The Dark Trail

by J. C. Fields

  At 6:34 p.m., Kruger walked into the kitchen of his home in Springfield. Stephanie, having heard the garage door open, was standing next to the kitchen island with a worried look on her face. Kristin and Mikey stood next to her, their normal habit of running into his arms forgotten as they reflected their mother’s concern.

  With a smile, he knelt and spread his arms. Both kids ran to him and he gave them a big hug. Once they were satisfied all was normal, they both ran off to another section of the house with their usual laughter.

  Standing, Kruger went to his wife and gave her a tight embrace.

  She asked, “What happened?”

  “I signed all the paperwork, so I don’t have to do that later. I get my final paycheck at the end of the month. There will be a lumpsum check included for all my unused vacation and my pension will start in July.”

  “So that’s it?”

  He nodded. “As far as the FBI is concerned. There’s more.”

  With a frown, she pushed away and stared at him. “What?”

  “As of June 23rd, I work for the President of the United States as the Special Agent in Charge of a commission looking into the murder of Alan Seltzer.”

  She started to smile but stopped. Her forehead furrowed. “Is this a good thing, Sean?”

  “Yes, a very good thing.”

  Now smiling, she returned to his embrace and put her head against his chest. “Good. Maybe you won’t be so grumpy.”

  “Maybe.”

  ***

  JR arrived at his office a few minutes after six the next morning. The only illumination on the second floor came from lights in the soundproof conference room in the far corner. Years before, Kruger received his own key to the building and his own code to arm and disarm the security system. His name was also on file with the Springfield Police and Fire Departments as an alternate contact in the case of emergency. Seeing his friend already in the conference room this early did not surprise him.

  Turning on a few select light switches near his cubicle, JR noticed a pot of coffee already prepared and waiting for him. He poured a cup and opened the door to the room. “You’re here early.”

  Kruger smiled and looked up from his laptop. “Lots to do.”

  “Thought you were retiring.”

  “I am, but not today.”

  Sipping his coffee, JR tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s why I called a meeting. We’re not done searching for Monk. I got a reprieve.”

  “Let me guess—Joseph got involved.”

  “He did, but the president actually came up with the idea. Little did I know six years ago when Ryan and I kept him from being shot by a sniper, he would come to my rescue.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “Let’s put it this way. I officially retire from the FBI on June 23rd. On June 24th, I become the Special Agent in Charge of a task force created by the president for the sole purpose of finding, arresting and convicting Dorian Monk for the murder of twenty individuals and Deputy Director Alan Seltzer.”

  “Since you mentioned a task force, I take it the rest of us are involved.”

  “Yes. I’ll get to the details during our meeting. But our team is intact, and we have a mission to carry out.”

  “Just us?”

  “No, the FBI still has an active investigation into Alan’s murder. Their focus is now on searching for Dorian Monk. Unfortunately, they also have other investigations they need to conduct. Our team will have no other duties. We are to concentrate on this to its conclusion.”

  “Then what?”

  Kruger smiled and shrugged. “Guess I’ll finally get a chance to sit on the front porch in a rocking chair.”

  JR snorted. “I seriously doubt that.” He set his coffee cup down and went to his cubicle to retrieve a laptop. After returning, he sat next to Kruger and opened it. “I discovered something yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  “I got to thinking about the bank accounts used by the colleges and universities to pay Monk over the years. Knowing where he taught allowed me to find the ones used to pay him. Most of them are closed or inactive.”

  “Kind of what we suspected.”

  “Yes, however, I found one we didn’t suspect.”

  One of Kruger’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  With a nod, JR pointed at the now-active laptop. “It appears Dorian Marshall had an account with well over a quarter million dollars in it. I found it yesterday in a large bank in San Francisco, California.”

  “Had?”

  “I’ll get to that in a second.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same guy?”

  JR nodded. “One of the first mistakes I’ve seen him make. He used the same social security number for this account as he did for the college accounts. What concerned me about this account was the amount of money. That’s a lot for a professor, not to mention a part-time one.”

  Kruger was quiet as the stared at the computer screen. “Yes, it is.” He paused. “How did an adjunct professor accumulate that much cash?”

  With a smile JR said, “I asked myself the same question. He’s considered a mathematical genius, correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s also very clever with computers from what I can determine. I checked the deposits and found something strange.”

  “What?”

  “All the deposits were from internal transfers within the same bank.”

  “Wouldn’t the bank notice that?”

  “One would think so, but apparently it didn’t.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “Dorian Monk hacked into the bank and placed an algorithm into the system which rounds up any transaction to the next penny. Those pennies are automatically transferred to a variety of accounts and when the totals reach a random amount, they are transferred to the account for Dorian Marshall.”

  “A penny? That’s not a lot.”

  “No, it’s not, and when you think about it, more than likely unnoticeable. But when done over millions of transactions it can add up fast.”

  “JR, wouldn’t a bank audit or a business account audit find something like that?”

  “Yes, but only after the fact. If the money is transferred out and the account closed before the audit, well…”

  “It could be extremely difficult for the bank to get the money back.”

  “Exactly, particularly if the money is transferred numerous times afterward. Besides, bank accounts are covered by FDIC insurance. The banks blame it on a software glitch, files a claim, reimburses the affected accounts, keep their mouths shut and no one knows any different.”

  “Did that happen?”

  His answer was a nod.

  “Do you think he’s done it before?”

  “I have no proof, but I would say yes. If he’s done this in numerous banks over the course of five or six years…” He shrugged.

  “There’s no telling how much money he has stashed away.”

  “I would say that’s a fair statement. There’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the virus I wrote being out in the wild.”

  Kruger folded his arms and waited.

  “Let’s assume Monk is the Chronos from the chatroom where the virus discussions occurred.”

  “Okay, let’s.”

  “Monk also recognized my name during our interview, right?”

  “Yeah, I thought it strange.”

  “So, did I. When I attended MIT, I used my birth name. Plus, we didn’t meet at Black Hat either. I’ve checked—none of his known aliases have ever registered for the conference.”

  A frown appeared on Kruger face, but he remained silent.

  “So how did the Russians know to look for the virus during their DDS attack?”

  “What about other hackers in the chatroom?”

  “Possibly, but I believe we have to assume it was Monk.”

  “I hate
assumptions.”

  “I know, so do I, but they sometimes lead to conclusions.”

  Kruger folded his arms and smiled. “I will assume you have a conclusion.”

  JR nodded. “Dorian Monk isn’t a loner—he’s part of a larger organization.”

  Kruger was quiet for a while. His gaze locked on JR. “Let’s suppose you’re correct. Can you follow the money from the bank in San Francisco?”

  JR shrugged. “I think so. What are you thinking?”

  “If he’s connected to a larger group, we need proof.”

  “Let me see if I can follow the money trail.”

  “By all means try. This may be the first break we’ve had since he disappeared.”

  ***

  By 7:25 a.m. Kruger’s team was present with Ryan Clark talking to them through a Polycom SoundStation in the middle of the conference room table. While he was outside getting a fresh cup of coffee, Kruger smiled and watched the individuals in the room interact. He considered them friends and would miss working with them after the conclusion of the Dorian Monk affair.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Time to get this new phase of the investigation started.

  The room went silent as he sat at the head of the table, all eyes on him and expressing a note of concern. He started, “Thanks for coming in early.”

  Nods around the table.

  “I was in Washington yesterday.”

  No one spoke.

  He continued, “I have good news about the investigation.”

  Sandy Knoll said in his gravelly voice, “About damn time.”

  “Yes, it is Sandy. As you all know, I have a birthday coming up in less than two weeks and will be forced to retire from the FBI.”

  From the speaker phone, Clark said, “That policy sucks.”

  Everyone at the table agreed with a nod.

  Knoll smiled. “I’ve seen that look in your eye before, Sean. You got something up your sleeve?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. As of June 24th, I will become the SAC of a special task force looking into the murder of Deputy Director Alan Seltzer.”

  Smiles erupted around the table. JR folded his arms and sat back to watch everyone else.

  They heard Clark from the speaker. “Where does that leave us, Sean?”

  “Right there with me.”

  Everyone clapped.

  Kruger proceeded to go over the details as he knew them and then said, “Any questions?”

  Jimmie Gibbs spoke for the first time that morning. “What happens when this is over, Sean?”

  Clasping his hands in front of him, Kruger studied them for a few seconds. With a sad smile, he said, “All of you who are with the FBI will go back to your previous assignments with the agency. Alexia will return to her duties with JR’s company and JR will do what JR normally does. I will retire and spend more time with my family.”

  Jimmie stared at Alexia and she stared back. He turned to Kruger. “I’m not moving.”

  “That’s your decision, Jimmie. But the agency will take a dim view of it.”

  “Don’t care.”

  Knoll cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it, Jimmie. Things have a way of working out.”

  “Yeah, they do.”

  Kruger noted the knowing looks between the two men and almost smiled.

  Chapter 17

  Somewhere in the Western United States

  Dorian Monk stepped out of the rustic log cabin onto the wood-plank front porch. Located within the tree line of the Rocky Mountains in western Wyoming, the isolated cabin usually helped Monk resolve problems. But after a month of solitude, he was no closer to a solution.

  Built before the start of World War II by his mother’s big-game hunting father on land owned by the family since the late 1800s, the cabin provided a getaway for members of his family for decades. The one-room cabin possessed few modern amenities. A fireplace for cooking and heating, a twin mattress and frame for sleeping, an elevation that kept temperatures comfortable in the summer, a recently added chemical toilet and a spring-fed hand water pump. This far into the mountains, access to electricity remained elusive, which was fine with Monk. The lack of power kept the cabin off the grid and away from prying eyes.

  Shopping for supplies and trips to a WIFI spot in Lander, Wyoming were the only times he ventured from the cabin. During his isolation, he’d allowed his beard and hair to grow. With a hat and dark aviator sunglasses, he no longer resembled the individual who shuffled from classroom to classroom at Hendrick College.

  A thick stand of trees surrounded the area. After decades of visiting the cabin, he could name each tree species found on the property. They included Colorado Blue Spruce, Douglas-Fir, Lodgepole Pine, Cottonwoods, Ponderosa Pine, Rocky Mountain Juniper, and White Fir. Firewood was plentiful just from fallen trees in the surrounding woods. East of the cabin were the lowlands and to the northwest, the higher elevations of Yellowstone National Park.

  If not for the fact the FBI knew about him, he would have relished this length of time isolated and separated from mankind. Normally, he would stay less than two weeks several times a year at the cabin. In the past, the solitude helped him solve mathematical problems which normally led to a published paper. However, solving the equation of how the FBI found him continued to elude him.

  This mental exercise occupied most of his waking hours. Recalling each and every one of his exploits, the only misstep he could identify occurred during the last one. Eliminating the Deputy Director of the FBI had taken meticulous and detailed planning. Knowing where the security cameras were located and timing his attack precisely to avoid them, at first glance, seemed to work perfectly.

  Unless…

  He gathered his laptop and placed it in his satchel. The drive to Laramie, Wyoming would take over four hours. He knew of several privately owned motels in and around the area which still preferred to be paid in cash. He would stay a few days and use their Wi-Fi to do the research to answer the question of how the FBI found him.

  ***

  The time approached ten-thirty p.m. as JR prepared to shut down his computer and return home. The only light still illuminated on the second floor was located above his workspace. The normal sounds from the cubicle farm would commence again at seven in the morning and last another fourteen hours.

  His company now had over a hundred associates spread across the country. While others managed the day-to-day administrative duties, his role in the company remained the same He was the individual who assessed and identified computer problems for new clients. Once his assessments were complete, others took over for implementation of a solution. A key figure in this implementation was one of his better hires—Alexia Montreal Gibbs, wife of retired Navy Seal and current FBI agent Jimmie Gibbs.

  Weariness swept over JR as he thought about the coming retirement of his friend Sean Kruger. The man’s status as a legendary FBI agent, in many respects, had helped grow his business. Assisting Kruger’s investigations had also helped him maintain his edge as one of the better computer hackers in the country.

  As he looked up, he saw Alexia approaching his cubicle.

  “What are you doing here this late, JR?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  She smiled and raised her backpack. “Jimmie and I actually had a date tonight. We went to a movie and then a late dinner. I left my computer here while we were out. I’ll be working from home tomorrow. That’s my excuse. What’s yours?”

  “This Monk character has me stumped. I can’t get a line on him at all.”

  “Did following the money not work?”

  JR shook his head. “It hasn’t so far.”

  She nodded. “Where do you think he is?”

  “That’s the key question right now. We don’t know.”

  “You know where he isn’t, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t have a presence on the internet, right?”

  JR nodded
.

  “What if he has a presence on the dark web?”

  With a frown, JR tilted his head and stared at her.

  “I’ve been thinking, and this is pure speculation, what if he’s not acting alone like everyone thinks?”

  “It’s a possibility we’ve been considering.”

  “When I first thought about this, I looked up some statistics from the FBI Uniform Crime Report. Fifty percent of all murders are committed by someone unknown to the victim. Here is another surprising fact—of the total numbers of murders in 2017, forty percent went unsolved. Which means of the 15,129 murders committed in 2017, 4,292 were for unknown reasons, were committed by unknown persons and went unsolved.”

  JR continued to stare. “Where did all of that come from?”

  “I just told you, The FBI Uniform Crime Report. It’s called the UCR.”

  With a thoughtful nod, he said, “So, you think there’s a group that communicates with each other on the dark web who are randomly murdering people of color or ethnic backgrounds and are getting away with it?”

  Alexia frowned. “When you put it that way, it sounds silly.”

  “It doesn’t sound silly. It connects dots Sean and I couldn’t connect.”

  She glanced at her cell phone. “I’ve got to go, JR. We can discuss this further tomorrow. Remember, I’m working from home.”

  “Okay.”

  She left and JR turned to stare at the three flat screen monitors on his desk. “No, Alexia, it doesn’t sound silly. It just might be the direction we need to look at.”

  ***

  The Next Morning

  “You’re saying Alexia figured this out?”

  “Yes.”

  Kruger stared at a spot on the far side of the cubicle farm and sipped coffee. “What do you think?”

  As JR poured a fresh cup from the coffee service, he said, “After she left last night, I started digging around. While there are a lot of websites on the regular web that spew white nationalist propaganda, it’s nothing like what I found on the dark web.”