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Authors: Louis Charbonneau
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three different major field offices where he had been Special-Agent-in-Charge were, almost to a man, his most vocal admirers.
Like his predecessor, William Webster, Landers didn’t think much of doing things by committee. Webster had downgraded the top echelon’s twice-weekly executive conferences, which he had found unproductive, instead giving more authority to his three Executive Assistant Directors. The executive conferences were still held, but less often, chaired usually by one of the Executive Assistant Directors. Landers had adopted Webster’s practice of working principally through his three key assistants. “You get fifteen people in one room, every one of them with an ax to grind, all you get is conversation,” Landers had said. “With three or four people you can get down to cases.”
At this morning’s meeting with his three top aides Landers quickly dispensed with a number of policy matters and cases in progress. So many matters came to his desk that he had insisted on receiving only brief memos and summary teletypes, supplemented by more extensive reports only on cases of special importance. One of the latter, an ongoing investigation by the White Collar Crime Task Force unit attached to the Washington Field Office, was reported on in detail by James Caughey, quoting from a report received from the WFO. The investigation was sensitive because it involved both high-level personnel in the General Services Administration and members of Congress. Of more immediate concern was an airline hijacking currently in progress in Miami, where the Delta Airlines plane was being held on the ground.
“Who’s down there?” Landers asked.
“Callahan. He has the Miami hostage unit and a SWAT team. The hijacker is a loner, about nineteen, a couple of minor arrests. Callahan already has most of the background, but he’s taking it slow, letting the kid calm down.”
Landers nodded in satisfaction. Callahan was the best. He had been Landers’ number two man during the PRC Task Force operations, the designated chief negotiator. If only Callahan had been there in San Timoteo the day the shooting started, Landers had often thought, if he had had a chance to talk to those amateur revolutionaries, it might all have ended differently….
“Good,” Landers said. “The longer it goes, the better our chances. I want reports every half hour until it’s over.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the rest of the morning’s business had been discussed, Landers paused, picking up a memo from a stack on the long table in the small conference room. “This one I don’t like,” he said. It was the memo from Halbig concerning the missing Brea file. “According to this, Halbig, you’re raising the possibility that someone stole a sensitive file—and that someone could have been an FBI man.”
“It’s only one possibility,” Halbig said carefully.
“A lousy one,” Landers growled. “Go ahead, run through it. I want the others to hear the details.”
Halbig was ready for the demand. Landers liked brief, organized reports. Halbig recalled the theft of an FBI vehicle ten days before. It appeared at the time that the thief had not specifically been after FBI documents—there was a good chance that he didn’t know he was stealing an FBI car. Nevertheless, he had opened one box of documents that were in the trunk of the car. That box as well as the others had been gone over minutely. All of the files had come from the San Timoteo RA’s office, which had been shut down in April, two months after the death of the Resident Agent, Vernon Lippert.
“All of the files appear to be intact,” Halbig said, “except one. That folder is empty. It’s identified as the Brea file. Its contents are unknown.”
“What about our dupes?” Caughey asked.
“There are no duplicates. That was one of the first things that caught my attention. A copy of every piece of paper generated in any investigation is supposed to come to Headquarters, of
Like his predecessor, William Webster, Landers didn’t think much of doing things by committee. Webster had downgraded the top echelon’s twice-weekly executive conferences, which he had found unproductive, instead giving more authority to his three Executive Assistant Directors. The executive conferences were still held, but less often, chaired usually by one of the Executive Assistant Directors. Landers had adopted Webster’s practice of working principally through his three key assistants. “You get fifteen people in one room, every one of them with an ax to grind, all you get is conversation,” Landers had said. “With three or four people you can get down to cases.”
At this morning’s meeting with his three top aides Landers quickly dispensed with a number of policy matters and cases in progress. So many matters came to his desk that he had insisted on receiving only brief memos and summary teletypes, supplemented by more extensive reports only on cases of special importance. One of the latter, an ongoing investigation by the White Collar Crime Task Force unit attached to the Washington Field Office, was reported on in detail by James Caughey, quoting from a report received from the WFO. The investigation was sensitive because it involved both high-level personnel in the General Services Administration and members of Congress. Of more immediate concern was an airline hijacking currently in progress in Miami, where the Delta Airlines plane was being held on the ground.
“Who’s down there?” Landers asked.
“Callahan. He has the Miami hostage unit and a SWAT team. The hijacker is a loner, about nineteen, a couple of minor arrests. Callahan already has most of the background, but he’s taking it slow, letting the kid calm down.”
Landers nodded in satisfaction. Callahan was the best. He had been Landers’ number two man during the PRC Task Force operations, the designated chief negotiator. If only Callahan had been there in San Timoteo the day the shooting started, Landers had often thought, if he had had a chance to talk to those amateur revolutionaries, it might all have ended differently….
“Good,” Landers said. “The longer it goes, the better our chances. I want reports every half hour until it’s over.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the rest of the morning’s business had been discussed, Landers paused, picking up a memo from a stack on the long table in the small conference room. “This one I don’t like,” he said. It was the memo from Halbig concerning the missing Brea file. “According to this, Halbig, you’re raising the possibility that someone stole a sensitive file—and that someone could have been an FBI man.”
“It’s only one possibility,” Halbig said carefully.
“A lousy one,” Landers growled. “Go ahead, run through it. I want the others to hear the details.”
Halbig was ready for the demand. Landers liked brief, organized reports. Halbig recalled the theft of an FBI vehicle ten days before. It appeared at the time that the thief had not specifically been after FBI documents—there was a good chance that he didn’t know he was stealing an FBI car. Nevertheless, he had opened one box of documents that were in the trunk of the car. That box as well as the others had been gone over minutely. All of the files had come from the San Timoteo RA’s office, which had been shut down in April, two months after the death of the Resident Agent, Vernon Lippert.
“All of the files appear to be intact,” Halbig said, “except one. That folder is empty. It’s identified as the Brea file. Its contents are unknown.”
“What about our dupes?” Caughey asked.
“There are no duplicates. That was one of the first things that caught my attention. A copy of every piece of paper generated in any investigation is supposed to come to Headquarters, of
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