by Jack Davis
“Lionel, the New York FBI office has two, possibly three cases of individuals matching the description of you and Brian claiming to be bureau agents. The most recent occurred September 25th at a Mail Boxes Etc. AT Morley has confirmed that you and Agent Kruzerski were at that location on the date in question and that it’s where you obtained evidence against defendant Anthony Chin-Lake. Is that true?”
“Yes, ma’am, Brian and I were there, but we never said we were FBI agents. We specifically identified ourselves as ‘federal agents.’ I guess the clerks may have misunderstood us. We showed our credentials and gave our names. Brian and I will poly to that.”
Morley interjected, “Let’s not speak for Brian, we’ll talk to him after this.”
“Yes, sir, and you’ll get the same answers.”
“Lionel, the clerks describe a scenario where you confiscated a tape of the suspect while Agent Kruzerski acted as a store employee?”
“Ma’am, I reviewed the tape and when I found evidence, I gave the manager an official hand receipt. While I was doing that, Brian was in the front watching out for our suspect.”
Morley couldn’t help but smile. The clerk had provided the FBI with a Secret Service hand receipt. The name was unintelligible. Everything his agent was saying appeared to be true…certainly not necessarily proper, but in no way criminal.
Morley let Kensington finish the interview. When she was done, Murray was dismissed and Kruzerski was interviewed. The stories were not rehearsed, but identical.
“Can you make this go away?” Morley asked Kensington over coffee an hour later.
“I think so. I’m sure they’re telling us the truth. They didn’t break any laws, but a boatload of procedures.”
“That’s somewhat my fault,” Morley admitted. “I told them speed was of the essence. They were just being good Marines and doing what I told them to do.”
“I would blame you if this were the first time these two used this ploy, but if what my counterpart is telling me is true, these two have done this kinda thing before to get info.”
“Don’t you mean get results?” Morley gave Kensington a knowing smile. “I’ll reiterate the importance of proper procedure to them in no uncertain terms. This won’t happen again.”
“Except when it comes to my case.” Kensington returned the smile and finished her coffee. “I’ll bury this…” she searched for the right word, “…issue. I’ve got a good relationship with my counterpart. I’ll get him a photo with POTUS next visit, and we’ll be square.”
“Thanks, Mak.”
“Now go find out who has the senator’s info before it gets out.”
Western Union (10/05/09, 1500 hours)
Pencala and Posada contacted Ted Lewis, the deputy regional manager of the Fraud Department at Western Union, to outline their case and request assistance. Lewis, a former Customs agent, listened as Pencala explained that their target was using a WU account, or accounts, to transfer money obtained from credit card fraud. Once she finished the background, Pencala confirmed that Lewis would be receiving a subpoena later that day for subscriber information.
Next Pencala said the Service was going to try a buy-through and send some money down the wire to the suspect’s account. She requested help from Western Union to trace the path the money took and its ultimate destination. “Our hope is to arrest the suspect when he comes in to pick up the money, or at the very least to obtain photographs of the individual.”
Lewis told the agents he could turn the account information around within a day but setting up the trace for the money transfer would probably take a couple more. He agreed to start the process as soon as he was off the phone in anticipation of the legal paperwork.
Since grabbing lunch that consisted of a salad and protein shake, Morley had been at his desk editing the massive case report. He started on the document shortly after 1445 hours, and besides two brief phone calls, worked straight through.
It was 1805 hours when he stepped out for fresh air and caffeine. The brisk October evening was just what he needed to revive him for his final review of the document.
After grabbing a Coke from a deli on the corner, Morley walked back into the building through the two layers of security. He began to go over the wording of the report in his mind. Based on everything that had happened, the case was receiving significant scrutiny. Morley had anguished over the wording for the origin of the case. To obscure it, he split the investigation into two cases, assigning each a separate number. The first ended with the arrest of Anthony. The second picked up from that point and included the arrests of Miguel and Alvaro. Morley didn’t foresee legal challenges in any of the arrests so far, and by splitting up the cases, any subsequent arrests could be supported by probable cause derived from last two defendants.
Since things had progressed reasonably well, Morley banked on the fact that anyone reviewing the report after him—ASAIC Brown—would probably overlook the vagueness of the origin of the first case. The underlying assumption being that the information turned out to be true, so the CI was reliable.
Exiting the elevator onto the thirty-fifth floor, Morley was finishing up the Judicial Action, portion of the report in his mind. He waved to the agent behind the Plexiglas barrier and was buzzed into the office.
In the final thirty feet to his office, he finally disengaged from the case reports and decided to concentrate on the arrest reports. He had to review, edit, and approve the teletypes.
He glanced at his watch. I’ll have to call home and tell Sean I’ll be a little late.
As he unlocked the door, he went to turn on the lights…which should have come on with his movement.
“You won’t need the lights,” said a warm sexy voice from behind his desk.
He left the lights off. There was enough illumination from the computer screens on his desk to see everything he needed. The woman sitting in his chair with her feet crossed on the corner of his desk was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. She was wearing an open trench coat, and one of his ties.
“Lose the tie.”
“Hey, buddy, things came up at work. I’m really sorry, but I won’t be home until after you’ve gone to bed. Did everything go okay at school?”
“Yeah, but I really need to talk to you about….”
There was a prolonged pause. PJ assumed it was because Sean didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say around Mom-mom. He jumped in to help out. “Sean, I know what you want to talk about. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Set your alarm for the same time. I’ll be there in the morning, and we can talk about all of it.”
There was a sad but resigned, “Okay, good night,” from the other end before PJ hung up. Turning, he saw the same expression on the woman he loved.
“You can’t stay the night?” his lover walked toward him from her tiny kitchen with a glass of wine.
“No, I’m sorry. Sean has an issue at school that he needs to talk to me about.” He looked at his watch. “I should leave pretty soon.”
“We only just got here.” An irresistible pout came across the full red lips of his lover. Slowly, seductively, she started to unbutton her blouse.
Morley was bewitched. Almost unwillingly, he moved forward, unbuttoning his shirt.
41 | Do the Right Thing
Morristown, New Jersey, 10/06/09 0425 hours
The alarm went off at 0425 on the dot. Morley had been in bed a little less than three hours. Throwing on his workout gear, he hoisted his computer and suit bags on his shoulder and entered the hallway.
Sean was waiting, a slight scowl on his face; he looked flustered. PJ motioned for him to go downstairs.
In the kitchen, PJ grabbed a Power Bar, water and sat. “How’d everything go at school yesterday?”
“Real bad.”
PJ shook his head in dismay. “What happened?”
“Beth and I had lunch. She held my hand.” Sean smiled, then ducked his head slightly. “It was nice.”
PJ fought to hide a smile and remain ser
ious. “What was the problem?”
“When lunch was over, I was putting my tray away and Beth kissed me.”
Morley was stunned. “She kissed you?”
“Yeah, right here,” Sean touched his cheek. “I told her we weren’t allowed to kiss.” Sean gave a bewildered look and then said, “She got mad at me.”
Get used to that buddy. “Did you tell her about the school policy of no kissing?”
Sean shook his head vigorously. “I did. I said that I didn’t want us to get in trouble and suspended. She said, ‘You just don’t want to kiss me,’ and ran away. She didn’t even put her lunch tray away.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you did the right thing.”
“But why is Beth mad at me then?”
Buddy, girls getting mad at boys they like is one of the mysteries of life. If you figure that out, you tell me.
“Buddy, talk to her. Tell her you do like her. But tell her again that you are doing this for her. You like her enough to not want her to get in trouble. She should understand that.”
God knows trying to do the right thing hasn’t worked for me, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it.
42 | High-tech Solutions, Low-tech Problems
NYFO, 10/06/09, 0900 hours
By the time the lawyers arrived, Morley had been to the gym and looked reasonably fresh. The morning was spent debriefing Alvaro. He admitted to everything he had previously told the agents. Beyond that, Dunn would only let his client repeat, “I was not involved in any other criminal activity that affected the United States or any of its citizens,” which was a true statement.
The lawyers agreed Lopez would only work with the agents he had met so far, and the agent in charge of the Mexico City office, no others. There were multiple minor provisions and legal machinations, but the gist of the agreement was that the Service would have complete access to Lopez’s computer for a period of twenty-one days. After that time the agreement could be renewed with the mutual consent of both parties. The primary means of contact for Alvaro was to be through WoW. Lopez was to check the game twice daily for mail from “Awes0meSauce,” a name Greere had created. Any question from that account meant Lopez needed to call the undercover line. They stressed Alvaro’s call had to be within an hour—from a clean phone—any phone not associated with him or Maria. The secondary and emergency means of communication was Maria’s cell phone.
Morley insisted that Alvaro be polygraphed at a neutral location in Mexico City at the end of the twenty-one days or at the request of the Service. Dunn agreed, but required to be present and choose the location.
Finally, Morley explained that as a last resort Alvaro and his family could go to the US Embassy and the agent would house them until a plan could be developed.
By the afternoon they were ready to tackle the technical part of the case. Through Posada they gave Lopez a brief description of the programs they were going to install on his machine. They explained that they planned to track MichaelTAA through the money. While Lopez knew little about technology, he knew more than anyone in the room about crime and criminals. He knew following the money was always a good bet. The agents told him it was very important to notify them as soon as MichaelTAA contacted him for payment. They didn’t tell him that Blizzard personnel were also monitoring the account as an insurance policy.
Posada told Lopez they wanted to try and push the source, and the two drafted a message to send when he got back to Mexico. It read, Mats no good. They cause problem. Need mats from different realm. Need for quests soon.
He told Alvaro they wanted MichaelTAA to have to get a new source of numbers and PII in the hope it would give them another avenue to pursue. Posada explained that this was the first part of the process of cutting Alvaro out of the picture. If they were able to trace the new information back to a different crime, they might have other leads and be able to put a case together without Alvaro’s testimony. He understood what the agents were trying to do and thanked them.
Alvaro said the message would have the desired effect. “Criminals of MichaelTAA’s stature do business based on reputation. The quality of the merchandise is critical. Old cards get people arrested, and people who are arrested sometimes flip—like Miguel, no one wants that.” Alvaro shook his head in a reassuring manner. “MichaelTAA will get me good numbers, and soon.”
Western Union Follow-up (10/06/09, 1400 hours)
The Western Union account information was back within twenty-four hours. The account was in the name of Keith Nelson. It had been opened over the internet, and the address given turned out to be a warehouse in Brooklyn. The phone number was also a dead end. On the plus side, the account had been open for slightly over two years. That aspect was highly unusual for a criminal, especially one as sophisticated as their target.
A review of the transactions showed the owner used Western Union like a checking account. The balance as of the previous day was just over six thousand dollars. There were multiple deposits, averaging slightly more than one per month, with no discernable pattern. The withdrawals were much less frequent. There were never more than two in any twelve-month period, and other than a monthly payment to Blizzard Entertainment, there was no regularity in the dates.
One aspect about account transactions was consistent: the withdrawals were always from a Western Union or affiliate in the New York metropolitan area, and always around two thousand to twenty-five hundred dollars. In the notes section of the report, it was pointed out that transactions under three thousand dollars did not require approval from corporate headquarters. The transactions were in cash; no checks had been issued. The most recent transaction had been a little over two weeks earlier.
The deposits to the account came from several means. There were credit card transfers, direct bank transfers, and checks cashed into the account. A preliminary review of the deposits found that most showed little promise of being traced. The one bank account reviewed had been set up two weeks prior to the deposit, for what appeared to be the express purpose of transferring the funds. It was never used again and was closed within a month with a five-dollar balance.
That evening, while Swann, Greere, and Posada were struggling with developing a technological means of outwitting their very sophisticated opponent, Alvaro was struggling with how to deal with the other end of the cerebral spectrum. For hours he lay in bed agonizing over how to play things with Diamond when he returned to Mexico. Then, in the predawn hours a plan began to form. Alvaro spent the next twenty minutes going through it, trying to come up with reasons why it wouldn’t work. There were obstacles, but for every one, he found a solution. He saw a way out.
Alvaro felt he might have found a way to save his family. There were so many things that were completely out of his control, so many things that could go wrong. It was overwhelming.
With Maria’s voice, Ask and you shall receive, ringing in his head, he knelt and begged.
Part Nine
43 | Unfulfilled
Endwell, New York, 10/06/09, 2320 hours
About the time Alvaro was kneeling to pray, there was another man who was involved in an activity that he viewed as divinely inspired. He had been home from his most recent trip for over a week and should have been relaxing. The problem was, he couldn’t relax, try as he might.
Every other time he had returned from a “quest” he had been completely at peace. He ate, slept, and went to work…as normally as his personality would allow. There was never any carryover from the other side of his life; nothing about it that bothered him.
This time was different. Ted Blair had made it different. Ted Blair had ruined the whole quest. What was worse, Ted Blair was now ruining what should have been the man’s time to relax and enjoy himself. The quests themselves required momentous amounts of time and focused attention. Getting everything perfect took months of preparation. When he completed one, the man looked forward to eight-to-ten months of down time before he would start to get the itch again. But this time w
as different; there was no relaxation, Ted Blair had fucked that up!
What Blair had done was enrage the man to the point that he’d never gotten to: the Question.
Without the Question—and the corresponding answer—the victims’ deaths were much less meaningful. The victims’ realization of the purpose behind their suffering, was lost without the Question.
In every other quest, one of the two hapless souls had asked the Question—usually sobbing—very early in the process. The man could then explain himself and relax while he went about the rest of his work. But Ted Blair, and his attempt to be noble, had infuriated the man to the point that he lost control. He had inflicted too much pain and killed the Blairs before he was ready. They died without ever knowing why they’d been selected. The couple was dead and their children now safe, but they had passed without the knowledge that they had brought this on themselves. That they were responsible for the punishment they were receiving. It ate at the man that he hadn’t been allowed to communicate to his victims the reason for their suffering. He missed seeing the shocked look on their pain contorted faces. It was driving him crazy.
After days of agonizing and little sleep, the man arrived at what he believed was the only solution. While he couldn’t punish the dead, he could punish the living. The answer had to be another quest. He had never done two quests in such a short period of time, but there was no reason he couldn’t. There were plenty of suitable targets and if he could get all the planning done soon, he might be able to complete the quest after New Year’s and before the spring semester started. Once he had decided on his course of action he immediately felt better. He started searching the internet for suitable victims. The hunt was on.
The Making of a Monster
The man who became a monster was born to parents Brett and Susan. He grew up in Endicott, New York, a small upstate town that in the 1970s was home to one of the largest IBM facilities in the world. Not far from IBM’s birthplace, in the age of mainframes and “Big Iron,” this was a key location for the multinational computer giant. The area prospered accordingly. As the computing industry changed direction in the eighties and nineties, and the state of New York drove businesses out with crippling taxes, the facilities closed. By the turn of the century there was almost nothing left in the area of the once-sprawling computer giant.