When Jacob pulled the car even with the alley entrance Henry bent low and scooped Marie into his arms. He laid her gently on to the backseat and climbed in to the passenger side. “Let’s pick up the recordings and get going for the camp. I’d rather be there when she wakes up than trapped here in the car. I’d hate to have to hit her again.”
“Yes, sir,” Jacob checked for non-existent traffic and pulled out. “We may need a pharmacy first.”
Henry looked at his face in the mirror conveniently located on the visor. “Yeah but let’s get a little farther from the scene of the crime. I’m going to need a new shirt, too.”
Special Agent Marlon Hirschenbaum strode quickly to his government issued sedan. The stop at Brandt’s apartment had been a waste of time. The man wasn’t home and Hirsch was not prepared to begin questioning his neighbours. Not yet.
While he’d been knocking on the door of an apartment that felt empty the phone at his hip had begun the equivalent of having a nervous breakdown. It began shaking and trilling several high pitched tones he wasn’t sure he recognized and definitely not when they were all going off at the same time.
Simultaneously the cell phone in his jacket pocket began doing the same insane dance. Hirsch had struck buttons on each device and turned back to the door. He had debated leaving his card in the crack of the door before deciding against it. He’d like to keep the element of surprise for the moment. This impulsive visit had been a mistake.
Ensconced in the driver’s seat Hirsch looked at the displays on each phone. He used Smart Phones for his personal and professional communications. Each phone came with programs, or apps, already installed. Several of these he didn’t use and wouldn’t recognize the icons for if they blinked at him for the next dozen years.
Several of those icons were blinking now, on both phones. Hirsch selected his work phone – let them pay for it if the thing blew up – and tapped the notifications. His brow creased and he checked each message on both phones. They were telling him the same thing.
Bradley Witson was in personal danger.
That was it. There were no details enclosed with the messages. The only sense of urgency came from the fact that he’d been reached by both phones at the same time and using programs he hadn’t been aware he possessed. That was child’s play for someone of Wit’s skill and talent. He liked to show off. Hirsch had to decide how seriously to take these contacts.
His stomach growled and that made the decision for him. He’d go over, talk to Wit and find out what was going on. Because he had skipped lunch to talk to Marie Chase he would stop at a deli near Wit’s condo. He’d pick up dinner for both of them and consider it his nod to good karma. He’d find out what was making Wit paranoid and then he’d go home and start reading the new Vince Flynn novel. A solid plan if he did say so himself.
The buzzer from the front door broke Wit’s concentration. He used his foot on a switch in the floor and the door was unlocked to allow the guest entrance. George had been instructed to let two people through without calling ahead, Hirsch and Marie. He hadn’t received a text from Marie telling him of her arrival time so the process of elimination dictated it had to be Hirsch.
He’d also cheated, though he wouldn’t admit it. There was a GPS tracker in the remote starter fob on Hirsch’s keychain. Wit had installed it the day Hirsch had come to the islands and interrupted his fun time. It was a prototype he’d been working on at the time and today had seemed like a good day to test it.
Half an hour ago he’d used The Command Center to load the maps program he had designed to go with the trackers he had built. It was a program he had integrated into IGGY and he made a mental note to explore those options at a later date. The screen had started with a long view of New York State and then zoomed in until a small arrow with a picture of a scowling Hirsch glaring at him appeared.
An address had come up on the screen and told him Hirsch was at Bannerman’s Deli and Small Goods. Wit had no idea what constituted the small goods; the man only sold sandwiches that were served with the biggest pickles Wit had ever seen.
“I hope you remembered to get the sauerkraut on the side this time,” he called out when he heard footsteps coming down the hall.
“Who’s your decorator, a swooning virgin from the 1800’s?” Hirsch laid the file next to Wit’s elbow. “I got your message.”
“Obviously,” Wit acknowledged. “What about the sauerkraut?”
Hirsch shoved the greasy deli bag into Wit’s stomach. “It should be in a container. How did you know I was at Bannerman’s?” Hirsch pulled a wheelie chair over to an empty section of the arched desk. He laid several napkins out and retrieved his turkey on rye. No one made a sandwich like Bannerman. Using a separate napkin as a bib he eyed the enormous construct in front of him.
“I guessed. It took you forever to get here.” Wit bit in and stifled a groan.
“Traffic,” Hirsch told him. “Besides, you don’t appear to be in mortal danger. I figured that would elicit an actual phone call.” When he’d eaten his fill and cleaned his hands and face as best he could he gestured to the file. “I brought the file, as ordered.”
“Did you read it this morning?” Wit asked.
“No, when I saw it was another of your vendetta files against the Brotherhood I thought I would start with Marie’s instead. There was some interesting information in there. I assume you only recently met Marie? I thought I was familiar with all of your friends.”
“Only because you’re nosy,” Wit told him. “Yes, I recently met Marie. She needed help and I offered it. It’s been about a week.”
“Usually you’re more concise about time but I’ll ignore that for now. There’s no way you put the file on Brandt together in seven days. Can I assume IGGY is up and running?”
The glint in Wit’s eye was answer enough.
“Brad, do you realize what you’ve done? How many laws that program breaks merely by existing?” The words were correct but the tone was not; Hirsch was as excited about IGGY as Wit and that enthusiasm leaked out. “There are so many people who are going to want to talk to you.”
“Talk to me or put me in jail?” Wit’s question was serious.
“Start by talking,” Hirsch said. “I believe you can count on calls from each of the Alphabet Agencies.” At Wit’s cocked brow he continued, “You know, the CIA, FBI, NSA, etc.”
“That’s one of the many reasons I don’t want anyone to know about IGGY,” Wit said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve already sent two of IGGY’s files to me. At least one will end up in a federal file somewhere.”
“No,” Wit shook his head, “you’ll be leaving this one here when we’re done. The other, well, that could have easily been put together in a week assuming I never ate or slept. The last time I looked in the mirror it seemed that could have been a possibility, don’t you think?” He spread his arms and twisted in the chair.
“Not after the way you put that food away,” Hirsch disagreed. “I think you’re crazy but we can try to play it your way. For now. You are absolutely not going to put my job in jeopardy.”
“No, you’re the only person keeping me out of prison,” Wit agreed. “I hear that’s a nasty place and I’d rather keep avoiding it.”
“We will have to figure out some new rules for how you contact me officially.”
“I agree with you. Okay, can we go back to the main point? I’ve had time to think about the situation and, though I’m not sure it’s urgent, I need you up to speed.”
“What’s the situation?”
“The Brotherhood has purchased enough chemicals to cause some serious damage in New York City. I suppose they could pick a different city to make their point but they seem to be targeted here. I could be biased after the night club.”
“You’re definitely biased but I don’t hold that against you. Are you sure?”
“I’m as sure as I can be. I’ve read emails and seen digital copies of the invoices.”
“To the same address you already have on file. I guarantee they’ve been moved.”
Hirsch laid down his pen. “I’m sure you’re right. This is serious but it doesn’t sound like you’re in personal danger. No more than usual anyway. I may end up smacking you around, the day is young.”
“Ha ha,” Wit fake laughed. “The personal danger thing is something else. I found out it involves you, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“IGGY is working as an archaeologist, digging through the Brotherhood’s emails. IGGY’s going through their hard drives and network, too. Information is coming in slowly, I’m getting things about a month behind and then, of course, IGGY has to search it for keywords and basic information so it can be compiled in a way that makes sense to you or me.”
“That is some serious programming.” Hirsch was in awe. He’d known the young man was determined but he had no idea how up to date the information could be.
“Once IGGY catches up to current events I’ll receive upates as soon as they do.”
“Okay, forewarned is forearmed.”
“Right. I’ve been under surveillance. It was going on for sure when I came back to New York. There are pictures of my arrival from the airport. I remember what outfit I was wearing. That picture had been emailed to Father Roger and another member within half an hour of my coming home. I suspect they had an eye on me in the islands, too, though I haven’t gone back far enough to confirm that.”
He continued explaining the alarm. “A car was rented and gas supplied to said car through a credit card issued to the Brotherhood. I still can’t believe they’re a business,” Wit snorted in disgust. “The fill ups have been charged to gas stations located near here. And then I saw the next grouping of pictures.”
Hirsch leaned forward and looked at the screen over Wit’s shoulder. The young man pointed and Hirsch saw himself, repeatedly, all over town. He felt violated and disgust at never picking up the tail. Hirsch angled away.
“The trial is coming up. It’s in two weeks, right?” he asked.
Wit checked the date in the corner of his monitor. “More like ten days,” he answered.
“Then it would make sense for them to be keeping an eye on us. They’re looking for dirt to cast credibility issues. I’ll be fine,” Hirsch looked pointedly at Wit, “but what can they dig up on you?”
“Them? Not a thing. I keep myself covered, you know that.”
“Okay then. We’ll worry about the personal danger alarm later. Right now I want to read that file and we should try to figure out what their next target is going to be.”
“Jeez,” Wit muttered, “you sound like a detective or something.”
Hirsch smacked the back of Wit’s head with his open palm. “Point me to a work station. I have another file on the Brotherhood at the office. I can remote in from here.” He paused. “Do you already have a copy?”
Wit whistled innocently. He stood and moved to the two left most screens, top and bottom. He unclipped a latch and the monitors smoothly swung around until they were aimed for Hirsch’s use. Wit hit a button and a virtual keyboard appeared on the desk in front of Hirsch. He waved his hand in a ta-da gesture and stepped back.
Each monitor had a document on it. Hirsch saw they were the files he and Wit had put together separately, sitting side by side. Professionally he was curious to see how Wit’s report matched up to his own. Both men sat in their chairs and began reading.
The familiar musty smell of a building long closed up was the first thing Marie recognized when she began to wake from the horrible dream she’d been having. It reminded her of the hunting cabin Michael had taken her to when they went on the canoe trip. Michael? No, James.
A lamp next to her gave off dull illumination. She rolled her eyes to the side and her skull followed. Her brain screamed in raging hot agony, an abrasion scraped over ragged asphalt. Marie vowed to never move again. She must have hit her head very hard. What kind of tests did they do for that? She could answer various questions but without anyone around to tell her if she was correct or not it would be a pointless exercise meant only to make her feel better. She could skip that for now.
The musty smell had assailed her nostrils when she’d turned her head. Bracing herself Marie looked down the length of her body. She was lying on a reclining lawn chair, propped up comfortably. There was a chill in the air, Marie could feel it on her hands, but she appeared to be wearing a khaki vest she’d never seen before and it was keeping the chill at bay.
The room was empty of furniture. The ceilings were high and a large white paddle fan spun lazily. The walls were either pine or panelled in a pine look alike - Marie was too far away to tell with her slightly blurred vision.
The floors were hardwood, a dark colour Marie couldn’t name. There were sweep marks in the dust from a haphazardly done task. As though on cue her allergy to dust kicked up and she sneezed rapidly three times in a row. The pain waxed and waned and she was thankful it hadn’t rattled her as badly as when she first woke up. She waited for someone to reflexively bless her and when that didn’t happen Marie knew she was alone in the room.
She wasn’t alone for long. A door opened and a man came in carrying several items. It was the elder of the two men from the alley. He looked her over and seemed glad she was awake.
Henry came over to her and began fidgeting with the vest. Marie tried to squirm away and found she could not. Her wrists and ankles were tied to the long lawn chair.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her voice broke from fear or pain or both.
Henry did not answer her. He began looping bright yellow wires through the various pockets of the vest. Marie hadn’t realized there were things in the pockets until this moment and that’s when she felt how weighted the khaki vest was.
“What’s in the pockets? What are you doing?” She watched, enthralled, as he tugged on wires to make sure they were secure. “Why won’t you answer me?”
He looked up at her and made a shush motion with his finger to his lips. Apparently he really wasn’t going to answer her questions. The door opened again and the younger man entered. He had a newspaper and a camera with him. He did not look at Marie or speak, merely waited for orders from Henry.
When he was sure the vest was hooked up the way he had envisioned it, the way he’d seen the pictures on the internet, Henry waved Jacob over. He took the newspaper from him and laid it across Marie’s lap. She noticed it was that day’s paper, the headline was one she had read that morning. He folded and propped it in a way that left the date visible.
Marie realized this was starting to feel like a scene from a movie. Had she been kidnapped? Is that something that actually happened in the modern era?
“What are you doing?” she kept angling to get away and made no progress. Once again Henry raised his head to look at her and gave her the shushing motion. He patted her hand and Marie took no comfort from the move. His calloused hand gave her chills.
Jacob stepped closer to the chair and laid an alarm clock in between her slightly spread knees. She could see the face of it and realized it was not an alarm clock per se. It appeared to be set to countdown unless 13:00 was a real time. Militarily it would be 1300 so automatically she discounted that thought.
Dear God, were these men putting a bomb on her? She began to shake and prayed she wouldn’t wet her pants in fear. It felt like a very real possibility.
Henry finished adjusting the wires and clock. He stepped back and took in the entire view. Henry was well aware of the nightmares Wit had suffered from since the nightclub bombing. If this didn’t make him do what they wanted then nothing would. He stepped forward, straightened the clock and stepped back. Still without speaking he took a photo with the digital camera. He jerked his thumb to the door and both men exited the room which left Marie feeling very alone and very frightene
d.
She tried to count seconds and keep track of time but she couldn’t concentrate. She’d make it to ten and her mind would wander, hoping this was all some sort of nightmare she’d wake up from if only she could figure out how.
“My eyes feel like they’re turning square.”
“What?” Hirsch asked distractedly.
“I’ve been staring at too many screens for way too long,” Wit explained. ”We should get up and move or something.”
“And what, take a walk? These idiots appear to be planning to blow something up in New York City,” Hirsch reminded him.
“Yeah but it’s not likely to happen tonight,” Wit countered. He stood and went to the small closet. He removed something and kept it behind his back. “If we go into information overload we won’t be able to make sense of any of it. And IGGY gave us a lot of information.”
“You’re right. Give me five more minutes,” Hirsch requested, “I want to finish this section. It’s about their travels. I might be able to zero in on their headquarters.” He turned back to the screen on the right and continued reading.
“That has been driving me crazy,” Wit agreed. He turned to the wall and pitched the red bouncy ball against it, caught it, threw it again, caught it. “I think it’s in the Catskills. I can’t quite figure out where.” He angled the ball for a better ricochet that involved the ceiling and floor in his game.
His eyelid twitching with every bounce of the ball Hirsch abruptly stood up from the computer. “Let’s go for a swim. You’re driving me crazy with that thing.”
Wit gave a smirk. He enjoyed manipulating Hirsch. He couldn’t get away with it very often so this was a small victory. He picked his phone up from the counter and frowned at the display. “Have we really been working on this for five hours?”
At Wit's End Page 12