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INTRODUCTION T his story began in 1971, when I returned stateside after thirteen months on the DMZ (demilitarized zone) in Korea. My wife, Pam, and I were just getting to know one another again, after being separated military style for most of our young marriage. We wanted to have a family, but we each wanted to commit to a cause that would make a difference . She already made an important contribution as a physical therapist. Pam taught people ways to help themselves overcome their disabilities. I thought my future was probably in the military. I would extend my military commitment, be promoted to captain, head to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, for additional Special Forces training, then ship out for a thirteenmonth tour in Vietnam. I was leaning in this direction because I loved the elite unit of the Green Berets that I was in and the guys I was with. Pam thought that law school was a better way to help people. Then I heard that the U.S. Department of Justice was seeking experienced soldiers with top secret clearance for the position of drug agent. The thought intrigued me. The idea that I could help people and be a positive influence in the world by working with the Justice Department was attractive. The strength, both mental and physical, that I developed through my highly disciplined military training in leadership, weapons, survival, handto -hand combat, intelligence, and ethics, along with the experience of serving with the Second Infantry Division and the Tenth Special Forces Detach- .......................... 10590$ INTR 03-12-04 13:05:13 PS ment of Green Berets, were perfect prerequisites for my entrée into the life of a drug agent. I decided to try for the job. As soon as I stepped into the windowless room in the bowels of the JFK Federal Building in Boston, I sensed that I was in for an experience. Six silent men, all very different in appearance, sat staring at me from around a conference table, weighing my every move. After a painfully long moment , a man sitting ramrod straight, an unmistakable reflection of his military background, smiled and addressed me from his seat in the center of the group. ‘‘Good morning! Please be seated. I am Ed Cass, the regional director. These men are all agents, and we are going to ask you some questions.’’ ‘‘Yes, sir,’’ I responded, taking a seat at the table opposite the men. The agents each nodded their heads as I scanned the room, my eyes meeting theirs. Each stare was fixed steadily on me. ‘‘Why do you want the job, son?’’ the oldest-looking member of the panel asked. It was Matt Seifer, who, I later discovered, had worked with Harry Anslinger, the first federal commissioner of Narcotics. Seifer, a living legend, had interrogated some of the most notorious gangsters in history. His simple question gave me pause. ‘‘I want to make a difference,’’ I answered. Before I could catch my breath, I turned to face a hypothetical question from Special Agent Chris Regan on the other side of the table. ‘‘Let’s say you had a search warrant for a dope dealer’s apartment; that means by law that you could only search the dealer’s apartment. Now, it’s hard to win with our hands tied by the law. You get to the dealer’s apartment , execute the search warrant, and find nothing. The guy is laughing at you and threatening to sue for damages. As you leave the apartment, you notice a suitcase in the hallway, in plain view, with what appears to be white powder leaking out of the seam. What do you do?’’ It seemed like a trick question. ‘‘The warrant specified the dealer’s apartment only, right?’’ I asked, just to be sure. ‘‘Only for the apartment and any drugs found inside,’’ was the response, delivered with a wry smile. ‘‘I would confiscate the suitcase, and I would tell the dealer I would be back another day,’’ I answered. A wide smile swept across Regan’s face. The other agents nodded their heads, and then they all laughed. ‘‘The last guy we interviewed told us that he would nudge the suitcase in with his foot and pin it on the drug dealer. The guy before him said that he would leave it where it was and go get a warrant for the hallway!’’ a tough-looking guy said in a deep voice out of one side of his mouth...

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