The Wreck Emerged

by Joseph Webers

  “Luka. Luka Stanković. He threatened me.”

  “Luka? Are you kidding me? He is the creator of our recipe, our solution. Without him we have nothing! You and he worked together on this to perfect it. Tell me you’re just joking.”

  “No. He was a fool. About ten days ago he came to me complaining that the recipe was a mistake. The liquid was too strong, he said. Idiot, I told him, how can it be too strong? Dead is dead! He said something about the pollution being a problem. I exploded on him and didn’t want to hear any more. Of course the pollution is a problem. That’s the problem we’re going to fix!

  “He said we had to quit before it was too late. The chicken-hearted wimp. ‘No,’ I said, ‘we are too close. The materials are all ordered.’ He told me if I didn’t stop now, he would tell the team leaders himself. I forced myself to appear calm, and told him I would think about it. So he went home.”

  “I guess he didn’t tell the team leaders. Nobody mentioned him when we had our meeting.”

  “No. I went to visit him after supper, with my pistol in my pocket. I told him I had thought it over, and God said to go forward with the plan. I shot him in the chest, and when he fell on the floor, I shot him twice in the head.”

  Dasya didn’t even blink. “What did you do with the body? Did you just leave him there?”

  “No. He had his motorbike parked in the living room. I dressed him in his pajamas and motorcycle jacket, put him upright on his bike, propped it against his stove, and tied his hands to broomsticks to keep them up in the air. I took all his papers and notes.

  “I came back about two in the morning and rigor mortis had set in. I put his helmet on him, got on the bike, and tied his hands around my waist to keep him upright. I drove him to the New Yamuna Bridge, on the motorcycle lane, and it was quite deserted. When I got to the middle of the bridge, I threw him over. I said ‘Good riddance, coward!’ Prisha would have been proud.”

  Dasya suddenly had a bad feeling about this whole adventure. Rishaan was becoming quite irrational, and the chemical expert, Luka, had wanted to back out. Too late for what, he wondered. As much as he had been convinced their project would work, now it seemed like the bottom was about to fall out. He needed an exit plan. “Does Rushil know what happened?”

  “Yes. Rushil went to visit Luka, saw the blood and searched for him. He couldn’t find him, so he confronted me about it. I told him Luka wanted all the glory for himself and attacked me. I was only defending myself. I don’t think Rushil believed me, but he can’t prove otherwise. He hasn’t said or done anything about it since.”

  Or so he thought.

  112

  JC Smalley had been showing Harper Avalon, the FBI trainee, an improvised trip-wire detector when the alert sounded on his phone. It was midday on Wednesday. “Ah, the end of radio silence,” he said to the group assembled in the second-floor room of a warehouse at the end of Pedro Lazarino Avenue. Besides the two FBI representatives, the group consisted of a US Navy EOD team, a Brazilian Army EOD team, several translators, a Brazilian policeman from the state of Amapá, and several members of the Brazilian Intelligence Agency, the ABIN.

  This was the signal they had been waiting for. The signal that the hackers’ lair at the eastern end of Dos Caramuru Avenue overlooking the Amazon had been taken. The signal that the Rio Jari hideout had been captured. They quickly loaded up their gear, and headed to the police bus waiting to take them the half kilometer to their first destination.

  On the short trip to the workplace of the hackers, JC stood up and reiterated the plan to the group. “Remember, EOD goes in first and finds and safes any booby traps. After ABIN goes in and does their work, photographing and policing up documents and equipment, the rest of us go in. Do not touch anything until ABIN gives us the okay.”

  He waited until the translator finished and the Brazilians nodded their heads. He continued, “Those of us going to the other site need to work quickly, not conducting any in-depth analysis. Then Carlos of the ABIN, the two EOD teams, Harper, and I will take the police helicopter to the other site while the rest analyze this location and bring everything back to the warehouse to the tables in the red area. The green area will be used for the other site.”

  When they arrived, they found the rooms abandoned except for an ABIN agent, who informed them the terrified suspects had already been removed to ABIN HQ for questioning. In addition to the small office with radios and computers, there was a comfortable-looking living area and kitchen strewn with personal items, clothing, and food.

  “Take a quick look around. Does anything look missing?” JC asked Harper.

  After the quick look around, he replied, “Luggage. I don’t see any luggage. And everything is in English. Nothing is in Portuguese.”

  “Yes, good. They would have luggage if they’re not from around here. If the rest don’t find it here, it must be somewhere else that would need to be found and searched. Perhaps with more personnel there also. The other thing I noticed is that everyone seems to have their own personal space, but there are only two beds. We were told there were three people, one female. Perhaps one is a local.”

  113

  They were finally at thirty thousand feet again, on a hop to Chicago. Maggie was by the window, reading the New American Standard Bible Matt had bought her before they left, Matt was on the aisle, and Jenny in her new baby carrier was in the middle. Noticing that Matt had the flight magazine open to the crossword puzzle, Maggie said, “It’s too bad they forgot about the Air World flight magazine. I guess you’ll never find out about the fishing net.”

  “No, but I’ve moved on. If you ever see it in another puzzle tell me. Oh, and I thought you handled Wayne Smith’s question perfectly.”

  “You mean ‘Did you think you owed Matt anything special for saving you?’? It was crude how he asked it, and he knew it. If I had gotten angry or flustered, our whole story would have been sidetracked. I remembered what someone very famous once told me, someone very dear, ‘Ask first, then act.’ So I was doing that even before he finished the question. Besides, I knew Mum was watching, and I wanted her to see the new me.”

  “And God sure answered, didn’t he, Maggie? ‘God used Matt to save my life not once but three times, and yes, I owe God something very special. My whole life!’ He was speechless for a moment, giving you an opportunity to tell the world how you gave yourself to the Lord. Anyway, tomorrow is Independence Day, and for the last thirty-seven years, I have taken my children and or grandchildren to see the fireworks. I’m so glad this year will be no exception.”

  He looked over at Maggie, who had leaned back into her seat. He had never seen anyone with such a look of contentment. “I have another surprise for you,” he said, “when we get to Gary.”

  “I like surprises. What is it?”

  “Swim lessons.”

  She looked around for something to hit him with. “Just kidding!” he said, “but if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “I changed my mind. I don’t like surprises anymore.”

  “The week we’re in Gary, you’ll be staying with some friends of mine a few blocks away. Gert and Harry Somerset. Their grandchildren come to visit often, and they have everything you’ll need to care for Jenny. Baby bathtub, crib, you name it. That’s not the surprise, though. Harry and their son-in-law Bill will be gone on business together the whole time you’re there, and their daughter Lisa is bringing her kids Madeline, who is three, and Danielle, who is eight months old. I called Harry to ask them to watch our interview, and called Gert back last night to ask if you could stay. Gert and Lisa are both eager to meet you.”

  “I don’t know if I like this arrangement.”

  “Do you still trust me?”

  “Yes. Is this where that part of my vow kicks in?”

  “Absolutely! And next week about this time, you’ll give me an A-plus in the nurture, love, and support categories. Do you have any misgivings?”

  “No, since they’re your friends,
but tell me about them.”

  “You’ll like them. They are like family. Lisa is a little older than you, and she was best friends with Rachel growing up. Gert and Lisa are both bottles of water adrift in the ocean.”

  “In that case, I’m looking forward to it!”

  114

  After twenty minutes the helicopter team had left. As they flew to the Rio Jari site, JC thought about the events since the ambassador had reported the result of his negotiations with his Brazilian counterpart. His day at home had been somber, and he had told Nicki about Joel Barth. He hated snakes, and not knowing what the Brazilian environment would be like, he had bought a pair of leather pants and heavy-duty boots. The trip south had been uneventful, and he had enjoyed the chemistry between Harper and himself.

  Harper Avalon had decided he wanted to make his career in the FBI not too long after his Army promotion to sergeant. He was physically fit, but not ostentatiously so, courtesy of eleven years, ten months, and three days in the infantry. He was intelligent without being bookish, and sociable without being dramatic. He had been married, once, but the marriage had succumbed to long deployments and a wife who had a career of her own.

  Harper had thought he had found an adequate replacement at the university, but that didn’t work out, either. He applied to the FBI when he got out of the Army, but they pointed to his lack of education as evidence that he wouldn’t be a good fit. They suggested biochemistry, pre-law, or criminal justice; he chose the path of least resistance. He made the Dean’s List every semester in criminal justice and graduated with honors.

  For JC, the waiting was the worst part; it always was.

  He thought about the briefing they had received late on Monday, when they first got there, from the team leader, Harvey Hostetler. He had told them they knew who owned the hackers’ hideout, a Mr. Kevin Bhatt, an Indian citizen. They were also aware of the other properties owned by him, including an office building, river barges, a merchant ship, a parcel of property a hundred twenty miles to the southwest, and several warehouses full of lumber products including brazilwood, brazilian teak, and brazilian rosewood. Those woods were on the endangered lists, and almost all countries on earth had made their import illegal. The parcel of property was where the radio signals had originated.

  If there were the least connection between Kevin Bhatt and the downed aircraft, he would be detained for extensive questioning, and the ABIN would hammer on the illegal wood shipments in the hope of his giving up information on whatever the connection was. That’s the way he would do it too, thought JC. Harper agreed, and wondered if the Brazilian interrogation techniques would be as effective as the Americans’. “They’re working together,” JC had told him.

  Harvey met them as soon as the helicopter landed in a small clearing. He brought the team to the edge of a large open-air work pavilion with a camouflage-painted roof. It was hot, but there was a slight breeze, and on the way there, it seemed to JC they were walking in a woods rather than a jungle. He did not in the least regret wearing the snake chaps, however.

  JC looked over the work area, which had a dirt floor littered with soaked-in oil spills, metal debris, plastic sheets covered with dried blue and black spray paint, and other garbage. It looked to be at least an acre under the metal roof. On one side were living quarters, a series of huts with window air conditioners and what appeared to be a communal bathroom with showers. Nearby, a larger hut had a thick cable leading to an antenna outside the pavilion roof. Probably an office. There were workbenches and tables scattered throughout, and in the very middle of the area, a MiG was sitting with one wing supported by jack stands and the other wing was missing.

  What really got their attention were two groups of men. The larger group was eating chow. All were wearing camouflage; some wore military uniforms which neither JC nor Harper recognized. They assumed they were either the Brazilian Special Forces that were to be part of the mission, or police; others wore American military clothing with no markings.

  All were armed, mostly with rifles. Some had holstered hand guns; others had what Harper recognized as tasers. A few from this group were separate from the main body, and were at the alert with weapons drawn.

  Harvey said, “I think we got them all. We searched the huts, office, and generator pit and haven’t seen anyone else, but just in case, we are ready. We also have a few lookouts for anyone approaching.”

  The smaller group was flat on their bellies, with hands cuffed behind their backs and feet spread apart. Most were wearing jeans or khakis or shorts, tee shirts, and leather work boots. There were fifteen altogether, including one covered with a tarp off to the side. A plastic bag at each man’s head contained his pocket contents, mostly passports, wallets, keys, and cell phones.

  Harvey conferred with one of the uniformed men, a Brazilian Army officer, Major Antonio Silva. The two of them directed the EOD teams to start searching the whole area for booby traps. “There was nobody who had any chemical protective gear on them, and we didn’t find any such gear anywhere, when we were conducting our clearing of the buildings,” he told them, “but if you come to anything closed or suspicious, we’ll assume there’s nerve agent present and go to our safe spot until you give us the all-clear.”

  Harvey and Major Silva assigned sectors to the two EOD teams. They began their sweeps, the US team at the aircraft, and the Brazilians at the office. Armed soldiers stood guard over the captured men while the searches were completed, which took about an hour.

  While the EOD teams were busy, Harvey briefed the newcomers, JC, Harper, Carlos, and the police helicopter pilots, on the seizure of the compound. “We took them completely by surprise. They had three armed guards milling about under the pavilion, and when we came charging in, one tried to raise his weapon to shoot at us.” He indicated the body covered by the tarp. “When he went down, nobody else so much as moved. There was one on the radio in the office, trying to warn the hackers at the other end, but there was no one at the other end.” He laughed. “We got them at the same time. Then we sent you the signal.”

  JC introduced himself and Harper. “Harvey, you may not remember me, but I met you electronically during the VTC last Friday. I’m JC Smalley, currently on assignment to the FBI, and this is Harper Avalon from the Chicago FBI Field Office.”

  The three of them shook hands. “I’m pleased to meet you in person, JC, and you too, Harper. Once we get EOD clearance, please look around. We’re good at taking things down, but only so-so when it’s time to amass data, and we appreciate your input and expertise. My team is pretty good at doing analysis and making conclusions, but it’s those intermediate steps we could use your help with. We have photographers for this site. We’ll use Mr. Bhatt’s trucks over there to bring everything to the Jari for transport on Mr. Bhatt’s barge.”

  Harper asked if the Dos Caramuru group could be more than just hackers. Harvey thought he knew where he was going with that, but asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they send coded messages here, and get requests for supplies and equipment. Either they take care of those or are working with someone else who does. That would be either Bhatt or whoever is sending the MiGs here. Or someone else. Have you been able to tap their emails? If so, are they in the same code? The addressees have to be in plain text; do those help?”

  “How would you like to come work for us?” he said, grinning. Harper took that as a compliment.

  Harvey went on, “That was good. They don’t send emails, though. All they do is log onto a certain email account, open a draft email which is already there, attach or download a file, save the draft, then log out. Nothing ever gets sent. We’ve been able to open the files, but they’re encrypted using an unknown algorithm. There are no other emails in the accounts, and they change email accounts about every week. We’ve been surveilling them. They never go out, but every other day or so someone comes to visit. Flunkies from the warehouse, mostly, bringing food, and twice it was Bhatt.”

  “How long h
ave they been there?”

  “I’m not sure. The ABIN team onsite might be able to figure that out. We’ve known about them about two weeks, since the money transfer in California. It took us several days to find them. Our electronic surveillance has been about two weeks, onsite about ten days. Listen, I have to go talk to Major Silva about getting the prisoners back to Macapá, which we’ll do after dark. EOD should be finished soon. Go ahead and start looking around.”

  JC asked for a list of the prisoners, annotated with which country issued their passports, or where they were from in Brazil if they had no passport. He also suggested all the cell phones be switched off mute, with someone writing down the calling or texting party when the phones alerted.

  “Harvey,” JC said, “let’s assume Bhatt is guilty as charged. He may be a recipient of some of that money Barry Mantile sent us the email about. Perhaps the ABIN would visit his bank and find out if there were money deposited and when.”

  “Okay, I’ll add that to their list.”

  Neither EOD team found any booby traps or toxic chemicals. They declared the area clear. JC and Harper went to the MiG.

  “Let’s see if we can tell if it is one of the MiGs that shot down the Air World flight,” JC said. “What do you know about foreign aircraft, or US military aircraft, for that matter?”

  “Not much. It’s been just book learning since I started.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I spent my Air Force career as an intelligence officer.”

  JC spent the next twenty minutes giving Harper the rudimentaries of aircraft design in general, MiG construction, how bombs and other ordnance are attached and released, and explosive components in the cockpit.

  “Climb up inside,” JC finally said. He followed Harper up the ladder, and stood on it outside the plane while Harper sat in the pilot’s seat. He pointed out the different dials and controls, then said, “What do you see of interest in here?”