I Will Not Yield

by William Hogan

  The glare of a giant orange-red fireball rising on the horizon made him squint. The top half poked out above Lake Michigan’s reflective surface. Mother Nature, with an artist’s vengeance, had used the fireball’s glow to paint a crimson mosaic across every inch of the cloudy sky and water surrounding it. He felt the sun rays wash away the strain of last night’s restless sleep.

  Red skies at night, a sailor’s delight. Red skies in the morning, a sailor’s warning. Hmm... A storm must be coming? Mike scanned the horizon and spotted a large mass of menacing clouds on the northern horizon. He felt an invisible weight press on his shoulders. His bad mood and memory of his deadly birthday returned. Not a rainy day he liked to call to mind.

  Today’s going to be one of those days. Stop it! Mike’s decision to focus on the here and now dragged him to the balcony’s telescope. He pointed the scope at the docks. He often looked out to focus inward. He watched people going about their routines, leading normal lives. It grounded him.

  Nestled in a small fenced-in cove for privacy was the dock. The few people on the dock secured their boats to prepare for the creeping summer storm. A curved, mile-long sand snake provided refuge for boats against the approaching storm by breaking up the waves.

  Mike adjusted the telescope. No one was foolhardy enough to launch this morning.

  Devoid of people and assaulted by Whitecaps, the public beach lacked regular activity. On a typical day when the sun peeked above the water, a stream of bike riders and runners exercised. In the midst of the healthy, the homeless fought over scraps and soda cans. The oncoming storm made today different. The stream of people, a trickle.

  He swung the telescope around. Beach and people slid across the scope while he searched for a filthy army jacket. He smiled when he spotted a grizzled homeless veteran defying the elements. There you are, you old codger. You’d be out there no matter the weather, wouldn’t you?

  Several times their paths crossed on Mike’s runs. Mike always carried a ten spot for the occasion. After the money was snatched from his hand, Mike would win a grunt of thanks and a scowl for a reward. Mike knew it was odd, given their only interaction involved panhandling, but he considered the aging war veteran his friend. He didn’t have many.

  Mike often wondered why he never saw the veteran at the soup kitchen where he sometimes volunteered. He suspected pride kept the soldier away. It was gut-wrenching work but pulled him back from the brink.

  Mike whispered to himself. “Good Morning, Kilroy.”

  He had nicknamed him after the infamous Kilroy, whose simple message mysteriously showed up everywhere in the world, Kilroy Was Here.

  He imagined Kilroy to be a victim of the first Middle East conflict. Another youth destroyed by the purpose of war, to kill people and break things. He was broken. A man who preferred the freedom of the streets to the harsh reality of an eight-to-five job. A man society had failed.

  Kilroy, with methodical precision, gathered his daily allocation of cans.

  Wonder if that’s going to be my sorry ass on the beach someday, grabbing cans and crap. Shit.

  Without warning, Kilroy scrambled away. He appeared to be dodging enemies.

  Ashamed, Mike swung the telescope away. He stopped when he spotted two red headed females on the sidewalk; one seemed to be a smaller version of the larger one.

  The carrot-topped little girl stopped and pointed at something. Her mother jerked her arm, and they shot from his field of view.

  That’s weird, both Kilroy and girl? What’s with that?

  Mike heard a slight crackling, a snap followed by an incredible explosion. A dazzling flash turned everything to single, flat bright white. The lights flickered, but return steady.

  Crap! Mike’s heart skipped a beat. He watched the menacing clouds streak across the sky. Please don’t knock out the lights.

  He walked away from the telescope and wanted two things: a searing-hot cup of Cappuccino and to check email. Did I turn the alarm clock off? I’ll turn it off if I need to. Let’s get the party started. “My voice is my password, all systems on.”

  The system located Mike and wooden panels along one wall slid away.

  Strawhead, digitized with a smile and eager to please, appeared.

  Mike growled at her smile. It’s not fair, she doesn’t require coffee.

  Strawhead’s voice boomed through the apartment. “Is there anything you need, dear?”

  “Any business-related email, Strawhead?”

  The universities team trained the computer to search for specific word patterns and domain names. He considered their software light years ahead of the competition.

  Strawhead cooed. “Have you been a naughty boy? You received eighteen interesting spam messages. Hopefully, you don’t want their services or products because they’re in the trash. You also received three personal messages and one business related message. However, you told me to ignore the sender.”

  Nothing from Agent Townsend? At least the program performing to specs. “Hazelnut cappuccino.”

  Strawhead, interfaced to the kitchen appliances, activated the custom-made wooden instant beverage dispenser. It could dispense a variety of liquids, hot or cold.

  He heard the familiar high-pitched whining noise as the fluid poured into the cup. Steam and a delicious smell emanated from the broiling creamy white liquid.

  He walked toward the machine. The only difference between a boy and me is the price of my toys. His lips curved upwards.

  He sipped the coffee and felt the burn across his tongue. The coffee had an immediate effect. “Strawhead, please take dictation for my blog; use the standard posting format. We’ll adjust the fonts and add a graphic later.”

  The new web design interface module needed work. His fingers crossed, hoping Strawhead would interpret his directions.

  “Yes, begin Mr. President,” she said.

  Maybe it will be a great day despite the rain. He dictated. “Ethical hackers, called ‘Tigers’ by their peers, play an important crime prevention role in society. Last year a graduate student at MIT took only four and half hours to crack the most secure encryption algorithm that can be legally exported. The FBI routinely depend on White Hat Hackers to help with terrorist activity…”

  Two loud booming sounds interrupted him. “What the hell?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rainy Day (Part 2)

  Two teams of special law enforcement officials loaded into vans. The Brick-Agents specialized in apprehending cyber-criminals and were about to execute a high-profile arrest. Their location, less than a mile south of Mike’s apartment.

  Kim Maat, nicknamed ‘Tiny Kim,’ had earned her nickname because of her lousy singing voice, general nerdiness, and long curly black hair.

  She got the nickname as a rookie after a member of her team played a YouTube video of ‘Tiptoe Through The Tulips.” It was during the space between boredom and action. Someone said in jest, “Hey Kim sings and looks like that.” She doesn’t remember who said it, but the nickname stuck.

  She had one hand on an FBI van’s side door, about to hop in to join the rest of the team, when she noticed her shadow fade against the pavement. The early-morning sunlight vanished. She looked up to see dark clouds, moving fast. That’s all I need, dragging some asshole from his fourteen-floor apartment in the rain. Rain go away.

  She thought about how she and her team wore tan khaki pants, assault vests with FBI insignia, radio pouches, FBI caps, equipment belts, cloth drop thigh holsters, pistols with clip, earpieces and throat mics, but not a poncho or umbrella in sight.

  Kim climbed into the van and noticed her slightly overweight and graying boss in the front passenger seat. “Morning, Charlie. Smells like rain. Clouds are coming in.”

  Charlie made a production of rolling down his window and sniffing the air. “That’s not rain you smell, Tiny Kim. I started with the FBI at twenty-three.” Charlie’s gaze grew distant, his face slack. “I was young. Inexperienced. Waiting there, all gunned up, ready
to move in on the perp, knowing he’d all but shit himself when he saw us. Then he was in custody, cuffs on him, stinking from his fear. I love the smell of fear in the morning. You can smell it a mile away. Twenty-nine years and I haven’t gotten over that.” He twisted around to where Kim sat on the van’s bench. Took another whiff. “It smells like jail time, maybe with a little hint of rain.”

  No sense in responding, she knew Charlie liked sunrise arrests, believing they caught the bad guys off guard. She hated getting up early, but Charlie was the boss.

  Charlie snarled at Tony, the van’s driver, slapping him on the arm. “Look alive, damn it!”

  Kim flinched. She had actually liked Tony when she first met him: a hulky Italian with a huge shock of black hair and heavy eyebrows. Most women gave him more than a once-over on the street, but she didn’t imagine they’d do that today. He looked like he’d been beaten with a booze stick: droopy eyelids, crisscrossed with jagged red lines, and unshaved.

  She smelled the beer on him and focused on a spot on the van’s interior and kept her lips glued shut. Check. Add to the list of why I hate my job.

  Charlie barked at them. “Listen up. The ADIC wants to make an example out of our outstanding young suspect. He was a hero once, let’s respect that. The arrest had better be tighter than a nun’s crotch. No mistakes.” He focused on Tony. “Capisce?”

  Tony didn’t answer, just put the van in gear and tore away from the curb.

  Kim looked out the window. They had picked up speed and crossed over the first intersection. Motion caught her eye inside the van: Tony had taken both hands off the wheel. She didn’t want to provoke a fight with Tony and get Charlie riled up again but didn’t crave a trip in an ambulance, either. Shit.

  Tony ran his massive fingers through his jet-black hair. The van veered to the right before he got his hands back on the wheel.

  Kim held her silence while the van drifted from its lane, then back again, overcorrected. Double shit.

  Charlie growled at Tony with a voice to freeze water. “Hands on the Wheel, Tony.”

  No answer.

  Never heard that tone before.

  Charlie, his blue eyes fully open and hard beneath thin, wiry brows, leaned into Tony’s face. “What the hell’s your problem?”

  Tony coughed. His deep voice startled Kim and resonated in the small confines of the van. “Why’d she had to go and leave? Stupid tramp left me again. Had a few beers, you know. To take the edge off.” Tony slapped his hands against the steering wheel. “This scumsucker we’re arresting better not cause any trouble. Not in the fucking mood.”

  Charlie straightened. “Anything happens, anything at all, Tony, and you’re done.”

  “No worries, fugetaboutit.”

  Kim whispered, “Why God mixed stupidity with such a huge mass?” Triple shit.

  The light changed red. Tony ignored the brakes.

  Charlie boomed. “The light. The damn light! Pay attention to your driving!”

  Near Mike’s apartment, Tony slowed the van to a crawl. Kim braced as the van crept around the corner. Once the van stopped, she adjusted her Kevlar vest and prepared for a not-so-friendly drop in at the home of their guest of honor, a Mister Mike O’Connor.

  Kim watched Tony fumbling with his clips. His hands shook. She turned to Charlie. The model of proficiency. Her respect for Charlie renewed while he checked his weapon, vest, and headset radio.

  Kim knew their second van, a communication vehicle, would be parked around the corner. Their job was to record the agents using Charlie’s shoulder-mounted wireless camera. She watched him clip the camera in place.

  Charlie spoke into his mic. “Comm Van. Soundcheck -- one, two, three.”

  Through her earpiece, Kim heard the comm van’s response.

  “Okay on the sound check – let’s try the Bug Eye.”

  She waited for Charlie to remove the small lens cap and flip the switch that turned on the camera. A smile crept across her face when he checked the transmitter on the camera.

  When Charlie lowered his head to peer into his wrist monitor, Kim splashed her face in front of the lens. She delighted in the astonishment on his face when he saw her. She crossed her eye and stuck her tongue out at him.

  Charlie barked. “Funny, very funny, Tiny Kim.”

  She heard the trace of kindness. Charlie’s the only thing I like about my job lately.

  Even though she teased Charlie, she hated the cameras. She thought that the brass didn’t trust their agents and used them to keep a constant eye on them. She hated living in a world of constant surveillance. She hated being a tool of that surveillance.

  Kim opened the side door and jumped out. Charlie followed. They both waited on Tony.

  She looked in both directions and was distracted by a small, redheaded girl who turned her head in their direction.

  The girl stopped and gawked when Tony abandoned the comforts of the van.

  Kim noticed Tony’s hand approached his holster, his jaw forward and eyes intent -- the same way he got whenever he mumbled nonsense about wanting to pistol-whip a perp. I can see why his girlfriend left him.

  The girl’s mother tugged her red-headed daughter from the people with guns, moving away.

  Kim heard a slight crackling and snapping followed by an incredible explosion. A flash erupted in the sky. Damn, that lightning was close.

  A flicker of motion caught her attention. She watched while Tony unsnapped his gun and started to draw a bead on the redheaded girl’s back. What the hell? Too far to intervene herself, she hissed at her boss. “Charlie!”

  Charlie turned, saw Tony and wordlessly grabbed Tony’s arm, freezing the gun in the holster and putting himself between Tony and the girl.

  Tony, surprised, shrugged and shook his head.

  Charlie let go of the arm but blocked Tony’s line of sight until he knew the girl was safe.

  Jesus. Kim studied the mom and her daughter, but they just kept walking. Good, they didn’t see that little stunt.

  Charlie pointed at both of them. “No screw-ups damn it. Let’s finish this.” He pointed at the door. “Tony announce us.”

  Tony raised his sledgehammer fist and made the announcement.

  CHAPTER 8

  Rainy Day (Part 3)

  Inside his apartment, Mike heard two loud booming sounds “What the hell?” Hey, that didn’t sound like thunder. Someone’s pounding on the door?

  A third boom had Lokai running and barking toward the door.

  “Crap.” Mike grabbed Lokai by the collar and dragged him to the spare bedroom before returning to the door to silence the offending sound. Probably a delivery guy at the wrong damn door.

  Once he opened the door, Mike saw trouble dressed in standard-issue khaki pants and bulletproof vests. No!

  Mike realized more trouble: no pants. He looked down, then over at the female agent who sported a smirk.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Too big to fail? A little presumptuous.”

  “I’ll…I’ll be right back.” He left the door ajar and rushed to his room. He needed pants. When he returned, Mike found the agents in his living room.

  The older man took charge. Mike thought he sounded easy going.

  “Mr. O’Connor, I’m Special Agent Charlie Collins.” He flashed Mike his badge. “Before you say anything, let me talk first.”

  Mike nodded.

  “To put it bluntly, we intercepted your e-mail messages to a shell company over the last couple of weeks. You broke into a government server and took an important file. You also received ten thousand dollars as payment.”

  Mike’s mind raced a thousand miles an hour. He watched the lead agent put his finger to his lips to silence him.

  “After your last arrest, you should realize America frowns upon people breaking into its computer systems. We’re here to secure your computer equipment and arrest you.”

  Mike found words. “You’re making a giant mistake. Everything I did was legit. I can prove it
.”

  The lead agent’s expression didn’t change. “Tell it to the judge. This paper tells me to bring you in. That’s what I’m going to do. Tell us where everything is. We need to power down your system to secure it.”

  Lokai sensed trouble. He scratched and pawed to escape the room. Lokai tried to turn the doorknob with his mouth. It turned a little.

  Mike looked over at the friendly female agent for sympathy or support. He saw by her expression she did not believe him either. Doesn’t matter, I’ll just show them the contract. “Slow down. Damn it, I can explain.”

  The lead agent nodded his head in agreement. Mike knew the man was trying to defuse tension.

  Mike stumbled on. “I didn’t take an important file. The file is a dummy file. It contents are garbage.” The agent remained passive. “This is someone’s cruel joke? Right? It was a ‘White Hat’ job paid for by the FBI. You know, the agency you work for. A security check.”

  Mike waited for a response. Someone to explode in laughter. “I was contacted by Special Agent Townsend. Two agents came here. I remember one was a jerk named Purvis. He as big as your guy over there.” Mike pointed. “They had badges. Everything was legit. I signed a detailed contract.” A few ticks of a clock passed. “Can’t you call it in and verify? This is utter nonsense.”

  Collins said, “Mr. O’Connor, the FBI is unaware of any such operation, and I know everyone in the local unit. There is no Agent Townsend. And the guy over there is the biggest guy we got by a mile. The arrest warrant was issued from the top of the food chain. What you’re saying was not authorized by our agency.”

  “It’s true, promise. Please let me show you. I have the government contract signed by the lead agent, Townsend. This is screwed up, a big government SNAFU.” Mike did not think he needed to explain that the acronym stood for ‘Situation Normal All Fucked Up.’