Brea, as a real name or an agent’s code name.”
“And after the big blowup, the call didn’t seem important. It got lost in the shuffle,” Collins suggested.
“That’s right.”
“What’s on the other tape?” Collins sounded as if he had already made a guess. Collins had a good cop’s instincts, Macimer thought. Sometimes that was more important than experience or intelligence… and Collins was also intelligent.
“It’s a recording of a conversation early in 1980 between Special Agent Reese and Walter Schumaker, the informant we know rented the PRC’s hideout. According to a voiceprint comparison in the Lab, the voice of the man who talked to Agent Washington on August 27, 1981, is the same as the voice of the informant on the second tape. The man who made that call to Brea was Walter Schumaker.”
Garvey was beginning to grasp the implications. A look of consternation appeared in his eyes.
“Two hundred agents were looking for the PRC,” Macimer said slowly. “And one of them had an informant planted inside the group, we don’t know for how long. But at the time of the shoot-out, that agent, the one who called himself Brea, either knew or could have known exactly where the terrorists were.”
“And he didn’t report it?” Garvey was incredulous.
“Neither then nor afterwards.”
Garvey broke a somber silence. “What about Schumaker?”
“We don’t know.” Macimer glanced down at one of the reports he had removed from the master PRC file. “Interviews with neighbors of the house on Dover Street indicate that no one was seen leaving there on the twenty-eighth. Schumaker apparently left the house the day before, probably to buy groceries and whatever else the group needed. He could go out safely because he wasn’t on any wanted list—and he used that time to call Brea. That’s speculation,” Macimer added, “but it would seem to be a good guess that he was inside with the others on the twenty-eighth.
“The FBI Disaster Squad went in after the explosion,” the SAC went on quietly. “They were able to find parts of seven or eight bodies. Two of those were identified as the hostages. Their van was found abandoned in the next town, by the way, ten miles away. Fingerprints of at least two of the victims were never found for verification. Schumaker’s prints are in the criminal file. I think it’s a reasonable assumption that one of the unidentified bodies was his.”
“That means Brea knew…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Collins. Let’s see what the facts say when they’re all in. What I want you two to do is go to San Timoteo and find out what else Vernon Lippert learned. Find out who he talked to and what they told him. Talk to the neighbors, the police. Check with Pacific Telephone and see if you can find out where that phone call to Sacramento came from on the twenty-seventh. My guess is it was long-distance from San Timoteo. Find out where Lippert got hold of that window screen. I want to know everything that Lippert dug up, everything that was in the Brea file.”
He paused, staring at the two agents as they scribbled on their pads, actually two-by-four-inch cards small enough to hold in the palm of your hand as you wrote. He waited until both men had finished writing before he said, “We’re going to finish what Vernon Lippert started. Find out who Brea was.”
7
Late that Tuesday afternoon the two agents who had been assigned to the case of the stolen FBI vehicle reported to Macimer’s office.
Jack Wagner was in his thirties, one of the famous class known in the Bureau as the “Berrigan 1000.” These were an extra thousand agents authorized by Congress in 1970 at the urging of J. Edgar Hoover, after the Director testified about the “plot” of the Berrigans to kidnap prominent government leaders and blow up government buildings. Wagner had a degree in economics from Columbia on top of three years in Vietnam. He was blond, broad-shouldered and
“And after the big blowup, the call didn’t seem important. It got lost in the shuffle,” Collins suggested.
“That’s right.”
“What’s on the other tape?” Collins sounded as if he had already made a guess. Collins had a good cop’s instincts, Macimer thought. Sometimes that was more important than experience or intelligence… and Collins was also intelligent.
“It’s a recording of a conversation early in 1980 between Special Agent Reese and Walter Schumaker, the informant we know rented the PRC’s hideout. According to a voiceprint comparison in the Lab, the voice of the man who talked to Agent Washington on August 27, 1981, is the same as the voice of the informant on the second tape. The man who made that call to Brea was Walter Schumaker.”
Garvey was beginning to grasp the implications. A look of consternation appeared in his eyes.
“Two hundred agents were looking for the PRC,” Macimer said slowly. “And one of them had an informant planted inside the group, we don’t know for how long. But at the time of the shoot-out, that agent, the one who called himself Brea, either knew or could have known exactly where the terrorists were.”
“And he didn’t report it?” Garvey was incredulous.
“Neither then nor afterwards.”
Garvey broke a somber silence. “What about Schumaker?”
“We don’t know.” Macimer glanced down at one of the reports he had removed from the master PRC file. “Interviews with neighbors of the house on Dover Street indicate that no one was seen leaving there on the twenty-eighth. Schumaker apparently left the house the day before, probably to buy groceries and whatever else the group needed. He could go out safely because he wasn’t on any wanted list—and he used that time to call Brea. That’s speculation,” Macimer added, “but it would seem to be a good guess that he was inside with the others on the twenty-eighth.
“The FBI Disaster Squad went in after the explosion,” the SAC went on quietly. “They were able to find parts of seven or eight bodies. Two of those were identified as the hostages. Their van was found abandoned in the next town, by the way, ten miles away. Fingerprints of at least two of the victims were never found for verification. Schumaker’s prints are in the criminal file. I think it’s a reasonable assumption that one of the unidentified bodies was his.”
“That means Brea knew…”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Collins. Let’s see what the facts say when they’re all in. What I want you two to do is go to San Timoteo and find out what else Vernon Lippert learned. Find out who he talked to and what they told him. Talk to the neighbors, the police. Check with Pacific Telephone and see if you can find out where that phone call to Sacramento came from on the twenty-seventh. My guess is it was long-distance from San Timoteo. Find out where Lippert got hold of that window screen. I want to know everything that Lippert dug up, everything that was in the Brea file.”
He paused, staring at the two agents as they scribbled on their pads, actually two-by-four-inch cards small enough to hold in the palm of your hand as you wrote. He waited until both men had finished writing before he said, “We’re going to finish what Vernon Lippert started. Find out who Brea was.”
7
Late that Tuesday afternoon the two agents who had been assigned to the case of the stolen FBI vehicle reported to Macimer’s office.
Jack Wagner was in his thirties, one of the famous class known in the Bureau as the “Berrigan 1000.” These were an extra thousand agents authorized by Congress in 1970 at the urging of J. Edgar Hoover, after the Director testified about the “plot” of the Berrigans to kidnap prominent government leaders and blow up government buildings. Wagner had a degree in economics from Columbia on top of three years in Vietnam. He was blond, broad-shouldered and
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