Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2)

by John Ellsworth

  Althea finger-combed her short black hair as the woman reviewed the application a third time. African-American, thirty-five years of age, ten years of experience as clerk in the Cook County Circuit Clerk's Office--complete with a letter of recommendation from the clerk herself, and a junior college transcript that reported a 3.8 GPA in business administration in her Associate of Arts degree.

  "Assuming my supervisor signs off," said the woman, closing the file folder and smoothing its seam with two fingers, "when could you start?"

  "Well, today is Thursday. How does Monday work?"

  The woman's brown eyes widened. "Oh, that would be perfect. I was thinking you might have to give two weeks at the Clerk's office."

  "No, I left there. See--" Althea reaching and opening the Applicant file and pointing at the Circuit Clerk's letter--"I left there two weeks ago. I'm ready to start immediately."

  "We should talk salary."

  "Is it salary or hourly?"

  "Salary. It's an exempt position."

  "Oh, impressive. This is definitely a step up for me."

  The woman nodded and turned to her keyboard. "Let me memo my supervisor. I'll see if I can expedite your app. Hang on, please, Ms. Andersen."

  "Sure."

  Althea sat back in the gray visitor's chair and glanced around the small HR conference room. Like everything else she'd seen so far of Blackguard, the room was gray, the door molding gray, and even the industrial carpet was gray. The HR rep's orange earrings stood out like two small suns, Althea thought as her mind took in this new world. She had come here knowing that the information she needed to link Blackguard to the Arum al-Assad missile strike was insufficient. She needed a smoking gun, so to speak, because she expected the transcript already turned over to her was bogus--an attempt to entrap Christine and her lawsuit in an industrial espionage web. It was an old ploy, one Blackguard was known for, and Althea had obtained the transcript to lull Blackguard into thinking it had a one-up on Christine before the lawsuit was even filed.

  She had discussed it two nights ago with Christine when she had dropped by her boss's home after hours. Christine had just served dinner to her two children and was puttering around in the kitchen, cleaning and straightening, and then poured Althea a small glass of white wine. They sat together, then, at the large glass kitchen table and Althea watched Christine turn her own stemware in her fingers as she contemplated.

  Then Christine said, "I've read the transcript ostensibly between Reno Air and Edlund DuMont the day of the missile strike."

  "It sounds good, doesn't it?"

  Christine pursed her lips. "That's just it. It sounds too good. If the transcript is to be believed, Edlund DuMont himself ordered the missile strike that killed Sevi's family."

  "Yes, it leaves no doubt."

  "Except it leaves me with a lot of doubt. I admire that you acquired the thing from Blackguard, but I'm not buying it. Frankly, I smell a rat."

  "How so?"

  "Well, let's give credit where credit is due. Blackguard is a world-class black arts operator. They are smarter than the norm and the games they play are usually very sophisticated."

  "Agreed."

  Christine took a small sip of wine. She pinched the corners of her mouth with the second finger and thumb of her right hand.

  "So it wouldn't surprise me if the entire transcript is simply created out of thin air. It wouldn't surprise me if it's all imaginary."

  "But why?"

  "So we rely on it. Use it at some point in the litigation. If the transcript were to officially come to light--somehow be made known to a judge--Blackguard would then have us in a position where we're holding stolen company documents. Being the transcript. If they can do that, they likely would get sanctions that would include having the lawsuit dismissed."

  "Smart."

  "Oh, yes. These people are inordinately smart."

  "And you wouldn't put it past them to play these games?"

  "That's why I went along with paying the courier so damn much money. I want them to think we've bought their ruse. Now the next thing is to get you on the inside."

  "Inside of Blackguard? How would I do that?"

  "We'll obtain ID for you. We'll have you apply for a position there."

  "How does that help?"

  "It gets you inside their computer network. At least to some degree. We can work from there in obtaining the real transcripts or other company communications about this particular missile strike. Then we'll--how should I delicately say this--steal the damn stuff. Frankly, I'm pissed. We paid them a bunch of dollars for real records and they've screwed us. But it's not done yet, not if we can get you inside their firewall."

  "I'm game," said Althea. "Just tell me what you want."

  "I've obtained a security analysis from XFBI."

  "What's that? About their network?"

  "Exactly. We need to know where you can do the most damage before we send you in. Turns out there's an administrative assistant opening in one of Blackguard's overseas data wings. It might be exactly what we're looking for. At least that's what Michael Hammit over at XFBI thinks."

  "Just point me where you want me. I'm game."

  "Okay, here's what I'm thinking."

  They spent another hour discussing Althea's application at the company and her role in hacking the overseas databases. Documents would be lodged inside those servers and, once Althea passed her background check and proved herself trustworthy, she would have complete access to those documents. XFBI had already created an entire background and history for Althea, Christine explained. Blackguard would be led down the primrose path in checking Althea's background and they would definitely like what they found. Girl scouts, college, military service, two responsible jobs since, including the Circuit Clerk's office--plus the credit report was firmed up, there was no history of any kind of illegal activity--not even a parking ticket, and on paper Althea was married, happily, the mother of two honor roll students.

  Althea was drawn back to reality as the Blackguard HR employee spoke.

  "All right," the woman said, "my supervisor has signed off on a Monday start for you. Keeping in mind this is all subject to your background and credit check--which you've already agreed to let us on do on one of the forms you signed."

  "That sounds fair. I think your security department will be impressed with my background."

  "I'm sure they will be. Now, can I expect you here, in my office, at eight o'clock Monday morning?"

  "Definitely," said Althea. "How exciting!"

  The woman turned back to her keyboard. "Then I'm going to pull the opening out of our online jobs board. There we are--filled. Okay, Ms. Andersen. Monday morning it is."

  "Thank you. I'm excited."

  "I'm so glad."

  * * *

  Althea had heard all about Christine's son, the computer virtuoso. So...she called him up, unbeknownst to anyone, including his mother.

  "Jamie, this is Althea Berenson. I work with your mom."

  "Hello, Ms. Berenson. I've heard mom talk about you."

  "Yes, you probably have."

  "What I'm calling you about is computer networks."

  "Sure."

  "And how to--how to hack them."

  "You don't want to do that. It's illegal and if you get caught you're hosed."

  "I know that. But this time it's ultra-important to your mom's case and Sevi's case that I peek inside a computer network and get away without getting seen. Can you help me do something like that?"

  "Sure I can."

  "My question, then, is, will you?"

  "I'd have to ask my mom."

  "No--no--no, I don't want to implicate your mom in this. This is just between you and me."

  "I don't know. She'd be pissed if I did something like that and didn't tell her."

  "I realize that. So I'll tell you what. I'll take full responsibility and talk to her myself. Fair enough?"

  "Sure, if you wanna do it that way, that's fine. Keep
me outta that part of it."

  "Okay. Here's what I need from you to help me. We're going to hack Blackguard's computer system."

  "Network."

  "Network. And we're going to take documents from them and put them on another server."

  "Federal crime. I'm in."

  "Good. Now let me tell you what I know."

  The conversation went on for another hour. Jamie outlined a battle plan and implementation was discussed. At last, she was sure she knew what she was doing and Althea thanked Jamie and reminded him not to speak a word of their conversation to anyone.

  Jamie swore he would keep silent no matter what.

  15

  They landed at Chicago's Midway Airport just after midnight. As the front hatch on the Gulfstream opened, Christine, standing in the door, felt the cool night air race up her skin. She turned to Sevi, waiting at her elbow.

  "It's much cooler here. I've got a car waiting and we'll get you out of this."

  She then turned to her client and stepped backwards down the stairway, helping Sevi make her way down the steps, which was quite difficult, thanks to the frozen knee. Still, the Syrian woman gamely came down, and Christine was pierced with deep respect for her new friend.

  At the bottom was the waiting Mercedes, black in the black night, diesel engine putting, and Christine's XFBI driver behind the wheel. They opened doors and quickly slid inside. Bags were loaded into the trunk of the car and Christine sat back and closed her eyes. She said to Sevi, "All set?"

  "As much as I will be," said Sevi. "I'm still trying to grasp that I'm actually here."

  "I'm taking you to my house. Much safer there than a hotel. We have armed security and this man Hussein and his fellow travelers will remain at a distance. They know better than to cross my bodyguards."

  "I'd feel safer, frankly, if they hadn't crossed your bodyguard in Istanbul. When you told me about Hussein stepping in, that frightened me, to tell the truth."

  "I only told you so that you'd understand my need to hustle you out of the hotel and onto my private jet. Shit happens," Christine muttered, and turned to stare out her darkened window.

  "Indeed," said Sevi. "So. Tell me about Chicago."

  "Not much to tell. Population-wise, I think Chicagoland is America's third largest city. Behind L.A and New York. Lots of sports teams, some culture, tons of great shopping. If you're into that sort of thing."

  "How will I support myself? Where will I live?"

  "I think, until we get this sorted out, I'm keeping you close by. You're going to be staying with me at first. As far as working, with your computer programming skills you'll have no problem there. I already have one of my office staff scouting jobs. We'll help you there."

  "That's all quite generous. However, I don't want to be a burden."

  Christine smiled. "You'll be with me only for a short while. Then we'll get you your own place and get you settled in. You're probably looking at two weeks, max, until then."

  "Oh, that would be wonderful."

  "Sure. By the way...let me think out loud for a minute."

  The car had exited the airport and they were making their way north, skirting east around Chicago downtown.

  "Think out loud. Please do."

  "Well, I've got a son, Jamie. Jamie is a precocious young man who lives and breathes computers. I'm wondering. Would you be interested in tutoring him in some of the stuff you know?"

  "I don't know that I could help all that much. Software programming can be largely self-taught."

  "With Jamie that's probably true. But I always want him to get a more classic view of the discipline--you know, history, industry standards, that kind of stuff."

  "Sure, I could try."

  "Let's talk more about that. I think we might find you have a heck of a lot in common with Jamie."

  Sevi turned and looked at the lights passing in the oncoming lane. The glazed look on her face didn't say much, near as Christine could tell. Christine hoped she hadn't insulted the woman by suggesting she work with a beginner like Jamie. But Jamie was pretty far down the road when it came to computers and programming. Maybe her guest would find she did, in fact, have a lot to offer the young man without being an academic pedant. Jamie had a cowboy bent when it came to computers and perhaps Sevi could let him have his head while still backfilling the engineering standards he wouldn't have learned. There could be a real symbiosis between them. For now, everyone was tired and looking forward to a meal and bed. Enough said.

  "We'll be home in about twenty minutes from here," said Christine, as they followed along Lake Michigan's western shore.

  "So tired. Some food would be nice."

  Christine nodded. She caught the driver's eyes in the rearview. He shook his head ever so slightly. Good, that meant they weren't being followed.

  The young lawyer sat back against the seat and deeply exhaled.

  Maybe this was going to work out just fine for everyone.

  * * *

  Christine spent the next morning in her home office, with Sevi, getting down the details that would be fashioned into the lawsuit. Name, address (Christine's, for now), marital status (single, sadly), children (none), education level (bachelor’s degree plus one), employer, family (deceased), DOB, place of birth, citizenship and so on. Christine had called in paralegal Billy Tattinger from her office, and Billy took over the complaint-drafting chore.

  By two o'clock, Billy was ready to present a draft complaint for Christine's review. The caption of the lawsuit put the venue in the U.S. District Court, Northern District of Illinois--Chicago. The sole plaintiff was Sevi al-Assad. The defendants included the United States of America, the President of the United States of America, the Defense Department, Blackguard, and the DuMont brothers. Billy had Christine's signature on the original and was headed for the District Court Clerk's Office to get the case filed before five o'clock. Christine in the meantime called a press conference in her office, and all the major news outlets were represented. The conference began at three o'clock--time enough for the news of the new case to hit that evening's news.

  "Today," she told the assembled reporters in her conference room downtown, "my office is filing on behalf of a woman named Sevi al-Assad a lawsuit against the U.S. Government and against the Blackguard Company and the DuMont brothers. The complaint alleges that this woman lost her entire family in a Predator drone strike several months ago in Syria. The strike was carried out by the United States with the aid of Blackguard and the DuMont brothers. The target that day was one Arum al-Assad, the ISIS oil minister who, in fact, was killed in the strike. But was it necessary to kill over forty other innocents--mostly children--to kill one member of ISIS that the government had its heart set on killing? This lawsuit challenges the authority of the president to authorize such a strike and seeks monetary damages for the wrongful death of Ms. al-Assad's family."

  "Where is this woman?" asked the reporter from CNN.

  Christine nodded. "She's staying with me temporarily until we can find her suitable lodging."

  "Is she here legally?"

  "She's here on a visa with her passport. All signed, sealed, and delivered by the U.S. Government."

  "How much is she asking?"

  "Ten million dollars per family member. A total of two hundred fifty million dollars. Remember, the strike occurred right before a wedding celebration was to begin. Sevi's entire family and her fiancée’s entire family were all under one roof when the heavens fell in on them."

  "What do the DuMonts have to do with this?" asked the Chicago Tribune national news chief.

  Christine smiled at the woman. "C'mon, Angela, you know better than that. The United States doesn't install an outdoor toilet in the Middle East without the DuMonts signing off on it. Blackguard is their front man but they're also behind the curtain pulling all the strings."

  The woman from the Tribune made a note on her pad. "I stand admonished," she said.

  Christine quipped, "I'm not here to admonish anyone
. But let's keep it real, shall we?"

  Several others smiled, which the twin TV cameras picked up. It was no secret, what Christine had just said. The DuMonts did run the Middle East for the U.S. Plain and simple.

  Another voice spoke up. "So if your client is seeking two-hundred and fifty million in monetary damages for the deaths, who does she expect to pay that?"

  "Whoever the jury says must pay. That's the jury's job to decide, not my client's job."

  "How did the law office of Christine Susmann get involved?"

  "She found me on the Internet. My client is a software engineer and so it's no surprise she would find me there."

  "Where is she from?"

  "A small city in eastern Syria."

  "Was she injured in the attack?"

  "Yes, Sevi was seriously injured. All over her body. Her recovery--meaning she can now walk with the assistance of a cane--has taken the better part of six months."

  "Is she asking for money for her own injuries?"

  "Yes. You'll each be given a copy of the lawsuit as you leave here today. Most of your questions about the details of the case will be answered there, I believe."

  The elderly gentleman from the Associated Press waved from the far end of the table. "Do you fear for your own safety for filing this case? Does your client?"

  Christine saw an opening and took it. "Fear what?"

  "Fear some kind of retribution from the defendants."

  "You're asking are we afraid of physical harm for bringing this case?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, a good part of the reason for this lawsuit is to put the defendants and their agents on notice that the press is now involved and watching. If any harm should come to Sevi or me while the case is pending I would expect the press to chase down the responsible party or parties and demand that justice be done."