Infiltrator

by Bob Blink

  He left that day very disturbed. He knew he was going to be inordinately busy, and that he still had no idea what the meeting might have been about. He should have been planning to come in to help Fred over the weekend, but Mark lied again, indicating he had family business out of town, and couldn't cancel at this short notice. He would see what he could learn over the weekend, and use that to guide what he would do next. He never considered raising the strange sequence of events to anyone at NSA.

  Chapter 5

  Friday

  The drive from Washington to New York City had been dark, cold, and more than a little treacherous, but Jessie hadn't wanted any kind of records that might track her destination. Something was up, and she intended to get to the root of whatever was happening to her. Her car, a five-year-old Toyota Camry, was about as anonymous as one could get, and driving left no records that could be traced. As far as anyone knew, she was home in bed instead of out here in the dark on the frozen highway. Everything she bought at the gas stop a hour back down the road, had been purchased with cash, and the ball cap and careful attention to the monitoring cameras had made certain she wasn't identifiable. The plate on her car was something she had borrowed from a car sales lot earlier in the evening. Her normal cell phone was back on her nightstand. Like Mark, she had already set up a couple of plain vanilla phones that no one was going to be able to track.

  She had left her apartment just after midnight, and had headed north toward the Big Apple with only a partial plan on how she wanted to proceed. Broken down to its simplest terms, she intended to break into Bud Johnson's apartment, see what she could learn there, then somehow try to determine the reaction and actions taken when he didn't appear for work. The apartment posed few problems for someone with her skills, but the second phase of her mission was a different matter, especially if she wished to remain unknown and unseen. A problem to be solved when she had surveyed the situation first hand, she decided. She had reason to be confident in her ability to improvise on the spot.

  Now driving through the darkened street of the New York suburb, she strained to locate the apartment complex that was Johnson's. The streets here were far less deeply buried in snow than those in D.C., but the temperatures were well below freezing, and the streets were definitely icy. At least the need for heavy clothing would make it easy to mask some of the items she might want to bring along when she made her attempt on Johnson's place, but the cold weather would make her presence more noticeable. She decided she might have to wait until more people were up and moving about before making her move. Normally she liked to complete such clandestine actions while the majority of the population was still asleep.

  Then she spotted the brownstone with the correct address. Moving past without slowing, she scanned the building for anything that might help her entry as she drifted past. At the nearby corner she turned right, and circled around finding a spot between a couple of snow dusted cars on the opposite side of the block. She turned off the engine, despite the fact the car would soon get very cold. It didn't matter. It would be colder outside, so she might as well get used to it, and having the car running would potentially attract attention of any patrol car that might be making rounds. She laid down across the seat, checking her watch, and closed her eyes. She'd give it another hour. By then people should be moving around as they reluctantly headed off to work.

  The snow crunched under her boots as Jessie made her way down the block toward the apartment. The back entrance was more than likely alarmed, and the front entrance posed the problem of exposure if she had to break her way into the complex that way. She could bypass most mechanical locks with the burglar tools she carried, and had an agency device that would almost certainly overcome any electronic lock, but both took time, and in the growing light she would be far too visible.

  The first time past, she walked by, giving the building only a glance. The five steps up the stoop were enough to leave her completely exposed. The lock was obviously an old fashioned key lock, which could potentially be faster, but the risk remained. She pondered the risks as she walked down the block, circled around and walked down the street a second time. It wasn't the best tradecraft, but the situation had forced her to work alone, and there wasn't any reason to think someone might be expecting her here. Briefly she wished that she could have raised the possibility of Mark coming along. He wasn't really a field agent, but he would have been capable enough for this task.

  As the building drew near, she decided to use the bold approach. She'd walk up to the door and hope no one appeared at an inconvenient time. Perhaps the lock on this older structure would fall to her skills quickly. She had just reached the door, the lock picking tools coming out as she verified the door was indeed locked, when someone came out of the end apartment and turned toward the door. Jessie had no time back away, which would have looked suspicious, so she feigned fitting a key in the lock. The man coming out was in a hurry, and he pushed the door open with a brusque "sorry" and hurried by her. Sometimes luck played a part, she thought, as she held the door for a moment, and then stepped quickly inside, allowing it to close behind her.

  She grinned as she made her way up the stairs toward Johnson's apartment. Despite the somewhat worn or vintage appearance of the outside, the building was in excellent shape. It was surprising the lock hadn't been switched to an electronic version when the upgrades had been done. She knew from her research that the apartments here were two and three bedroom arrangements with large living rooms and kitchens. Actually it was very nice and a bit upscale. There were three apartments on each of the two levels, and Johnson's had been on the upper floor. Breaking into his place would be straightforward, with very little chance of being observed now that she was inside and only two other tenants on the floor.

  The apartment she sought was at the far end of the hall, clearly the best one on the floor, possessing a view of three directions outside the building, whereas the other two could only really look one way. She moved silently but quickly to the door, checking the lock as she slipped into place. She wanted to get inside quickly, despite her belief she would have all the time she needed. A brief check showed that the door locks here hadn't been neglected, and one of the top-of-the-line electronic locks had been installed. This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd believed.

  She examined the lock critically. It allowed one to enter a code number, how many digits she didn't know. It also had a slot for a key. Not a normal pin key, but a smooth rectangular key a little less than a quarter of an inch wide and slightly greater high. Just enough so it couldn't be inserted the wrong way. The special key would electronically, and perhaps magnetically, interface with the internals of the lock. This would hopefully be her way in. This type of lock was relatively new, and she wasn't certain how well her equipment would do with it. She'd never had to break through a door equipped with this make of lock before.

  Jessie had just inserted the probe into the lock's key slot when she suddenly froze. Someone was inside. She'd heard a noise in the room. Quickly she pulled the device free and backed away from the door. Whoever it was, she wasn't about to barge in on him and reveal her interest. It would be better to watch and see who it was, and perhaps follow them. She could return to the apartment later. This was potentially a major breakthrough.

  Of course it wasn't that easy. The hallway was straight and bare, with no place to hide. There were a couple of cases with fire gear, but nothing to hide behind. The far end of the hall had the elevator and the stairwell, and other than the three large oaken doors that entered into the three apartments there was nothing. Even the doorways weren't set into the wall far enough to afford a place to hide, besides whoever came out would walk down the hall by them to get to the elevator.

  The stairs then, she decided. She could keep the door open slightly, watch to see who exited, and if they appeared to be headed toward the stairs she'd have to decide whether to attempt to sneak down fast ahead of them, or to confront whoever it was that came out of the apar
tment. Pocketing her gear, she moved purposefully toward the opposite end of the building. Once there, she slipped quietly into the stairwell which she'd come up a short time earlier, propped the door open a bit, and sat on the top step to watch the distant doorway. She loosened her Glock for ready access, although she doubted she would need it.

  In her mind, Jessie considered the possibilities of who might be in Bud's apartment. There were many possibilities, and she categorized the first ones that came to mind in reverse order of likeliness. It could hardly be some of the gang members responsible for shooting him the other night. That happened in another city, and there was no way that random occurrence could have been planned. At least she couldn't think of any. Almost as unlikely was that it was someone who worked at the apartment complex. She knew that many tenants gave the building owner permission to enter their apartments for needed repairs etc. when they were out, but she considered the time. It was far too early in the morning. Only an emergency would have the facilities people up and active this early, and for that Bud would almost have had to be home to alert them. That certainly didn't happen!

  The police were an obvious possibility given what she knew, but there were problems with that option as well. It was too early for someone at Bud's work to realize he was missing, and certainly nothing they were aware of would cause them to alert the police. Even had it been a day or two and he was missing, she didn't see the police entering his empty apartment, and examining it with doors closed. It wasn't a crime scene. No, only if one of their group had gotten nervous and informed the authorities of the shooting the night before would the police be aware of Johnson's demise. Even then, it was too soon to be in his apartment, given the killing had occurred in another city well away from New York. Also, if one of their group had informed the police, they would have wanted the names of the rest of them, and any information that could help find them. They would probably know about the website, and through that the number of the cheap phone she carried. It would have rung before now as they tried to contact her. She was betting against the police.

  More likely, and something she was hoping might be the case, whoever was inside the apartment was one of those who had something to do with the odd situation she and the others were finding themselves in. She couldn't fathom how they could know about Johnson's death, but there was a very great deal she didn't understand about the people behind the odd meetings that they all couldn't remember much about. With luck, she'd have a chance to see one or more of them, and maybe follow them somewhere informative. Tense with anticipation, her hand found the Glock once again.

  Of course, the most likely possibility was that the person inside was Johnson's significant other. She knew he wasn't married from checking on him, but the records she'd been able to quickly access didn't have anything about his current relationships, if any. The person inside could be that person, and might be very distraught wondering where Johnson could be. They might even be calling the police, although based on her experience, it would be far too early for them to respond to a "missing person's" call.

  Her speculations were brought to an abrupt end. The door to the apartment was opening. White knuckled, with one hand resting on the Glock and wondering whether she'd be able to wait out whoever came out or scurry down the stairs, Jessica stared intently hoping for a clear view of who was leaving the apartment. It was a moment before the person stepped into the hallway. She was stunned. It was Bud Johnson!

  For a moment she was so shocked that the clutch on her mental gears slipped. Nothing productive came to mind. The few thoughts she did have made no sense. Maybe he didn't burn up as we thought. Maybe he was teleported away. She realized as the thought passed through her mind how stupidly fantastic it sounded. For one thing, he'd been dying of a gunshot wound when it happened, and the man she was looking at was in completely normal health. Also, she could accept him having mysteriously burned, after reading a serious of articles on spontaneous human combustion a couple of years ago, but just what would being teleported imply? Seriously Jessie, she chastised herself.

  It can't be him, she realized. But it was. So how could she explain what she was seeing?

  Already he was making his way down the hallway toward her and the elevator. She sensed he was headed toward the lifts, which was good because she wasn't functioning normally just yet, and doubted she would be able to pull a smooth getaway ahead of him if he elected to go down the stairs.

  A twin, she thought. This wasn't Bud, but his twin brother. That thought was rejected as fast as the one on teleportation. She'd read enough about him to know he had only a single sibling, a younger sister who had died in an auto accident with a couple of high school friends some years ago.

  He was closer now, making the identification even more certain. The man walking toward her was Bud Johnson. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind. He was dressed almost identically as he'd been the day before. His shirt was a pale blue rather than the pink he'd worn the day before, but the suit could have been the same one. His unbuttoned overcoat was exactly the same one, or an exact copy. Instinctively she shot a picture through the crack of the partially open door with the cheap phone. She'd been trained to pay attention to details, and every facial marking was exactly as she recalled him from their brief encounter in the lounge the previous morning, and what she had witnessed from less than five feet away after he'd been shot last night. They had thought that something weird was going on. Well, wait until she told Mark and the others about this!

  Bud Johnson, or whoever he really was, headed straight to the elevator, pressing the call button, which triggered the door which had apparently been waiting on this floor. He stepped inside and the door closed smoothly and almost soundlessly behind him.

  Someone had replaced Johnson, she belatedly realized, cursing herself for the momentary wild fantasies that had overwhelmed her. Maybe that attack hadn't been an accident, but no, that made no sense either.

  Realizing she was allowing the answer to walk away, Jessie stood quickly, shoving the Glock fully back into the concealment holster and started down the stairs taking two at a time. She reached the bottom, checked carefully, and could see that Johnson was already out front, climbing into a taxi that he must have called.

  As the cab pulled away, she hurried out in the street, looking frantically in both directions. If she had to go for her own vehicle, she'd lose him. Luck was with her a second time this morning, as an empty cab turned into view, and moments later she was climbing into the back, urging the driver to get going, pointing at the receding vehicle.

  "My husband is going to an important meeting and forgot something," she said. "I don't know where the meeting is, so we can't lose sight of him."

  Casting a strange look in her direction, the Middle Eastern young man behind the wheel shrugged and took off. Jessie handed a hundred dollar bill across the seat to encourage his efforts, while scanning carefully to keep the other taxi in sight. It wasn't as if it was a unique vehicle. Somehow they were able to maintain sight, but not catch it, which worked out well for Jessie's story. Fifteen minutes later, she watched as Johnson stepped into a building on Wall Street.

  "I can catch him from here," she said, handing the driver another bill, and jumping out of the car. As she watched the cab driver pull away and disappear into the flow of traffic, she looked at the building where Johnson had just gone. It was where she'd learned from her searches that he worked. He was simply headed to his office.

  That led to the next problem. She'd come up with a couple of possible approaches she might use to get into the offices and talk with people, but none of them were going to work with Johnson there at work. And, at the moment, her stunned mind wasn't coming up with any new plans to get inside, not that she could see what she might hope to accomplish even if she did. Her goal had been to see how people reacted to his death and failure to return. Well, he had returned. The how remained a monstrous mystery.

  Needing time to think, she headed across the street to a c
offee shop that offered a view of the front entrance to the building where Johnson had gone. After a large Danish and two cups of strong black coffee, she came to the conclusion that this Johnson had to be an imposter. How someone had known to bring him out of hiding and how it had been so swiftly she couldn't fathom. To be sure she needed to talk with him. It might give her away, but she couldn't go back to D.C. without something more on this strange situation.

  Lunch provided her an approach. Moving around and mingling with the flowing crowd, adding a hat she picked up in an expensive shop down the block, she'd watched the building where Johnson had disappeared into all morning. Much to her relief, he flowed out with a number of the others headed off for lunch, and fortunately, unlike most of the others, he was alone. Following half a block behind, she trailed him to a small deli two blocks away. Waiting long enough to ensure he had settled in and that no one was joining him, she took a deep breath and made her way inside.

  She'd been able to see where he was sitting through the large glass windows in the front of the deli, so she'd simply headed toward his table without appearing to be looking for him. He was engrossed in an investment publication of some sort as he absentmindedly nibbled at a large sandwich, so probably wouldn't have noticed anyway.

  Halfway past his table, she stopped abruptly and asked curiously, "Bud Johnson?"