by D S Kane
* * *
“I’ve got something.” The newest hire in the Shenzien hacker cooperative sent a copy of the audio call to his superior in the Chinese CSIS.
The superior listened to the recording and nodded. “This is good. It’s been nearly three weeks monitoring Strumler’s phone without anything useful. But this. This is gold. He is handled by Puchenko, a senior SVR spy. Now we have leverage.”
* * *
Charles Nottingham, a low-level NSA analyst, read through the last page of the telephone intercept and pinched his eyebrows. From the file, he could see that the president-elect had called someone the NSA had been tracking because they believed he was a Russian spy.
Nottingham printed out the transcript and walked it into the office of his boss, Carl Von Truber, associate director of communications intercepts.
Von Truber scanned the transcript. “You never saw this. It’s way above your pay grade.” After Nottingham exited his office, Von Truber took the elevator to the top floor. He waited outside the DCI’s office without an appointment until the receptionist beckoned to him.
The DCI sat and stared at his ass dire.
Von Truber pushed the transcript in front of the DCI. “Sir, this is something you have to see. You won’t believe it. It appears that the Russians hacked the presidential election.”
Chapter 34
Swamp, 6 miles northeast of Lucessi compound
in Areguá, Paraguay
November 13, 1:26 p.m.
On the afternoon of the third day, Frank Lucessi and his searchers had finished covering over two-thirds of the area where they thought Laura had most likely been. They had yet to find any clues about her direction and had not even a guess as to how far she had wandered. Their least likely and most dangerous part of the grid was the swamp northeast of the compound. It was here that they intended to search today and tomorrow. If they hadn’t found her by the end of tomorrow, Frank knew his searchers would give up. Most of the searchers grumbled that the young woman had probably been eaten by now.
Frank heard someone shout, “Over here.”
He wasn’t sure where “here” was and stood rooted where he was, looking in every direction, waiting to hear or see something to give him distance and direction. But when all his searchers started running all in the same direction, Frank ran, too, as fast as he could. He reached a group of men standing in a circle by a tree. He pushed his way through the throng. At its very center, at the bottom of the tree’s trunk was what appeared to be a hunk of mud in the shape of a human.
One of the searchers had a towel and was wiping mud off the face of Laura! Frank fell to his knees at her side and took a damp towel, wiping her eyes clean of mud.
“Señor, the mud saved her from being eaten. It covered her scent. Also, saved her from the mosquitoes.” The searcher smiled. “She’s dehydrated, but not enough to kill her. You are very lucky.”
Frank had wiped her face clean and could now see that Laura’s eyes were empty. Alive, but unresponsive. He could see her lips move and placed her ear close enough to hear her.
“I murdered her. Daddy didn’t do it. It was me. I murdered Mama.”
Frank was sure she was delusional. At least, he hoped she was.
He called their helicopter on his satellite phone. Soon, the chopper landed and they loaded her in along with Frank. He wondered how long it would take to reach the nearest hospital. But now Frank had hope that she would recover.
* * *
Ann thought Glen was recovering nicely. She was sure he’d be able to return to work the next day. She suggested they have a celebration dinner. Glen nodded. “Okay.”
She made a reservation at the Burma Ruby, an upscale exotic Asian restaurant on University Avenue in Palo Alto.
“You’re sure that you are up for this?”
Glen nodded. “Yeah. I’m good. I can’t just hang around the apartment eating leftovers.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Promise you’ll go easy.”
“I want to walk there. Two days in bed. I need the exercise.”
She shrugged again. She had planned this to see if he would be ready to return to work tomorrow. The hospital had told her to have him spend one day in bed and the next taking it easy. She’d seen to that.
It took much longer to walk from the apartment to Burma Ruby than she had thought. Glen struggled and needed to stop frequently. She waited, smiling at him in encouragement, and he smiled back.
She hadn’t eaten there before, but she had read reviews. It was expensive, and she wondered it Glen could afford it.
They arrived just after their reservation time and then waited for what seemed like forever. They were led to a table reserved for them near the kitchen. Ann had thought this would work better for them, for she could see how he reacted to the aromas of the food. Glen sniffed the air and smiled. “Curry, I think.”
“That’s right. Do you want to order or shall I?”
“Surprise me.”
Ann nodded. She read through the menu, then selected minted jalapeño pork, walnut shrimp, and eggplant and garlic. The first dish arrived within minutes, but then they waited for the other two after a large party was seated. The large party might have swamped the kitchen, she thought. She had wanted to order a Burmese pad thai, but decided it would take too long.
The food was tasty but the portions were somewhat small. Glen tore into his food as if it were the first solid food he’d eaten in days. Wait. It is the first solid food he’s eaten in days, thought Ann.
The sun set while they ate. It was mildly chilly and dark when they left the restaurant. They walked toward campus along University Avenue for a few blocks before turning south on Bryant. Glen walked steadily now. He seemed to have recovered. As they waited for the light to change, a large man wearing a hoodie charged into Glen, pushed him into the rush-hour traffic, and then sprinted down the sidewalk. Ann saw Glen roll into the street. She jumped over him, her hands waving the oncoming car to a stop just in front of where Glen lay.
“Glen? Are you okay?”
He got to his knees and slowly stood. “Um. Yeah, I think. What just happened?”
She wondered, that’s what I need to know. “I think someone just tried to kill you.”
“That’s preposterous. Why would anyone want me dead?”
She was sure that this was Skorkin. If he’d watched her save Glen from wherever it was he’d run to, she was sure he’d make another attempt.
“We’d better get to your apartment now. And fast.” She hailed a taxi.
After they reached his apartment, Glen turned on the television to watch the news.
Ann shook her head. How much to tell him? She walked to the kitchen and called Cassie. “Mom, are you free to talk?”
She heard Cassie’s footsteps. “Yes. I’m on our room’s terrace. How are you?”
“Not sure. Glen and I went out to dinner, but on our way back, a large hooded man pushed Glen into the traffic and I barely saved him. I’m thinking this might have been Skorkin. Do you know anything about what’s happening to the other InTelQ-funded startup teams?”
“Yes. I’ve read the message you decrypted for Avram. He’s assembling teams to protect the cofounders. But, there are over six hundred of them. It will take several days for Avram to mount an op big enough to cover all of them. Is Glen alright?”
“Yes, he’s okay. But I need a protective detail here tomorrow morning at the latest. Can you make that happen?”
“Not sure. Don’t let Glen leave the apartment until you hear from me.”
“Okay, Mom. Please. Make it happen.”
* * *
Just before the sun could rise, Jon’s cellphone buzzed on his night stand. “Sommers here.”
“It’s Avram. Cassie called me. I need you to head a small protective detail for today. Only today. By tomorrow, we’ll have enough military to keep all the pretenders safe. Do you know where Glen Sarkov lives?”
“Not a clue.”
Avram gave Jon the address. “How long for you to get there?”
“Figure fifteen minutes. What about his cofounders?”
“Cassie is now rounding them up. The entire team should be at Glen’s apartment in a few hours at most. I fear whoever tried to kill Glen last night won’t give up easily. Get going now.” Avram terminated the call. Jon raced to the bathroom and then dressed. He was soon out of his hotel and in a taxi.
* * *
Alan Skorkin watched the woman herding four of his targets into what he already knew was Glen Sarkov’s apartment. He prepared to break in and dispatch them all. First, he checked his weapons. He had a military-issue bladed weapon, a 9mm handgun, and several chemical agents he could use to paralyze a victim at close range.
But before he could forge an operational plan, another person, a man who moved like a soldier, emerged from the elevator on Glen’s floor and knocked on the door. The man said, “Sommers. Here to help.”
The door opened and the man entered, after which the door closed again. Skorkin, standing behind the fire stairs, cursed. No way he could do this now without making a big mess. He decided to wait for a better opportunity. And, after all, there were over six hundred names on his list. Over two hundred were in Palo Alto, Menlo Park, and Mountain View, all within a fifteen-minute ride. He could always do the low-hanging fruit first and do these later.
* * *
Jon relaxed as the sun set. Much ado about nothing. He felt his phone buzz against his hip. “Sommers.”
“Shimmel. We chose poorly. While you were cooling your heels, Skorkin murdered eleven pretenders. Four in a startup incubator in Palo Alto, three in another incubator in Mountain View, and three in a house in Menlo Park.”
“Bad joss. What do you want me to do next?”
“Stay with your charges overnight. Tomorrow morning at first light I have a Mossad group to replace you and Cassie. Their countersign is ‘dark prince.’ Let them in and call me for your next assignment. Meanwhile, think about this: We need you to complete your plan to save the rest of the surviving pretenders.”
“Okay. Will do.”
“Shimmel out.”
Jon opened a planning app on his cell. He set about trying to construct something he was sure no one else could. A perfect plan. But, none of Jon’s plans had ever been perfect, so he also constructed fail-safes down three levels. As he worked, he hoped for good joss.
Chapter 35
Asunción National Public Hospital,
Asunción, Paraguay
November 15, 8:36 a.m.
Time was a blur for Frank. He’d arrived by chopper at the hospital’s helipad with Laura, got her admitted, and watched as the doctors stabilized her, and then waited forever for a psychiatrist to visit.
A nearly ancient psychiatrist wearing a lab coat spent a brief time with Laura. Laura remained expressionless and silent. The psychiatrist told Frank through a heavy German accent, “She’s catatonic. Given what she’s been through, I’m not surprised. She will probably recover, but it’s too soon to tell. Right now, she needs constant attention. You can have her committed if you are too busy to devote yourself entirely to her well-being.”
For Frank, there was no decision to be made. He simply replied, “I will be with her and attend to all her needs and wants.”
The psychiatrist shrugged. “As you wish. In that case, I’ll sign her release. We can free the bed. There are many others needing attention.”
It took Frank the rest of the day to get Laura back to the compound and set up her bedroom so that he could be her constant attendant.
* * *
Laura’s eyes were open, but she couldn’t understand anything she saw. It was as if there was another person’s body with her eyes splayed open, unable to move. She was trapped within its body. Every few hours, she would surface to this level of attention to the world, and then sink back into oblivion. She wanted to scream, help me! but she could make no sound.
Whenever she descended back into her coma, she would see things she knew weren’t real. She saw herself slicing her mother’s neck open with a shard of glass. She saw her father screaming at her mother. She saw policemen dragging her father off, and then she saw an old ragged woman from Child Protective Services take her from her own bedroom. These visions repeated continuously like a broken record though her mind.
She resurfaced again and saw Frank deliver a spoonful of food to her mouth. He forced her mouth open and pushed the spoon into her. She swallowed, her eyes no longer focusing as she swirled back into oblivion.
Sometime later, she had a different vision. This time, she saw a large, powerful man visit the compound. He wore camouflaged clothing and his face was covered with green, brown, and black makeup. He carried a knife. The vision lasted for just a few seconds before she was back in the oblivion, murdering her mother yet again.
* * *
Alan Skorkin debarked the aircraft at Silvio Pettirossi International Airport just west of Asunción. He exited down the outdoor ramp and walked toward the terminal. The evening was humid and hot. He carried a small suitcase but he’d checked his prize luggage, a long case with a disassembled sniper rifle. Skorkin retrieved it from the pile of luggage unloaded from the aircraft, and searched outside the terminal for the taxi line. There was no such line, but there was a single taxi. He took it into the city and checked himself into a small hotel. He wouldn’t be here long.
He had failed to eliminate all the startup cofounders. He’d killed nearly fifty, but now the rest of them were under the protection of some dubious group pretending to be a part of the United Nations. When he’d reported this to Randall, the man had told him to “just kill Frank Lucessi. With him gone, the trail of evidence won’t point to us.”
Skorkin wasn’t sure this was true. And he was absolutely sure somehow the living startup teams would be the evidence that got him and Randall convicted of hundreds of murders. No, after killing Lucessi, Skorkin was going to complete his mission. He’d never failed before. He wouldn’t fail this time. But, as Randall ordered, first he’d kill Lucessi before he resumed murdering the remaining startup teams. He was determined to leave no survivors, no witnesses. He’d need a plan to separate them from their “UN” protectors.
The next morning, he rented a car and drove the roads to and around Lucessi’s compound, reconnoitering the area’s approaches and getaways. He returned to the hotel late in the day and ate a light meal at a busy, local restaurant, a place big enough that he wouldn’t be remembered.
Then he returned to the hotel and prepared for a busy night.
* * *
Ann called Cassie on her cell. “We have to meet. I’m sure that whoever tried to kill Glen is still out there. We need a plan that can end this. A protection detail won’t work forever.”
Cassie said, “I’ll bring Jon and Lee and be at Glen’s apartment soon. We still don’t understand the larger outlines of events. We’re close, but no conclusions. It’s starting to look like Frank Lucessi is just a pawn.”
Ann waited for them to arrive. She tried to call Laura but there was no answer on Laura’s cell. Ann left a voicemail describing her fears.
* * *
Robert Randall reviewed his Bug-Lok transcripts from Daniel Strumler. Althought he had overwhelming evidence that the Russians controlled Strumler, there was still no way to legally make that evidence actionable without a warrant. And there was no legal cause to obtain that warrant.
While he read through the daily Bug-Lok transcripts, something new and promising caught his eye in a conversation between the president-elect and the chairman of Ruhr-Rohrbach in Berlin, Germany:
Strumler: Willy, this is the best. I mean, it’s a business we can’t lose at. Normally, venture capitalists aim at producing small-ticket items and until they have established a big enough market, they give the product away. But with military products, there only needs to be a single customer. It’s like an on-off switch. Just get the military interested enough to sign a contract
and then deliver whatever the startup produces.
And, we’re not limited to a single country’s military. We can sell to every country.
We keep telling the cofounders that our startup production costs still exceed the revenues and they have to work harder. When we have a production model, we just eliminate the startup team.
William Wrand: You mean kill them?
Randall beamed. I know how to turn this into evidence!
Chapter 36
Lucessi compound in Areguá, Paraguay
November 15, 6:13 p.m.
Frank fed Laura again after he ate his own dinner. He opened the windows and heard cicadas and the sound of an occasional bird’s flapping wings. Sitting with her in her bedroom, he cursed Robert Randall for taking him away from her. In his mind, Randall was responsible for Laura’s catatonia.
His landline rang and he ran to the phone in his own bedroom. “Hello?”
“It’s Doctor Fernandez. How is Laura?”
“She still hasn’t spoken or moved.”
“Have you considered my recommendation for her care?”
“Committing her? No way!”
“She will need constant attention. Perhaps for the remainder of her life.”
“No! No, I won’t commit her. I’m determined to care for her myself.”
“All right, Señor. I was just following up.”
“Yeah. Well, thanks and goodnight.” Frank ended the conversation. He turned to Laura. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be here for you.”
* * *
In the back of her consciousness, Laura had recorded the scene. She felt like a prisoner. Her captors were her own body and Frank Lucessi, the man who had taken her here from Stanford, the man who had left her alone while he gallivanted around in the United States. She had suffered alone. She was beginning to hate Frank Lucessi.
Later, while she stared into the empty night, she could hear him read a book to her. She wanted to scream.
* * *
As sunset flashed its last, Alan Skorkin lay prone in the grassy field outside Frank Lucessi’s compound, assembling his sniper rifle. He’d brought two boxes of long-range ammo, but he was sure he’d not need more than half a box.