by David Archer
The wording seemed very strange, though. Hickam seemed to be saying that he had received authorization, apparently from someone else. Was it possible that his entire Board of Directors was involved in this plot? That would make it a massive conspiracy, since a simple internet search turned up the fact that there were more than twenty people on the board. Some of them were even diplomats and officials in the U.K.
She went back and clicked the next link, and an audio file began to play. There were two voices, and while she didn’t recognize either of them, the context led her to believe that one of them was Hickam, himself, while the other was an electronically distorted voice with an American accent. The date stamp on the file indicated that it had been created the day after the email she had just looked at.
American: “Hey, just checking in. Is everything all set over there?”
Hickam (?): “Everything looks good on our end. I’ve managed to put together the entire package, and everyone over here is on board for the venture.”
American: (chuckling) “That’s excellent. This is gonna be the biggest thing since eBay, and I can’t wait. We’ll be in the driver’s seat from now on.”
Hickam (?): “I agree. We should be cautious, though, because if any of this comes out, we’ll all be ruined. Let’s not speak again until after the Web Wide Awards webcast.”
The American didn’t even bother to say goodbye.
She went back and clicked the next link, and found herself reading a copy of a letter that was sent to Max Petrelli, offering a substantial amount of money in return for the right to stream Freaktown High on the Starbright system. It wasn’t exactly a fortune, but considering that the show was made with essentially no budget whatsoever, it was definitely going to make it even more lucrative for the boy than it already was.
She clicked the next link and found herself looking at a soundless video. It appeared to have been taken by a camera in the company’s parking lot, because there were several cars on the screen. One of them was facing toward the camera, and the driver’s face was just visible. Herman had applied facial recognition to it, and concluded that it was Pierre Reynard, superimposing that name so that it floated just over the driver’s head.
Another car was parked beside him, facing the opposite direction. It appeared that Reynard was talking with whoever was driving the second vehicle. Indie zoomed in on the license plate, then spent fifteen minutes tracking down the U.K. auto license database and hacking into it.
The tag came back to Starbright, but it was one of several vehicles owned by the company. It would take finding the vehicle’s records in the computer system to determine who might have been driving it, but her gut feeling was that it was almost certainly Benjamin Hickam.
Sam came in at that moment, and she showed him the page of links.
“Okay,” he said. “What is all this?”
“Well, to me it looks like evidence that Denny was right. Take a look for yourself and tell me what you think.” She clicked the link to open the email she had read a few moments earlier.
“This is absolutely incriminating,” Sam said. “Can you get anything on that email address?”
“That mail server doesn’t even come up,” she said. “It’s probably something the guy can turn on and off when he wants to use it. I can’t even find a DNS record for it, so it’s probably an anonymized redirect of some sort.”
“Okay,” Sam said, and she clicked the next link.
“This one is an audio file,” she said. “Take a listen to it.”
She waited quietly while Sam let it play through. When he finished, he looked at her and said, “I don’t suppose there’s any way to identify the voices?”
“My gut says the first one is Hickam, but I’d have to find a way to undistort the other one, and then I’d need a voice sample to compare it to. If I can find the right frequency, I might be able to clear that voice up somewhat, but there’s no guarantee. The simplest way, I can have Herman try to find the call records; we might be able to back trace the number the call came from and figure out who it is that way.”
“It’s worth a try,” Sam said, “but it probably won’t get us anywhere. Whoever these people are, they know the tech world inside out. I’m pretty sure they’re not going to leave any bread crumbs for us to follow.” Sam had clicked the next link himself. “Now, this video is interesting. Herman says that is Pierre Reynard in the car?”
“Facial recognition,” Indie said. “That face matches the photo I fed him on at least eighteen points, or he wouldn’t have declared it a positive match. He’s absolutely dead certain that’s Reynard, and I’m pretty confident that he knows what he’s doing. The other car belongs to Starbright, but I haven’t been able to identify the driver yet.”
“Is there a way to do that?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got Herman searching the computer system for their vehicle records. It should say who the car was assigned to, or who might have signed it out on that particular day. When he finds it, I’ll let you know.”
“This is excellent work, babe,” Sam said. “Go ahead and send this to Denny. I’m pretty sure he’ll know what to do with it over there. In the meantime, I’m going to forward it to John Pemberton at the DA’s office, and give him a call. Knowing him, I’ll probably have to spend the next hour explaining how we got it. Luckily, John can’t prosecute for burglaries in England, so Denny is safe.”
“Just as long as he doesn’t want to prosecute me,” Indie said. “My record is clean, and I want to keep it that way.”
“He won’t,” Sam said. “You haven’t done anything wrong, anyway. With an international involvement, we can now lean on DHS and claim this is a form of economic terrorism. That’ll cover you.”
“Okay, I’ll just let you handle it, then. Will I need to testify?”
“Possibly, and maybe to a grand jury. A lot will be dependent on whether he wants to try to prosecute it locally, or turn it over to the feds. I’ll let you know what he has to say.”
Sam walked onto the back deck, took out his phone, and called John Pemberton’s cell number. It took him nearly half an hour to explain the email he’d forwarded, and everything that it seemed to imply, but John finally got his head wrapped around it.
“Sam, we can extradite Hickam, old buddy,” he said. “I don’t know how long it will take, but I’ll start the paperwork right away.”
“Thanks, John,” Sam said. “I had a hunch you’d feel that way, once you saw the evidence. Let me know if you need anything further from me, okay?”
“Oh, trust me,” Pemberton said. “If I’m going to be involved in this at all, you’re going to be sitting right beside me.”
Sam’s next call was to John Morton at Web Wide Awards. “John, it’s Sam Prichard,” he said. “Just wanted to give you a heads up. We have uncovered some fairly damning circumstantial evidence that seems to indicate the shooting really was orchestrated by one of your advertisers. You’re familiar with Starbright, out of London?”
“Oh, of course,” Morton said. “Are you serious? I know Ben Hickam pretty well, and while we certainly are in competition in some ways, we’ve always gotten along. There was even a time when we considered teaming up on a global streaming service.”
“Why did you not go ahead with that plan?” Sam asked.
“Oh, just business. His Board of Directors wanted a bigger stake in our company than I was willing to give up. Since we make a higher annual revenue than they do, I didn’t see any reason to give them a bigger share of our company than we were getting in theirs.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Sam said. “Tell me something, if the shooting had actually done your company a lot of damage, would you have been willing to reconsider? Go ahead with that deal?”
“No, not at all,” Morton said. “In fact, I would have probably cut all of our strategic alliances with competitor companies. I built this company from the ground up, and if I had to bring it out of a major crisis, I’d do it the same way I
did before. We would have concentrated on our own services and what we can do to rebuild public image, with as little connection to other companies as possible.”
“That sounds like a solid strategy,” Sam said, “especially since it’s already proven. Anyway, we’re working on getting actual proof, but I thought you’d like to know that we’re making progress. The DA’s office is going to be filing charges against Hickam, and working to extradite him over here to face the music.”
“I appreciate it, Sam,” Morton said. “I know Annie will appreciate it, as well.”
Denny had called again while Sam was on the phone with Pemberton, so he called him back immediately when he got off.
“Sam,” Denny said as soon as he answered, “I’m going to have to take this information to CPS.”
Sam’s eyebrows narrowed. “CPS? Child protection services?”
“No,” Denny said with a chuckle. “Crown Prosecution Service. They handle any type of criminal prosecutions in the U.K., and your Indie has provided enough evidence for them to take an interest. If we fail to report what we’ve learned, we could conceivably be guilty of concealing a crime from the crown, which is a pretty serious offense in its own right. Not one I’d bloody well like to be charged with, for certain.”
“Do what you gotta do,” Sam said. “The local DA is filing charges against Hickam, and will be seeking to extradite him to Denver for prosecution. I’m also calling in DHS over here, since we have an international component, and apparently Reynard, involved now. How is your uncle taking this?”
“Haven’t told him yet,” Denny said. “Bear in mind it’s past nine thirty, over here. I might wait until—oh, bloody hell, that’s him ringing in now. I’ll call you tomorrow, Sam.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Good luck.”
Sam hung up and put the phone into his pocket, then went back inside the house.
“So?” Indie asked. “How did it go?”
“Pemberton says he’s going to file charges against Hickam Monday morning,” Sam replied, “and start the extradition proceedings. With any luck, this case will be coming to an end pretty soon, and a lot of that is thanks to you and Herman.”
She grinned at him. “We’re just doing our jobs, sir,” she said. “By the way, Herman wants to know when he gets a paycheck.”
“As soon as he gets a Social Security number and walks into the office to fill out all the paperwork,” Sam said with a grin of his own.
22
“Dennis?” Devon Chamberlain said. “Forgive an old man’s impertinence, or blame it on the liquor if you prefer, but I wonder if you’ve come across any further information?”
“Actually, I was planning to come ’round in the morning,” Denny said, “but as you are already up and besotted, perhaps now is as good a time as any. Shall I come to the house, or would you prefer to meet somewhere else?”
“Charles is already in bed,” Chamberlain said. “I suppose you can come up, but do try to be quiet about it. The neighbors complain when I have too much noise at night.”
“Uncle, you don’t have any bloody neighbors,” Denny said, but he realized he was talking into a dead phone. He shook his head and put it away, then went down and out to his rented Jaguar. It started up instantly, and he drove toward Chamberlain Manor.
When he was a boy, Denny used to love going to visit the Manor. It was one of the big old mansions that England is so famous for, with more than forty rooms and tons of history. There were suits of armor standing in the great room that had been actually worn in battle several hundred years past, and the family had amassed various other historical treasures. Over the mantelpiece hung the very large and sharp continental sword that beheaded Anne Boleyn, which Devon’s father Ansell had painstakingly tracked down after more than thirty years of research, and Devon himself had somehow acquired the pistol that seventeen-year-old Marcus Sarjeant had used to fire six blanks at Queen Elizabeth in 1981. It hung over the mantle, as well, just below the sword.
History had always been of interest to Denny, and he still loved it. One of the reasons he had joined the SAS was because it would give him an opportunity to participate in things that would eventually be considered historical, and he had been very proud of his association.
He pulled up to the house and parked just outside the garage, then walked up the ramp that had been built for Devon’s father, when old age had put him in a wheelchair. It took him onto the grand porch of the house, and he rang the doorbell.
He stood there for more than a minute, and finally Devon opened the door. He had a whiskey glass in his hand, and motioned with it for Denny to come inside.
“We’ll talk in the garden,” the old man said. He led the way through the house and out through a back door into the luscious garden. There were several benches and tables scattered about, and he walked to the furthest one from the house and sat down. Denny noted that the whiskey bottle was already on the table.
“So?” the old man groused. “Did you find any evidence?”
Denny sighed as he sat across the table from his uncle. “I’m afraid I did,” he said. “I slipped inside and created a way for one of our people to get into Starbright’s computer system, and she was able to find several items that are rather incriminating. Would you like to see them?” He had his large smartphone in his hand.
“I don’t need to see a bloody thing,” Devon said. “I saw the guilt in his eyes, I don’t need you to confirm it for me. I only want to know what you found so that I won’t look like a bloody sod in front of the Crown Prosecutor. Tell me what it is, that’s all.”
Denny nodded. “Very well,” he said. “There was an email sent by Hickam that said he had received authorization from someone to target the winner of the big award on the show. That turned out to be the boy who was shot, of course, so we can tie him directly to the shooting. There is a recording of a telephone conversation between Hickam and an American whose voice is digitally distorted, where they talk about how, after the award program, they will gain some sort of power. And then there is a bit of security video footage that shows a known assassin, Pierre Reynard, sitting in a car and speaking with someone driving a Starbright vehicle. The footage was taken in the Starbright car park, and our people back in the States have linked Reynard to the people who actually arranged for the boy to be shot. Taken altogether, there is sufficient evidence to launch an investigation, and I shall be taking it to CPS in the morning.”
“They shall be glad to get it,” Devon said. “The Chief Executive, Arthur Lansdowne, called me a bloody nincompoop when we had dinner tonight. Couldn’t believe it, he said, without evidence. I told him you were here, and would be getting the evidence. And don’t you take it in without me. That bloody sod is going to apologize, mark my words.”
Denny’s eyes were wide. “You told the Chief Executive of CPS that Benjamin Hickam ordered a shooting in the States, and that I was bloody burglarizing Starbright to get evidence? Have you gone bloody daft?”
“I told him about the shooting, and that I’m absolutely certain of Ben’s guilt. All I said about you was that you work for some bleeding company that’s investigating, and that you would be bringing me proof. He told me I was mad, that Hickam would never do such a thing, and then he called me a nincompoop.”
Denny was on his feet and looking around carefully. “Uncle,” he said, “I think it might be best if we take a drive.”
“At this bloody time of night? Now who’s daft?”
“Uncle Devon, Arthur Lansdowne is on the board of directors of Starbright. If you told him what’s going on, then Hickam knows about it by now. If he’d order an American teenager shot, just what do you think he’ll do to you?”
“He’ll not do a damn thing to me,” Chamberlain said. “D’ye know how many times I saved his life?”
“Yes, well, and now you’re about to put his neck in the noose! I don’t think he’s going to be thinking a lot about favors he might owe you, he’s going to be thinking about how to shu
t you up.” He reached out and took hold of the old man’s arm and tried to lift him to his feet, but Chamberlain slapped him away.
“Get your hands off,” the old man shouted. “I’m not going anywhere, except possibly to bed when I’ve drunk enough of this rot.”
“Uncle Devon, please,” Denny said. “You’re drunk, so listen to someone who’s sober. I need to get you out of here, to somewhere safe. Ben Hickam won’t hesitate to order your death, probably less than he hesitated to order that boy shot. Remember when I was a teenager, running with my mates? What did you tell me then? ‘Friends, my boy, will always stab you in the back sooner or later.’ That’s what you said, and I need you to listen to your own advice for once. Now, come on, we need to find somewhere to keep you safe until…”
The sound seemed to come from behind him, but Denny knew full well that was a trick of echo. It was a loud cough, and he recognized it instantly as the sound of a silenced rifle. His uncle sat up straight suddenly, and his eyes went wide open, and then he let out a long sigh and slowly toppled over onto the ground.
Denny had dived under the table, his pistol in his hand even before he moved. A second shot struck the flagstones beside him, throwing sparks and chips of rock that peppered his face. He couldn’t tell where it had come from, because the sound suppressor was also hiding the muzzle flash. He fired a couple of shots in the general direction he thought might be close to the shooter, then scrambled over to his uncle and checked for a pulse.
There was none. He looked quickly at the old man’s back and knew that the bullet had undoubtedly pierced his heart.
He heard a rustling in the brush and jumped to his feet. The shooter was running, and Denny had no intention of letting him get away. He started to run in the direction of the sound, but then spun and ran through the house, out the front door, and toward his car.
A vehicle started somewhere on the road as Denny leaped behind the wheel and hit the button to start the engine. He slammed the car into reverse and backed out just as a Land Rover shot past the end of the driveway.