"As you said, a major mess."
Malloy nodded. "But the Battle of Seattle was the turning point."
"In what way?"
"The protesters learned that marching down the street wasn't enough to get attention. Only direct action worked. You had to break things up, inconvenience people, disrupt the focus of the people in your bull's-eye."
"From what I've seen around the city today, the power elite have come a long way since Seattle."
"Hundred percent," Malloy said. "I was in Philly for the GOP convention when the anarchists made us look silly again. They'd raise hell, then run down the streets with a bunch of overweight cops chasing them. Created chaos and confusion. They stirred up the pot at the WTO conference in Miami too. We finally began to get a handle on things at the World Economic Forum here in 2002, and pretty much had our strategy in place for the Republican Convention in 2004."
"You kept disruptions to a minimum, but there were complaints about civil rights being violated."
"That's part of the protest strategy. These guys are sophisticated. It's mostly a small group of hard-core instigators that moves from city to city. They provoke authority hoping we'll overreact. Whoops!"
Malloy pulled off to the side, double-parking near a group of people carrying musical instruments, and barked into his hand radio.
"Nomad to MACC. Guerrilla musicians gathering for an unpermitted march from Union Square to Madison Square Garden."
Barnes scanned the sidewalk on both sides of the street. "I don't see anyone marching."
"They're walking in two-by-twos now. Nothing illegal about that. They'll start coming together in a minute-no, wait, there they go now."
The musicians were coalescing into larger groups, stepping off the curb into the street to form a procession. But before the parade began, police officers on bicycles and scooters swooped in from both sides and began to make arrests.
Barnes furiously scribbled notes.
"I'm impressed," he said. "That went off like clockwork."
"It should. That little maneuver was the result of years of experience. We're only dealing with an in-between economic conference, but there are hundreds of guests and protesters, so there's the potential of big trouble. The crazies are always trying to stay one step ahead of us."
"How do you tell the real fanatics from people who simply want to protest?"
"Pretty hard. We just arrest anyone who's a troublemaker and sort things out later." He took a ringing cell phone from its dashboard cradle and handed it to Barnes. "Check this out."
The reporter read the text on the phone's message screen. "It says that the scooter goon sq
uad is wrapped around the guerrilla musicians. Telling people to avoid this neighborhood. Calling for cameras. Medics and legal observers. Says to blockade cops from arresting demonstrators harassing people in the Theater District. Who's this from?"
"The crazies. The cops aren't the only ones who learned from Seattle. The anarchists have their own MACC-type media center. They tell the activists what routes to take to stay away from the cops. While we shut down one operation, they're starting another." He laughed. "We're spending multimillions each year on security measures, and they use technology that's practically free."
"Don't they know you can read the same messages?"
"Sure. But the demonstrations are more spontaneous, so we're always playing cat-and-mouse games with each other. Intel is the name of the game. They're fast, but it comes down to numbers. We've got thirty-seven thousand cops, a blimp, helicopters, video cameras and two hundred of our guys have helmet video cameras connected to the security nerve center."
"Can't they monitor the police scanners?"
"We know that they do. Rapid response is the key. You know what they say in a fight, a good big guy can beat a good little guy any day. On a level playing field, we're going to win."
Barnes handed the phone to Malloy. "This appears to be for you."
The text printed on the message screen had changed.
GOOD MORNING, NOMAD. OR SHOULD WE CALL YOU FRANK, MR. MALLOY?
"Huh?" Malloy said. He looked at the phone in his hand as if it had turned to a snake.
"How the hell are they doing this?" he said, turning to Barnes.