Woe man, p.29
Woe Man, page 29
Trace gives Davies a glare before focusing his ire on me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My nerves fray and snap. “What’s wrong with you? One of your agents tried to break my neck. Now, hurry, he’s going to get away.”
As I attempt to reach the panel, Agent Davies latches onto my shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re…?”
“Don’t touch me.” I give him a glare and look to Trace for help. “Please, Kevin told me he was fired. He blamed me for it. Then he tried to kill me. I…I knocked him unconscious or worse. Can we go, now, please?”
“Yeah…yeah, go,” he nods as the full brunt of my meaning hits.
Sliding past Davies, I use my elbow to press the button for six.
Both agents appear befuddled and off guard as the doors slide shut. “Please tell me one of you is packing,” I say, checking back and forth between the two.
Trace gives me a nod and pats his jacket near his armpit. Agent Davies ups the ante by opening his coat to reveal his gun.
“Don’t you think you should pull them out?” I ask as we break to a stop.
Trace considers it much longer than necessary for the doors open and he hesitates another second before stepping in front of me to pull his firearm. He turns to his fellow agent. “Davies,” he grunts with a nod toward the hall.
To his credit, Agent Davies, rushes forward and pulls his revolver. Trace follows a few feet behind. I hate the notion of tagging along, but I scrunch up my courage and step off the elevator with Kitty before the doors shut us out.
Hanging back by the fire escape, I watch as the men move swiftly down the corridor. As Agent Davies rushes down to my doorway I hear a soft moan coming from just inside it.
Agent Davies kneels halfway into the opening and then turns to wave Trace over.
Deciding it’s safe to join them myself, I approach just as Trace blasts Kevin. “What in God’s name did you think you were doing?”
I spot Kevin leaning up against the wall inside my door. With his head bowed toward his lap he uses his fingers to explore an ugly welt on his left temple, one that gives me immense satisfaction.
“Well?” Trace demands.
When Kevin lifts his chin to look at him he spots me staring. “Keep her away from me.”
As he points, the vivid details of our encounter come racing back. I shudder hard from head to toe. “I want him arrested for attempted murder.”
A series of lines erupt across Trace’s forehead. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
My anger rolls to an instant boil. “Why the hell not? That asshole tried to kill me.”
“If you say,” he sighs.
I give Kevin a withering glance and he drops his head into his palms. “Look at him,” I demand. “He’s guilty. He nearly choked me to death. He can’t even look me in the eye.”
Trace shrugs and shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“God,” I huff. “I don’t believe you people. You’re always protecting your own.”
“Enough,” he growls. He turns to Agent Davies and points to Kevin. “Get him some ice, and then bring him down to the command center.”
Agent Davies looks to me for assistance. Begrudging it, I motion down my hall. “Ice is in the freezer, bags are in the cupboard to the right, if you guys left me any.”
Nodding once to acknowledge my instructions, he steps over Kevin’s legs and strides halfway down my hallway before slipping through the arch leading to my kitchen.
The moment he passes out of sight Trace leans in to whisper. “I need to talk to you—in private.” His voice is low enough I doubt the others hear it.
Kitty must sense my impatience at his request for she starts squirming in my hands. Gripping her tighter, I weigh my options and conclude there is little point in putting up a fight. If I plan to accomplish anything from this point forward I’m going to need Trace’s help.
Davies reappears with a bag of ice, which he hands off to Kevin. Offering him a hand up, he ducks under Kevin’s arm and starts guiding him out. “Come on,” he grunts. “You know the drill.”
I sense justice slipping away as the two men walk past me. Perhaps sensing it, Trace slips between us and shuts the door as they go out.
“Afraid I was about to start something?”
He spins with a scowl. “Look, Shelly, I know this can’t be easy on you, but think it over a minute. If I arrested him I’d need to drag you down to the command center, too. This way you still have a few hours before all hell breaks loose.”
His logic may be sound, but I’m feeling anything but reasonable. Gritting my teeth, I count silently to five as I remind myself to play nice. “Is that all you wanted to tell me? Because if it is there are things I need to do and people I have to see.”
As I deposit Kitty on the floor he opens his jacket far enough to slip a hand inside a hidden breast pocket. When he pulls it back out he has a small smart pad wrapped in his fingers. He nods at the device. “You need to hear this. The stakes are getting bigger.”
“Are you sure we need to do this?”
“Listen to me. Please.”
I throw up my hands. “Fine, I’m listening.”
He looks down on the display. “At 8:47 AM Eastern, the CIA informed our liaison in the Department of Homeland Security that two mobile nuclear missile platforms were spotted in the Iranian desert near the border closest to Israel. The platforms were swarming with activity and appear fully operational. Additional reconnaissance from our Defense Department spy satellites now confirm Israeli mobile rocket launchers moving into position at a number of sites inside Israel.”
“And this relates how?”
“Let me finish,” he snaps.
I wave my hand to proceed and he lifts his small pad higher to start reading again. “At 9:12 Eastern the Prime Minister of England phoned President Sedwicky to report thirty-seven church bombings across London in the last twenty-four hours. He reports extensive damage and at least 512 casualties including 203 confirmed deaths. At 10:15 Eastern, a private jet took off from Milan and flew a direct path toward the Ka’Ba in Mecca. It was shot down by the Saudi Air Force only five-hundred meters short of its target. According to our diplomatic sources in Italy, a right-wing Christian group there has been claiming responsibility for the attack on Islam’s holiest shrine. Their website now displays a declaration of war on all Muslims everywhere. Saudi Air Forces are currently on maximum alert. Meanwhile, the Saudi royal family is demanding a full investigation and apology from the Italian government.”
Each little snippet is another drain on my reserves. Our little planet is in the process of imploding.
“At 10:36 Eastern, the Japanese government declared martial law following a night of intense rioting in downtown Tokyo. The government has no leads for a series of Shinto shrine bombings. At 10:40 Eastern, we received word from the Indian Ambassador that Hindu, Muslim and Buddhist demonstrators are gathering in mass at major population centers throughout their country. An hour ago we received word from him that a series of car bombs detonated outside the Taj Mahal leaving 938 protestors dead and over 3200 injured. At 11:02 Eastern, Earl Dean, the Mayor of Philadelphia called the President and asked for federal troops to quell the rioting in the streets overnight. Fifteen minutes later he was shot dead. So far there are 123 others killed, scores injured, and over fifty buildings burning.”
He looks up again. “This is the tip of the iceberg: The world’s gone ballistic and all because of your client.”
His suggestion irks me. It reeks of sloppy thinking. I lean in and press a finger to his chest. “You’re dead wrong about that. Mary has nothing to do with the atrocities being perpetuated. Blaming her for the hatred that started in the Middle Ages is completely unfair. My client’s nothing more than a reluctant victim to this entire episode. If she hadn’t transitioned, you guys wouldn’t even be here.”
“I’m not saying Mary did all these things, but it’s what she represents that gets all these groups riled up.”
“People are frightened,” I concede.
He leans forward and drops his voice to a whisper. “Look, I didn’t bring all this up planning to change our agreement, but I wish you could see the urgency. My offer to get Mary out of sight and into protective custody still stands, I…”
“Excuse me, Trace, why now? What’s changed since the last time I saw you? You’re still holding back.”
He lifts an eyebrow before dropping his chin to concentrate on his pad.
“Trace?”
“Give me a sec.” As he finishes typing he looks up. “There, I just blocked all eavesdropping devices in the immediate area.”
I blink twice as I process just how many devices that may be, and whether Hank’s aware of any of them. Wait, is my wall screen hacked? I had to use the remote and the settings were off.
“You must promise me you won’t repeat this,” he says, leaning in even closer.
“I promise,” I say, crossing my fingers in front of his face.
“Not good enough,” he frowns. “This is serious. It can’t go beyond these walls because it could send everyone into a full-blown panic.”
“Alright, I swear not to reveal it,” I say, feeling more and more like telling the first person I meet.
He sighs in obvious frustration. “I guess I just have to trust you.”
“I guess you do.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Can you get to the frickin’ point?”
“I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this.”
“Tell me what? You haven’t told me a thing.”
“Okay, okay, here it is: I suspect the bureau’s being purged.”
“Purged?” I lift an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means my agents are disappearing all over the place.”
“You mean they’re missing, being murdered, what?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t prove anything yet.”
“Huh. Yesterday there were agents crawling all over each other around here. Today you, Davies, and Johnson are it. I thought you pulled them all back.”
“I did not.”
“Holy crap, that isn’t good.”
“You think?”
I ignore his sarcasm. “Weren’t most of your guys reassigned to the president’s assassination?”
“Some were. About twenty percent of the agents at this location, but that doesn’t shed light on the rest.”
“Couldn’t there be a good explanation?”
“Such as?”
I throw up my hands. “How the hell should I know? Haven’t you talked with your boss about it?”
He expels a heavy sigh. “He’s gone off the radar. Since I saw you this morning I left a dozen high-priority calls for him. No response. Not one quick text or call back, which either means he disappeared himself or he’s busy running some top-secret operation he prefers not to share with his chief of operations in Seattle.”
“Not good either way, is it?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Wow. I wonder what’s going on?”
“Me too.”
My intuition hits. “Could DOET be responsible?”
He lifts one eyebrow. “What do you know about DOET?”
I lift my shoulders. “I don’t know a damn thing about DOET. The truth is I hadn’t even heard of it, until Agent Sims said you guys intercepted a fax allegedly sent to me. I swear I never saw it. Seriously, who even uses a fax machine when you can do anything and everything with email these days?”
He strokes his chine as if weighing my words. “A number of organized crime groups are running under the assumption they can communicate anonymously via old fax-based technology—in other words, by using your grandfather’s old fax machine and a land line. They think the messages won’t be stored on a server—you know, like businesses and governments do for email. The whole point is they’re trying to avoid getting hacked by us. The groups create coded messages on paper, fax them only over landlines, and then destroy the messages immediately after reading them. That doesn’t leave a record behind, or so they believe.”
“You’re saying that isn’t true?”
“I am. We prefer the groups communicate via any form of electronic means rather than employ human couriers.”
“Why? I’m still not sure I get it.”
“Think of it this way. Human spying—that is, putting agents in the field to intercept couriers—is an expensive proposition. On the other hand, electronic spying is relatively cheap. We do what we can to encourage all those hell-bent on breaking the law to give us a break. And one way we do that is by propagating the notion it’s safer to send a fax using old, outdated technologies than it is use real people to send messages.”
“So it’s basically a matter of economics? You reinforce the misperception so you can hire fewer agents?”
“Correct, and believe me we save a bundle. Meanwhile, major advances in technology allow us to intercept almost any form of electronic-based communication, including fax tones which we store on servers for analysis, should the situation warrant. Meanwhile, we can flag any suspicious messages using sophisticated algorithms and artificial intelligence programs created for the purpose. And even when the messages are coded, the codes are almost child’s play to break considering all the anti-encryption technology available to us. Putting enough undercover agents in the field is next to impossible, but there are no such limits when it comes to adding computing power for electronic spying.”
“Okay, but that still doesn’t explain what happened to me. I swear I never received a fax, yet your agents claimed they had one in their possession. If there’s an ounce of truth in that, wouldn’t they have pulled it off a server somewhere along the way?”
He reaches to scratch his forehead. “My guess is someone at the bureau had an ongoing investigation requiring a tap.”
“You mean they tapped my number?”
“Not necessarily. They could pick up your number from another party’s tap. They’d be checking out all the intended recipients, right?”
“Yeah, that makes sense. So what happens if it was just a misdial? Would my number would still show up?”
“It would as long as we could intercept fax tones during the call. In that case, we’d assume you were the intended target. Those tones would then be recorded and stored on a server. Once there, our techs would have everything they needed to download and recreate the original message. However, I can’t imagine why anyone would create a hard copy, unless they intended to erase the original recording off the server.”
“How’s that?”
“To destroy evidence like that would imply they were running an investigation off book, which opens up a whole can of worms, and requires top-secret clearance. Sims and Johnson never had that kind of clout.”
I push a stray hair up over my ear as I consider it. “Are you sure? If it all went down the way you’re saying, it sounds like I was put in the crosshairs because of bad luck and a highly questionable operation. Meanwhile, when Sims brought the fax up to me, I was positive you guys were just using DOET and the whole terrorist angle to throw me off my game—that is, until the moment Kevin attacked me.”
His face scrunches up. “Kevin and I go back several years. It seems wholly out of character he’d resort to using violence or be involved in any of this.”
“And yet he did. He insisted I stole a hard copy from his files. What an asshole. How the hell would I have any access to your evidence lockers? Anyway, I’m surprised you didn’t know all this. He said his supervisor fired him and I assumed that was you.”
“It wasn’t. It was likely his team leader, but that little bitch knows better. All personnel moves on his level require my review and approval.”
“I bet you find a paper on your desk waiting for a signature.”
“I can’t believe this.”
My mind races in a dozen divergent directions. This is all sounding crazier by the minute. If the FBI is being purged by some well-organized group, could this be a part of some bigger plot? Did Kevin’s so-called “evidence” against me put this shadowy DOET at risk? Or worse, has DOET infiltrated the FBI in hopes of overthrowing the government? Oh, dear God, is it worse? Are they somehow responsible for Brad? And if true, what of Diana? Would she be part of it, too? I shudder as I realize the people talking about a hoax might be dead on.
“You okay?” he asks. “I saw that little shimmy.”
“You have sharp eyes.”
“It comes with the trade. What were you thinking?”
What should I cop to? I have no way to prove anything at the moment. As I meet his gaze I have another chilling thought. “Trace, has it occurred to you that if the FBI is being purged of agents by a group like DOET or otherwise, then turning Mary over to you right now is our absolute worst option?”
He slaps an open palm against his forehead. “My god, I’m an idiot. Who knows what might happen if these people get their hands on her?”
“Which means I’m all out of choices. I’m sorry, but we officially pass on your offer of protection.”
“Son of a bitch!” He reaches up with both hands and runs his hands through his hair. “Oh, hell, this gets worse and worse. If the Director is okay, my ass is toast. If he isn’t, then who’s at the helm to combat this mess? The more I consider this DOET, the more I believe you’re onto something. In any event, your instincts about Mary seem spot on. I won’t be able to guarantee her safety once she’s on the inside. She’d be off my radar—off everyone’s for that matter.”
The urgency of getting my butt in gear feels more critical than ever. I reach to touch his hand. “I need to go.”
“As do I,” he nods. He spins to open my front door, but halts and glances back over his shoulder. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances.”
“Me, too,” I say, wondering who is about to face the worst of it.
By the time it dawns on me he meant something else our conversation is a wispy memory.
Chapter 42
“Be fruitful and multiply? Are you serious? God never intended that we breed like rats, nor is he opposed to contraception. I’m sorry, but you have it all wrong. Here’s the God’s honest truth: World population is out of control because governments, institutions, and churches want it that way. It has nothing to do with God.”
