NOTE: The story takes place during the holiday season, early Season Two,
Smallville. Hence, Lionel Luthor is still "recovering" from his tornado
injuries. In the Law and Order universe, events occur while Alex Cabot is
still in the D.A.'s office.
[LaGuardia Airport, NYC]
Detective Stabler, along with a dozen uniformed officers, patrolled the departures terminal. If their suspect – renegade Army Ranger Wallace Johnson – was indeed trying to escape to Florida, they would find him here.
A man in a grey hooded sweatshirt tried to duck behind a magazine rack. That only caught Stabler's attention.
"Excuse me, sir," Stabler announced, as he hastened his pace.
The man immediately dropped the magazine he was holding and dashed down the hallway.
Stabler cursed as he sprinted after him. He clicked on his radio. "Captain ... I think we have him."
The suspect stumbled over a large suitcase, startling the middle-aged man who owned it. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but the delay meant that Stabler and half a dozen officers were now closing in.
He ran around a corner, shoving aside passengers and baggage handlers. Somehow, he managed to keep his hood on.
The hooded man spotted a restaurant and raced inside. Now, he was trapped.
He tried to jump over the counter, hoping to escape into the kitchen. Stabler grabbed his arm and tossed him onto a table. Spoons, silverware and a bowl of salad flew in every direction.
Stabler shoved the suspect against the ground. "Wallace Johnson, you're under arrest for the murder of –"
The SVU detective pulled back the hood. "Dammit!" Stabler cursed. "It's not Johnson!" The kid – who appeared to be a wiry, Eminem-wannabe – could be no older than 21.
"Yo, man, I ain't killed nobody!" the kid mumbled. Stabler checked his pockets and found a pouch of marijuana leaves.
Stabler cursed again and shoved the perp towards a pair of officers. "Book him for possession." He clicked on his radio. "Stabler to Cragen. False alarm, I repeat, false alarm."
Outside the entrance to the airport, Cragen surveyed the dragnet that had surrounded the airport. Wallace Johnson would not escape. Half the cops in Manhattan must be in LaGuardia by now, he nodded confidently.
Cragen directed a company of heavily-armed task force officers to patrol the arrivals level. His radio chirped. "Cragen here."
"It's Briscoe," the homicide detective replied. "Green and I are out in the hangars." Sniffer dogs barked in the background.
"If you see anything at all, detective, you call for back-up," Cragen ordered. "We're gonna get this guy one way or another. Fin and Munch are already enroute."
Briscoe peeked into a supply room in the hangar. Nothing unusual.
"The sooner we lock up Johnson in Sing Sing, the better," Briscoe groaned.
Green nodded. "Yeah, the way the trial is going, Lex might end up as his cellmate.
Briscoe snickered at the idea. "The silver-spooned brat and the psychotic Ranger as bunkmates ... wouldn't that be sweet.
At the other end of the tarmac, a lone police helicopter landed. Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola ducked their heads as the left the copter.
"See, what did I tell ya," Munch bragged, "that's how you beat rush-hour."
"So where do we begin to search," Tutuola frowned. "He could be anywhere."
Ten feet away, Wallace Johnson – disguised as an airport baggage handler – saw an opportunity. There was only one pilot in the copter. The detectives had not pulled out their sidearms and had turned their backs from him. The younger detective was already several feet away from the older one with the glasses.
Johnson sprinted towards the copter and pulled out his gun.
Tutuola heard a crackle of gravel and spun around, instinctively aiming his own weapon. No!
Wallace Johnson had aimed a gun at his partner's head.
"Hands in the air, officer!" Johnson declared. Tutuola aimed his weapon at the suspect's head.
"There's nowhere to run, Johnson!" Tutuola growled, over the whirr of the copter blades. "The airport's swarming with cops. You pissed them off – icing one of our own! Now unless you wanna leave here in a body bag, you'll drop your weapon. Now!"
Johnson pulled Munch in front of him. "You drop your piece, copper! Or your friend gets it in the head." He shoved the gun's nozzle into Munch's neck.
"Once you get a clear shot, take it, Fin!" Munch barked. "You killed a cop, Wallace. You're as good as dead!"
"I swear to God, I'll kill him!" Johnson replied. He seemed extremely agitated. He knew he was trapped. Anything could happen now.
Tutuola saw the look in Munch's eyes. Even though his partner had a tough exterior, he knew he must be terrified. Johnson had nothing to lose. He had killed a cop. Any court in New York would condemn him to life in prison. Or a lethal injection.
"Drop your weapon. Now!" Johnson ordered.
"Okay, okay," Tutuola slowly placed the gun on the tarmac and stepped away, with his arms in the air.
"Don't –"Munch pleaded, but it was too late. Johnson was now in control of the situation.
"I'm taking this copter now," Johnson stated, while clutching Munch in front of him. He motioned to the copter pilot to open the door. Munch shook his head violently, knowing that if he opened the door, Johnson could escape.
Unfortunately, the young pilot panicked and unlocked the door quickly. Johnson slowly crawled into the copter, then kicked Munch onto the tarmac. The gun was now against the pilot's temple.
"Fly!" Johnson ordered. The pilot had no choice but to comply.
As the copter soared away, Munch casually dusted off his pants. He glared at Fin.
"You shoulda taken the shot when you had the chance," Munch grumbled.
"Well, I figured you didn't want your brains splattered all over LaGuardia!" Tutuola snapped back.
Munch shook his head and clicked his radio. "Cragen, this is detective Munch. We found Johnson –"
"That's great!" Cragen replied. "Where is he?"
"He commandeered a police copter," Munch replied, "He had his piece against my head. I think you better call in the feds. He's ... gone."
Cragen muttered something obscene under his breath. This day couldn't get any worse, he feared.
Now we're all on the hook for this mess. The D.A., the NYPD – everyone.
Heads are gonna roll ...
Over the next 24 hours, the NYPD set up roadblocks in every borough of New York City. State troopers set up checkpoints along the interstate. D.A. Arthur Branch informed the Ontario Provincial Police and the Surete du Quebec – just in case the suspect fled north across the border.
New Jersey state police found a burning chopper a day later. The pilot had been burnt to a crisp. The coroner would later comfirm that the poor fellow was shot once in the temple.
[Office of D.A. Arthur Branch, Manhattan]
On the TV, Executive Assistant D.A. Jack McCoy grimaced at the bad news:
"There have been unconfirmed sightings of suspect Wallace Johnson, wanted in the deaths of NY officer Mike Vanelli and LuthorCorp. employee Chelsea Saunders. He has been allegedly seen in New Jersey, Virginia and South Carolina ..."
"Well, isn't that splendid," Branch remarked sarcastically. "We had him and we let him get away!"
"Arthur, he had a gun to Munch's head," McCoy explained.
"I wish to God that Fin Tutuola had taken the shot," Branch replied. He rubbed his eyes, fatigued by lack of sleep. "As much as people don't like the idea of cops getting shot, they hate the idea of cop-killers on the lam even more."
McCoy sighed, as he turned off the television. "So what are we going to do about it?"
Branch flinched. "I've done my part. I notified the FBI, state authorities from here to Florida and the Mounties. You wanted Lex Luthor's head. This is your mess, Jack. I'm the one who has to face the electorate, whatever happens. It's up to you to save your own skin now. You get that conviction, or there'll be hell to pay."
McCoy stood up, glared at Branch, then stormed out of the office. So that's how it's going to be, he grumbled to himself. The governor will blame the D.A.'s office, the D.A. will blame the cops.
There's no doubt someone at One Police Plaza will be sacrificed, for nothing else but to steer the blame away from the mayor's office, the D.A. and Albany.
McCoy tugged at his collar, which now seemed to strangle him. Either Lex Luthor goes down ...
Or I will.
[Courthouse, Manhattan, NYC]
Stabler stepped out of the courtroom. Yet another day on the stand in the abuse trial of NY state representative Connors. His partner, Olivia Benson, couldn't persuade the Nichols girl to testify against her attacker. Without her testimony, Connors' defense was putting forth a motion to dismiss. Down the hall, assistant D.A. Alex Cabot was answering questions from the media.
Everything seemed to be going wrong, he thought. Wallace Johnson was gone to who knows where. The Connors case was falling apart before his eyes. He just had another heated argument with his wife. Instead of sleeping on the couch, he chose to go back to the SVU offices to prepare for today's triad proceedings.
Nothing he did seemed to make a difference. Johnson would go underground, never to resurface. Connors, that sick bastard, would buy his way out of a conviction.
All because of Luthor, Stabler concluded. His money, influence and hardball tactics were succeeding. The detective despised this feeling of helplessness. He could do absolutely nothing to change it.
Cabot finished her scrum with the media and returned to Stabler. "The judge won't dismiss the charges," she insisted. "We still have witnesses."
"It's over, why don't you accept it, Alex," Stabler grumbled. "The defense will tear apart our witnesses based on their drug use. Connors will walk, since he's so cosy with those jackasses in Albany and Metropolis."
"Elliot, if you think I can't do my job," Cabot scowled, "maybe you should withdraw from the case! Detective Benson can take the stand in your place!"
Stabler shrugged. "That's the best idea you've had all day." Then, he spotted a pair of well-dressed men exiting the conference room to his right.
It was Richard Goldstein, Lex Luthor's attorney. And Lex Luthor. Lex seemed to smirk at him. A taunt, as if he knew that things were going exactly as he had planned. Connors would walk. And so would he.
I'll wipe that smug grin off your face, Stabler snarled to himself.
Something snapped in Stabler's mind. All the tensions of the past few weeks had built up – bottled within him.
They would be unleashed now.
Stabler grabbed Lex by his lapels and shoved him into the wall. He could hear Alex Cabot ordering him to stop, but the rage he was feeling was overwhelming. Even now, it seemed, Lex was laughing at him. Two cops were dead, and he was laughing about it.
Stabler shoved Lex against the wall. "You think it's funny, you arrogant little prick! Two cops are dead and all you can do is laugh!"
Goldstein tried to yank Stabler off of his client, but Stabler gripped Lex's jacket even tighter.
"You need some professional help!" Goldstein remarked, as he struggled with the detective.
"I'll show you some professional help!" Stabler growled, and recoiled his fist – ready to pummel Lex into the wall behind him.
Lex showed no fear and glared directly into Stabler's menacing eyes. "You take that swing Detective Stabler," Lex glowered, "and mark my words: I'll have your badge! You'll be lucky to get a security job at Walmart."
"Stabler!" Cabot barked, as she and Goldstein pulled Stabler away from Lex. Stabler snarled at Lex, as Goldstein quickly pulled his client away.
"You're finished in this city, detective," Goldstein declared. "That's police brutality!"
Stabler wrested himself away from the court officers who had tried to restrain him. Cabot stepped in front of him.
"Guess what? You don't have to withdraw from the case," she announced, "because I'm having you removed. I can't protect you now, Elliot. Whether Cragen wants to save your ass is his business."
Furious, Cabot marched down the hallway. Stabler slumped against the wall. He snapped. He knew it.
He had just destroyed his career. Lex Luthor would have the last laugh after all.
[LaGuardia Airport, NYC]
Detective Stabler, along with a dozen uniformed officers, patrolled the departures terminal. If their suspect – renegade Army Ranger Wallace Johnson – was indeed trying to escape to Florida, they would find him here.
A man in a grey hooded sweatshirt tried to duck behind a magazine rack. That only caught Stabler's attention.
"Excuse me, sir," Stabler announced, as he hastened his pace.
The man immediately dropped the magazine he was holding and dashed down the hallway.
Stabler cursed as he sprinted after him. He clicked on his radio. "Captain ... I think we have him."
The suspect stumbled over a large suitcase, startling the middle-aged man who owned it. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but the delay meant that Stabler and half a dozen officers were now closing in.
He ran around a corner, shoving aside passengers and baggage handlers. Somehow, he managed to keep his hood on.
The hooded man spotted a restaurant and raced inside. Now, he was trapped.
He tried to jump over the counter, hoping to escape into the kitchen. Stabler grabbed his arm and tossed him onto a table. Spoons, silverware and a bowl of salad flew in every direction.
Stabler shoved the suspect against the ground. "Wallace Johnson, you're under arrest for the murder of –"
The SVU detective pulled back the hood. "Dammit!" Stabler cursed. "It's not Johnson!" The kid – who appeared to be a wiry, Eminem-wannabe – could be no older than 21.
"Yo, man, I ain't killed nobody!" the kid mumbled. Stabler checked his pockets and found a pouch of marijuana leaves.
Stabler cursed again and shoved the perp towards a pair of officers. "Book him for possession." He clicked on his radio. "Stabler to Cragen. False alarm, I repeat, false alarm."
Outside the entrance to the airport, Cragen surveyed the dragnet that had surrounded the airport. Wallace Johnson would not escape. Half the cops in Manhattan must be in LaGuardia by now, he nodded confidently.
Cragen directed a company of heavily-armed task force officers to patrol the arrivals level. His radio chirped. "Cragen here."
"It's Briscoe," the homicide detective replied. "Green and I are out in the hangars." Sniffer dogs barked in the background.
"If you see anything at all, detective, you call for back-up," Cragen ordered. "We're gonna get this guy one way or another. Fin and Munch are already enroute."
Briscoe peeked into a supply room in the hangar. Nothing unusual.
"The sooner we lock up Johnson in Sing Sing, the better," Briscoe groaned.
Green nodded. "Yeah, the way the trial is going, Lex might end up as his cellmate.
Briscoe snickered at the idea. "The silver-spooned brat and the psychotic Ranger as bunkmates ... wouldn't that be sweet.
At the other end of the tarmac, a lone police helicopter landed. Detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola ducked their heads as the left the copter.
"See, what did I tell ya," Munch bragged, "that's how you beat rush-hour."
"So where do we begin to search," Tutuola frowned. "He could be anywhere."
Ten feet away, Wallace Johnson – disguised as an airport baggage handler – saw an opportunity. There was only one pilot in the copter. The detectives had not pulled out their sidearms and had turned their backs from him. The younger detective was already several feet away from the older one with the glasses.
Johnson sprinted towards the copter and pulled out his gun.
Tutuola heard a crackle of gravel and spun around, instinctively aiming his own weapon. No!
Wallace Johnson had aimed a gun at his partner's head.
"Hands in the air, officer!" Johnson declared. Tutuola aimed his weapon at the suspect's head.
"There's nowhere to run, Johnson!" Tutuola growled, over the whirr of the copter blades. "The airport's swarming with cops. You pissed them off – icing one of our own! Now unless you wanna leave here in a body bag, you'll drop your weapon. Now!"
Johnson pulled Munch in front of him. "You drop your piece, copper! Or your friend gets it in the head." He shoved the gun's nozzle into Munch's neck.
"Once you get a clear shot, take it, Fin!" Munch barked. "You killed a cop, Wallace. You're as good as dead!"
"I swear to God, I'll kill him!" Johnson replied. He seemed extremely agitated. He knew he was trapped. Anything could happen now.
Tutuola saw the look in Munch's eyes. Even though his partner had a tough exterior, he knew he must be terrified. Johnson had nothing to lose. He had killed a cop. Any court in New York would condemn him to life in prison. Or a lethal injection.
"Drop your weapon. Now!" Johnson ordered.
"Okay, okay," Tutuola slowly placed the gun on the tarmac and stepped away, with his arms in the air.
"Don't –"Munch pleaded, but it was too late. Johnson was now in control of the situation.
"I'm taking this copter now," Johnson stated, while clutching Munch in front of him. He motioned to the copter pilot to open the door. Munch shook his head violently, knowing that if he opened the door, Johnson could escape.
Unfortunately, the young pilot panicked and unlocked the door quickly. Johnson slowly crawled into the copter, then kicked Munch onto the tarmac. The gun was now against the pilot's temple.
"Fly!" Johnson ordered. The pilot had no choice but to comply.
As the copter soared away, Munch casually dusted off his pants. He glared at Fin.
"You shoulda taken the shot when you had the chance," Munch grumbled.
"Well, I figured you didn't want your brains splattered all over LaGuardia!" Tutuola snapped back.
Munch shook his head and clicked his radio. "Cragen, this is detective Munch. We found Johnson –"
"That's great!" Cragen replied. "Where is he?"
"He commandeered a police copter," Munch replied, "He had his piece against my head. I think you better call in the feds. He's ... gone."
Cragen muttered something obscene under his breath. This day couldn't get any worse, he feared.
Now we're all on the hook for this mess. The D.A., the NYPD – everyone.
Heads are gonna roll ...
Over the next 24 hours, the NYPD set up roadblocks in every borough of New York City. State troopers set up checkpoints along the interstate. D.A. Arthur Branch informed the Ontario Provincial Police and the Surete du Quebec – just in case the suspect fled north across the border.
New Jersey state police found a burning chopper a day later. The pilot had been burnt to a crisp. The coroner would later comfirm that the poor fellow was shot once in the temple.
[Office of D.A. Arthur Branch, Manhattan]
On the TV, Executive Assistant D.A. Jack McCoy grimaced at the bad news:
"There have been unconfirmed sightings of suspect Wallace Johnson, wanted in the deaths of NY officer Mike Vanelli and LuthorCorp. employee Chelsea Saunders. He has been allegedly seen in New Jersey, Virginia and South Carolina ..."
"Well, isn't that splendid," Branch remarked sarcastically. "We had him and we let him get away!"
"Arthur, he had a gun to Munch's head," McCoy explained.
"I wish to God that Fin Tutuola had taken the shot," Branch replied. He rubbed his eyes, fatigued by lack of sleep. "As much as people don't like the idea of cops getting shot, they hate the idea of cop-killers on the lam even more."
McCoy sighed, as he turned off the television. "So what are we going to do about it?"
Branch flinched. "I've done my part. I notified the FBI, state authorities from here to Florida and the Mounties. You wanted Lex Luthor's head. This is your mess, Jack. I'm the one who has to face the electorate, whatever happens. It's up to you to save your own skin now. You get that conviction, or there'll be hell to pay."
McCoy stood up, glared at Branch, then stormed out of the office. So that's how it's going to be, he grumbled to himself. The governor will blame the D.A.'s office, the D.A. will blame the cops.
There's no doubt someone at One Police Plaza will be sacrificed, for nothing else but to steer the blame away from the mayor's office, the D.A. and Albany.
McCoy tugged at his collar, which now seemed to strangle him. Either Lex Luthor goes down ...
Or I will.
[Courthouse, Manhattan, NYC]
Stabler stepped out of the courtroom. Yet another day on the stand in the abuse trial of NY state representative Connors. His partner, Olivia Benson, couldn't persuade the Nichols girl to testify against her attacker. Without her testimony, Connors' defense was putting forth a motion to dismiss. Down the hall, assistant D.A. Alex Cabot was answering questions from the media.
Everything seemed to be going wrong, he thought. Wallace Johnson was gone to who knows where. The Connors case was falling apart before his eyes. He just had another heated argument with his wife. Instead of sleeping on the couch, he chose to go back to the SVU offices to prepare for today's triad proceedings.
Nothing he did seemed to make a difference. Johnson would go underground, never to resurface. Connors, that sick bastard, would buy his way out of a conviction.
All because of Luthor, Stabler concluded. His money, influence and hardball tactics were succeeding. The detective despised this feeling of helplessness. He could do absolutely nothing to change it.
Cabot finished her scrum with the media and returned to Stabler. "The judge won't dismiss the charges," she insisted. "We still have witnesses."
"It's over, why don't you accept it, Alex," Stabler grumbled. "The defense will tear apart our witnesses based on their drug use. Connors will walk, since he's so cosy with those jackasses in Albany and Metropolis."
"Elliot, if you think I can't do my job," Cabot scowled, "maybe you should withdraw from the case! Detective Benson can take the stand in your place!"
Stabler shrugged. "That's the best idea you've had all day." Then, he spotted a pair of well-dressed men exiting the conference room to his right.
It was Richard Goldstein, Lex Luthor's attorney. And Lex Luthor. Lex seemed to smirk at him. A taunt, as if he knew that things were going exactly as he had planned. Connors would walk. And so would he.
I'll wipe that smug grin off your face, Stabler snarled to himself.
Something snapped in Stabler's mind. All the tensions of the past few weeks had built up – bottled within him.
They would be unleashed now.
Stabler grabbed Lex by his lapels and shoved him into the wall. He could hear Alex Cabot ordering him to stop, but the rage he was feeling was overwhelming. Even now, it seemed, Lex was laughing at him. Two cops were dead, and he was laughing about it.
Stabler shoved Lex against the wall. "You think it's funny, you arrogant little prick! Two cops are dead and all you can do is laugh!"
Goldstein tried to yank Stabler off of his client, but Stabler gripped Lex's jacket even tighter.
"You need some professional help!" Goldstein remarked, as he struggled with the detective.
"I'll show you some professional help!" Stabler growled, and recoiled his fist – ready to pummel Lex into the wall behind him.
Lex showed no fear and glared directly into Stabler's menacing eyes. "You take that swing Detective Stabler," Lex glowered, "and mark my words: I'll have your badge! You'll be lucky to get a security job at Walmart."
"Stabler!" Cabot barked, as she and Goldstein pulled Stabler away from Lex. Stabler snarled at Lex, as Goldstein quickly pulled his client away.
"You're finished in this city, detective," Goldstein declared. "That's police brutality!"
Stabler wrested himself away from the court officers who had tried to restrain him. Cabot stepped in front of him.
"Guess what? You don't have to withdraw from the case," she announced, "because I'm having you removed. I can't protect you now, Elliot. Whether Cragen wants to save your ass is his business."
Furious, Cabot marched down the hallway. Stabler slumped against the wall. He snapped. He knew it.
He had just destroyed his career. Lex Luthor would have the last laugh after all.