WALTER KENT, FBI SPECIAL Agent in Charge, stood before the large dry erase board mounted in his office. His brown eyes squinted at the tiny names and numbers scrawled across the board's white expanse. One hand held a well-used felt eraser, and the other a nearly spent felt-tip marker.
Son of a bitch! There’s no way to make this work.
At the top of the board the surnames of twenty-nine Special Agents assigned to the Albuquerque Field Office headed a column of listed case numbers and crime categories currently under investigation. On average each agent worked twenty or more active cases. The FBI’s Target Staffing Level Manual set a goal of fifteen active cases for each agent, and no more than fifteen back-burner or cold cases. Walter Kent frowned, ran his fingers through his thick black hair, and figured the boys in Washington had lost touch with workload assignments in the field.
Three days earlier he had placed a call to Henry Michael, of the Special Agent Transfer Unit in Washington. Henry, known as the Transfer Man, held a key position in matters concerning personnel, and almost never answered a direct call from the field.
Kent stepped back from the board, and with an athletic stride, walked across the carpeted office floor. At his desk, he pressed the intercom button and asked Administrative Assistant Dorothy Hogan to place another call to the Transfer Unit in Washington.
"To Mr. Michael?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How strange, Mr. Michael just called, he's on line two. Can you take it Mr. Kent?
"Sure."
Special Agents in Charge, always referred to as SAC's, ran the day-to-day field operations. They were considered the supreme authority within their assigned geographic areas, but they did not control personnel matters outside their office.
Kent hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, then punched the speakerphone button. "Henry, I was just thinking of you. Thanks for returning my call."
"Good morning Walt, sorry it took so long. I serve fifty-six field offices. That keeps me busy."
"I suspect your workload is heavy all the time."
"You're right. What can I do for you today?"
"I've completed the Field Office Annual Survey of Activities, as directed by our manual. Based on my caseload, I'm way understaffed. I need at least three street agents if I'm going to keep all the bases covered."
"What's your caseload, Walt?"
"Almost two thousand when you count the cold cases and follow-ups." Kent fudged a little on the numbers, but what the hell.
"Active cases?"
"Five hundred and eighty, but remember we're a border state with time consuming interagency coordination."
Michael cut him off, "I don't have to tell you, Walt, I'm real limited as to what I can do. If I transfer one agent out of an office, that leaves a vacancy which I have to fill, which means I move another agent, and on and on. It's a shell game all the time."
"Do you see anything on the immediate horizon?"
"No, its budget time and no one is moving."
Kent hoped to receive a positive response to his next question. "What about Quantico?"
"The Academy? A class graduated last week. Most of the graduates are placed. Let me check availability."
Kent knew his best chance to add to the staff would be a graduate from the Academy. He preferred an experienced agent, but a green recruit was better than nobody.
"Walt, I have six candidate available. Five are specialized analysts.”
“I don’t need analysis, I need active investigators.”
“That leaves one candidate.”
"What's his background?"
"Damn good. A licensed flight instructor certified in both single and multiengine aircraft. Awarded a full scholarship to Ohio State University. Majored in criminology with a little public administration thrown in. Earned a Bachelor of Science, with honors, in only three years. Took a job with the Chicago PD. Got a reputation for catching terrorists. Has a knowledge of Middle Eastern culture. Stayed with them five years and made sergeant before accepted into our Academy five months ago. Finished in the top three percent of the class and honored as a top achiever in academics. Impressive.
"How old is he?
"Old? Let's see." Some paper shuffling. "She's twenty-eight."
"Did you say she?"
"Yes, a young woman named Ashley Kohen, with a "K". Notations in her file by supervisors and trainers say she is remarkable. Also says she's a real looker." He paused a second. "That shouldn't be in the file. I'll strike it out."
"Henry, I don't need added support staff, I need shoes on the sidewalk. Real street agents to work cases."
"Sure. Sure, I understand. I'm checking her personnel file. I see police commendations and glowing references from Chicago." He paused. "Walt, I have a call on the other line I have to take. Stay with me, I'll be back. I promise."
Kent prided himself on being politically correct. He had three female agents on staff. He assigned them to cases he felt would not endanger their safety. But right now he needed tough street cops to do dangerous work, something he was reluctant to assign to a young woman.
Henry came back again. "Okay, Walter. What do you think?
"I'm not sure. Good stats, good recommendations, but will she meet my current needs, Henry?"
"Tell you what. I'll send you her file on our secure line. Give it a look-see. Get back to me tomorrow at the latest. I understand your concern, but she will not be available for long. Good talking to you, Walt. Got to go."