[The Torch office, Smallville]
Pete turned off the television.
"So the Luthors are gonna sue New York City, the NYPD and anyone even remotely connected to the trial," he grumbled. "They think that'll scare the D.A. into settling the case out of court."
Chloe was distracted by something she was reading online. "Hmm? Oh, I don't think Jack McCoy is backing off this case. The reputation of the D.A.'s office is riding on a conviction."
Pete couldn't help it, but he felt alarmed by the D.A.'s hardcore legal tactics. Mr. McCoy managed to portray Clark as someone less-than-honest. That was just absurd. But it didn't help that Clark actually considered Lex Luthor as a close buddy.
Chloe sensed that Pete was agitated. "Mr. McCoy got what he wanted from Clark. I hope that means he won't call him back to the stand. As far as I'm concerned, the D.A. crossed the line by twisting Clark's words to suit his case."
Pete sighed. "This is major league stuff. All we can do is watch. I just don't like being on the sidelines, y'know?"
"Tell me about it," Chloe agreed. While Pete skimmed through the Daily Planet's coverage of the trial, she continued her search of Planet's online archives.
She paused at a headline, dated 1986. 'U.S. SUPPLIED NICARAGUAN REBELS'
"The Iran-Contra affair ..." Chloe mumbled to herself.
"Uh oh," Pete grinned. "I can hear those gears turning in your brain."
"The U.S. government funneled arms, funds and supplies covertly to Contra paramilitaries trying to overthrow the leftist Sandinista government in the 1980's," Chloe explained. She clicked another page. "Here's another article from November 1988." A picture showed Lionel shaking hands with a South Korean general and a US major.
"So, Lionel was a supplier to the Pentagon and CIA during the Cold War. That's not news." Pete observed.
Chloe shook her head to unrattle the cobwebs in her head. "It's the package. The package those NYPD detectives found near Chelsea Saunders' dead body. Records of questionable chemical shipments. So far, there's no proof they were to be used for anything other than farm fertilizer for our new allies behind the Iron Curtain."
"What is it in that package, Lionel Luthor, that cost Ms. Saunders her life?" Chloe pondered aloud. If her murder was indeed Luthor-directed, what secret was Chelsea willing to die for? Perhaps combined, those chemical shipments could create weapons of mass destruction. With the Cold War over, LuthorCorp.'s military division needed new sources of revenue.
Lionel was a snake, Chloe thought, but was he content doing Uncle Sam's bidding behind a corporate shroud? Lionel sought glory, a kind of secret glory he once tasted as an old cold warrior. But now? The world had changed. Fighting the reds -- that avenue was drying up already.
Did Lionel Luthor actually perceive himself as a self-styled star-spangled, gun-running American hero, answerable only to his own warped concept of patriotic duty? If not Lionel, then could Lex ...? The mere thought was not only ridiculous, but disturbing.
Or as Pete would put it, Captain America, he ain't.
[Department of Homeland Security, Washington. D.C.]
The colonel was a patriot. No soldier in this man's army would say otherwise.
The colonel was a junior lieutenant when he rescued a platoon of GIs from a Viet Cong ambush during the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, 1968. He would receive a Purple Heart for doing his duty ... and a captain's rank for sticking to the party line.
He served his country over the decades: South America, Angola, Iran, Grenada, eastern Europe, ... and that's not including other places no one in America could know about.
The colonel was the Pentagon's chief liaison for the department. He enjoyed his work at first. He was doing a soldier's duty: protecting vital government buildings, senior staff and VIPs. But when the media focused their attention to other things, the spotlight shifted away from his work.
He had his eyes on a real job. He wanted to be involved in this upcoming war in Iraq. Not as a bureaucrat in an olive-green uniform, but as a commander.
He wanted a general's rank. He deserved it. But Washington was as slimy and dangerous as any hellhole he had marched in. These white-collared penguins bobbed their heads to whoever dangled the appropriate bait their way.
The colonel didn't want to play that game. It was beneath him. But he had a Purple Heart, had defended America's interests in her darkest hour and kept the party line. Their liberty was at his expense. They owed him.
Don't ask, don't tell was the unwritten road to favour in the White House. The colonel made many friends here. Influential lobbyists, corporate tycoons, congressmen – they all had the colonel's number. Favours have been exchanged, contracts tendered. He knew that a general's star was within his grasp.
Favours have to be repaid, however, and he knew he owed some very important people a favour or two.
He followed the fiasco surrounding former US Army Ranger Wallace Johnson. Both the feds and the MPs were searching for him. He's gone, the colonel grinned. They won't find him. A commanding officer knew his former subordinate very well.
A phone call interrupted his thoughts. "Liaison office, this is Colonel —" the colonel answered.
"Spare me the pleasantries," the voice on the other line insisted. There was a cough. "Excuse me. I'm sure you've seen what our good friend got himself into."
"They won't find him," the colonel stated. "He knows his work."
The other voice was enraged. "He killed a rookie cop and an NYPD pilot! That is not what we had planned."
"In his eyes, they were the enemy," the colonel replied. "He's a trained killer. Once that switch goes on, you can't shut it off. He wasn't properly de-programmed after his tour. He was absent without leave, remember?. You knew the risks."
"Well, the risks are even higher now, aren't they," the voice noted. "If Mr. Johnson were to be captured alive, he could expose all that we've done."
The colonel paused. The Russians claimed to be friends now, but the game continued. This time, drug lords and terrorists took up the enemy's banner. Duty calls. A patriot's work was rarely easy. That is the difference between those who sacrifice to defend freedom, and those who make no such sacrifice.
"We did all those things to defend the liberty of the United States of America!" the colonel declared. "And I'll be damned if I'll let those yellow politicians put the safety of this nation at risk again!"
"On that, we are in agreement," the voice replied. "Mr. Johnson knows much. What he knows cannot – must not – get out to the public. America is poised to take on Saddam's Iraq without our usual allies. If our friend were to expose what he knows –"
The colonel grunted. "—that knowledge would divide the nation. This country cannot sustain another crisis, not now when war is at hand. We must remain united."
"Our friend knew the risks," the voice continued. "He failed. And you know what to do. Once it is done, I will do everything in my power to get you a seat at the table when the shooting starts in the Gulf."
"I'm glad we've reached an understanding, –"the colonel replied, but the phone had hung up.
The colonel straightened out his uniform, walked to the next room and dialed another phone.
"Yes, sergeant, get me Norfolk," the colonel remarked.
He wanted to believe that what was about to happen would serve the interests of homeland security, his President and the people of the United States.
This was a soldier's duty. And he would be a general in Uncle Sam's army.
The owner of that voice on the other line hung up the receiver, then coughed again. Even patriots get sick.
He smirked. "I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."
[SVU, One Police Plaza, New York City]
Captain Cragen stabbed his finger in the air, towards Stabler.
"You're off the Nichols case, effective immediately," he growled. "Olivia will be taking point on this case."
"Lex had it coming!" Stabler snapped. "What – we're just going to let him buy Connors' freedom, and his own! If the D.A. did their jobs –"
"Alex Cabot was doing her job, Elliot," Cragen replied, "and you screwed it up! Now that the Luthors are going ahead with this lawsuit, the mayor's crapping bricks, the chief is crying for blood ... and you know what that means: heads are going to roll."
Stabler yanked off his holster bag and dangled it from his index finger. "Then here's my sidearm. Suspend me if you have to."
Cragen sighed. "It's gone beyond that, Elliot. Mayor Bloomberg's already called for your badge. The chief has let it be known that someone at NYPD is going to answer for this mess."
Stabler seemed disoriented. Everything had happened so fast. He had lost his cool. He felt that the entire justice system was losing control of the Nichols case ... and Lex's own trial seemed to confirm that money does indeed buy justice. It felt so good to slam that arrogant son-of-a-bitch against the wall.
"Are you asking me to resign from the force?" Stabler inquired.
Cragen paced around his desk. "It's not up to you anymore. Look, you and I know this can't end well for anyone. The powers-that-be want their mea culpas. I'm running out of options. Help me out here, Elliot! The chief and I agree: you're under a lot of stress, you haven't taken any time off for ages. I can call Liz Olivet for an appointment, Maybe you and her could –"
Stabler frowned and shook his head in disgust. "And let the department shrink mess around with my head?! No thanks! Suspend me if you have to, but no one's going to tell me I'm losing it. Because I'm not!"
"It's your only lifeline, Stabler," Cragen announced. The mayor's office wanted a scapegoat, someone to steer the public's focus away from Luthor ties to city hall. A loose cannon with a sidearm seemed to fit the bill. The SVU captain was not going to go along with that scheme willingly.
"No one needs to know about it but me," Cragen pleaded. "All I'll enter in your personal file is that it's an 'administrative leave, without pay'. It might only take a few days ..."
Stabler sat on the edge of the desk. "And if I don't go along with this?"
Cragen looked directly at the detective. "The chief is prepared to take your badge, Elliot. You manhandled Lex Luthor in the media capital of the country. He's got ties from Wall Street to Albany, and beyond. No matter how right you feel you are, Luthor and his allies will paint you as an out- of-control cop who's not fit to wear the uniform. I don't buy that, but the average joe reading the Luthor tabloids could."
Stabler was tempted to tell Cragen, the chief ... hell, even the mayor himself ... to stick it where the sun don't shine. But he needed to salvage his professional reputation. He had a family: a loving wife, four kids ...
Their father was not a crazy cop. He was a cop that needed to regain his purpose again. And that was to help those who couldn't help themselves.
"Call Dr. Olivet," Stabler muttered hesitantly. He felt defeated. If Olivet found him to be a loose cannon, she could recommend indefinite suspension. Or dismissal.
"We'll set things right, Elliot," Cragen offered.
As he walked through the SVU offices, Detective Benson stopped him.
"Elliot, I heard. I'm so sorry," she said. "What did Cragen tell you?"
Stabler paused. It was so humiliating. "I'm off the Nichols case. I'm officially on-leave."
Across the hall, he saw D.A. Cabot walking towards the exit. He was about to rush outside to apologize to her, but Olivia held him back.
"Don't bother," she replied. "Alex thinks you've torpedoed her chances of winning this case. Branch just chewed her ear out this morning. You're the last person she wants to talk to right now."
Stabler observed the buzzing activity around him. Two uniforms hauled a suspect into an interrogation room. Score one for the good guys, he thought. Fin and Munch had been grilled about Johnson's incredible escape from the airport. Now, they were grilling Connors' former business partners. Maybe they'll get a break. Just one break, and we'll nail that slimy bottom-feeder for good.
In the distance, sirens wailed. I'm a New York cop, he mused. This is my job. What I live for. And now my life is being torn from me.
"I'm sorry, Olivia," Stabler sniffed. "It's my fault." He stormed out of the building. He thought of his beautiful kids and a future that was at risk.
A tear welled in his eye. He couldn't bear to face his partner now.
Pete turned off the television.
"So the Luthors are gonna sue New York City, the NYPD and anyone even remotely connected to the trial," he grumbled. "They think that'll scare the D.A. into settling the case out of court."
Chloe was distracted by something she was reading online. "Hmm? Oh, I don't think Jack McCoy is backing off this case. The reputation of the D.A.'s office is riding on a conviction."
Pete couldn't help it, but he felt alarmed by the D.A.'s hardcore legal tactics. Mr. McCoy managed to portray Clark as someone less-than-honest. That was just absurd. But it didn't help that Clark actually considered Lex Luthor as a close buddy.
Chloe sensed that Pete was agitated. "Mr. McCoy got what he wanted from Clark. I hope that means he won't call him back to the stand. As far as I'm concerned, the D.A. crossed the line by twisting Clark's words to suit his case."
Pete sighed. "This is major league stuff. All we can do is watch. I just don't like being on the sidelines, y'know?"
"Tell me about it," Chloe agreed. While Pete skimmed through the Daily Planet's coverage of the trial, she continued her search of Planet's online archives.
She paused at a headline, dated 1986. 'U.S. SUPPLIED NICARAGUAN REBELS'
"The Iran-Contra affair ..." Chloe mumbled to herself.
"Uh oh," Pete grinned. "I can hear those gears turning in your brain."
"The U.S. government funneled arms, funds and supplies covertly to Contra paramilitaries trying to overthrow the leftist Sandinista government in the 1980's," Chloe explained. She clicked another page. "Here's another article from November 1988." A picture showed Lionel shaking hands with a South Korean general and a US major.
"So, Lionel was a supplier to the Pentagon and CIA during the Cold War. That's not news." Pete observed.
Chloe shook her head to unrattle the cobwebs in her head. "It's the package. The package those NYPD detectives found near Chelsea Saunders' dead body. Records of questionable chemical shipments. So far, there's no proof they were to be used for anything other than farm fertilizer for our new allies behind the Iron Curtain."
"What is it in that package, Lionel Luthor, that cost Ms. Saunders her life?" Chloe pondered aloud. If her murder was indeed Luthor-directed, what secret was Chelsea willing to die for? Perhaps combined, those chemical shipments could create weapons of mass destruction. With the Cold War over, LuthorCorp.'s military division needed new sources of revenue.
Lionel was a snake, Chloe thought, but was he content doing Uncle Sam's bidding behind a corporate shroud? Lionel sought glory, a kind of secret glory he once tasted as an old cold warrior. But now? The world had changed. Fighting the reds -- that avenue was drying up already.
Did Lionel Luthor actually perceive himself as a self-styled star-spangled, gun-running American hero, answerable only to his own warped concept of patriotic duty? If not Lionel, then could Lex ...? The mere thought was not only ridiculous, but disturbing.
Or as Pete would put it, Captain America, he ain't.
[Department of Homeland Security, Washington. D.C.]
The colonel was a patriot. No soldier in this man's army would say otherwise.
The colonel was a junior lieutenant when he rescued a platoon of GIs from a Viet Cong ambush during the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, 1968. He would receive a Purple Heart for doing his duty ... and a captain's rank for sticking to the party line.
He served his country over the decades: South America, Angola, Iran, Grenada, eastern Europe, ... and that's not including other places no one in America could know about.
The colonel was the Pentagon's chief liaison for the department. He enjoyed his work at first. He was doing a soldier's duty: protecting vital government buildings, senior staff and VIPs. But when the media focused their attention to other things, the spotlight shifted away from his work.
He had his eyes on a real job. He wanted to be involved in this upcoming war in Iraq. Not as a bureaucrat in an olive-green uniform, but as a commander.
He wanted a general's rank. He deserved it. But Washington was as slimy and dangerous as any hellhole he had marched in. These white-collared penguins bobbed their heads to whoever dangled the appropriate bait their way.
The colonel didn't want to play that game. It was beneath him. But he had a Purple Heart, had defended America's interests in her darkest hour and kept the party line. Their liberty was at his expense. They owed him.
Don't ask, don't tell was the unwritten road to favour in the White House. The colonel made many friends here. Influential lobbyists, corporate tycoons, congressmen – they all had the colonel's number. Favours have been exchanged, contracts tendered. He knew that a general's star was within his grasp.
Favours have to be repaid, however, and he knew he owed some very important people a favour or two.
He followed the fiasco surrounding former US Army Ranger Wallace Johnson. Both the feds and the MPs were searching for him. He's gone, the colonel grinned. They won't find him. A commanding officer knew his former subordinate very well.
A phone call interrupted his thoughts. "Liaison office, this is Colonel —" the colonel answered.
"Spare me the pleasantries," the voice on the other line insisted. There was a cough. "Excuse me. I'm sure you've seen what our good friend got himself into."
"They won't find him," the colonel stated. "He knows his work."
The other voice was enraged. "He killed a rookie cop and an NYPD pilot! That is not what we had planned."
"In his eyes, they were the enemy," the colonel replied. "He's a trained killer. Once that switch goes on, you can't shut it off. He wasn't properly de-programmed after his tour. He was absent without leave, remember?. You knew the risks."
"Well, the risks are even higher now, aren't they," the voice noted. "If Mr. Johnson were to be captured alive, he could expose all that we've done."
The colonel paused. The Russians claimed to be friends now, but the game continued. This time, drug lords and terrorists took up the enemy's banner. Duty calls. A patriot's work was rarely easy. That is the difference between those who sacrifice to defend freedom, and those who make no such sacrifice.
"We did all those things to defend the liberty of the United States of America!" the colonel declared. "And I'll be damned if I'll let those yellow politicians put the safety of this nation at risk again!"
"On that, we are in agreement," the voice replied. "Mr. Johnson knows much. What he knows cannot – must not – get out to the public. America is poised to take on Saddam's Iraq without our usual allies. If our friend were to expose what he knows –"
The colonel grunted. "—that knowledge would divide the nation. This country cannot sustain another crisis, not now when war is at hand. We must remain united."
"Our friend knew the risks," the voice continued. "He failed. And you know what to do. Once it is done, I will do everything in my power to get you a seat at the table when the shooting starts in the Gulf."
"I'm glad we've reached an understanding, –"the colonel replied, but the phone had hung up.
The colonel straightened out his uniform, walked to the next room and dialed another phone.
"Yes, sergeant, get me Norfolk," the colonel remarked.
He wanted to believe that what was about to happen would serve the interests of homeland security, his President and the people of the United States.
This was a soldier's duty. And he would be a general in Uncle Sam's army.
The owner of that voice on the other line hung up the receiver, then coughed again. Even patriots get sick.
He smirked. "I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."
[SVU, One Police Plaza, New York City]
Captain Cragen stabbed his finger in the air, towards Stabler.
"You're off the Nichols case, effective immediately," he growled. "Olivia will be taking point on this case."
"Lex had it coming!" Stabler snapped. "What – we're just going to let him buy Connors' freedom, and his own! If the D.A. did their jobs –"
"Alex Cabot was doing her job, Elliot," Cragen replied, "and you screwed it up! Now that the Luthors are going ahead with this lawsuit, the mayor's crapping bricks, the chief is crying for blood ... and you know what that means: heads are going to roll."
Stabler yanked off his holster bag and dangled it from his index finger. "Then here's my sidearm. Suspend me if you have to."
Cragen sighed. "It's gone beyond that, Elliot. Mayor Bloomberg's already called for your badge. The chief has let it be known that someone at NYPD is going to answer for this mess."
Stabler seemed disoriented. Everything had happened so fast. He had lost his cool. He felt that the entire justice system was losing control of the Nichols case ... and Lex's own trial seemed to confirm that money does indeed buy justice. It felt so good to slam that arrogant son-of-a-bitch against the wall.
"Are you asking me to resign from the force?" Stabler inquired.
Cragen paced around his desk. "It's not up to you anymore. Look, you and I know this can't end well for anyone. The powers-that-be want their mea culpas. I'm running out of options. Help me out here, Elliot! The chief and I agree: you're under a lot of stress, you haven't taken any time off for ages. I can call Liz Olivet for an appointment, Maybe you and her could –"
Stabler frowned and shook his head in disgust. "And let the department shrink mess around with my head?! No thanks! Suspend me if you have to, but no one's going to tell me I'm losing it. Because I'm not!"
"It's your only lifeline, Stabler," Cragen announced. The mayor's office wanted a scapegoat, someone to steer the public's focus away from Luthor ties to city hall. A loose cannon with a sidearm seemed to fit the bill. The SVU captain was not going to go along with that scheme willingly.
"No one needs to know about it but me," Cragen pleaded. "All I'll enter in your personal file is that it's an 'administrative leave, without pay'. It might only take a few days ..."
Stabler sat on the edge of the desk. "And if I don't go along with this?"
Cragen looked directly at the detective. "The chief is prepared to take your badge, Elliot. You manhandled Lex Luthor in the media capital of the country. He's got ties from Wall Street to Albany, and beyond. No matter how right you feel you are, Luthor and his allies will paint you as an out- of-control cop who's not fit to wear the uniform. I don't buy that, but the average joe reading the Luthor tabloids could."
Stabler was tempted to tell Cragen, the chief ... hell, even the mayor himself ... to stick it where the sun don't shine. But he needed to salvage his professional reputation. He had a family: a loving wife, four kids ...
Their father was not a crazy cop. He was a cop that needed to regain his purpose again. And that was to help those who couldn't help themselves.
"Call Dr. Olivet," Stabler muttered hesitantly. He felt defeated. If Olivet found him to be a loose cannon, she could recommend indefinite suspension. Or dismissal.
"We'll set things right, Elliot," Cragen offered.
As he walked through the SVU offices, Detective Benson stopped him.
"Elliot, I heard. I'm so sorry," she said. "What did Cragen tell you?"
Stabler paused. It was so humiliating. "I'm off the Nichols case. I'm officially on-leave."
Across the hall, he saw D.A. Cabot walking towards the exit. He was about to rush outside to apologize to her, but Olivia held him back.
"Don't bother," she replied. "Alex thinks you've torpedoed her chances of winning this case. Branch just chewed her ear out this morning. You're the last person she wants to talk to right now."
Stabler observed the buzzing activity around him. Two uniforms hauled a suspect into an interrogation room. Score one for the good guys, he thought. Fin and Munch had been grilled about Johnson's incredible escape from the airport. Now, they were grilling Connors' former business partners. Maybe they'll get a break. Just one break, and we'll nail that slimy bottom-feeder for good.
In the distance, sirens wailed. I'm a New York cop, he mused. This is my job. What I live for. And now my life is being torn from me.
"I'm sorry, Olivia," Stabler sniffed. "It's my fault." He stormed out of the building. He thought of his beautiful kids and a future that was at risk.
A tear welled in his eye. He couldn't bear to face his partner now.