Tainted Robes

by Joe Nobody

  “Protests? What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know? Where have you been, Marshal? The dark side of the moon?”

  Griffin started to answer, but the officer on the other end interrupted him. “I gotta go. The frigging phone is ringing off the hook.”

  Staring at the disconnected cell for a moment, Griffin then reached for the television remote. Four clicks later, he found a local news channel that was covering the event.

  “We’re here in front of the county courthouse, only a few days after a similar gathering erupted into a violent riot that resulted in the death of a police officer and a local rancher.”

  The camera began a sweeping view of the sidewalk along the now-infamous street, displaying at least 100 men and women in cowboy hats, jeans, and boots. Many of them were armed, some even displaying AR15 battle rifles. They were a rough, no-nonsense looking bunch, and were clearly mad as hell.

  The cameraman then slowed to focus on a few of their signs. “Silas McCann is a patriot,” one read. Another demanding, “Set Silas Free!”

  The reporter then reappeared in the image next to an older gent sporting a 10-gallon hat, string tie, and well-worn boots. “I’m here with Hank Bartholomew, the president of the West Texas Cattlemen’s Association. Mr. Bartholomew, why are your members here protesting today?”

  “We demand that Silas McCann be given the same rights as every other citizen of the United States when accused of a crime. Not only did Silas lose his only son, but now the judge involved in this case refuses to set bail. This, even though there is a significant amount of evidence proving that Silas and his son, Michael, acted purely out of self-defense.”

  Nodding, the journalist fired back, “The county prosecutor, in a press conference just a few minutes ago, stated that the accused was a significant flight risk and posed a danger to the community. What do you have to say to that?”

  The old cowboy shook his head in disgust. “I’ve known the McCanns for over 30 years. Silas is an honest, proud rancher who never broke a single law in his life. Yet, we have illegal immigrant-criminals being set free because of overcrowding or other minor discomforts. We demand that the justice system stop persecuting this man until he faces a jury of his peers. What has become of the American legal system? We can no longer trust it, and Silas is just one example.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bartholomew,” the reporter replied before strolling back toward the middle of the street. She then continued, “More and more ranchers and other supporters are arriving here hourly, elevating the concerns of the El Paso Police Department. When I asked one officer about the weapons being displayed by the cattlemen, he said that there was no law against open carry of a long gun in the city limits or in the Lone Star State.”

  The broadcast then switched back to the anchor desk where a Hispanic man with slicked back hair, wearing a tailored suit asked, “Carrie, has there been any more word from the authorities about the evidence Mr. Bartholomew mentioned?”

  Shaking her head, the news correspondent answered, “No. But here is what we do know. A few hours ago, someone emailed a copy of the El Paso PD’s report on Mr. McCann’s case to several media outlets, including our station. That file included several video images of a someone that the police have identified as a person of interest, as well as several witness statements claiming that the police didn’t identify themselves before firing several shots at Mr. McCann and his son. Of course, young Michael McCann was killed in that exchange, as well as Corporal Collin Whitaker of the El Paso Police Department.”

  While she was reporting, the station aired a still from one of the bank cameras, Mr. Terret’s face difficult to discern due to the privacy provided by his hoodie and the low-quality, pixelated image. As far as Griffin was concerned, showing the man’s image to the public was the only positive part of the broadcast. Often, the police would receive tips from such an exposé.

  “Thank you, Carrie,” the anchorman said into the camera. “And now on to the national headlines, a firestorm of political bickering erupted this morning in Washington after the FBI executed a pre-dawn search warrant at the home of Senator Edwin Cobber. According to several sources, federal authorities were granted the warrant after convincing a US magistrate that Senator Cobber hadn’t produced all relevant materials pertaining to the investigation into his international business dealings.”

  Griffin watched as a video of President Turner played, the chief executive clearly red-faced with anger. “This is a witch hunt!” he snapped at reporters. “This is a tactic that would be common in a third-world dictatorship, not the United States of America. It serves no purpose but to undermine the American people’s faith in their justice system.”

  The announcer continued, “The president’s harsh rhetoric was echoed by officials on both sides of the aisle, several Democrat senators calling for Turner’s impeachment, while Republicans demanded that the Justice Department open an investigation into the FBI’s actions. All the while, the deadline for a government shutdown is quickly approaching, today’s revelation and subsequent bickering placing any sort of compromise for passing a federal budget in question.”

  Unable to handle any more, Griffin lifted the remote to turn off the depressing news. Before he could power down the TV, an image displayed that caused the marshal to inhale sharply.

  His television showed video from a helicopter fly-over, the screen filled with an urban area dominated by black smoke and visible flames. It looked like a war zone. The announcer declared, “And now back to the story that is on every American’s mind this morning, the south side of Chicago continues to experience widespread unrest, local authorities estimating that over 300 buildings are currently burning out of control. We want to warn our viewers; the following video contains graphic images that are not suitable for everyone.”

  More footage rolled, this time displaying a massive crowd of citizens facing off against a police line on some unnamed street. On cue, at least a hundred projectiles were flung at the cops – bottles, rocks, and broken cement landing among the ranks of blue uniforms.

  The police retaliated, several grenade launchers emitting telltale puffs as tear gas canisters sailed into the hostile throng. Just then, a large vehicle with a water cannon sprayed a debilitating stream of high-pressure liquid into a horde of rioters.

  The civilians, however, didn’t melt away. Instead, another group charged from a flanking angle, hurling another broadside of missiles. The police began falling back, three of their members dragged away with injuries.

  The anchorman droned on, and Griffin watched in horror as the video images continued to roll. The next clip captured a line of National Guardsmen marching down a street, the buildings on each side smoldering heaps of rubble. From a side alley, a vehicle suddenly appeared, its tires squealing and smoking as it turned toward the formation. The soldiers raised their weapons and began shouting warnings.

  But the sedan charged toward the guardsmen, its engine roaring under the strain of the continued acceleration. At half a block, the soldiers opened fire, but the car only swerved slightly before returning to a collision course.

  The formation scattered, rushing for each side of the street as the vehicle raced directly at them. At the last second, the driver spun the wheel, his front bumper slamming two of the green-uniformed shapes, launching them as thrashing balls of arms and legs.

  “Violence has erupted in several US cities as protesters raked Chicago’s streets for a second straight night,” the newsman continued.

  Griffin flipped off the tube, “Has the entire world gone crazy?” he mumbled. His next thought was of Kit, wondering if she knew to avoid the trouble brewing downtown.

  Calling a fellow marshal for a lift, Griffin was soon tooling around in his newly issued, Ford 4-door. He decided to head for city hall and check for himself on the disturbance there. While he wanted to talk to Detective Royce about the mysterious Mr. Terret, the leak of the McCann police file to the me
dia weighed heavily on the marshal’s mind. This kind of thing was becoming a troubling trend.

  The match that lit Chicago’s fuse was a police video emailed to a local pastor. This latest controversy in El Paso was remarkedly similar, in that the damning evidence had come from McCann’s computer. The Diablos’ attempt on Griffin’s life had been initiated by someone leaking his identity and location, information that would have been stored on a server, and the only plausible explanation involved a computer breach.

  As he maneuvered through the metro area, Griffin wondered if some computer mastermind were pulling the public’s strings and creating a mountain of distrust in the process. Damning dashcam video magically appeared in Chicago, and citizens lost confidence in the police force. A judge’s order to release illegal felons had the border patrol second-guessing the US marshals. After the car-ramming in Indy, it appeared that someone had put in the fix to ensure Mr. Terret was no longer in custody. Public confidence in the courts was at an all-time low. Conspiracy theories abounded.

  What troubled Griffin the most, however, were the warrants that he and other law enforcement teams had executed just a few weeks ago. Someone had compromised those operations, the only logical explanation being a leak as well. Were all these anomalies somehow related?

  Minutes later, he carefully tucked his vehicle in a parking space a couple of blocks from city hall. As he exited the government ride, Griffin could hear someone on a bullhorn in the distance. The voice didn’t sound happy.

  Removing the heavy chain from his pocket, Griffin attached his shield and hung it around his neck. He’d learned the hard way that during civil unrest, there might not be time for lengthy explanations of who he was or what he was doing. Better to keep those credentials in plain sight.

  After approaching two street cops, Griffin was directed toward a group of idling police who were ready to be deployed should trouble erupt. There, guzzling a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee, he found Royce.

  After a quick introduction, Griffin leaned close to the detective and explained, “I’m working with Assistant US Attorney Carson on the picture and file you left with her a few days ago. Got a minute for us to talk in private?”

  Glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t be missed, Royce agreed and guided Griffin up the street.

  Once out of earshot, Griffin began explaining Mr. Terret’s recent history, including a quick summation of the suspect’s activities in Indianapolis. “Then he just vanished.”

  “Wow. I knew there was something weird going on. Any idea how our file ended up with the press this morning? My captain is worried Ms. Carson passed some reporter a copy.”

  “Seriously?” Griffin responded, the thought of Kit doing such a thing making him incredulous. “She would never….”

  Holding up his hands to calm the marshal down, Royce continued, “I know, I know. He was just being an ass. But, you’ve got to understand, this whole McCann thing has got everyone’s panties in a wad. Even within our department, fingers are being pointed in all directions. Hell, our chief and the city attorney nearly came to blows yesterday.”

  Shaking his head, Griffin throttled his anger, “Probably the same people who hacked your system passed the information to the news outlets. By the way, why did the DA decide to charge McCann before the investigation was complete? Given the evidence so far, it seems like having a chat with Mr. Terret beforehand would have been prudent.”

  The detective didn’t like the question, “We had to charge him or let him go. One of the DA’s investigators discovered that McCann was browsing for airline tickets before he came to El Paso that day. His computer showed a history of visits to anti-government websites and other nefarious links on his browser. The accused, on the other hand, swears he doesn’t even know how to use a computer, let alone check flights to Central America. One station has already reported that someone in our department planted the info on the old rancher’s computer. We’re going to end up with another Bundy standoff here, just like they had in Nevada.”

  Griffin digested Royce’s words for a minute, finally responding, “Look, Royce, I don’t know who we’re up against in this thing. What I am sure about is that they are good. Damned good. I would also swear they have access to every computer in the country, from the FBI to El Paso’s city engineering system, and seem to be focused on the judicial branch. Kit and I will keep in touch. She’s running down another clue even as we speak.”

  “Thanks, Marshal. I’ll let you know if anything new happens on our end. Right now, we’re just trying to keep our citizens calm… distance ourselves from the tensions of Chicago, Atlanta and Philly.”

  Driving back to his place, Griffin found himself glued to the morning news channel.

  Washington, DC was in a full-blown meltdown. The president, blasting both the opposition party and the judicial branch for recent and unexplainable events, was demanding that the House of Representatives begin impeachment proceedings against Francis Kendall, as well as several other federal court judges.

  In fact, impeachment was the word of the day it seemed, an equal volume of rhetoric blaring across the airwaves from the ranks of those who despised President Turner.

  What was even more disconcerting to Griffin was a short segment interviewing the assembled protestors on the Washington Mall. According to the report, hundreds of thousands from both sides of the aisle were organizing, planning to converge on the nation’s capital in force. “Lately, it seems the whole country is on edge; ordinary peaceful demonstrations have inevitably morphed into free-for-all riots,” the marshal thought out loud. “Exercising the people’s First Amendment rights without a clash just doesn’t seem likely anymore.”

  By the time Griffin had returned to his apartment, Kit was there waiting for him. Her disgruntled expression made it clear she had been following the headlines as well.

  “We’re under attack,” she stated bluntly.

  “I know… it feels that way to me. Somebody is dropping information bombs on us, one right after the other.”

  Shaking her head, Kit’s tone was melancholy. “You know the old saying, ‘Information is power.’”

  The duo entered Griffin’s residence with sour faces, Kit summing up her frustrations first. “To be honest, I’m not sure that there is even a crime being committed. I’ve never seen, heard, or read about anything even remotely like this.”

  Griff’s eyes opened wide. “Well, let me help you with that, Counselor, because I can think of quite a few criminal charges. Conspiracy being the first on the list. Obstruction. Tampering. Treason? It has to be illegal to plot to bring down the government, right?”

  “Yes, that would be illegal for sure,” she nodded, still having trouble wrapping her head around the scope of recent events.

  “What did you find out about Cyber Ace?”

  Clearing her throat, she removed a thin, 4x6 inch spiral notebook from her purse. “They are located in San Jose, California. They are a privately held S Corp, with ownership declared as an investment trust out of Singapore. That trust is then owned by a shell company, which is owned by another trust, which is owned by another firm out of Japan. That’s as far as I got today.”

  “Wow,” Griffin responded, “and the plot thickens.”

  Kit smirked, “While I agree, nothing I found was illegal. A lot of foreign investors regularly buy, sell, and trade portfolio companies like football teams swap linemen.”

  “With a player to be named later,” Griffin smiled. “So, let’s call San Jose and set up an interview.”

  “I tried,” she frowned. “The phone number listed is for technical support, which is out of India. The nice lady on the other end kept asking me for my customer number or contract date. I explained that I had pre-sales questions about their product and was immediately transferred to a voice mail system.”

  “They must have employees? Somebody has to make sales calls, install the products, and train the users, right?”
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br />   Shaking her head, Kit responded, “No, not really. Almost all of that is handled remotely these days. My cousin explained that her company rarely visits customers anymore. They conduct the sales demo via the internet. They install in the same manner, and as I said, she can command your computer anywhere in the world and correct a problem.”

  “So, let’s get a warrant and visit their headquarters. Somebody must be there.”

  “A warrant for what?” she snipped. “Get real, Griffin. What are you going to say to the bench? That you suspect Cyber Ace’s software is being used to assign judges? That the clerk was nervous when you surprised her? That we’ve seen their product in two courthouses? We don’t have squat for real evidence here. Besides, I didn’t think you trusted the warrant process anymore after your leaks?”

  Reflecting on her list, Griffin pointed toward the television and argued, “We have to do something, Kit. The damned country is tearing itself apart, and I’m positive that the entire affair is being manipulated by some organized, outside force. We are only two people, and look what has happened inside our tiny sphere. Imagine the bedlam these crooks are causing if they are doing the same thing to hundreds or thousands of others.”

  She followed his gaze to the muted screen, a cable news channel showing rows of bodies being laid out on the street after an apartment building had been torched in Chicago. The rolling caption at the bottom said that there weren’t enough ambulances available to haul off the dead.

  “How do we know it’s not a foreign government?” she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the carnage on the television. “The Russians were blamed for throwing the election… the US and North Korean have been throwing stones at each other for months now… China is rumored to possess impressive cyber capability. How can we be sure the perpetrators are criminals and not government agents?”

  “One way or the other, we have to stop this, or the whole country is going to erupt,” Griff replied, nodding toward an image of the Washington Mall and the story of an estimated one million protestors scheduled to gather there.