Madison Arquette, Stockton’s recently appointed Director of the FBI, flew to Pinehurst to oversee operations himself, saying that recovery of President Stockton is absolutely the FBI’s highest priority, with capture and justice for the responsible parties a close second.
As the kidnappers have not published or otherwise communicated any demands so far, it is very difficult to know what they might want or intend with our President…
Zage in one arm, Amy clattered down the stairs into the basement, “Ell—sa! Did you hear? The President’s been kidnapped! She might be off our back sooner, rather than later!” Amy’s gait and speech faltered as she saw Ell standing ramrod straight in the middle of her lab. Ell’s back was to Amy but Amy had a strong feeling that something was wrong. It was as if Ell were at attention.
Quietly Amy walked around Ell to look at her face.
Tears streamed unnoticed down Ell’s cheeks as her eyes scanned the images and text on her invisible HUD. “Ell?”
Though the rest of her body remained motionless, Ell’s eyes blinked and turned to look sadly at Amy, “Sorry? I wasn’t listening.”
“Uh, Did you hear about Stockton?”
Ell nodded.
“Uh, it’s horrible about the people in her party and all, but, uh, it could be good news for us?”
Ell blinked a couple of times. In a quiet and somehow distant voice she said, “It’s a profound tragedy. There can be no silver linings.”
“But, but she’s been so horrible to you!”
“Yes, but she’s acted as she has because she has believed it to be the right thing to do. Initially I disliked her, and, admittedly, she’s still not my favorite person, but I’ve come to respect her. Respect her more and more as I’ve better understood just how hard she tries to do what she believes to be right, come hell or high water. I still disagree with her regarding what’s actually the right thing to do for our country, and for the world as a whole, but I respect her for the sacrifices she’s willing to make to do what she believes in.”
“Sacrifices?”
“Yes, she’s taken a significant hit to her popularity, not just because of her vendetta against me, but also because of her stances on several other political hot button issues. Many other politicians would simply have rolled with popular opinion in order to get their numbers back up…”
***
Washington D.C.—As specified in the twenty fifth amendment, Vice President Landon Dowd has now convened the Cabinet and they have transmitted a declaration to Congress that President Stockton is temporarily unable to discharge the duties of her office. Therefore Dowd has assumed the powers and duties of Acting President. His first act was to convene a press conference at which he assured the public both that the President would be recovered and that her captors would be brought to justice.
At this conference he announced the capture of a Thomas Jessup, tracked down in the woods north of the Shalimoore resort carrying both an AK-47 and a camouflage garment known as a “ghillie suit.” Jessup apparently fell in the woods, breaking his ankle and slowing his escape from the government’s dragnet. Acting President Dowd predicted that Jessup would be the first thread pulled from an unraveling plot and projected rapid progress now that he’d been captured.
Warren Newton sighed as he watched Jessup through the one way glass. The interrogation team had been questioning him for twenty hours now and had squat to show for it. They knew who he was, where he lived and where he worked. They’d found his car parked over on the other side of the woods from the golf course, its AI off line and the AI’s memory wiped. So, if he’d been anywhere else on his drive up here or had had anyone else in the car they couldn’t determine it. Usually if an amateur tried to wipe his AI’s memory, the FBI could still retrieve most of the data, but someone who really knew how to wipe a memory had either done the job himself or given Jessup a program for it.
Jessup had performed the same kind of wipe on his personal AI’s memory before they’d found him. The FBI’s experts thought that he’d used a program that “ate itself” when it had finished the rest of the wipe.
Teams were down in South Carolina searching Jessup’s home and his place of employment. His wife, apparently honestly, had thought he was a “war gamer” gone a lot of weekends on his “stupid little war games.” Her horrified reaction to finding out that he’d been involved in the Shalimoore tragedy and her assistance to the FBI as they turned her home upside down looking for clues had convinced everyone down there that she must be innocent. However, they couldn’t find any evidence linking Jessup to the tragedy—in his home, on his property or at his job.
In fact, other than his presence in the Shalimoore area, his recently fired AK-47 and the extensive gunpowder residue on his body and clothing, there was little evidence to tie him to the horrific event. Sure, he belonged to the NRA and regularly practiced with his weapon, a little more frequently recently. However, no one could find evidence of any planning regarding Shalimoore on his part. It seemed that he’d most likely received instructions to appear at Shalimoore with his weapon and obeyed them. No one had ever seen him with a ghillie suit. No ghillie suit fibers in his home. No one knew where he went on his weekend “war game” trips.
No one had even heard him say anything bad about Stockton or her administration. However, he currently exhibited “la belle indifference” regarding the events at Shalimoore and could even be described as appearing surprised that the massacre had upset anyone.
Newton’s mind had been wandering over the case as the interrogation became about as exciting as watching iron rust. He turned to watch with some interest as another agent entered the interrogation room and strode to Jessup. The agent pointed to the wall screen and said, “Recognize that bastard?”
Newton looked at the screen himself, seeing a face that seemed familiar but he couldn’t place it. He turned to the monitoring agent, “Who’s the guy on the screen?”
The agent said, “Dupree Fallon.”
“That’s the Fallon that’s thought to be heading up the SCPF?”
“SCDF, South Carolina Defense Force. I was assigned to the FBI’s task force on them and, yeah Dupree’s the Fallon that’s involved with them. Thought to be the head guy, but it’s impossible to know. Jessup sure knows Dupree though. His physiologic monitoring spiked when he looked at Dupree’s picture.” The agent looked curiously back into the room, “Isn’t that interesting,” he said slowly, as if surprised.
“What’s interesting?”
“They just showed Jessup pictures of the three SCDF agents they picked up August fourteen months ago when the SCDF tried to bomb the District Court in Florence.”
“And?”
“And, nothing. Jessup didn’t react, he’s never seen those guys.”
“So… you think this SCDF has a cellular structure, or Jessup’s new… or he’s not really part of the SCDF?”
“He knows Jessup. He doesn’t know the other guys. That’s all I can tell you for sure. Why he doesn’t know them? I don’t know but maybe he’s not part of the SCDF.” Musingly he said, “But we couldn’t get jack out of those other three SCDF guys either.”
***
Will Argant stalked towards the wooded lot where all the shooters had been stationed off the thirteenth green. He’d lost the President on his watch, and the respect he’d earned over a stellar career had been quick to follow.
The FBI had been tasked with recovery of the President and when Will had gone to them to ask how he might assist, they’d told him to, “hold himself available for questioning.” They hadn’t exactly said to “get lost,” but the sentiment no doubt ran close beneath the surface. Now he was pissed. They were ignoring one of their best sources of information and he, by god, wasn’t going to let them do it.
He walked up behind an agent who was walking the verge, carefully studying the ground beneath his feet. “Hey, I’d like to make a suggestion.”
The man stopped and turned curiously, when he recognized Will
he frowned, “Yeah, please, just back off and let us do our jobs, OK? This is what we do.”
Will narrowed his eyes and turned back toward the area where the K-9 who’d been checking the verge had become so distracted. Will began doing his own version of the FBI agent’s slow walk back and forth, carefully examining the ground to see if he could see anything that might have distracted the dog.
Just as he was getting completely frustrated at finding absolutely nothing, one of the FBI agents came over and asked him to leave the area, “You’re contaminating the crime scene,” the man said.
“You guys have already walked this area right?”
The agent nodded. “We might come back to it.”
“But you didn’t find anything, right?
The agent shrugged an acknowledgement.
“And you don’t want to hear from me about why I think this particular area is of prime interest?”
“No! We just want you to get out of here and let us do our job.”
“Yeah, well I think you’re ignoring important clues that might help find the President.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact,” Will put his hands on his hips and arched his back and neck to pull the kinks out from bending over, “that the service canine that went over this area before the President played the hole went crazy right here and…” Will blinked, there was something hanging in the tree limb over his head, “that it might have something to do with that thing there,” he pointed up at it.
Twenty minutes later the FBI had taken numerous photos and then cut the limb from the tree. It proved to be a port tied to a fishing weight and three treble hooks so someone could just toss it up there. The FBI’s dogs not only went crazy about the smell on the ground there, but also over what was probably residual smell on the port. With this strong suggestion that some odorant had been dripped through the port to distract the Secret Service dog, the FBI instantly decided the port represented an important clue.
They took Will more seriously too and he led them to where the rabbits had burst away, running upon the approach of the dog, and just so conveniently distracting said K-9. An extended search of that area turned up some fur, possibly rabbit, but nothing more.
They let Will go back into the woods where they’d found plenty of shell casings for AK-47s, but the shells had probably been loaded with gloves on as there weren’t any fingerprints or DNA on them. There were plenty of boot prints, but all of them were from commonly available hiking boots. There were areas of crushed vegetation where men had lain, presumably waiting to make the attack, but the agents hadn’t been able to find any other artifacts or anything with sufficient intact human DNA for an identification. Will spent time back there, but left feeling frustrated, having not contributed anything worthwhile besides finding the odorant port.
***
Vivian Varka’s AI said, “You have a call from Warren Newton, the FBI agent that served as liaison for prevention of port terrorism.”
“Connect… Hey Warren, how can I help you?”
“Hi Vivian, I’ve been temporarily reassigned to the effort to find the President. One of the clues we’ve recovered has been a port that they apparently used to drip some kind of odorant to distract the Secret Service dogs. Under a microscope we’ve been able to find a couple of numbers inscribed on the port. Would they be some kind of model and serial number?”
Varka sighed, always a little distraught to find that the tech she’d help bring into the world could be used for evil intent. “Yeah, model and serial. I can look them up, but I’m not sure how that information would help you? It’d be pretty much limited to when the port was manufactured and what its capabilities are.”
“We’re turning over every pebble in a very meager field of data. Anything you can tell us might be of help.”
“Oh, and our system could also tell you when it’s been activated because it would have drawn some power whenever they put something through it. Give me the number and I’ll have my AI look up what we’ve got on it.”
Newton read the numbers to her and a couple of minutes later she said, “OK, that was a 12.5 millimeter port, but you probably already knew that. Manufactured January seventeenth of this year. Only activated once, October seventh, 11:31… I guess that’s right before the attack on the President, huh? Why would they use such a big port to drip odorant through? Are you sure they weren’t just blowing the odor through it as a gas? Seems more reasonable.”
“Good question. We don’t know. Maybe they were just trying to blow odor through it, but some of the odorant dripped through to the ground. Maybe they just happened to have a 12.5 millimeter port on hand so that’s what they used?”
***
Allan said, “You have a call from Vivian Varka.”
Ell looked up, “OK… Hey Viv’, what’s up?”
“Hey, I know that you like to be kept up to date when ports are used for terrorism. The FBI just contacted me because a port was used at the kidnapping of the President the other day. They wanted to know what info they could get from its model and serial numbers.”
“Oh no! How did the terrorists use it?”
“Well, they didn’t use it to carry out the attack or anything so I thought maybe I shouldn’t bother you with it. They just dripped some kind of odorant through it before the attack to distract the dogs used to clear the area.”
Ell closed her eyes, “I guess that isn’t as bad, but it’s sad that our tech had anything to do with that horror.”
“Yeah, and from what Warren said, the FBI isn’t having a lot of luck tracking those guys down so far.”
“Really? I thought they’d already caught one of them?”
“I got the feeling he’s not talking and that they haven’t learned much from his home or job.”
“My God! I thought they’d have those guys in no time.”
“From some of the things Warren said, I got the feeling that the attack was surprisingly professional and that they’re pretty worried about how long it’s going to take to sort it out and find the bastards.”
***
South Carolina—Ultraconservative radio and web station WAKF today broadcast as well as posted a monologue sent to them by a man calling himself “Crossbow” and claiming to be the commander of the South Carolina Defense Force. The distinctive voice on the broadcast is thought to be that of Dupree Fallon, a known extreme right wing survivalist associated with several attacks on abortion clinics.
In his monologue Crossbow claims to have “arrested” President Stockton for unspecified crimes against the United States. He repeatedly states that if any attempt is made to rescue her, she will be immediately killed. Pictures of Stockton with a bomb fastened around her neck by a massive U-bolt were provided on the web site as evidence for this. Diagrams of the bomb indicate that cutting the bolt around her neck will cause it to explode. They also say that it can be set off remotely with a PGR chip, which we all know cannot be blocked.
Though a transcript of his speech shows it to be poorly organized and difficult to understand, those who have heard it claim that upon listening it is surprisingly convincing. Some have wondered whether this hypnotic quality might be what allowed him to organize a large group of men to carry out such a horrific attack.
In the monologue Crossbow makes many demands regarding jobs for Americans, a return to strict Christian values, deportation of non-Christians and establishment of a fund to recompense those injured by Stockton’s policies. There is little detail in the speech regarding how he expects these demands to be practically met.
WAKF has been harshly criticized for broadcasting Crossbow’s inflammatory diatribe rather than just turning it over to the authorities. They have excused their broadcast by citing an attached segment in which Crossbow threatened attacks on WAKF’s own families if they did not broadcast the piece. “Having seen what this group is able to do to the most protected people in the United States, we were reluctant to offend them,” WAKF’s editorial stated. H
owever, critics have pointed out that WAKF received a tremendous amount of free publicity from the broadcast.
The broadcast includes snippets of a subdued sounding Stockton quoting FBI Director Madison Arquette’s speech about the attack. Evidently these quotes are intended as evidence that Stockton remains alive. A video clip of Stockton speaking those words from an ordinary appearing, though windowless room has been put up on WAKF’s website. In the video Stockton is wearing camouflage fatigues and appears haggard, though not broken…
Art looked speculatively at Stockton. Crossbow had had them leave her chained in the recliner for twenty four hours without anything to eat or drink. By that point she’d fouled herself and looked kinda sick. Then he’d had them give her some water to drink and unchain her. They’d made a production out of inputting the code to unlock the detonator of the bomb under her chair. Once out of the chair, she’d been allowed to walk to the shower and clean herself, though of course she still had the bomb around her neck. They’d placed some fatigues in the bathroom which she’d put on instead of her dirty clothing. Then Crossbow had told her to clean up the mess she’d made in the chair.
Instead she’d turned and headed for the door out of the room!
Astonished, they’d watched her trying to unlock the door. Giving up on that she’d instead begun searching for another way out. Finally Crossbow had had them hold her down. He’d taken off her shoes and socks, then he’d shoved a toothpick up under one of her toenails. She’d grunted and twisted in their grips but hadn’t screamed or begged or any of the things Art thought he might have been doing if Crossbow had done that to him.
Rescue (an Ell Donsaii story #11) Page 17