Ben Shapiro - True Allegiance

More officers dropped out.

And Levon began to build his force. He began with those nearest to him. At first, he thought to use only men and women with no criminal record. That would prevent anyone from claiming that he wanted to undermine the nature of the force. But he soon realized that too many young black men had spent time behind bars. He quickly changed the rules, with the mayor’s approval: now anyone who had been convicted of a nonviolent felony—most of these were drug crimes—could be considered for employment.

“Policing only works,” Levon told CNN, “if the police reflect the community. It just isn’t effective to say that our law enforcement ought to be clean as the driven snow. Given the amount of racism against our community, and the disproportionate imprisonment of young black men, we cannot insist that everyone have a clean record. It’s just not realistic. We’ve ensured that nobody with a violent criminal past can join the force, but as our country becomes more tolerant of marijuana, and as we reexamine the legacy of the failed war on drugs that has robbed so many black sons and daughters of their fathers, we see this program as a way of both rehabilitating young black men and strengthening law enforcement. Think of it as converting people from criminality to standard-bearers for a new, more tolerant America.”

More plaudits. More resignations.

The final blow to the police enrollment standards came in the area of education. The standard for the department had always been a high school degree or an equivalent. Now, with the applications pouring in, Levon had to face the fact that not enough applicants had graduated from high school—many had dropped out. Again, he cited racial disparities in changing the policy, explaining that every trainee would be given remedial education necessary to do the job. “How can you expect people to work their way up the ladder if we don’t give them the chance to get on the first rung?” he asked.

Within a week of the new policies going into effect, the constituency of the police academy had turned over by 40 percent. The old department had been more than 60 percent black; now it was nearly 90 percent black. It had also grown younger by approximately ten years on average. It would take a few months to siphon in the new recruits, but the force would change dramatically.

When Levon made the cover of Time , his picture emblazoned over the headline “THE NEW FACE OF LAW ENFORCEMENT,” he knew the time had come to make the next move.

That move came against Detroit Energy, which supplied most of the power to the entire southeastern Michigan area. For years, thousands of Detroit customers had failed to pay their bills. They simply assumed that the city would pick up the tab—which, for years, the city did. But as the tax base shrunk, DTE took it on the nose, and began enforcing its own rules, cutting off the power to some 25,000 customers per month, many of them in the Detroit metropolitan area.

The mayor understood his new role now. Levon knew that. The mayor knew that. He had become a rubber stamp, content to receive media paeans for pushing Levon’s prescriptions into law. When Levon told the mayor that the next step would have to come in the form of energy fairness, with winter approaching, the mayor acquiesced.

Mayor Burns held a press conference, Levon at his side. “Detroit Energy,” the mayor said, “has been defrauding its customers for years. Leaving them at nature’s whim instead of working with them to help them through tough times. For years, the people of Detroit have paid their taxes and their bills, and the money has made its way north of Eight Mile, outside the Detroit city limits. We’ve got thousands of kids here getting ready to bunk down in freezing homes, just because a hard-working single mother can’t afford the bills this month. Who are we as a society? Are we going to give each other a hand up? Or are we going to give way to our baser natures, our greed?”

That bright and sunny Tuesday morning, the CEO of Detroit Energy, Gerald Montefiore, found himself accosted by dozens of cameras. Montefiore was an overweight, well-tailored, shorter, elderly gentleman with a Monopoly-man mustache. Glaring into the cameras, he told the mayor and the city of Detroit, “No one has the right to steal, even if they vote to steal. And the mayor’s new paramilitary force, his new police force, they can’t violate the law just because they have the guns.”

Levon responded on behalf of the mayor’s office. “Our new police force represents the community of Detroit,” he said solemnly. “And we can’t be bought by any corporation. The city of Detroit is not for sale. America is all about the fair shake, all about caring for the least of us. Every citizen has a right to running water, clean air, and electricity. If Detroit Energy refuses to make its product available to everyone, we will be forced to take measures to enforce the rights of the people of Detroit.”

Montefiore refused to attend a meeting with Levon and Mayor Burns. Instead, he sent his lawyers. Levon refused bluntly to even get in a room with them. “Eels,” he told Burns. “You just let me take care of this.”

The mayor had no choice but to comply.

That night, electric lines all over the city went down. Actually, that wasn’t precise enough: electric lines just outside the city went down. The suburbs surrounding Detroit were plunged into blackness. Grosse Pointe, Dearborn, Ferndale, Oak Park—they all went dark at approximately 8:00 p.m., right in the middle of dinner. The calls to Detroit Energy began flooding the company; calls to the police force skyrocketed as criminals took advantage of the cover to begin looting.

Levon’s police were conveniently busy elsewhere.

Within forty-eight hours, Detroit Energy had turned back on the power throughout Detroit. “We have seen the error of our ways,” Montefiore told the media. “Crime springs from despair; despair springs from poverty. The only way to combat poverty is to allow young people, students, hard-working parents to keep receiving their electricity. Electricity makes a better life.”

He didn’t mention the billion-dollar check the city of Detroit signed, based on borrowing against junk bonds. Neither did Levon. Neither, of course, did the headlines.

BRETT COULDN’T STOP SWEATING.

It wasn’t that Prescott’s threats scared him. Not after the public scandal with Dianna Kelly, bullshit though it was. Not after Afghanistan. Not after Iran. Not after spending years apart from Ellen. Prescott would be better off burying the whole situation politically, avoiding the backlash, making some payoff to Omari. This would blow over.

Brett wasn’t sweating for himself. He was sweating for Hassan.

He’d been a fool. He knew that now. He’d been a fool far too often: trusting Prescott, serving in his administration, and then telling Omari that he knew about Mohammed’s association with him. Omari could backtrack the story.

He’d been vague enough about where he’d obtained the information, he reminded himself. But there could only be a certain number of possibilities. Doubtless, Omari was tracking down every single one.

Then Brett thought of Prescott, and started sweating even more. How had the Secret Service found him at Omari’s home, unless they’d tracked him? And if they’d tracked him, wouldn’t they have tracked him to Hassan’s house? He’d thought he’d lost them, but where had they reacquired his trail?

He sat in his hotel room, itching to do something. His hands clenched closed, open and closed. But now he feared using the phones—they’d surely be tapped by this point. He wouldn’t be able to get free of the guards again. Somehow, he had to warn Hassan what was coming. He didn’t trust Prescott not to pass on Hassan’s information to Omari somehow. If that happened, Hassan would be as good as dead.