Public Enemy Zero

36

When the Martin County Sheriff’s Department was informed Mitchell Roberts was in their jurisdiction, they locked down the highways within minutes.

Police cars were dispatched to all of the major intersections. A fleet of marked cars came in from the south while another fleet came in from the north on the main highway, U.S. 1. Each time they passed a major artery, the last car in line would pull off to block traffic.

The sheriff’s department aviation unit dispatched an American Eurocopter AS350 with a map tracking system to zero in on the location of Mitchell. It flew down the Intracoastal waterway just above the treetops as a deputy at a console plugged in tracking information. As the system got a lock on the GPS signal, he gave the pilot and deputies on the ground minute-by-minute directions.

“Heading northbound on U.S. 1,” said the deputy. He zoomed in on the map. “Heading toward Route 401.”

“Going to intercept,” called the pilot. He turned the stick to the left and flew the helicopter over the highway at over 100 miles per hour.

The deputy in the back of the chopper looked at his console and then at a video screen showing the ground below. There were a handful of cars on the highway but few clusters. He clicked a button and the mapping system superimposed what the camera underneath saw and the tracking point from the phone.

“Three miles and closing,” said the deputy. “Still heading northbound toward 401.”

Five sheriff’s cars heading southbound crossed the Route 401 intersection and created a barricade with their cars. Two deputies ran out in front of the wall their vehicles made and threw a metal track across the highway. If the car kept going, it would rip the tires to shreds, making it a very short chase.

The deputy on board the mapping console watched as the helicopter headed right over the blip. “Bingo,” he shouted over the microphone. “Looks like last night was just a test run.”

The pilot swung the helicopter in a wide arc. He turned on the bullhorn and spoke. “Driver of the tractor-trailer truck, pull over and turn off your engine.”

The truck came to a screeching halt. The helicopter pilot lowered the helicopter so that he was almost eye level with the driver. Diesel exhaust stopped spewing from the mufflers.

“Throw your keys out the window.”

There was a pause and then a key ring flew onto the street in front of the cab.

“Place you hands against the front windshield,” instructed the pilot.

The driver placed the palms of his hands against the window.

Three northbound police cars caught up with the rig. Two cars pulled in front of it while the third guarded the rear, boxing the truck and trailer in.

Two deputies ran over to the truck cab with their guns drawn. One pulled the door open while the other kept his gun pointed through the window at the driver.

The truck driver was pulled out of the cab and asked to lie down flat. He was quickly handcuffed and searched. Finally, he was rolled over.

The arresting deputy looked at a printout and back at the man. “What’s your name?”

“Michael Holland,” said the scared 42 year-old.

Then deputy spoke into his radio. “The driver isn’t our suspect.”

The deputy on the circling helicopter looked at the overlay on the computer screen. “The signal is coming from within the truck.”

The arresting deputy looked down at Holland. “We have probable cause to search your truck. Do you have the key to open it?”

The man looked up at him. “No. Of course not. You have to ask the postmaster for the key.”

Twenty minutes later, a police escort brought the nearest United States postmaster with a key to unlock the trailer. When Simmons and Rios arrived, the sheriff’s deputies were going through bins of mail in the middle of the highway under the postmaster’s supervision.

“I can tell you how this is going to end,” said Simmons as she watched from the driver’s side of her SUV.

“You think we should tell them what we told Brooks?” asked Rios.

“Yeah, but it’s not going to matter right now.”

The deputy from the pursuit helicopter was walking around with a laptop with a 3G connection. He moved toward one of the bins and pointed it out. Two deputies ran over and turned it over, spilling a pile of mail onto the highway.

The deputies quickly sorted the mail into a pile of letters and a pile of packages. A bomb tech walked over with a handheld scanner and waved it over the packages. He pulled three from the pile and set them on the highway.

The deputies cleared away the other mail while the bins were loaded back into the truck.

A bomb-sniffing dog was brought over to inspect the packages. He sniffed at them and then looked up bored. The dog was walked back to a car.

The county chief of detectives walked over and looked at the packages. He picked up one and walked it back to where Brooks and several other higher-ups had parked their cars. He set it on the hood of an SUV.

Simmons and Rios walked over to get a look as a technician with rubber gloves slit open the small box. He reached inside and pulled out Mitchell’s iPhone. The lock screen had a screen grab of a page from the notepad app as its background image.

The technician held out the iPhone for everyone to see what the note said.

“When I think you’re serious about helping me, I’ll send up three flares so you can find me. Until then, no surrender. Mitch.”