"How long have I been out?"
"Just over a week."
"Have you heard from Sevi?"
"No."
"Have you tried to find her?"
"Yes. No. We've all been focused on you, Jamie. You came first."
"Quick, mom, bring me my laptop."
"The FBI took your laptop."
"Then bring me your laptop. Please!"
Christine retrieved her laptop and placed it on Jamie's crossed legs.
"Look, my site's still up."
He browsed Chrome to his website and searched on Sevi's picture. The uploaded videos were scanned, then--
"Look here! She's in a room of some kind and they're putting big drums in the back of that van. What the hell?"
Christine leaned across his shoulder. "Run that again, please."
Jamie replayed the sequence.
"I can't see exactly what he's doing, but those bags are ammonium nitrate. Oh my God," said Christine. "OKC."
"What's OKC?"
"That's what they used in the OKC bomb! Ammonium nitrate! We have to find that van immediately."
Christine got on line with XFBI, who got on line with Chicago Police and Illinois State Police. They had a license number--thanks to Jamie's video--and within ten minutes several thousand eyes of Chicago's finest were looking for the van.
But eyes alone weren't enough. It was going to take more.
Jamie's TRAC software continued its search. He changed the parameters of the search to look not for Sevi but for the van. Immediately there were hits--lots of hits. The van on the Kennedy Expressway, the van westbound, the van taking the off-ramp, the van approaching Windsor Elementary School.
Outside CCTV had it all the way.
Jamie threw up a live shot of the van.
Outside the school.
Parked within eight orange road cones, it appeared the van's occupant was working on a fire hydrant nearby. He had a wrench and he was bent to his work.
Jamie froze the man's face and enlarged the shot.
"Mom, look at this!"
She looked once and a chill shot up her spine.
"Hussein. That's Hussein. And the van. Surely that's Sevi in the passenger seat, too."
"Gerry," Christine said to the XFBI agent in the doorway. "Windsor Elementary. Approach with great care. It's a bomb. A huge bomb!"
Gerry nodded and left without a word. He had a direct line to the authorities and he used it.
Within minutes the CPD's bomb disposal unit was underway on the Kennedy.
54
Monday 9:55 A.M
Hussein bent to the fire hydrant and carefully surveyed his surroundings. Abu would be circling a block away. Hussein nodded to Sevi. Still cuffed to the panic bar, she pressed speed dial on the phone between her palms.
"Hussein says now."
A voice came back. "We're one block east. We'll begin to close right now."
"What are you driving?"
"Red Volvo. Wagon."
"I can see you now. You just came around our corner. Wait. Go back, there are police on the way!"
"Police?" said the voice. "We see no police. There are no sirens. What are you saying, woman?"
Sevi screamed into the phone. "Get away! Now! Now! Go!"
She watched as the Volvo Wagon spun a U-turn and disappeared back the way it had come.
At just that moment, Hussein came into the driver's seat.
"The phone. Give me the phone."
"No."
He reached and backhanded her across the face. Her nose spurted blood. But still she kept her grip on the phone.
"You are not going to hurt these little kids! I won't allow it!"
"Woman, the phone!"
He reached across and jerked it away from her. He immediately hit speed dial one.
"Abu? What the hell, man? Where did you go?"
"The woman. She said the police were there!"
"There are no police here. Return at once."
"You're sure?"
And at that moment the first of dozens of police vehicles squealed off the highway and came rolling up the street at high speed.
Hussein had the ingredients wired with Primadet and had added the Tovex explosive at indicated points in the back of the van. It was ready to explode.
All except for one thing. Hussein wasn't ready to explode with it. He didn't give a damn if Sevi went up with it, but he wasn't going to.
He calmly and matter-of-factly began walking away on the sidewalk, his finger poised on speed dial two. One click of the finger and the entire school and student body would be leveled. Gone, dust.
But Jamie had been busy. He had cropped Hussein's face out of the video feeds and now all CPD cars and officers had a picture of the prime suspect. Hussein, of course, wasn't aware of this. He simply kept walking.
The bomb disposal unit rolled up, jumped out headed for the van, took a look inside, and carefully detached the switch from the phone. "No spark, no boom," said Sergeant Davis.
"No spark, no boom," said his partner, Helene Montgomery.
Both were Iraq war veterans of IUD disposal warfare. The fertilizer bomb was overwhelmingly simple for them.
Within seconds its fangs were pulled.
Minutes later, Hussein was facedown on the sidewalk, hands yanked into the air and cuffs wrapping him up. Sevi was freed and removed from the front seat of the bomb.
Then it was done.
55
Visitors came in increasing numbers to congratulate Jamie.
The first visitor Christine allowed into Jamie’s room was Diana Apersain, his first love. They touched hands and tears came to Diana’s eyes. Christine backed out of Jamie’s room and closed the door.
“I came to see you at the hospital. I was so scared.”
“I knew you were there. Or else I dreamed it.”
“I talked to you for a half hour. Then I kissed you when no one was looking.”
Jamie smiled. “Damn, I missed that? Well, how about we try that again?”
She leaned down and kissed him fully on the mouth.
“You’re my first love,” she said. “And I’m so proud of you. You saved all those little kids.”
“We did. Remember, you and I worked on TRAC together.”
“But you were the brains behind it.”
“Anyway, I’m lying here thinking we should form a company and be partners in it. We can license our software around the world.”
She smiled. “I’m supposed to go to college next year. At least according to my mom.”
Jamie took her by the hand and pulled her close. He kissed her again.
“Let me handle your mom,” he said. “We can make her an offer that makes more sense than college.”
“I’m in. Let’s move ahead.”
“As soon as they let me get up, we’re moving.”
Jamie was also visited by the FBI representatives who came to apologize for the shooting. Their shooting panel had ruled the shooting justified, but, in the aftermath, they had also decided the young man was a hero and deserved special recognition. So they brought him a plaque with a brief inscription and presented it to him.
Jamie accepted the plaque and accepted the apology. Then he made one of his own.
“I’m not really a gun guy,” he told the Regional Special Agent. “I shouldn’t have been touching my mom’s gun. It was really stupid of me.”
They agreed but didn’t push it. He shouldn’t have touched the gun, especially given the circumstances of XFBI agents on duty protecting him.
Then they dropped it and left. Jamie felt better and told everyone he wouldn’t ever so much as touch a gun again. He had better ways to spend his time.
The police officials came to say thanks. They wanted to move ahead with full installations of TRAC. Their attorneys were ready to talk to Jamie’s attorneys about licensing the software.
The principal of the Windsor School dropped in and cried when she saw the young man who’d saved
her students. Two of the students from Windsor presented him with letters from every student. All with smiling suns and happy faces. Jamie was embarrassed but accepted the accolades as best he could.
By the Friday of that week Jamie was back up and moving around on his crutches. Diana came by several more times and they sat at their laptops, coding and laughing.
56
Monday 12:00 P.M.
Headed back to Chicago.
He stopped for gas at the Exxon on the southern edge of Ann Arbor. The pump refused his company credit card. He tried it again, pulling it out and slowly sliding it back in.
Refused.
He tried again, moving it in and out of the slot as fast as possible. Refused.
A prickly feeling played across his abdomen. No, try Amex.
He pushed the platinum Amex into the slot. Refused.
Once again. Refused again.
He hurried inside the station and pushed a hundred dollar bill across the counter.
"I need a hundred bucks on six, please."
"A whole hundred?"
"Just a fill. Whatever. I'm in a hurry, here. Whatever it takes."
"All right." The clerk pressed the button on six and nodded. "Good to go. But your car just left, buddy. You want I should call the cops?"
But he knew. He knew all too well.
"No. No need. But can you call me a cab?"
"Pay phone's outside. You need change?"
"I've got my cell."
Then he thought about the cell phone, realized it was a phone she paid for, and he smiled. "I need change. Cell won't work, I'm positive."
"Somebody must have clipped your wings, buddy."
"Something like that."
He went outside to the pay phone. He was certain none of his credit cards would work in the phone, including the AT&T card. She controlled them and he had the picture. He did have his own bank debit card, a Visa, but the phone refused it. It wanted a credit card, which he didn't have. Not anymore.
He fed quarters into the silver slot.
Then he dialed. "Jennifer, Ed. Put Christine on, please."
Moments later the line clicked on. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
"I know you are."
"I love you."
"I know you do."
"Can you at least hear me out?"
"Goodbye, Ed. Enjoy your family."
"Goodbye, Chris."
* * *
"Senator Robertson? My name is Christine Susmann. I'm calling from Chicago."
"Christine," the Senator effused. "How kind of you to call."
"Thank you."
"You did call me. Thanks for that, Christine.
"Sure."
"Listen, you and I should meet. Would you have time if I flew into Chicago?"
"Sure. I'll make time. When?"
"Does this Saturday work?"
"It works just fine."
"Fine. What do you say we plan on Ditka's for that big steak Saturday night. Interested?"
"I can always find something at Ditka's. I'm in."
"Wonderful. I'll call you when I touch down."
"Okay."
"And don't worry about dress. I'm a blue jeans guy on weekends."
"That will work well, then, I'm a blue jeans girl."
"Hell, we might even want to dance a dance or two before the night's over."
"You know, we just might at that."
57
The jury awarded her forty million dollars from each defendant, which could be said to represent one million dollars for each family member she lost to the DuMont brothers and the United States Air Force.
Althea still had the DuMonts' trainload of documents; the DuMonts still knew better than to harm her. If they did--as she had made it abundantly clear--the documents she would release would make Edward Snowden's efforts look trivial.
Sevi's satisfaction was short-lived.
By the time she and Christine stepped out of the federal building onto Dearborn Street, the young computer professional felt an overwhelming sense of grief. She checked both ways on the sidewalk.
"You riding home with me?" Christine asked.
Sevi shook her head.
"It's time I found my own place."
"Well you certainly have the money to do that now."
"I do. I will, thanks to you."
"Look, please come home with me and let me help pack your things."
"No, I just want to walk."
"Understand. Grab a cab later?"
"Yes."
"Got cab fare?"
Sevi touched her shoulder bag. She nodded.
"I'm okay, Chris. I just need to be alone."
"Well, hey. The Sisters in Law will be meeting at Durant's at noon. What do you say?"
"Noon today?"
"Yep."
"That's on the Loop somewhere?"
"Yep. Durant's."
"Me and you and Althea and Winona?"
"Yep."
"That's all? No men?"
"Do you mean is Senator Robertson still in town? No, he's back in D.C."
"So maybe I'll come there. I think I will."
"We all love you, Sevi. We're your family now, you know."
Sevi's eyes brightened. "That was it. I was feeling lonely."
"Come on, jump in my car. We can go there now."
Sevi tapped her foot on the sidewalk. She patted her purse and glanced around.
"Okay. I'm in."
"Yes, you are."
58
The Kin-Tooka proprietors of the Hong Kong flower giant hadn’t noticed anything odd about their server farm. As the seller of forty-six percent of all flowers sold in China the daily traffic on the servers numbered in the millions of transactions. Each transaction consisted of a product, a receipt for the sale, a delivery time and place, and the common data surrounding commercial transactions. Each transaction required no more than a few bytes of storage on the servers.
The computers were serviced in house. Kin-Tooka’s IT department consisted of eighty-eight dedicated Chinese citizens, each of whom had no less than a bachelor’s degree in computer science or software engineering. How, then, it would be asked, could such an exemplary group of coders, database administrators, and systems engineers have missed the millions upon millions of documents that arrived on the network and were distributed among the machines that made up the server farm almost randomly? The answer was simple: the owner of the documents had simply disguised each document as a flower sale. The document itself was disguised as product, the date on the document was disguised as the date of sale, the recipient of the document was disguised as the purchaser in the flower transaction, and the seller of the flowers was none other than Blackguard itself. Genius, it would be said in the years to come. But who could have concocted such an intelligent scheme that passed through firewalls and data integrity scans without notice and without a single failure?
The answer to that inquiry was found inside the bedroom of a sixteen year old computer geek in Chicago, Illinois. His name: Jamie Susmann. Only two people would ever know about his role in the greatest theft of military-industrial documents in the history of the United States. One of these was his own mother. The second was the woman who had gone to work for Blackguard and tapped into its own databases and uploaded the code that transferred the company’s documents first to Ireland, then to Peru, then to Haiti, and then on to Hong Kong. Neither woman was talking and neither was the sixteen year-old.
With the documents in place in Hong Kong, Christine Susmann then went on the offensive.
It was time to ruin the DuMont brothers.
But how would she do that? Physical attacks would be too empty and wouldn’t accomplish the purpose of destroying their company, their worldwide vigilante and oil procurer: Blackguard. So physical was crossed off the list.
Next, a lawsuit was considered. But that had already been done and had conferred a huge sum of money on Sevi al-Assad. Another lawsuit—predicated on an e
xtant theory of action—would not destroy the company. Using its thousands of contracts with the United States government the company would quickly bounce back from any economic loss a lawsuit might incur. So a lawsuit was crossed off the list.
How do we ruin the company? Thought Christine as she was driven into her office in Chicago one icy morning in January. The answer materialized before her eyes when she saw a street musician blowing a saxophone on the Madison Street Bridge over the Chicago River. He was bundled up against the icy temperatures but wore fingerless gloves to allow his skin to contact the keys on his sax. She realized then and there that the lowest common denominator of the DuMont brothers was the same as the saxophone: their stock in trade. And what was their stock in trade? Why, stock, of course.
She would attack their stock.
She would cause their stock to plummet in price to the point where it became worthless. Worthless as the ink that composed the stock certificates. Made worthless by the scheme that came together in her head that freezing January morning.
“Stop the car!” she told her driver.
He did. He put on his hazard lights and ignored the angry honking that erupted from behind.
Christine jumped from the black Mercedes and walked back up the sidewalk to the street musician. She pulled a bundle of bills from her shoulder satchel and paid them into the musician’s open instrument case.
“Enjoy your week,” she told him with a smile. “And thanks.”
“Lady, thanks for what. But you ain’t even heard me play.”
“I’m donating for what you’re going to play. It’s going to be sweet and it’s going to give respite to people from this cheerless city.”
“I don’t even know what you saying.”
She did a quick curtsey and began walking back to her car.
“And I don’t play the saxophone. So we’re even. Thanks again!”
* * *
Christine and her staff reviewed Blackguard’s SEC filings. The filings were self-disclosures about Blackguard’s fiscal doings. She was able to assess the size of the company in dollars and the value of the company in stock shares and the bottom line: Assets Minus Liabilities = Net Value. The DuMonts’ ownership in Blackguard amounted to 95% of the brothers’ personal net worth. Christine was elated, because she now knew that if she ruined Blackguard she would break the brothers. They wouldn’t have enough assets left over to pay off other liabilities such as mortgages, commercial paper, and private loans from private corporations and associations.
Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2) Page 24