“Fine.” Wit acknowledged grudgingly. He had an image of bursting into the room where Marie was being kept, guns blazing, and saving and the day. The fact he had never shot a gun away from a shooting range meant very little to him at the moment. “To answer your question, yes, I can track her. I don’t even need IGGY for it.”
A few moments later Wit’s brow creased. “Even if her phone were off I should be able to get her GPS. It’s an emergency services thing.” He looked sheepishly at Hirsch. “Sorry, sometimes I forget who I’m talking to. Give me a few minutes. I can try a few other things. IGGY is going on the job after all.”
“I have information on Ingerhoffe,” Hirsch told him. “I’ll look through it while you do that. Let me know if you need me.”
“This makes no sense,” Wit grumbled a short time later.
“What’s that?” Hirsch asked.
“There is no current signal. I’m assuming the men who took her destroyed her phone. She’s going to be upset about that.”
“You can buy her a new one.”
“You’re right. I tracked her previous cell tower usage. I can see pretty much everywhere she’s been lately and, I’ll tell you this, there’s no way she’s been doing what the signals claim.”
“What do you mean?”
“This map,” Wit turned to a map of the United States, “isn’t large enough to show everywhere she’s been. Somehow the records have been changed or someone has some serious skills. Jamming with redirection? It’s not completely unheard of but high on the unlikely scale.”
“What do you mean?” Hirsch asked.
“Well, I can bounce my computer’s signal all over the world through different routers and techniques you are more than well aware of. If I connect a phone to the computer I can make the calling number anything I want from anywhere in the world. If it’s traced it would come back to some rum bar in Jamaica or a research lab on Antarctica.”
“The things you can - and have - done disturb me immensely,” Hirsch told him.
“And makes you proud at the same time?” Wit smiled sadly. “We’ve talked about this. People out there are going to know how to do these things and more. Isn’t it better to have someone on the side of the angels watching them?”
“It goes back to that saying; gaze into the abyss and it gazes back into you. I worry about you.” Hirsch told him.
“You shouldn’t.”
“No? What about that little detour when we came in?”
“That won’t happen again.”
“Tell you what. We’ll save this conversation for another day, one when I can’t personally guarantee that you’re on the side of the angels.”
“They’re called White Hats,” Wit told him.
“I know. I also know your hat is Grey. We will be revisiting this subject. Can you or IGGY get past whatever they did?”
“No,” Wit shook his head, “not any time soon. Even using borrowed Super Computers I don’t think I could do it.”
“Damn,” Hirsch exclaimed. “Okay, we’ll skip technology for now and go back to the old fashioned investigative techniques. I have some background information on Father Roger Ingerhoffe.”
“What’s the location?”
“Greentown, Pennsylvania. It’s near Promised Land State Park.”
“Never heard of it,” Wit replied, “but I’ll know a lot in a few minutes. It looks like there’s a lot of forest around there.” Wit zoomed in on the satellite image. “That is the kind of forest that breeds militias. I’m telling you.”
“There are militias in Delaware?” Hirsch asked incredulously. “That’s one of the white bred states in the Union. They’re harmless. Generally we get shell corporations through Delaware but other than that I have no idea about the crime populace or make-up.”
“Exactly,” Wit told him. “Who would think to look there?” Before he could continue with his theory his cell phone began vibrating across the desk. “I don’t know this number.”
“Answer it on speaker,” Hirsch told him. “I want to hear this. If it is them, don’t antagonize them. Let them have control of the conversation until we can figure out what they want. Stay calm. Can you do that?” The look on Wit’s face concerned him. Was there such a thing as murderous fear?
Wit nodded gravely and tapped the two buttons. “This is Bradley Witson,” he answered.
Roger Ingerhoffe and Uncle Henry left the room, ensuring the door was securely locked. It went against Ingerhoffe’s nature to lock an individual up, take away their right to freedom, but in this instance he had to. The two men awaiting trial were too important to the Brotherhood’s future plans and he would do whatever he had to in order to protect his flock.
Henry finally slid his cell phone into his pocket. “The men are ready and waiting for your orders, sir.” He continuously scanned the hallways as they walked. As the second in command it was his job to make sure their home base and other properties were maintained and he kept a running list of projects for the men and women to work on. “The third wing will be open next week, sir. There were some issues with the plumbing.”
“Did you ask Linda to look at it?”
“I did, sir, and she’s been changing out the pipes and fixing leaks.”
“It’s good we met Sister Linda when we were in Nebraska,” Ingerhoffe commented. He had gone to a rally and met Linda and Rhoda, two women unhappy with the state of politics and humanity in their state. By the end of the week Linda and Rhoda had left with Ingerhoffe. Linda was in charge of plumbing and Rhoda ran the Residence with an iron fist.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
The men walked through a large common area room, one in which guests watched television, played games or read books or newspapers and now used as a call centre and the heart of the Brotherhood’s operations.
The temperature in the room was quite high compared to the rest of the resort. Brother Marcus had explained that the number of running computers alone would be enough to cause that. Add in the hot bodies of the people manning those computers and the temperature went up exponentially.
Father Roger was satisfied to see each desk had someone sitting at it, diligently working and recruiting, even though it was well after 10:00 at night. Not everyone in the country went to bed early and Roger Ingerhoffe had a particular affection for the night owls. He recruited the people who called between the hours of 1 am and 4 am heavily.
Three hallways branched off of this common room. Each led to a different wing of the resort. The East Wing was dedicated to the residences and was where Roger and Henry had come from after leaving Marie. There were 300 rooms spread over three floors and almost half of them were filled with men, women and children. Recruitment had gone well since the United States had elected her first black president.
Father Roger touched shoulders and gave smiles of encouragement as they walked through the hub. Henry noted the deference Father Roger received and made note of anyone who seemed less than enthusiastic. It was important to keep up morale.
A PA system squawked overhead and requested Brother Jacob to the kitchens. It had been an ingenious idea to use the old system rather than have too many people using cell phones and radios at the same time. Using low tech communication methods was the best way to stay under the radar of people who would wish to stop the Brotherhood from advancing their goals. Father Roger was known for preferring the use of handwritten letters over email and his flock understood and followed suit.
“Have you seen Brother Marcus?” Ingerhoffe asked Henry.
They had entered the hallway to the North Wing and the noise ebbed. If the common area was the heart of the operation, the North Wing would be the brain. Henry and Roger made use of two of the hundreds of rooms. Marcus made use of the third – and last. No one was allowed in this section without being accompanied by one of the three men. No gate needed, Father’s request was enough of a deterrent.
Brother Marcus had been with Roger and Henry for nearly 10 years. He had been recruited onl
ine for a very special operation. One wouldn’t know it to look at the man as he had the look of a perpetual 12 year old with shaggy hair and a face plagued by acne but he was nearly 40 years old.
“Not yet,” Henry replied. “I’ll check his office. If he’s not there I’ll use the PA. I understand he’s been spending a lot of his time in the shed lately.”
“It’s good that he’s curious but I need him here,” Roger said. “It’s time to make the phone call. You sent the picture?”
“Yes, Father, of course.”
“I’ve told you to call me Roger when we’re not around the others. This Father thing gets weird after a while and you’ve been with me since we were in high school. That makes you family,” Roger said impatiently.
“And that’s what makes you the Father,” Henry laughed. “God, I hate being called Uncle. It reminds me of pedophiles. ‘Come here little girl,’” he said in a leering tone. “It’s disgusting.”
“It won’t be much longer. We’re making good progress. How are the Reds doing?” The Reds were the True Mission. They had been infiltrating Washington D.C. for nine years. The moniker was a shortened version of the capital’s NFL team. “Are there any problems I should be aware of?”
“The Secretary of State’s office is proving more difficult than we thought. Samson is working a few angles. I have a few contingency plans prepared in case he ultimately fails,” Henry answered.
“Keep me informed. I may appear busy running this place but you know where my heart lies,” Roger reminded him.
“I do. I’ll find Marcus and meet you in your office. It’s past time to make the call. We gave Witson more than enough time to imagine Marie blown to pieces.”
“Such a beautiful girl,” Roger whispered. Henry thought he heard him humming the nursery song again. Eccentric behaviour or something he should worry about?
The three men stood over the phone in Father Roger’s office. Marcus wore headphones attached to a laptop. After a few moments he aimed a finger in Ingerhoffe’s direction and indicated the line was ringing. Brother Marcus had used tricks none of the others would ever understand to bounce the phone number to China and back. He was confident Witson could not track the call.
“This is Bradley Witson.” The man’s voice wasn’t very strong. Roger had been correct in giving the young man time to think of his beloved with a bomb strapped to her chest in what could be called a homicide vest.
“This is Roger Ingerhoffe.” No need to deny his identity. If Witson hadn’t figured out that much by now it would only have been a matter of time. “I have Marie here with me though she can’t speak right now.”
“If you’ve hurt her I’ll be very upset,” Wit warned him. “Bad things can happen when I’m upset.”
“Are you really threatening me?” Ingerhoffe let loose a rolling laugh. “You know I hold all the cards. I have no desire to hurt you or Merrily,” he told him, “but I will if you leave me with no choice.”
Wit swallowed his anger. What had he just called Marie? “I can’t apologize for it.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. No one is going to get hurt if you do precisely what I tell you. First, however, do not call the authorities.” Ingerhoffe paused and looked at a notebook Marcus had placed in front of him. “We want to keep your friend Hirsch safe also, do we not? Keep him out of this.”
Hirsch shared a look with Wit and mimed a zipper over his mouth. Wit nodded. “What’s the price to free Marie? What do you think this is going to accomplish? You’re under a spotlight before the trial and you kidnap someone? I assume you took her over state lines. This is not going to end well for you.” Hirsch shook his head quickly but Wit ignored him.
“I want you to take a vacation,” Ingerhoffe told him. “Go back to the Islands, play around in Jamaica. Go somewhere no one will think to look for you.”
“There are better ways to make me get lost,” Wit said. “Why do you want me out of the country?”
“I want you somewhere a subpoena can’t find you,” Ingerhoffe answered. “Until two weeks after the start date of the trial. You’re their star witness and their case will fall apart without you.”
Not completely, Wit thought, there is always forensics. “I appreciate that you don’t want to kill me,” Wit said without sounding grateful at all, “and I do believe I could use a vacation.”
“You’re sounding very agreeable. I like that,” Ingerhoffe told him. Marcus gave a motion telling him to end the call. “We’ll be monitoring you. If you aren’t making reservations and packing within two hours I will be very disappointed. I hate to think a good Christian man would lie to another.”
Um, okay. “Whatever you want,” Wit said forcefully, “please don’t hurt her.”
“Thank you, Son. We’ll be talking again soon.”
Ingerhoffe ended the call and grinned broadly at Marcus. “That went well,” his voice boomed across the room. The volume expanded when he was in a good mood which had been often lately.
“Don’t count these particular chickens before they’ve hatched,” Marcus said. “I’ve known Wit for years. He’s unpredictable and sneaky.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Roger ordered. “Henry, I’m hungry. Shall we?”
Chapter 10
“You can’t leave the country, Bradley. There’s a chance you’d end up in prison for it,” Hirsch broke the silence in the room. He had to. The humming of the computers was driving him crazy.
Wit sat with his eyes closed. He had heard Hirsch but there was a nugget of something in the back of his brain tickling him with the thought he may have missed an important clue. He ignored the man while he tried to pull the idea into view. He opened his eyes and his gaze landed on the greasy bags from the deli.
“How did I know you were at the deli?” he asked Hirsch. There was a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“You tell me,” the older man answered. “I’ve given up on figuring out how you know some things.”
“A magician never reveals his tricks but this time I will. May I see your keys?” A perplexed Hirsch handed them over. Wit used a small tool to open the back. “I installed a tracer in your remote starter key fob.” He pried out the tiny element and showed it to Hirsch.
“You have got to be kidding me. You had me bugged?” Hirsch couldn’t sit still. He began pacing the room. Wit watched him pinball from wall to wall
“It’s not like I had audio or visual. I merely knew where you were twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”
“Right. You didn’t violate my privacy at all,” Hirsch rolled his eyes. “What’s the point of this confession?” He thought for a moment. “Oh my God, did you bug Marie, too?”
A devilish glint appeared in Wit’s eye. “I sure did.” He spun to the keyboard and loaded the program he’d minimized when Hirsch had first arrived. “Wait.”
Hirsch stood over his shoulder. He wanted to watch exactly how Wit did this. And we’re going to have a little chat about the fourth amendment later. “What’s wrong?”
“Ingerhoffe seemed confident he’d know if I wasn’t arranging my travel, didn’t he?” At Hirsch’s inquiring look he continued, “Between the jamming and bouncing of cell signals and that tone of confidence I think I might be better off using a cold machine.”
“Do you have one?”
“That’s a silly question,” Wit answered. He went to the closet and knelt. He peeled back a corner of the carpet and entered a code. A safe door swung open and he removed a laptop. “I keep this updated with everything I need. It’s never been connected to a network that’s connected to me.”
“Is that how you stay anonymous during your ‘investigations’?” Hirsch asked.
“It’s one of many. I’ll set up IGGY to run a diversion,” he said as he waited for the powerful laptop to boot up. He’d stored the latest version of IGGY on it a few nights ago while Marie had been sleeping; the same night he’d put the bug in her fob. “And voila! I have her location.”
Wit tur
ned the screen so Hirsch could see it. “That doesn’t look like Promised Land State Park. The blinking dot is too far away.”
Wit did some calculations. “I think that may be the Delaware State Park.” He selected the option for driving directions.
“It looks like it will take us about two hours to get there. That will give me time to get the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team scrambling.”
“You’d better hurry. It’s only going to take us an hour to get there in the Lamborghini.” Wit was packing a satchel with items he thought they may need. “There are some clothes in the guest room where your shorts were stored. Go put something dark on. That dress shirt will give us away from a mile out.”
Grumbling Hirsch did as told. While the man changed Wit set up his Command Center to space out several searches for airfare to various parts of the Caribbean. If his system was compromised this would keep the Brotherhood distracted.
He zipped up the pack and went to change before meeting up with Hirsch. He pressed a small button on the device he’d used on Michael Morrison’s phone and watched with satisfaction as the bars of signal displayed on Hirsch’s screen disappeared. He’d jammed Hirsch’s phone. No one was calling in back-up until he’d assessed the situation. Hirsch wouldn’t like it but he would have to deal with those feelings on his own time.
By the time the young bearded man had brought her dinner Marie had decided it was time to take action. She’d waited impatiently while he set the plate on the table just so and practically bowed out of the room. Had she not heard the lock of the door she would have felt like the honoured guest Roger purported her to be.
The chances of the meal being drugged were slim. If they hadn’t used drugs to knock her out and kidnap her then they probably wouldn’t use them in the food. Besides it smelled delicious. After one bite she would have begged the chef for the recipe.
Marie left the empty plate by the door and went to the bathroom. She closed that door and used the flimsy latch to lock it. The pressure from the faucet in the shower was strong and she used it to mask any sounds she was about to make.
At Wit's End Page 14