1960: My Uncle is the Director of the FBI

After visiting what passed for the 'largest' gun trading establishment in the district, they made their rounds to seven or eight similar stores, accumulating more than a dozen names on their growing list.

Ronald handed the roster to the Third Precinct for verification and drove them toward the crime scene. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the government district as their Bureau sedan navigated through Washington's perpetual traffic.

"Listen carefully," Ronald said, his eyes never leaving the congested street ahead. "Most FBI cases require cooperation with local police. You can't operate like lone wolves the way you did back at that precinct house. Learn to utilize local resources, take the overall view."

Bernie, who had maintained an unusually subdued demeanor since their arrival in D.C., finally spoke up. "Any specific advice on that, Ron?"

Ronald's expression softened slightly. He wasn't one for arrogance, and he genuinely enjoyed mentoring the younger agents. As they crawled through traffic, he shared two experiences from his early cases, hard-won lessons about the delicate balance between federal authority and local cooperation.

The Dupont Circle Post Office occupied the southeast corner where Connecticut Avenue Northwest intersected with 19th Street.

A three-story edifice of red brick that spoke to an earlier, more substantial era of federal architecture. The business hall claimed the ground floor, while the second and third floors housed the sorting operations that kept mail flowing through the nation's capital.

Outside, Dupont Circle served as one of the city's major transportation hubs. Vehicles streamed past in an endless procession, government sedans, delivery trucks, and the occasional diplomatic car with its telltale license plates.

The neighborhood provided an eclectic backdrop: the Carorama Theatre dominated the southwest quadrant, an exclusive tennis club held court to the east, and across the circle, a modest bank branch served the area's financial needs.

"Perfect location for a robbery," Ronald observed, slowing their pace to a crawl. "Excellent transportation links, heavy foot traffic for cover."

Theodore studied the layout with professional interest. "How far to the Third Precinct?"

"Exactly 1.2 miles. Motorized response time would be five minutes under normal conditions."

Ronald deliberately took the scenic route, using the extra time to point out various tactical considerations. The journey stretched to more than ten minutes, a luxury that allowed Theodore to absorb the operational environment.

Yesterday's robbery had affected business. The post office stood virtually empty when they entered, its usual bustle reduced to an eerie quiet that seemed to amplify every footstep on the worn linoleum.

The storefront wasn't large. Three rows of wooden benches faced the entrance like pews in a utilitarian church. The package deposit counter commanded the left side upon entry, while the main service counter dominated the right, complete with an ornate brass cash register that had seen better decades.

A lone security guard patrolled the interior with the resigned air of a man going through well-worn motions. Three female employees occupied the space behind the counter, their conversation suggesting they'd recovered remarkably well from their recent ordeal.

When Theodore and his companions entered, all four postal workers were clustered together, their animated discussion dying abruptly at the sight of federal badges.

Ronald produced his identification with practiced efficiency. "FBI. We need your cooperation in our investigation."

He stepped aside, giving Theodore the floor with a subtle nod.

This case differed fundamentally from their investigation in Felton. Here, they had eyewitnesses, people who had looked the perpetrators in the face and lived to describe the experience.

Theodore approached with the careful attention of a man who understood that memory could be both illuminating and treacherous. He questioned them methodically about the robbery, watching their faces as they relived the experience.

The mention of yesterday's events brought visible tension to the group, their earlier casualness evaporating like morning mist.

According to their collective testimony, the robbers had displayed an almost courtly professionalism. They had chosen their moment carefully, waiting until no customers occupied the premises before making their move.

The man with the shotgun had herded the security guard and two female employees toward the wall, his weapon serving as an eloquent argument for compliance. His partner, armed with a Colt revolver, had directed the remaining employee to transfer cash and stamps into a canvas bag.

When the bag reached the halfway point, the armed man had ordered the clerk to step back. Both robbers had then departed with their modest haul, leaving behind them an atmosphere of stunned bewilderment rather than terror.

"No violence?" Theodore pressed. "No threatening language?"

"Nothing like that," the security guard confirmed, his voice carrying a note of professional puzzlement. "Polite as you please. Could have been picking up a package."

Theodore's attention shifted to a brass pedal mounted beneath the counter. "Tell me about the alarm system."

"Simple setup," one of the tellers explained, her face flushing slightly. "Step on that pedal, and it activates the warning light on the roof, sounds the siren. But we... well, it was our first robbery. We were too rattled to remember until after they'd gone."

The detailed descriptions proved frustratingly vague. Even basic physical characteristics sparked debate among the witnesses. Three insisted the gunmen were white; the employee who'd handled the money swore she'd glimpsed dark skin beneath the Colt-carrier's sleeve.

Accents generated similar uncertainty. The robbers had communicated with an economy that bordered on the monastic, five brief commands that had choreographed the entire operation:

"Robbery."

"You three, stand facing the wall."

"You, put the money in."

"Okay, step back."

"Go."

Physical builds achieved more consensus. Both perpetrators stood between five-foot-eight and six feet tall, possessed average frames, neither heavy nor thin, the kind of men who could disappear into any crowd on any street corner in America.

Theodore posed several follow-up questions, but the responses added little to what the initial reports had already captured.

Back in the Bureau sedan, Ronald fixed Theodore with an expectant stare. The afternoon sun had begun its descent toward the Potomac, casting the city in shades of amber and shadow.

Theodore organized his thoughts before speaking. "We're dealing with professional robbers."

He paused, ensuring he had their full attention. "The entire operation demonstrated clear division of labor. One man controlled the hostages, the other collected the money. They worked as a coordinated unit, no confusion, no hesitation."

Ronald straightened in the driver's seat, his interest clearly piqued.

"Throughout the robbery, they spoke exactly five sentences, short, direct commands using simple language. No slang, no regional markers. That suggests either careful preparation or extensive experience."

Theodore shifted in his seat, warming to his analysis. "They demonstrated remarkable discipline, limiting themselves to eight hundred dollars in cash and stamps before voluntarily withdrawing. Most importantly, they maintained complete operational security even when the alarm wasn't triggered."

He met Ronald's eyes in the rearview mirror. "This suggests military training or similar institutional experience. These men understand operational discipline."

Theodore waited for challenges to his assessment, but Ronald simply nodded and started the engine. The silence felt strange; in Felton, his theories had generated immediate skepticism from local law enforcement.

As they drove back toward headquarters, Bernie resumed his questions about federal-local cooperation. Ronald used the opportunity to share more field wisdom.

FBI headquarters was emptying when they returned, the day shift surrendering the building to skeleton crews and overtime workers. Most agents had donned their overcoats and departed in small groups, their conversations trailing off into the corridors.

Only a dedicated few remained at their desks, staring at case files with the intensity of men trying to divine meaning from tea leaves.

"Get some rest," Ronald told them. "You've been traveling since dawn, then thrown directly into active investigation. That's no way to maintain operational readiness."

Theodore and Bernie didn't argue. The combination of cross-country travel and immediate fieldwork had left them running on caffeine and adrenaline. They said their goodbyes and joined the exodus toward the parking garage.

Mr. Tolsen had provided Theodore with a pristine black Chevrolet sedan, government issue, complete with radio and the subtle modifications that marked it as federal property.

Bernie circled the vehicle twice, his expression suggesting professional appraisal. "Mind if I take her for a test drive?"

"I mind," Theodore replied, pocketing the keys.

Bernie's face registered genuine concern about Theodore's driving capabilities. He hesitated at the passenger door, clearly weighing alternative transportation options.

Theodore consulted the address Mr. Hoover had provided, then glanced at Bernie's theatrical reluctance. "Problem?"

Bernie yanked open the passenger door with exaggerated drama. He gripped the seat with both hands, took a deep breath, and announced, "Let's go!"

Theodore found his behavior peculiar but said nothing. He started the engine and merged into the evening traffic flow.

Washington during rush hour bore little resemblance to Felton's quiet streets. Pennsylvania Avenue, dominated by government buildings, became a slow-motion parade of federal employees heading home to suburban sanctuaries.

The Department of Justice Building generated its traffic patterns as lawyers and administrators joined the evening exodus.

Theodore's attempt to navigate the congestion ended predictably at the first major intersection. After several minutes of automotive futility, he surrendered the wheel to Bernie.

Hoover had secured Theodore an apartment in Georgetown, roughly three and a half miles from FBI headquarters. The neighborhood represented one of Washington's oldest residential areas, its tree-lined streets housing a mixture of federal officials, established families, and the kind of discrete wealth that preferred understatement to ostentation.

The coincidence of so many federal employees choosing Georgetown meant their commute stretched into an hour-long procession through the capital's clogged arteries.

The apartment exceeded Theodore's expectations. Fully furnished and immaculately clean, clearly prepared for immediate occupancy, it offered the luxury of moving in with nothing more than their suitcases.

After the day's exertions, both men settled for a quick dinner and separate quarters. Bernie would share the space for several days, moving out when the weekend allowed for apartment hunting.

The following morning brought predictable gridlock. Fortunately, they'd learned from experience and departed early, arriving at headquarters with time to spare.

Ronald summoned the team to the conference room shortly after their arrival, the morning light streaming through the windows and illuminating case files spread across the polished table.

Andrew and Mike delivered their findings first, their expressions suggesting limited success.

The gray Sears work uniforms had proven frustratingly common. The style enjoyed widespread popularity, with customers frequently purchasing multiple sets. Stores that had carried defective merchandise had long since cleared their inventory, leaving no trail to follow.

The uniform lead had effectively died.

Their only remaining hope lay with the Third Precinct's investigation of the shotgun registration list.

Silence settled over the conference room like dust. Ronald pointed to Theodore, requesting a repetition of yesterday's analysis for the benefit of the full team.

Andrew and Mike listened with visible skepticism. The suggestion that they were dealing with repeat offenders possessing military experience carried significant investigative implications.

But it remained speculation, educated guesswork that, despite its logical foundation, provided no concrete evidence to pursue.

An agent interrupted the meeting, calling Ronald to the telephone. He returned minutes later, his expression grim.

"Grab your coats," he announced, reaching for his jacket. "We have another robbery."

The newly violated post office shared key characteristics with the Dupont Circle location: excellent transportation access, dense population, within the Third Precinct's jurisdiction, and situated in Northwest D.C.

Third Precinct detectives had already established a perimeter when Theodore's team arrived. The familiar yellow tape and cluster of official vehicles painted a scene of controlled investigation.

Ronald displayed his credentials and led his agents inside the police line, where several detectives were conducting witness interviews with methodical precision.

The morning robbery had followed a familiar pattern. The perpetrators had struck just after opening, when only three employees and a security guard occupied the premises. No customers had witnessed the event.

Same gray Sears work uniforms, same black nylon stockings and sunglasses, same weapon configuration, one shotgun, one Colt revolver.

The division of labor remained unchanged: a security guard and two male employees were ordered to face the wall, and a female employee was designated to collect the money.

One crucial difference emerged: this robbery had netted less than one hundred dollars in loose change plus two bundles of stamps.

The investigating detectives wore expressions of professional bewilderment, matched by similar looks from Theodore's team.

Robbery, like most criminal enterprises, operated on certain basic principles. Early morning jobs typically yielded minimal returns; banks and businesses hadn't yet accumulated significant cash reserves.

A detective approached to brief Ronald on the preliminary findings. The discarded work uniforms had been recovered from a street corner trash receptacle, following the established pattern.

Ronald retrieved gloves from their vehicle and began demonstrating proper evidence handling procedures to Theodore and Bernie. His impromptu lesson covered scene preservation, evidence collection, and chain of custody requirements.

"Field operations manual covers this in detail," he explained, carefully examining the recovered clothing. "You can study it when we get back."

Mike reminded them that evidence handling constituted a key component of selection training.

Bernie grinned and mentioned Theodore's similar requests back in Felton, a revelation that surprised Mike and Andrew. Ronald gave Theodore a long, appraising look but offered no comment.

The work uniforms matched the previous robbery's pattern: defective merchandise, same style and manufacturer. Ronald secured them in evidence bags and handed them to Mike before leading the team toward the post office entrance.

After donning shoe covers, they entered the crime scene. The layout resembled the Dupont Circle location but offered more space for the robbers to maneuver.

Theodore followed Ronald's lead, observing the systematic approach to scene processing. Once Mike and Andrew completed their photography, they approached the service counter.

The cash drawer hung open, its contents partially depleted but not emptied. Several banknotes and stamps littered the floor around the counter area.

Theodore collected the scattered stamps, noting their common denominations and standard designs. Nothing suggested a particular collector value or special significance.

A circuit of the room yielded little additional information. Theodore rejoined Ronald, who wore a frustrated expression that suggested similar results from his own examination.

As the team emerged from the scene, they found Bernie engaged in an animated conversation with one of the witnesses. Seeing his colleagues' return, he quickly concluded his discussion and hurried over.

"The employee says he didn't step on the alarm pedal voluntarily," Bernie reported in lowered tones. "The robbers specifically requested it."

Ronald's expression suggested skepticism about Bernie's source.

Bernie spread his hands defensively. "I know how it sounds, but that's what he told me."

Ronald personally verified the information with all four witnesses, confirming Bernie's report. According to their consistent testimony, the robbers had announced their intentions immediately upon entry, then specifically ordered someone to activate the alarm system.

Only after the siren began wailing had they proceeded with the wall-facing protocol and money collection.

Back at headquarters, the recovered uniforms went straight to the laboratory for processing, though expectations remained low. Ronald gathered the team in the conference room for case analysis.

Theodore took the initiative, beginning with the obvious connections.

"Both robberies utilized identical methods, same defective Sears uniforms, identical disguise elements, matching weapon configurations. Witness descriptions of height and build align closely enough to confirm we're dealing with the same perpetrators."

The team nodded in agreement with this basic assessment.

Theodore continued his analysis, moving into more complex territory. "The Dupont Circle robbery yielded approximately eight hundred dollars total. Today's take was probably under two hundred dollars."

He paused to let the figures register. "In both cases, the robbers discarded nearly twenty dollars' worth of new work uniforms."

"They've also invested in firearms, ammunition, gloves, stockings, and sunglasses. The operational costs alone probably exceed today's take."

Theodore's voice took on added intensity. "Most significantly, in this morning's robbery, the perpetrators specifically demanded that the alarm be activated before they began their operation. No rational robber would do this."

He looked around the table, meeting each agent's eyes. "The risk-to-reward ratio makes no sense for simple robbery. These men possess the professionalism to target bank vaults rather than post office petty cash."

Theodore paused for effect. "Unless their objective isn't the money and stamps they're stealing."

Mike and Andrew exchanged uncertain glances. The analysis sounded logical, yet pushed beyond the boundaries of conventional investigation into speculative territory.

Theodore delivered his conclusion with quiet conviction: "They're testing police response times. These robberies are rehearsals for a much larger operation."

Even Ronald, who had remained diplomatically silent about Theodore's previous theories, seemed taken aback by this latest assessment.

A telephone call interrupted the discussion, the Third Precinct reporting that everyone on yesterday's gun registration list had been cleared of suspicion. All suspects had been in custody when the morning robbery occurred.

The firearms lead had also reached a dead end.

Ronald shared this information with the team, then addressed the room's heavy silence by formally adopting Theodore's working theory.

"You believe they're planning something bigger," he said to Theodore. "These two robberies are just practice runs?"

Theodore nodded affirmatively.

"I need evidence," Ronald continued. "Beyond analysis and inference. Even one piece of concrete evidence would help."

Theodore considered the request, then asked for a map of Washington, D.C. He plotted the routes from both robbery locations to the Third Precinct headquarters, using a ruler to measure distances and calculate response times.

Ronald studied the two nearly identical route lines for several minutes. "You think their ultimate target is also exactly 1.2 miles from the Third Precinct?"

Theodore met his gaze steadily. "I think they're being very methodical about their preparation."

[End of Chapter]

Today I found out that the short link I have been posting for my Patreon page is invalid, that page got removed weeks ago, and now I am wondering if I got rickrolled.

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