Shot Down

by Steven Sheiner

  James cried when I had told him the plan, and embraced me when he walked through the last door of the prison and out into the world. When he learned what the end game was, and what it meant for his future, he agreed to do anything and everything it would take to make it happen.

  I walked over to the desk where he now sat. “And how’d you do?” I asked.

  He twisted his neck to look up at me and smile. As it turned out, James spent the better part of his teenage years learning to write computer code, creating his own programs, and ultimately learning how to crack other programmer’s codes. He was a hacker. He’d gotten in trouble several times for minor computer crimes, but never received more than a slap on the wrist because he was under eighteen. By the time he was an adult in the eyes of the law, he’d gotten very good and very careful. He’d learned how to navigate the dark web without leaving a footprint, traded information with some of the best hackers in the world, and had put together an impressive resume of hacks.

  As we drove from the prison to the hotel, James had told me about his biggest one to date. A hack involving one of the world’s largest banking institutions, in which he played a sizeable role. The hack breached almost eighty million small business and personal accounts combined. No account lost more than a single dollar, but combined, the hack yielded almost eighty million dollars in ill-gotten gains. James wasn’t shy about telling me his cut was nearly four million dollars.

  “Then why on earth did you spend a year in jail?” I asked. “Why didn’t you pay the bond and get the hell out of there?”

  “I couldn’t,” he said, “for two reasons. One, the money is stashed in a numbered account overseas. I was in no position to make a bank transfer of that size. And two, if I had, it would have immediately drawn the attention of the FBI and they would have promptly nailed me for the hack. They questioned me twice about it, but had nothing on me. Even Lisa doesn’t know about the money.” He stared out the window and was quiet for several minutes. “I was going to give her the life of her dreams.”

  Lisa was his girlfriend and the mother of his child. A child he’d never met. According to James, she abandoned him shortly after his arrest on multiple counts of murder. He told me everything leading up to that day. How the two brothers approached him, the threat against Lisa and their unborn child, they even threatened to expose his role in the bank hack.

  “How would they know about that?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” he said, sounding vexed. “And I’ve been thinking about it every day for a year.”

  I started thinking about it too. One thing was clear: If Enrique and Gustavo knew, someone else did too. But who?

  We stopped at an electronics store on the way back to the hotel and I bought James nearly five-thousand-dollars-worth of computer equipment. Things he said he would need if he was going to do what I wanted. He was in the process of setting everything up when the rest of us left for our little adventure down in Miami.

  By the time we got back, James had successfully hacked into the Fisher Island Club’s computer network. He had located and deleted all surveillance video for the hours leading up to our arrival and rapid departure, as well as any information they recorded upon check-in. It was as if we were never there. He was also able to gain access to the Palm Beach County Detention Center’s network, track down the audio file collected from our conversation at the prison, and delete that too. I had to give James enough information during my visit to make him believe what I said was true, but I didn’t need anyone else listening to it later.

  I shook my head in disbelief, utterly impressed by his skills.

  “That’s not all,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. By this time, Ingo and Callie Ann had joined us and we were all eager to hear what James had found.

  “You might be interested to know what the FBI has been up to.”

  Before I could see what he was talking about, my phone started ringing. Anxious to hear what James had discovered, I rushed over to the dresser where my phone was, with every intention of declining the call. When I saw Sara’s face on the caller ID, I scooped it up and hurriedly pressed accept. I hadn’t spoken to her since that day with Christina in the office of the fictitious Dr. Norris. I mouthed, “Be right back,” to Ingo and stepped outside for some privacy.

  “Simon?” she said.

  “Hi!” I said, exhilarated by the sound of her voice.

  “Simon, listen to me...” Her tone was grave and I knew something was wrong.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “They’re going to kill you. They’re going to kill all of us.”

  “What? Who?” I replied, panic dripping from every word.

  “I overheard the two guards outside talking when I brought Mandy out to pee. They said it’s almost over and that as soon as it is, there was no way the Escalantes would let you live. You or your family.”

  I swallowed hard and began to pace around outside the hotel. Ingo had expressed a similar sentiment more than once. Admittedly, the thought had crossed my mind, too. Even if Christina’s plan worked to perfection, why would she let me live once it was done? I’d killed her brother and knew far too much about her family and their history. I was a liability to her.

  Sara went on to reveal something else she’d overheard. Something I was not expecting, something that changed everything. When she told me, my heart sank.

  “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you heard?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “And there’s no way they knew you were listening?”

  “They didn’t even know I was there.”

  My mind raced as I considered the implications of what she told me. I’d walked right into the lions’ den and didn’t even know it. Now I had to find a way to get out alive, for all of us.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Sara. I promise,” I said, trying to sound convincing for both of our sakes.

  “I just want this to be over, Simon.” I could hear her voice begin to crack and I knew she was on the verge of tears.

  “I know. Me too. I’m sorry, Sara. For everything.”

  “I just want our family back together.”

  My heart ached at her words. “We will be. Soon,” I promised. “Just do what they tell you and it will all be over soon.”

  “Be careful,” she urged. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Give the boys a hug and a kiss for me. And Mandy, too.”

  She let out a tense laugh and said, “I will.”

  We hung up and I was filled with mixed emotions. If I made it through this, we’d all be together again. Just long enough for me to wind up in jail. I turned to walk back to the hotel room, lost in thought, when someone grabbed me and slammed me hard against the wall. Dazed, I dropped my phone and tried to regain my bearings. I didn’t know who my attacker was, but I didn’t want to wait around for introductions. I grasped behind me for the pistol I had recently started carrying, but he was too fast. He chopped his hand down sharply on my forearm sending a cold, tingling numbness down my arm and through my hand, causing me to drop the gun. I turned toward him as he pushed me up against the wall.

  “You drawing down on me?” he asked, with surprise and anger in his eyes. He launched a right cross at my head and connected soundly with the left side of my face. My head pounded, my ears rang, and I saw stars. A wave of nausea washed over me and, if he wasn’t still holding onto me with his left hand, I would have gone down hard.

  Despite my watery eyes, I started to recognize the bald head, the copious tattoos, and large frame in front of me. Barry Poole. The bail bondsman who’d put up the fifty thousand dollars at my bail hearing. His generosity came in exchange for the deed to my house. The thought still made me sick.

  The ringing in my ears made it hard to hear, but I could tell he was saying something.

  “You hearing me
?” he asked, shaking me roughly with fists clenched around my shirt.

  I nodded painfully and mumbled something in assent.

  “Good,” he said, and his grip loosened. He stood me up against the wall and started to smooth out my now-wrinkled shirt with his hands. When he was pleased with his work, he stood very close to me and stared me straight in the eyes. “Your trial starts in a few days, Doc. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what happens if you don’t show up, and you forfeit your bail, do I?”

  “No,” I managed.

  “Good,” he said again. “Because I don’t want your house, Doc. I’m sure it’s nice, but I have enough houses. And I don’t want to have to come find you again. And believe me, I will find you. What I want is my money. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “So you make sure you’re in court next week. Don’t get cute. You have a lot at stake. Be smart. Be there.” With that, he launched a punch to my midsection that doubled me over and dropped me to my knees, gasping for air. When I finally caught my breath, he was long gone. I clutched the wall, made my way to my feet, and scrambled to pick up my phone and gun. I shuffled back to the hotel room, and fumbled with the key in my back pocket. My ears were still ringing, my head was spinning, and I could feel myself losing consciousness. I managed to get the door open and, once inside, fell against it, closing it behind me.

  “Simon!” Callie Ann shouted.

  “Jesus, mate,” Ingo said. “What happened to you?”

  The floor rose to meet me as I passed out.

  Chapter 82

  When I came to, I found myself sprawled out on the bed closest to the bathroom. Callie Ann was sitting on the edge of the bed pressing a cold washcloth to the cut on my cheek. The sunlight streaming in through the window hurt my eyes. The ringing in my ears had lessened, and my head pounded, all of which told me I probably had a concussion.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked, pushing her hand away.

  “Not long,” she replied. “Ten minutes or so.”

  I tried to sit up, despite Callie Ann’s objections, the throbbing in my head, and the ache in my gut. I managed to get upright. As I gathered my bearings and waited for my vision to clear, I remembered what Sara told me. I needed to tell Ingo, but I couldn’t. Not yet anyway. He was standing by the desk near James, leaning in and looking at one of the monitors intently. He turned in my direction when he heard me wake.

  “You alright, mate?” he asked.

  I gingerly ran my fingers over the cut on my cheek and nodded. “I guess. Kinda tired of getting my ass kicked.”

  “You ever wonder if you bring it on yourself?” he asked with a broad smile.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He walked over and stood at the foot of the bed. “Who did this?”

  I told him about Barry Poole, the fifty thousand in bail money, the lien against my house, and his less-than-cordial reminder policies.

  “Sounds like he really wants his money,” Ingo quipped.

  “Seems that way. I have a feeling he’ll take great interest in my trial next week.”

  “He couldn’t give a shit about the trial. He just wants to make sure you show up.”

  I nodded. With some effort, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and rose, holding onto the wall for support. The drums kept beating in my head, and I was shaky on my feet. Callie Ann wanted to help, but I shied away. I didn’t want there to be any confusion about our situation. We each had our own objective, and right now mine was getting back to Sara and the boys. I couldn’t let anything come between me and them.

  Eager to see what James had found, I shuffled over to where he sat. Before I took two steps, my phone rang again. The sound pierced my ears and sent knives jabbing into my skull. I yanked it from my pocket and silenced the ringing as fast as I could. I looked at the caller ID, but the number didn’t look familiar. I didn’t need any more surprises today, but after what Sara had said, I needed to make sure it wasn’t her calling from a different number.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Way to go, Doc! I’m proud of you!” William shouted, adding to the pounding in my head.

  “How did you find out?” I asked.

  “How did I find out?! It’s all over the news!”

  “But how did you know it was me?”

  “Simon, no one in the world had more reason to kill Christina Escalante than you. Your life was literally depending on it. You can breathe easy now. It’s over.”

  “It’s not so simple, William. There’s a lot more that…”

  Upon hearing me say his name, James and Ingo both whipped their heads around, concerned looks on their faces. James held a finger over his lips urging me to be quiet, while Ingo wagged a finger at me conveying the same message.

  “What do you mean?” William asked. “What am I missing?”

  I stared at James and Ingo, not sure what was going on.

  “Doc, you still there?”

  “Yeah. Um, actually, I’m glad you called, William. I need you to do something for me,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Name it,” he replied.

  “I need you to get my trial date pushed back. I’m not gonna be ready.”

  “That’s not exactly a valid excuse, Simon. We’ve had three months to prepare for this. If I’m going to file for an extension, I’m gonna need something other than my client is not ready to support the motion.”

  “Then make something up! Emotional stress. Marital strain. Whatever. You’re the attorney, think of something!” I was getting more and more tense as the trial loomed closer and my frustration boiled over in talking about it.

  Ingo caught my eye and mimed the motion of hanging up the phone. William was spouting some legal mumbo-jumbo and urging me not to get my hopes up about an extension when I cut in.

  “William, I gotta go. Just make it happen, please.” I hung up.

  “Yeah, you can forget about him getting you that extension,” Ingo said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He looked at James and said, “Tell him.”

  James swiveled around in his chair again to face me, and gestured for me to sit. I took a seat at the end bed, across from him, and swallowed. If the look on his face said anything, it wasn’t good. He sat back, folded his hands in his lap, and began.

  “You asked me to find out everything I could about your case, going back to the very beginning, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah…”

  “Right. So I dug into everything I could. I accessed files at the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office, the State Attorney’s Office, even the FBI.”

  “Okay…” I said, getting more worried by the second.

  “I also decided to root around in your attorney’s computer, just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.”

  “And?”

  He looked up at Ingo who gave a slight nod before he turned back to me.

  “They’ve been setting you up from the start. The cops, the feds, even your lawyer. They are going to make sure your trial happens as scheduled, that it concludes quickly, and you go to jail.”

  Chapter 83

  “What are you talking about?!” I said. When I’d asked James to see what he could find out about my case, I didn’t know if he could do it. I saw what he’d done with the Fisher Island Club and the detention center, but the Sheriff’s Office, the State Attorney, and the FBI were another level of hacking. I soon realized I should never have doubted his abilities.

  “Okay,” he said, rotating his chair back to face the computer monitors. I stood up and leaned in behind him. “We know the Escalante brothers forced you to shoot Carlos, but that’s not all they’ve done. Take a look at these…” He pulled up a set of identical looking photos, two on the left, two on the right. Pictures from that day in the bank, gleaned from the surveillance video. The
two on the top were of Carlos standing on the desk, pointing a gun in my direction. The two on the bottom were blown up and zoomed in on his gun. “These were hidden in a dummy file with a bogus name, but as you can see, not very effectively,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Notice anything?”

  “No, not really,” I said. “What am I looking at?”

  “Look at the gun,” he said.

  I leaned in for a closer look. The picture on the bottom left was a tight shot of the gun with the slide back. Empty. It looked like the same picture William had shown me after I’d been arrested. The picture on the bottom right was the same tight shot, but this time, the slide was forward, the hammer back, and a wisp of smoke was coming from the barrel.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “These are pictures I found in your case file in the FBI database. Special Agent Stamper in charge.”

  “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

  “It means this set of photos has been doctored,” he said.

  I just stood there, unblinking. “Doctored?”

  “Doctored. Edited. Photoshopped,” James said. “They told you Carlos was out of ammo, shooting at you with an empty gun, right?” he asked, pointing to the image on the left.

  “Yeah…?”

  “That was a lie. These images on the right clearly show that he was firing away with live rounds when you shot him down.” He clicked again and a video appeared and began to play. “Here is an excerpt from the bank video during the same time frame. There’s no sound, but it’s pretty obvious his gun is not empty.”

  Ingo put a finger on the screen near the gun and said, “You can even see the smoke as the round is discharged and the shell casing being ejected from the port.”

  “But…” I started, not sure how to finish that sentence.

  “Simon,” James said, “it appears that someone inside the FBI has been manipulating the evidence against you.”