Seven Unholy Days

by Jerry Hatchett

  “Yeah, I’m with you. So a packet sniffer is like the online equivalent of an eavesdropping device?”

  “Exactly. Given all that’s happened, it’s safe to assume this guy has access to the IP of just about any machine he wants, meaning he’s hooked into our two-way satellite feed. So he could instruct his packet sniffer to watch for any traffic coming from or going to the computers here at GCE.”

  “Then why did you say it’s not possible that he’s monitoring your activity? Sure sounds possible to me.”

  “He may be monitoring GCE’s machines, but I didn’t log on through a GCE machine. I tied in through my laptop, and you won’t find a more secure machine. Right now it may be disguised as a public computer in a Barcelona cyber-café. Five minutes from now, a library in London, and so on. It constantly changes and takes on the appearance of some innocuous machine far away that can’t be linked to any individual. Like I said, he’s not monitoring me.”

  “Maybe it’s just coincidence,” Julie said.

  It was time. “No, I think this latest one,” I tapped the email on the screen, “rules out coincidence. He knew when I went online.” I let the hook take hold. “And I think I know how.”

  “Oh?” Rowe said. Something akin to surprise flashed across his face at the speed of light, present only for a flicker. Julie’s eyes grew in anticipation and she gave a “come on” gesture with both hands.

  “We have a mole among us.” This time the look of surprise on Rowe’s face didn’t flicker. It appeared and stayed. Julie’s eyes darted at Rowe and back at me.

  “There’s no way it’s coincidence, and as I just explained, my machine is not being monitored. That means someone is keeping the subject informed on our activities here.”

  Julie cleared her throat. “Someone here, you mean, at this facility?”

  “I think it’s Potella,” I said. You could’ve parked a bus in either of their mouths.

  “Decker, what the hell do you base an accusation like that on?” Rowe said. Julie’s face was frozen in time, a pretty spire decorated with a gaping cave.

  I focused on Rowe. “First, he—”

  “On second thought, hold up a minute. I won’t be a party to discussing this behind an agent’s back. I’ll go get him.”

  I grabbed his arm and said, “He can defend himself later. Let me finish explaining to the both of you first. There’s value in keeping this quiet. He could—”

  “Nope.” He wrenched his arm loose and headed toward Potella in the side office.

  So much for the idea of discreetly following the mole to see where he might take us. “Julie, we already discussed this possibility. Now you seem blown away. Why?”

  “I had no idea you suspected my partner, Decker. Someone in the chain of command, maybe. Walt? No way.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Tell it to him.”

  Rowe was on his way back, with Potella lumbering close behind.

  “What is it?” Potella said when they arrived.

  “Tell him, Decker,” Rowe said.

  I leaned in close to Rowe and quietly said, “This is a bad idea and a very unprofessional way to handle it.” He stepped away from me.

  “Potella, Decker thinks you’re dirty.”

  “The hell you talking about?”

  “Says you’re keeping the UNSUB enlightened on our investigation.”

  Potella’s beady eyes burned. “That so, Decker?”

  “Yes,” I said. “There’s no doubt 69, my code name for the subject, is being tipped off as to what we’re doing. Take this last incident. Shortly after I went online, you retired to your office. Minutes later, in comes the latest threat.”

  “You ever hear of coincidence, big shot?”

  “There’s more. Your finances don’t add up. You make fifty grand and spend like you make ten times that.”

  Rowe chuckled. “Everyone in our office knows Walt won over a half-million dollars in a lottery about a year ago,” Julie Reynolds said.

  “Why wouldn’t something like that be in his fi—” I stopped myself too late. This was coming unraveled in an ugly way.

  “You been snooping around in my files?” Potella lunged at me and Rowe grabbed him.

  “Let him finish, Potella. If he’s made unauthorized entry into federal files, he’ll pay.”

  “You brought in that team of incompetents on one of the most important cases in Bureau history. Explain that,” I said.

  Potella looked puzzled. Reynolds explained. “The hacker team. They’re not the technicians assigned by Quantico.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I showed up here like I was told to and they were here.”

  I stared at Rowe and he looked away. “Agent Rowe, surely you don’t deny what you told me earlier?” Rowe said nothing. Why wasn’t he backing me up on at least this point?

  Potella continued, “You know what I think? I think we got a rat here all right, and I think it’s you, Decker.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” I said.

  “Oh yeah? Remember that Swiss bank account you denied earlier?”

  “What account?” Rowe said.

  “Seems our pretty boy here has quite a little sideline going. He made computer programs to help terrorists buy and sell arms that we couldn’t trace. This sonofabitch is a damned traitor and I have proof.” Potella stomped back to his office and returned with a piece of paper. “What the two of you don’t know,” he said to Rowe and Reynolds, “is that this information came to me yesterday. I confronted him about it and he denied it. I actually wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I decided to verify it some more before mentioning it to either one of you. I’ve done that now.”

  “Let me see that,” Reynolds said, and Potella gave her the paper. She studied it for a minute, then shoved it at me. “I’d like to hear your explanation for this myself, Decker.”

  It was a faxed copy of the same bank statement had shown me earlier. “I’ve already seen this and it’s bogus.”

  “That’s not exactly what you saw before, Decker. Look closer.”

  Potella was right. The top of the page was a reduced-size photocopy of the bank statement, but the bottom held new information.

  To the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation:

  We have examined the above document and the related SBG account. It is a true and accurate copy, and the banking officer who handles this account has verified that Matthew Decker, widely known as a technology magnate, is indeed the accountholder.

  As you are aware, we oppose divulging information such as this and do so now only because certain transactions within the account meet the criteria for mandatory disclosure as specified in the recently adopted International Anti-Terror Treaty.

  Pirmin Heinz

  President, Suisse Banc Geneve

  “I don’t give a rip what this says. It’s wrong.” All three of them stared at me and said nothing. I turned to Rowe and Reynolds. “Potella obviously forged this and faxed it himself.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rowe said. “In fact, that’s impossible.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Look at the time on the fax, Decker. At the time that fax came in, Potella was off the grounds with Sheriff Litman.”

  I looked at the fax timestamp. He was right. I replayed the sequence in my mind. Potella came back with the document and said that he hadn’t mentioned anything about it to either of the other agents before. Reynolds asked to see the document, read it, then handed it to me. Rowe never saw it. But he knew the timestamp.

  My mind spun and my stomach roiled as I processed the information. It was all Rowe, not Potella. Rowe was the one who signed off on the crackers. Rowe was the one who came in with an attitude on day one, then shifted gears when his boss talked to me about the case. And Rowe was the one who had set me up for a hard fall.

  There was zero chance Potella would side with me if I tried to explain it now. A quick glance at Julie Reynolds confirmed that my guilt was a
done deal in her mind, as well. “Look, people, I’m no traitor and when this is all over I’ll prove that. For now, I’m going back to work.”

  “Not for long,” Rowe said as they walked away. Julie burned a hole in me with a stare that shone with disappointment.

  I sat down at my workstation and turned to Abdul, who had heard everything. “I’m innocent, Abdul.”

  “Yes, I believe you, Matt Decker.”

  “I appreciate that, my friend.”

  “What did the last email say?”

  I turned my laptop around and pushed it over to him. “Matt Decker, he is going to hurt my family?” he said, a look of sheer panic on his face.

  “I know it’s tough, but what you need to do right now is keep working on that password, Abdul,” I said.

  He started crying. “My family knows nothing of anything like this! My father is taxicab driver. My family are good people. I will work faster on password, Matt Decker.” He wiped his eyes and went back to pounding keys.

  Seeing and hearing the news on television is one thing. Witnessing the pain up close is another. Other than my comatose father, I didn’t have a family anymore but I remembered the pain of losing him all too well. This psychopath had to be stopped.

  The big grid display screen was sitting idle, so I hacked together a kludge—a small, quickly written program–to turn it into a giant computer screen for us to work from. Within three minutes I had every communication we had gotten from him displayed.

  “Abdul, you see anything unusual in this last email?”

  He studied the screen and said, “I don’t speak English very well, but I understand it perfectly in writing. There are mistakes in this one.”

  “Exactly.” I highlighted them on the screen. “He said ‘pale it comparison’ and he had a couple of sentence fragments.

  “What do you think they might mean?”

  “Small errors aren’t uncommon in emails, but his first three messages were grammatically perfect. Stilted, very formal, but technically correct in every regard. Maybe he’s becoming agitated.”

  “I hope he gets no more crazy than he already is.”

  “Agreed. Something else I find interesting is the subject, ‘thy clock doth run.’ Tark may be right. This does have a biblical ring to it.”

  “Yes, it is sounding to me like the King James.”

  “You have those system logs handy?” He handed them to me; I took them and the printouts of all the emails and made for the lounge.

  “Do you think you know something?” Abdul said as I was leaving.

  I looked back over my shoulder and held up the printouts. “There’s a pattern here, and if I can manage some time without emails or catastrophic news or phone calls from the President, I intend to find it.”

  23

  6:18 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  HART COMPLEX

  Jana’s suite didn’t have a clock but this new age dungeon did and she used these visits to mark the time. This was Thursday, her third day, and not even the briefest possibility of escape had come her way. She spent most of the day locked in the suite, then got hauled down here late afternoon or early evening, and stayed until around midnight, when she was escorted back to her cage.

  At the moment, Hart was eavesdropping through his computer. Her heart quickened when she heard Abdul Abidi’s voice. She was across the room from the speakers and had to strain to hear, but she didn’t recognize any of the other voices or names: Roe, Becker, Reynolds, Marcella? She was sure it was Great Central, but where was Brett? Or Mr. Tarkleton? And who were these other people? Hearing a voice from home was both comforting and exasperating, so close, so impossibly far.

  Hart abruptly switched the speakers off, stood, and walked into a restroom off the main room. Jana saw an opportunity. If caught she might be killed, but she deemed it worth the risk. She strode quickly across the carpeted floor to the computer and scanned the screen for a way to send a message. There it was, a window already opened to Hotmail. She listened carefully for sounds coming from the restroom. Nothing. She clicked COMPOSE, then filled in the recipient. She heard the toilet flush as she was typing the message: KIDNAPPED, SOMEWHERE IN NEBRASKA. ABRAHAM HART. HELP. DON’T REPLY TO THIS! JANA. The faucet in the lavatory was running now. She clicked SEND and stepped away from the computer just as the restroom door began to open. She stopped in place halfway between the computer and the sofa, and was stretching when Hart stepped out. He stopped, a brief moment of curiosity registered on his face, and then he smiled back.

  “Got kind of stiff sitting there,” she said, her pulse pounding her eardrums, sweat covering her palms. She took the remaining steps to the sofa and sat back down.

  Hart walked over and stood in front of her. “I apologize for neglecting you today, my lovely. An evil man taunts me, causing me much tribulation.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Oh, how she’d love to cause the freak some tribulation.

  “Thank you, but that is quite enough of that for now. I have some exhilarating news to share with you.”

  Maybe some more eyeballs in a jar. “Oh?”

  “Yes, I have decided to make you my queen. We will marry tomorrow, consummate our holy union, and you will reign at my side.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Wow.”

  “I knew you would be pleased.”

  She smiled at him and fought back the lump in her throat. “May I ask a question?”

  “Certainly, my dear.”

  “What exactly are you, I mean we, going to reign over?”

  “The world, of course.”

  “How?”

  “Strictly. Fairly, of course, but strictly.”

  “But how are we going to, you know, do that? What about the leaders who are already in place?”

  His face darkened. “Ah, you fear resistance?”

  “Yes.”

  “After Monday next, there will be no resistance, only compliance.”

  “What happens Monday?”

  “Si fort de terre trembler,” he said, his head tilted back like a king issuing a proclamation.

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “It is French, my dear. Very old French. It means ‘the earth will tremble very mightily.’

  “Who wrote it?”

  “It is from Quatrain nine by Nostradamus, a prophecy.”

  “About what?”

  He took Jana’s hands in his, gently kissed her on the cheek, and said, “About me.”

  She prayed that Brett would check his email soon.

  6:30 PM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  YELLOW CREEK

  “Decker,” Rowe said, motioning with the telephone handset. “The director wants to talk to you.”

  “This is Decker.”

  We had a bad connection, making his voice sound weird. “Mr. Decker, given the information Agent Rowe has just relayed to me, I’m ordering you to withdraw yourself from any involvement in this situation. Your security clearance has been immediately revoked and as soon as all this is over, I’m certain formal charges will be filed. This—”

  “You can’t be serious. I designed these systems. You have no shot at getting to the bottom of this without me!”

  “Oh, I’m serious, Decker. You designed the systems all right, and look where they’ve gotten us. Considering what’s come to light about you, for all I know you may be involved in this whole thing. You could’ve easily tampered with the system yourself and no one would be the wiser.”

  “That’s ludicrous, Brandon. We’re facing a deadline a few hours away to break a password or this guy is going to kill more people. Don’t you understand that for whatever reason he’s turned part of this into a personal game between me and him?”

  “I think I understand the situation perfectly. Leave the facility at once and consider yourself fortunate that I’m not having you arrested right now. Oh, and don’t leave the country, Mr. Decker.”

  “And what if I refuse to go? What if I say that I’m not go
ing to leave and let this guy win?”

  “Then I’ll issue orders for Agent Rowe to forcibly remove you.”

  “Agent Rowe will need help,” I said as I shot a steely look toward the low-life.

  “Rest assured help is available if needed, Decker.”

  I slammed the phone down and bagged up my laptop. Rowe watched me like a smirking hawk. Potella outright laughed and Julie Reynolds looked at me with disgust. “Where are you going, Matt Decker?” Abdul said with even wider eyes than normal.

  “I’ve been ordered off the grounds. The world’s falling apart and we’ve got a crew of crooks and pinheads running the show. You find that password. I’ll be in touch.” Abdul nodded and turned back to his machine.

  I stepped outside, fifteen miles from my motel, without a car. Tark’s wife was feeling ill and he’d gone to check on her. He probably wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. I suppose Abdul could have given me a ride, but the game clock was ticking and he needed to be working on that password. I had no intention of asking Rowe or the others for anything and doubt they would have agreed anyway.

  The sun beat down on me from a late-afternoon angle as I walked along the shoulder of the road, while the black asphalt blasted me from below with heat it had saved up all for my torture. It was so hot my shoes stuck to it as I walked. The roadsides were a foot tall in weeds, no doubt teeming with all manner of biting insects and who knows what else, so I stayed on the hot road, step-peel, step-peel, step-peel.