by Akart, Bobby
With each trip, they stocked up on food and supplies, together with ample supplies of liquor. The two men found that the more inebriated they became, the more they managed to agree on political issues. Perhaps, Jonathan suggested, legalizing marijuana was the key to bringing the country back together. As he put it, maybe we could all adopt a don’t worry, be happy approach to solving the nation’s problems.
“I’m ready when you are,” said Briscoe as he emerged from his bedroom. Wearing camouflage clothing and a hunting cap caused him to resemble Elmer Fudd from the Bugs Bunny cartoon.
Jonathan, for his part, resembled a noble gentleman ready to mount his horse and follow the hounds into battle. The two aristocrats might have thought they blended in with the locals, but in reality, they stood out because they didn’t look the part of country boys who loved to hunt.
“Let’s go,” said Jonathan as he opened the front door to allow Briscoe to pass in front of him. They hadn’t bothered to lock the door during their outings, and in their days together at the lodge, they hadn’t been contacted by any unwanted visitors.
He drove a little faster than normal, as the two men had gotten a late start on their day. Their evenings were filled with conversation and, increasingly, the liberal consumption of liquor. As a result, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to drink until the wee hours of the morning and awaken at noon or later.
“I know we’ve talked about this several times,” began Briscoe as they drove along the bumpy driveway toward the two-lane road that bordered the front of the Schwartz property. “I still have no desire to reach out to any of my people, assuming, of course, I still have any people.” He emphasized the last word in the sentence to make his point.
“You’re a man without a country,” quipped Jonathan as he swerved to dodge a pothole, one of several on the old country road. “And I’m a man who needs to leave this country.”
Briscoe asked, “When do we make our move? Is it too early to look for a way out?”
Jonathan had contemplated these same questions often throughout the day. He’d determined it was best to do nothing for now. “I don’t have a sense of urgency, Hanson. The feds haven’t swooped down on the lodge, and I imagine they’re busy elsewhere. As for you, assuming Trowbridge is still looking for you, he’d never suspect that you’d be with me, much less here.”
“You’re suggesting status quo,” said Briscoe.
“I am. We’ve got money or, to be more precise, negotiable currency in the form of gold and silver. We have supplies that we supplement with our trips into town. And we still have weapons. It’s not enough to equip an army, but we can most certainly defend ourselves against the run-of-the-mill burglar.”
“Okay, I’m of the same mindset. Truthfully, this has been very relaxing for me.” He paused and then laughed. “I’ve even grown to tolerate your company.”
“Feeling’s mutual, neocon,” said Jonathan, referring to a label often used to describe men like Briscoe. The word was short for neoconservative, a political movement born in the sixties with liberal hawks who’d become estranged from the increasingly pacifist foreign policy of the Democratic Party.
Neocons were known to advocate the expansion of democratic ideals and American national interests into international affairs, much to the chagrin of those who espoused America-first policies. They tended to see military solutions to foreign-policy challenges.
Briscoe let out a hearty laugh. In times past, Jonathan’s statement might throw Briscoe into a rage in which he argued the nuances of neoconservatism and the differences from President Ronald Reagan’s concept of peace through strength. However, after becoming friends, the two found they could trade barbs without getting offended, something they felt like all of America needed in order to bridge the political divide.
The two men teased one another, and Jonathan playfully pretended to turn the wheel hard to the left in an effort to throw Briscoe out of the Kawasaki Mule. Briscoe quickly grabbed the handlebar and feigned falling by swinging his right leg outside the vehicle.
As he did, his cell phone gradually slipped out of his pocket and bounced onto the shoulder of the road, tumbling over and over into a farmer’s driveway, where it sat baking in the unusually warm winter sun.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kutztown, Pennsylvania
Sofia Horst was walking her palomino pony along the fence row that surrounded the family’s homestead on Krumsville Road, the route taken by Schwartz and Briscoe into town on a regular basis. Like her parents, she did her daily chores of tending to the horses and chickens, not paying attention to the strangers as they drove past. Folks in Kutztown had a tendency to stick to themselves, and the Horst family was no different. Berks County had been settled mainly by Germans, most of whom emigrated to the United States from their hometowns in southwest Germany along the Rhine River. They brought their love of farming and ability to raise livestock with them, finding the fertile lands around Kutztown to closely resemble their beloved Germany.
Sofia was speaking softly to her pony when her eyes wandered toward the driveway of their farmhouse where it met the road. She saw a cell phone lying faceup in the gravel. She tied off her horse and climbed over the split-rail fence to retrieve the phone. Her family didn’t have a cell phone, so she knew it wasn’t theirs. Not knowing what to do, she jumped on her horse and rode up to the house to alert her father.
“It wasn’t there this morning,” he said as he turned it over and over in his hands. The phone had been scratched, and the display had cracked as a result of bouncing off the jagged limestone rocks of the driveway.
His wife emerged from the kitchen, where she’d been making apple strudel, a German favorite that was a mainstay of the families living around Kutztown. “Turn it on and maybe you can determine who it belongs to.”
“It won’t have a name on it, I don’t think,” said her husband.
“That’s true, Papa, but the phone contacts list might allow you to recognize the names. Maybe it belongs to one of our neighbors?”
Sofia’s mother playfully twisted the young girl’s earlobe. “How do you know of such things?”
“My friends in school all have cell phones,” she replied.
“They do?” asked her father.
“Yes, Papa. It’s actually normal.”
He laughed and handed her the phone. “Well, it isn’t normal for me. Go ahead, turn it on and look for a name.”
Sally took the phone from her father and powered on the display. The iPhone’s lock screen appeared. The display remained lit up for thirty seconds and then shut off.
“It has a passcode and face recognition,” observed Sally.
“What?” asked her father.
“Never mind, Papa,” she replied politely. “I can’t make it work without a password.”
“Maybe the person who lost it will try to call,” offered her mother. “If it’s turned on, will it ring? You can answer it and tell them where to pick it up.”
Sofia shrugged and replied, “I don’t know. Maybe? I have to remove the cabbages around the fence posts by the front gate and replace them with tulip bulbs. I’ll keep turning the phone on. Maybe they’ll call. If they don’t, I’ll set it on a post with a sign for them to find it.”
“That’s fine, dear,” said her mother. “Be here at five to prepare dinner. No excuses, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Sofia, who hustled off to plant her flower garden. She religiously powered the phone on and off as she awaited a phone call that never came.
The two faux hunters descended upon their favorite shopping stop—Weis Plaza. In addition to a grocery store, the Weis family operated a gas station, a liquor store, a bakery, and a small feed store complete with hardware supplies. It was one-stop shopping for Schwartz and Briscoe, and their trips made them known to the proprietors, who especially appreciated their method of payment.
While Jonathan negotiated a deal to purchase groceries in bulk in exchange for gold bullion,
Briscoe filled their shopping cart with all of their favorite foods and drinks. He was waiting impatiently for Schwartz to finish his conversation, and unconsciously fiddled with his pants pocket.
That was when he noticed his cell phone was missing. Briscoe, who’d had nothing but the clothes on his back when he arrived at the Schwartzes’ lodge, together with the murder weapon and his cell phone, kept both on his person whenever he ventured out. Despite his newfound friendship, Briscoe still felt the need to protect himself in the event Schwartz turned on him, or they were discovered by their pursuers.
Cold beads of sweat flowed down Briscoe’s forehead as he searched frantically through his clothing. He looked through the groceries stored in his cart, to no avail. He even retraced his steps throughout the store, thinking the phone might have fallen out in one of the aisles. Finally, after inquiring with the single store clerk stationed at the register, he summoned Jonathan to tell him about the problem.
At first, Jonathan wasn’t quite as panicked as Briscoe was. However, as the two searched the four-wheeler and the ground around it, Briscoe explained that someone with sufficient computer hacking skills could attempt to break the unlock code assigned to the phone. If it remained powered on for a long enough time, it could be discovered through triangulating Verizon’s network.
Jonathan gained a sense of urgency, and the two quickly left town and headed back to the lodge. As they drove, they focused on searching the left side of the road, which was closest to where Briscoe had been seated on the trip into town.
It was 5:30 and almost dark when they came across the Horst family’s farm. Jonathan began to laugh as he pointed to a fencepost with a cardboard sign nailed to it.
“It appears someone has done our job for us,” he said as he nudged Briscoe with his elbow.
“Thank God,” Briscoe mumbled before exhaling. Before the four-wheeler came to a stop, he jumped out and raced up to the post, where he found the battered iPhone. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. Relieved that they were not seen, he tore the sign off the post and threw it in the back of the Mule.
Jonathan said jokingly, as he paraphrased a Bible verse, “What was once lost is now found.” He had no idea how profound his statement was.
Chapter Thirty-Five
X-Ray’s Cabin
The Haven
X-Ray reveled in his newfound position: hunting down the two men who appeared to be responsible for the collapse. He was also glad to be back in everyone’s good graces. He’d gone from being a pariah and shackled to a post in a toolshed to the lead investigator in a digital manhunt.
Finding people who didn’t want to be found was one of X-Ray’s specialties. He was very capable of being successful in this search even without the additional tools and clearances provided by Cort, although they certainly helped him in his quest.
X-Ray had a mental checklist of digital tools at his disposal. Video footage, credit card transactions, cell phone triangulation, and the FBI files associated with the Schwartz arrest were just some of the avenues he traveled down. After Cort upped his clearance within the government spy agency computers and increased his computer capabilities by giving him access to multiple internet networks via satellite, X-Ray could conduct multiple database inquiries simultaneously and remain completely anonymous by using his VPN software.
He’d spoken to Cort prior to getting started in order to learn as much about the two men as he could. It was interesting for X-Ray to learn that he’d been in direct contact with Hanson Briscoe, the architect of the New Year’s attacks. Flattered was the more appropriate word, but X-Ray didn’t want Cort to know that. It was X-Ray’s direct interaction with Briscoe that had almost gotten the Cortland family killed.
While the data was being processed, X-Ray studied the background of the two fugitives. He wanted to learn as much as he could about them from the various law enforcement databases at his disposal. There was voluminous information on Schwartz but precious little on Briscoe.
During his research, X-Ray learned of the murder of the caretaker and his wife at Monocacy Farm. Their car had also been stolen in the getaway.
X-Ray used this information as a lead, thinking that Briscoe might have been directly or indirectly involved. However, his ability to search the satellite video footage was hampered when several gaps appeared in the NSA’s coverage of Pennsylvania and parts of Maryland. Scouring footage for a nondescript vehicle could take a team many weeks, and he was only one man.
X-Ray was busy scouring through credit card records and bank accounts when he suddenly got a hit from the Verizon server. Using the list of phone contacts that Cort provided him from his newly acquired cell phone from Trowbridge, a number assigned to Briscoe showed the location of the phone in the area of Kutztown, Pennsylvania.
The exact location couldn’t be pinpointed unless the phone remained powered on and in use, but the ping displayed on his screen provided him a ten-square-mile area using a cell tower along Route 222 that ran through the small town.
X-Ray got to work researching the asset and real estate holdings of Briscoe, his family from years past, and then entities he was associated with, including those of George Trowbridge. X-Ray vowed to overturn every stone to find these men, cementing his position within the Haven.
He resisted the urge to release his cursory findings to Ryan or Cort at this time. This would simply bring undue pressure on him to provide further information that would take time to find. When he presented his report, he wanted it to be complete so that he could accept the appropriate level of attaboys.
It was nearly dawn when X-Ray’s tired eyes decided to call it a day. He was about to shut down his system for a few hours before resuming the search when he had an idea. In his briefing with Cort, the possibility that the two men were working together had been raised. X-Ray considered this and looked at the facts surrounding the attack on the Haven.
“Obvi!” he exclaimed, using the millennials’ version of the word obvious. He changed his focus to searching the Schwartz family’s holdings in the area of Kutztown. This was a monumental task, as the family’s assets were held in layer upon layer of legal entities, both for profit and nonprofit.
And he’d have to go back many years. Schwartz had made billions dating back to the sixties. X-Ray would need to deploy all of his computer hardware to identify and cross-reference these legal entities to see if there was any connection to Pennsylvania and then, more narrowly, to the area west of Allentown and east of Harrisburg.
He decided to search county by county. He quickly worked his way through the property assessors’ records in Lehigh, Schuylkill, and Lebanon counties, simply to rule them out. Then he focused his efforts on Berks County, a metropolitan area that included Reading and over four hundred thousand residents.
His eyes grew weary and several times he almost nodded off at his keyboard. He perused the records for the boroughs and townships of Berks County and consistently narrowed his search. Then he came upon the Schwartz Lodge, only it was owned by an obscure entity several decades old. What gave away its ownership was the size of the property, with several hundred acres being incorporated into the tract, and where the tax bills were sent.
He studied the property assessor’s entry:
1730 Pennsylvania Avenue, Northwest
Washington, DC 20006
“Bingo!” X-Ray yelled inside the close confines of his cabin. “Let’s see what companies are headquartered there and do another cross-reference.”
With a newfound vigor, fueled by several Monster Energy drinks, X-Ray began to pound away at the keys and studied the tenant roster of the twelve-story office building situated in the central business district of Washington, mere steps from the White House.
He scrolled through the tenant list revealed on the Compstak website, an aggregator of property information, lease agreements, and other transactional details for commercial buildings around the world. He read the names aloud.
“EIG Global Energy. King &
Spalding. Qualcomm. PRTM Management.” Then he stopped. He shook his head as if he needed to clear his eyes from some sort of obstruction.
X-Ray jumped out of his chair and began to rapidly walk in circles. “Oh my god! Oh my god! I’ve gotcha! Yep, sure do.”
He jumped back into his chair and scrolled through the list again and then clicked on the link to make sure he was certain that the name he recognized was not simply similar to the one he associated with the Schwartz family.
X-Ray pushed back his chair and ran to the kitchen, where his two-way radio was charging. He thought for a moment, as he wasn’t sure who to contact first, Cort or Ryan. He decided to reach out to Ryan. He runs the place.
While he excitedly relayed his findings to Ryan, the monitor showed a series of slideshow images that were labeled Taking Inclusion Seriously, Anticorruption, Governance & Accountability, and others.
These were the pet projects of the Schwartz family, and they were displayed on the nonprofit entity’s website known around the world as the Open Society Foundation. It was the Open Society Foundation that paid the taxes on their hunting lodge, and it was a mistake that would lead Cort and those who followed him right to the front door of Jonathan Schwartz and Hanson Briscoe.
Part IV
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Haven
Ryan leaned into Blair and whispered, “I have to say that they’re going into this much better prepared than the other day. X-Ray hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours.”