and safest method used by commercial airlines. It was less fatiguing to monitor a craft’s performance than to ‘drive’ it for any extended length of time. Computerization had clearly made a gigantic, positive impact.

Both the Captain and copilot had completed their required scans and recordings of the plane’s high-tech, digital instrument panels and data terminals which their earlier pioneer pilots had labeled, the new and improved, Sweetheart package. It had been an incredible technological upgrade from the propeller planes with their little round glass gauges which occasionally required a tap with the heel of the pilot’s shoe to get the needle unstuck. The N.A.S.A. space shuttles were the first to incorporate the computer cockpit controls and were also built to be accessed by remote control which enabled a ground operations center, such as Houston, not only to monitor but to diagnose system credibility and take control of the craft if necessary. However, its usage was deemed to be impractical and dangerous for today’s commercial aircraft due to the large number of planes with identical guidance systems flying within close range of each other. Later, the nonmilitary applications without remote control began filtering down and the first Lear jet with its ‘glass cockpit’ was introduced. From that point on, innovations led by the Boeing and McDonnell-Douglas Corporations were being developed and employed on almost a monthly basis. Unfortunately, some electronically created guidance and control systems were later declared to be ‘soft access’ due to their not being encrypted or hardened, thus vulnerable to modern day Cyberattacks.

Daddy, daddy can we go now? pleaded little four year old Stephanie as she danced around her father, Ron Jenson. "I’m all-ready. I’ve been ready forever!" as she bounced up and down, full of endless energy.

"Do you have your flip-flops, Sweetheart?’ playing the ‘list game’ with her.

Uh-huh, see my feet, Daddy?" wiggling her pink painted toes.

Good girl. How about your sun hat and sand pail?

Yes, yes, as she did a cartwheel across the living room.

Well then I guess you’re all set, as he grinned at one of his bundles of joy. Let’s get Mommy and the baby out-o-here!

Yea, yea! she cheered. Hurry, Mommy, we’re going to the beach and build the biggest sand castle in the whole world. It will be Gy-normas!

Mommy came from the bedroom toting their freshly changed baby in his carrier, a diaper bag hung across her shoulder. Let’s hope this will last him awhile… at least until we get there, and they both chuckled.

Yeah, added Stephanie. The baby’s a stinker, the baby’s a big stinker.

Oops, wait just a minute, as Ron theatrically rushed to the hall closet and grabbed a small set of binoculars off the shelf. We’ll be able to see the planes coming in and landing up close with these puppies.

Oh, Daddy, can I use them too? exclaimed his daughter.

Why sure, Sweetheart, and winked at his pleased wife, both knowing she was the real reason they were taking them to begin with. Here, I want you to carry it for us. Now, don’t take them out of the case until we’re in the car. Okay? Big-eyed and extra cute in her little yellow swimsuit, she clutched the parcel tightly as her father slipped the strap over her tiny shoulder. It’s your job to take care of them today. Can you handle it?

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Daddy. I’ll do a wonderful, extra special, good job."

I know you will, Sweetheart. Well then, let’s get this show on the road, the beach is waiting. I can hear it calling your name!

As the happy Jenson family piled in the car, the child remembered a key word and asked, Daddy, you said, puppies… I want a puppy, are we getting a puppy? How about a kittycat? We could have both. I’ll take care of them!

Inwardly he cringed, Er, sorry, no. That was just a figure of speech, Sugar, knowing he’d definitely opened a can of worms with the dreaded puppy word and would surely be hearing a lot more about it in the very near future. I’ve got enough pets already, he surmised to himself.

Not much traffic at that time of the day as he drove up the Interstate 95 north bound ramp entrance, leaving their small but comfortable three bedroom home in North Miami. Daddy, which beach are we going to today? Little Stephanie already had the field glasses out of its case and was staring intently at the car right next to them. She waved to them and they returned her gesture but all she could see were big, blurry heads so she kept waving until the two cars separated and she lost track of them.

We’re going to see the big jets today on our way to Hollywood Beach. We’ll stop and park on Perimeter Road, which was situated right in front of the runway. They’ll be so close you’ll feel the ‘whoosh’ as they land at 130 miles per hour. And even before that… if we’re lucky. We’ll see the planes on the horizon as they come in over the Everglades. That’s more than ten miles away. They’ll look like teeny, weeny little dots. Don’t worry, I’ll help you find them and we’ll watch them together!

I’d like that, Daddy. Would you like it too, Mommy?

Very much so, Darling. We’ll watch them for a while then go to the beach and go for a swim. Then we’ll have a picnic. How does that sound?

Yea! Swimming and picnic. Drive faster, Daddy!

Gino Lombardo pressed his positions’ not available/bypass activation button and rose from his swivel chair, coffee cup in hand to go on his scheduled fifteen minute morning break. His current air traffic control load was instantly split and switched to the other terminals on either side of him. No ‘hot traffic’ was on his screen.

Gino, how about bringing me back a coffee? asked Rick to the left of him.

Sure. Are you still using that cup with the cute little ducks on it?

Hey, guy. My niece gave me that for Christmas last year. Someday, maybe you’ll be an old fart me and appreciate those little things, chastised his workmate then passed him his favorite cup.

I hope so, Grandpa, as he gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. How do you want your poison this time Uncle Rick?

Cream, no sugar, can’t you remember anything, boy? … and don’t stir it with your finger. I’ll see that greasy, oil slick you Whops make and know what you done. Good natured razing. After all, they were uncle and nephew on his sister’s side and shared an Italian family dinner together on the first Sunday of every month.

As he was sipping the fresh, hot coffee at the long standup table in the break room, another fellow Controller sauntered up next to him. Morn’g, Gino, how’s it going on your side of the Magic Kingdom? The Kingdom he referred to consisted of a circle of twenty consoles. Each position was equipped with a v.d.t., a transceiver, a data terminal with keyboard, a com system and an oversized radar screen which monitored and displayed approximately ten aircraft flying within a designated zone. The Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport’s controlled radius had twenty zones. Two supervisors were positioned on opposite sides of the tower’s circle of A.T.C.s to oversee the operations center.

Hey, Jeff, he returned. Doing okay, how about you?

Same old, same old. So, what’s your assignment today, kid? asked the crew’s most senior Controller. I have the military corridor… as usual. It’s slow and boring which is perfectly fine for us old guys waiting to retire.

Yeah, I should be so lucky, responded Gino. But, hey you’ve paid your dues and deserve some easy time. I’ve got the incoming Naples approach today.

Naples over the Everglades? chided his friend. Ain’t you the Superstar? I tell you true kid, after a few more tours of that hot-seat traffic, you’ll be sitting in the Catbird’s (supervisor’s) seat.

Yeah, yeah, we’ll see, answered Gino. You know how it is. One little fuck-up and your ass goes to back of the line… or out the door.

Amen, so true,’ agreed Jeff Hodges. It’s really because of all those stupid, globbly-goop government regulations which were made expressly to cover the sorry ass Management’s stupidity. We’re the guys carrying the load and making the important front line decisions. Those useless Yahoo’s take all the credit if it’s right and we get a kick in the ass if it’s wrong. Reminds me of my good old days in the Air Force during Desert Storm. Different stage, same old shit."

Sorry, I wouldn’t know about that, never having served in the military, but I clearly get the picture, Bro, returned Gino.

Jeff took another sip then asked, You said you got the Naples incoming? Gino nodded affirmation. I saw on the crew schedule today my old buddy Mike Stockley is flying in on a Delta. I think it was flight 1705 due in about twenty minutes.

Oh, yeah? An old friend?

You bet,’ explained Jeff. We flew together way back in Desert Storm. He was the pilot and I was his right hand."

Desert Storm? His copilot? Wow, I’m impressed, responded Gino. So… how come you’re here riding a desk and he’s still in the sky?

Ah, yes, an auto accident twenty years ago bummed up my leg… and you wouldn’t believe what the physical requirements are for military flying.

Yeah, I heard they’re pretty stringent, as he glanced at Jeff’s cane which he always carried. That explains a lot, he thought to himself.

If you get his flight and have a minute would you tell him I’ll be waiting for his ugly mug at the gate? He laughed, I keep missing him because he usually flies the Redeye. He snorted, I ain’t seen that scurvy son-of-a bitch in years!

I sure will, Jeff and I’d better get going now if I don’t want another Controller to guide that ride. Oh, and by the way, are you going to be around during your lunch break?

Yeah, sure, he answered. Whatta think I’d be doing, going ice skating on this bummed-out leg?

"Well, if that’s case, how about dropping by the conference room for a piece of your birthday cake?’ asked Gino. We all chipped-in a nickel and bought you a soggy, day-old cupcake with a really big candle. He smiled, "Hey, you didn’t really think we’d forget your birthday you did you? So, Happy Birthday you old fart. And, please tell us you’re finally considering retirement." He then happily filled a to-go coffee for Rick and left with much added respect for the Old-timer who appeared to be genuinely touched.

Jesus Christ, where you been? grumbled Rick as he stared at his watch. Did that old fart, Jeff Hodges, trap you with one of his Desert Storm yarns? He took a sip, It’s still hot and no oil slick… so okay I forgive you. But do it faster next time.

Roger that Uncle. Hum’n, Desert Storm? No, not exactly but close enough, answered his nephew. It turns out he’s got an old war buddy he used to fly with coming in on one of my flights, as he activated his position and visually scanned the screen. And, there he is, Delta 1705. He’s just entered our air space and hasn’t been hailed by another Controller. You’re all mine, Captain Stockley. Lucky you.

On a deserted rural dirt road bordering one of the scores of man-made canals created by the Army Corp of Engineers fifty years ago, awaited a solitary figure. In front of him stretched the Florida Everglades, behind, the towns of Davie and Weston. They were directly in front of the Naples Incoming landing approach to the FFL airport. A cigarette dangled from his thin lips as he searched the western skies with his high-powered binoculars to find what he knew to be somewhere soon on the horizon. Alone on his mission. Months of planning and years of training had prepared him well to do what no other had ever done. He checked his watch again; it wouldn’t be long before Delta 1705 flew into ‘his’ range. Come to me Baby and I will set us free.

Chapter Two: Just a little earlier

Capt. Stockley’s scan of the instrument panels and v.t.d.’s (video terminal display) informed him of the craft’s exact G.P.S. position in relationship to the flight plan. Even without those readings he knew perfectly well where he was, having flown the route numerous times. He also possessed a rare sixth sense; a feeling of orientation. He was the type of person who could get spun around blindfolded and still know which way was north every time. It sure had come in handy during his stint in the Air Force, especially on combat missions.

To Jim, his copilot, Log us in at 10:20 hours, one hundred miles SSE of Tampa and ten miles east of Naples at 650 knots. I am decreasing power to begin our descent into FLL and disengaging the autopilot.

Yes sir, responded James Ogden, the First Officer and an ex-Air Force pilot, who he had flown with numerous times on other routes but this particular one was his first.. Jim then recorded the Captain’s orders on the ship’s log and retrieved two landing procedures check lists he knew his boss would want next.

Captain Mike continued, We’ll begin our check down list after I touch base with our crew and passengers. Jim nodded acknowledgment and started filling in the basic items on the first list. Stockley then buzzed the galley’s intercom located in the rear of the aircraft.

It was the head flight attendant’s station. She answered the hailing, Good morning sir. How may I help you?

Good morning to you also, he returned. We’re fifteen minutes from touch down, what’s your status?

Our aisles are clear and the galley will be secured within three minutes. Our Coach Class attendants are making their final breakfast clean-up inspections, she answered.

Sounds good. How’s the handicapped gentleman in 46D?

He had three drinks and is sound asleep. He’ll probably remain so until we awake him after landing. We’ll keep an eye on him, sir.

Very good and thank you, returned the Captain. Next he buzzed the First Class section’s attendant. Although she was physically less than fifteen feet away there was no direct communication due to the cockpit door being closed and locked per F.A.A. regulations. Unknown to most, a silly, little embarrassing incident not too long ago had prompted this ‘antiterrorist’ security procedure which is now required industry wide. The story goes that a tipsy First Class passenger on a different airline tripped and fell into the cockpit. The door had been left open when the copilot had left to use the rest room. The fellow picked himself up and decided to take the vacated copilot’s seat and chew the fat with the Captain since he himself was an amateur pilot and would surely be welcomed. Again, he lost his balance and fell across the back of the pilot’s chair while he was manually making a turn. The startled Captain, along with a little help from the man’s failing arms, jerked hard left, turning the plane into a downward forty-five degree angle dive which dumped a quarter of the passengers into the aisle or other people’s laps. It also catapulted the First Officer off the toilet in the lavatory and into the now even more surprised occupants of First Class. Service with a smile and a moon. Luckily no one had been hurt, nor sued or even asked for a refund. In as much, more than one woman had later declared to her friends that this was the highlight of her trip since the First Officer was certainly a handsome fellow to lay eyes upon. That incident, coupled with the new startup fad of hijacking planes inflight, mandated locking the cockpit doors from ground to ground. And, from hence forth, it was strongly recommended by all airline administrators: Take care of your personal business before you take care of the Company’s.

‘Buzz… buzz’ went the intercom with its flashing blue light in First Class. Good morning, sir, she responded.

Good morning, how’s it going back there with everyone and the pregnant lady in 1C?

All passengers and Missus Azrael are doing quite well, she answered. She took one of her prescribed motion sickness pills thirty minutes ago then asked for a pickle and ice cream. We didn’t have a pickle to go with her ice cream but she appears to be just fine. The lady is presently happily chatting away with Missus Satinosky next to her. Life is good.

Oky-doky, offer your last round and secure the liquor cabinet. We are twelve minutes from touchdown. She acknowledged and hung up.

Captain Mike turned to Jim and said, We’ll lineup for a manual guidance test and continue our slow descent. Let’s take this puppy home. The seasoned veterans quickly completed the check lists in flight and were on an In-line approach within two minutes.

A.T.I.S. advises all clear with no surprises anticipated ahead, reported Ogden.

That’s what I want to hear. Sometimes we get severe thunder storms over the Everglades at this time of the year… or a tornado in November. Those are really dangerous.

I’ve got it, I’ll give him a blowjob! she proclaimed. Bobbing her head in an all-knowing manner, "You know, all men love blow-jobs."

Missus Satinosky had been stopped in midsentence and stared at Tessa Azrael sitting next to her. Par… pardon? The gentlemen passengers in their section collectively raised their eyebrows and gave a wry smirk.

Oh, so sorry to interrupt you, responded Missus Azrael. It just popped into my mind, as she snapped her fingers. After all, my husband, deserves something extra special for letting me visit my Mom. Ya know, me being pregnant and all… and there being the no sex ‘tween us until after the baby comes. Yeah, no sex cause I’m a good momma and sure don’t want him poking me and causing the baby brain damage. I gotta protect my child! as she vigorously shook her head up and down. As for this here trip, he’s usually just a cheap bastard for whatever I wants but by golly-gee here I am sitting with the rich people! Gazing around, Yes sir’re, this is really fine. A dark thought slowly crossed her mind, Hey, I wonder if’n he done all this to trick me and’s been foolin’ around while I was gone. Is that’s why he bought me this here High Class ticket? She scrunched up her face, "Whatta you think, girlfriend?"

Missus Satinosky didn’t respond and listened to more ramblings while wondering, Did she wash her motion sickness pill down with a vodka or two… or three or is this their everyday nutty lifestyle?

Nah, I better not do it, stated Tessa. At least not to him, and gave a mischievous grin. With much wisdom, Cause then he’d be pestering me all the time for some more and believe me the less I see of his ugly pecker the better. If you know what I mean.

Missus Satinosky nodded a fake agreement and thought, And to think, I was considering inviting them over to our home on Key Biscayne for dinner. Good God in heaven, my husband would have had a stroke! She pondered for a moment then offered, Why don’t we gather our things together now, Dear? It won’t be long until we land.

Yeah, okay if you say so. I ain’t feeling too good right now. Then added, "Maybe I’ll buy him an app for his stupid smart phone instead. That’s all he cares about. It’s never outta his hand. Screw him and his phone," satisfied with her choice.

Dispatch, this is unit one ninety-three requesting a ‘twenty-two’ (a 15 minute personal break) at U.S. 1 and Sterling Road. (in Dania Beach, Fl.) Q.S.R. (Do you receive?)

Roger, unit one ninety-three, returned the Broward County Sheriff’s Office police dispatcher. Call Detective Hanson, in Auto Theft after your ‘twenty-two’. Q.S.R?

Roger that Dispatch. Q.S.L. (Signing off.) Officer Carlos Lopez wheeled his patrol cruiser into the parking lot of Jaxon’s Ice Cream Parlor Restaurant and Country Store at 10:30a.m. Saturday. It was the Department’s favorite establishment to take their 22’s when assigned to this district in the county… which Jaxon’s management, patrons and local residents all loved as well. There had been no crimes committed in that immediate area since the Parlor had opened its doors 60 years ago because of the ongoing police presence. He drove to the rear of the facility and backed into the last parking spot so he could see anyone approaching (for his own protection) and also to be pointed in a forward position in order to leave in a hurry if necessary. He whipped out his own personal cell phone on the way to the takeout counter and dialed a non-police number.

The line rang twice, Hello, answered his newly wedded wife, Felicia. Reading the caller id she oozed, Es this the hombre with the big gun?

S?, Bonita, answered Carlos. "And, I have two big guns," he said while smiling into his phone.

Ooo, is that so? Lucky for you there’s only one big gun for me. Why don’t you come home and let me shoot it off? she teased.

Don’t I wish, remembering their morning’s steamy shower and after breakfast ardent ‘Goodbye’. I miss you so much already m? Bonita but I’m just checking in. I’m over at Jaxon’s and only have a few minutes. I’m gonna grab a quick bite then call some guy in Auto Theft. Maybe he’s got some news regarding one of the reports I turned in, he explained.

Well, okay then. Just as long as it’s not with another senorita, she giggled.

No way, Lady, while thinking, I sure wish I had another week’s vacation. That three day weekend Honeymoon hadn’t been enough. Love you, Bonita. Got to go, see you soon."

Not soon enough, Lollipop. Come home rested… you’ll need it. Adios, m? amor, she bade in her sweet Hispanic accent and hung up.

With a grin on his face, he next called the B.S.O.’s Central Station, Auto Theft, Detective Hanson, please.

Hanson here, answered the twenty year veteran in a gruff voice.

Deputy Lopez. You wanted to speak to me, sir?

Lopez? Oh, yeah. Look kid, I’m in a hurry. I was supposed to be in a meeting ten minutes ago. They’re glaring out the conference door and making ugly faces at me. He held up a single index finger in response. Remember that report you made on a stolen 2014 Lexus two weeks ago?

Yes sir, I do!

Well, we nailed the Perp speeding up the Interstate yesterday, he was arrested and the hearing is set for next week.

Great, score one for the good guys, beamed Carlos.

Maybe, maybe not, shot back the detective. "I’m reading your report and you misspelled the victim’s name twice and skipped a number on his license plate.