 Tactical Games By Serhiy KHARCHENKO |
The professor instructed his students to divide into two groups for a tactical exercise - a break from lectures and an opportunity to use the energy and creativity that was otherwise unspent in the militsiya academy. And the cadets relished the chance to do something different and competitive.
"Stir your imaginations," urged the academy professor, a civilian with more political clout than legal knowledge, but a man the cadets enjoyed time with nonetheless because of his entertaining and unorthodox teaching style. "The task is to create a situation and then to solve it. Use your imaginations! Try different approaches."
"Now we'll see who among you is intellectually impotent," the professor said, eliciting coarse laughter from his students. "Begin!"
The cadets went straight to work, dividing into two groups. One called itself, "Hands Up." The other chose the cryptic moniker, "Keyhole."
Hands Up relied on traditional coercive methods that, while blunt, had been proven to be effective. The Keyhole group was more refined, more sophisticated in its approach. And that, thought the professor as he watched the two groups working, made them much more dangerous.
Hands Up was first to present its scenario, which was projected on a huge computer monitor.
A sudden blackout had stricken the city militsiya department. Even the duty officer's panel had gone dark. Radio communication with headquarters was impaired and work ground to a halt in the darkness and confusion.
The colonel who headed the city department was in his lightless office, fuming, when an officer entered and reported that the outage was no accident. The power had been cut, he said, by the local electric utility to compel the department to pay its debt for electricity - a debt that had been long unpaid.
The colonel's attempt to negotiate with the power company was fruitless. The company was steadfast in its demand that the entire debt would need to be repaid before service would resume. They had no more patience. The militsiya's chief accountant broke his pencil in frustration: There simply was no money in the city budget to pay for electricity. And it wasn't the only problem on the horizon for the city: Doctors and teachers were ready to go on strike to demand unpaid salaries.
"Then we will do without power," the colonel said angrily, pacing the floor of his office, taking care to measure his footsteps so as not to bounce off a wall or furniture in the darkness. "We can catch and interview criminals without lights, without computers!"
Though the situation looked bleak to the onlookers, the members of the Hands Up team were positively giddy with excitement: they had found the only way to bring the issue to a conclusion.
The Hands Up cadets ordered three police cruisers to crash through the gates to the electric company's building. Sirens wailing and lights flashing, the blue-and-yellow cars rushed into the electricians' garage, where militsiya inspectors began checking the authenticity of license plates and examining the brakes of everything with four wheels and a steering wheel.
In all, the power company was barred from operating six trucks, and much of the company's parts inventory was impounded, to be checked at a later date against lists of stolen auto parts.
The colonel was ready to thank his officers for their service and declare victory, but the lights failed to come on. He received a report that the electricians were engaged in a counterstrike. They had dug a trench around headquarters, he was told. They were isolated while power crews looked for an unidentified problem. Signs reading "Danger: High Voltage" met persons approaching the building. The odd problems plaguing the militsiya were theirs alone. Neighboring shops had power and lights. A new diaper factory across the street was in full production. Only the city's militsiya headquarters was affected.
The colonel was in full battle mode: he had donned a camouflage uniform, slung a submachine gun over his shoulder and attached a gas mask to his epaulet. He strode through the corridors of the darkened headquarters building, grim faced, to Interrogation Room 3, one of the few rooms to benefit from decent sunlight, where he unfolded a map covered in red and blue arrows and laid it on a table.
His plan: Blitzkrieg.
He ordered the members of the economic crimes unit to locate and impound as many of the personal cars of the electric company's managers as they could find. Within hours, the impound yard was occupied by the prized possessions of top officers: BMWs, Mercedes and Range Rovers.
The power was restored. The enemy had surrendered.
The Hands Up gang smugly turned the scenario over to the Keyhole team, led by a cadet that instructors had identified as a promising guy. A senior at the academy, he had a good sense of humor and a slightly cynical outlook, as well as thin lips and a piercing stare. The stare was unnerving: It was said that even the saints painted on icons could not meet his gaze.
The leader of the Keyhole group magnanimously praised the rival team. He added though, with no small degree of pleasure, that the scenario devised by Hands Up was a bit too long and involved noise and hysteria of a degree unbecoming of the fatherland's uniform.
Promising Guy said that his team would also combat a state entity, but his focus would be on the communal services department rather than the electric company. In Keyhole's scenario, communal services have demanded payment of the militsiya's water bill.
"The city department of militsiya has received a banal ultimatum from the communal service: Pay your debts for water consumption, or we will cut it off," Promising Guy intoned. "How shall we reply to this annoying arrogance?"
"For some time, we have systematically acquired copies of keys belonging to the most important companies and government agencies in the city," Promising Guy said. "Look at the monitor: The keys of our potential clients are displayed at this virtual stand. These are not really keys. In fact, they are more a collection of handcuffs."
"These trophies have been added to our collection by our friends - members of our political party - in the employ of the companies and agencies represented by the keys," the cadet continued. "For the party, and for negotiated remuneration, we have amassed a collection of necessary keys."
"Look again at the monitor," he said. "The head of communal services is no longer interested in our water bill."
The screen showed three officers turning the administrator to face the wall, hands raised. A fourth officer was extracting a bag of white powder from the man's desk.
"Our man will have the discovery of the narcotics attested to by his witnesses," Promising Guy said. "We can save time and increase the professionalism of our witnesses by using the same team in each case."
"The evidence will be placed in our colonel's safe, where it will remain so long as this man no longer bothers us," he said. "The chief of the communal service will lose any interest in collecting our water debt. He will now start at every knock at his door."
After the end of the lesson, the professor asked Promising Guy to walk with him to his car. The professor explained that his political party, while large and powerful, sought out bright young men, and that he was indeed a Promising Guy.
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More in the section:
The Organ Grinders
Read also previous issue' articles:
Cows and Parachutists
Vietnam, Cobra-laced rice moonshine and those smiles
Gambling on the Slope
Manners Cost Nothing
A Roger By Any Other Name
Never Underestimate the Mark!
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