by J. C. Fields
Displaying a crooked smile, Jimmie Gibbs, said, “I’ll check it out.”
Before anyone could protest, Gibbs took off in the dark toward the SUV. Using the vehicle to hide his approach to the cabin, he stopped and felt the hood. The engine compartment was cool. Keeping low, he dashed to the left side of the log structure and peered around the corner toward the front door. Through his NVG’s, Gibbs could see the door slightly ajar. He keyed his mic. “Front door is open slightly. I’m checking it out.”
He crouched and approached the door low enough not to be seen through the window. Once at the door, he stood and listened and only heard silence. With the door hinges on the side where he stood, he quietly moved to the right side of the doorway and pushed the door open with the barrel of his AR-15. The silence remained unbroken.
He whispered into the mic, “Interior’s dark, no sound. Approach the right side for back-up.”
His response came as two clicks in his earpiece. Ten seconds later, Knoll stood next to him with Clark and Kruger on the opposite side of the door. Jimmie held up his fist with three fingers extended. He lowered each one until he made a fist and bolted inside with Knoll right behind him.
***
In the after-action report Kruger would file later, his description of the scene inside the cabin was labelled as gruesome.
Monk was found bound to a straight-back chair. Numerous fingers littered the cabin floor where they dropped after being severed. His eyes were bound by a wide strip of cloth and his head hung at an odd angle, revealing a fatal slash across his neck. Blood covered the floor around him.
Knoll and Gibbs, having seen worse in their tours overseas, started looking for the utensils used for the torture. Kruger holstered his Glock and stared at the lifeless body. After glancing at his watch, he calculated the time they’d seen the vehicle stationary on the GPS monitor and the current time as just over two hours. He said, “Sandy, which side of Monk’s car did you place the GPS tracker?”
“Driver’s side rear wheel well, why?”
“A hunch. Come with me, Ryan.”
Kruger found the unit Sandy had placed on the SUV and looked in each of the other wheel wells. Nothing. He slid under the Chevy and, using a flashlight, once again found nothing. Finally, he opened the driver’s door and looked at the On-Star unit. With Sandy’s satellite phone in hand, he punched in a number.
JR answered. “What’d you find?”
“A mess. Do you still have a backdoor into the On-Star system?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I need a vehicle traced.”
“Give me the VIN number.”
After JR had the number, he said, “I’ll call you back.”
Kruger ended the call and sat in the driver’s seat. He looked around the interior of the vehicle and started searching the glove box, center console and all the other nooks and crannies of a modern SUV.
Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated. “Talk to me.”
“The unit in that particular vehicle has been hacked, Sean.”
“Go on.”
“It’s sending a continuous signal, which is not how it’s supposed to work. To me, it looks like someone is holding the On-Star button continuously. You’re rummaging around in the interior opening and closing the glove box, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought so. I can hear everything you are doing and what you are saying. Someone was using it to keep track of Monk.”
“And someone is probably listening to me right now.”
“That would be a good assumption.”
Kruger stepped out of the SUV and made a call directly to Joseph Kincaid.
***
The first responders to the scene were Fremont County Deputy Sheriffs driving all-wheel drive Ford Police Interceptors and F-150 Police Responders. Clark and Knoll were the intermediators while Kruger and Gibbs waited to search the cabin. By midnight, FBI agents from the Denver Field Office arrived, along with a forensic technician and a medical examiner.
As the first hints of dawn began to illuminate the surrounding Lodgepole pines, Gibbs and Kruger were allowed into the cabin to start the search for any documents deemed important to the investigation of the late Dorian Monk. After the body was removed and on its way to Cheyenne, they donned latex gloves and started searching the interior. Thirty minutes later, Gibbs motioned for Kruger to join him.
“What does that look like, Sean?”
Kruger bent and examined the floorboards. “Huh.” He smiled. “A trap door hidden under a throw rug.”
“There’s dirt in the cracks. Doesn’t look like it’s been opened for a while.”
Using his cell phone, Kruger took a variety of pictures before Gibbs utilized a flathead screwdriver to pry open the section of floor. A two-foot by two-foot space was exposed, one barely large enough for a man to pass. Once the door was off, the bottom remained obscured in the gloom of the cabin.
Using a Maglite, Gibbs lay on the floor and stuck his head and hand with the flashlight into the opening. “This thing’s about five-feet-deep and ten-feet-square.” He stood and prepared to lower himself down. “It’s lined with banker boxes.”
“Okay, let’s get a few halogen lamps down there and see what we can find.”
One of the sheriff’s deputies offered a utility ladder from his truck and the FBI agents from Denver offered the halogen lamps. After pictures of the hidden chamber were taken, Kruger and Gibbs started removing the boxes.
The five-foot ceiling caused both to stoop over while lifting the heavy boxes through the small opening. Kruger’s back screamed with discomfort as the constant bending stretched seldom-used muscles. But he chose not to tell anyone.
With the files now on the front porch of the cabin, Kruger and Gibbs started their search. The vast majority of the documents were spiral notebooks with mathematical equations and handwritten notes of their meaning. Also found were numerous notebooks containing the outlines for the various papers Monk had published. After digging through the last box, Kruger felt a note of frustration.
“There isn’t anything here except the history and notes of a professor who taught classes and published papers.”
Gibbs remained quiet staring at one particular stack of boxes.
“What’s the matter, Jimmie?”
“Not sure. I’ve got a feeling about something.” He returned to the stack and opened the top box. Gibbs removed the contents. Three quarters of the way down was a flat piece of cardboard that created a false bottom. Gibbs looked at Kruger with a grin and lifted it. Underneath they saw manila folders bulging with papers. Kruger lifted one and started flipping through.
With a big smile, Kruger looked at Gibbs. “Bingo.”
Chapter 24
FBI Denver Field Office
Thomas Shark energetically shook Kruger’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, Sean.”
“Congratulations on your first assignment as a Special Agent in Charge.”
“I had a good mentor.”
During Shark’s first year as a rookie agent, he had assisted Kruger in finding a serial killer who used his job as a substitute school bus driver to kill unsuspecting customers of a convenience store chain. All because the shooter felt the chain’s stores were purposefully giving him lottery tickets that weren’t winners. Shark had also worked with Kruger on the investigation leading to the attempted terrorist bombing of the Bud Walton Arena in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Shark was the individual who had single handedly kept Kruger alive until the paramedics arrived after the premature detonation of the terrorist’s bomb.
Kruger blushed. “I never thanked you for what you did for me in Fayetteville.”
“Nothing to thank me for.”
“Yeah, well…”
“I understand you’re now a Special Agent in Charge with Homeland Security.”
“Urban legend. My current assignment is finding the person who murdered Alan Seltzer.”
“Is this Monk character responsibl
e?”
“We think he pulled the trigger. At first, the theory was he acted alone. But, with evidence gathered at his cabin, we now know he was receiving instructions from someone else.”
Shark smiled. “I was told to offer you all the assistance you needed, which I would have anyway.”
“That’s kind of you, Tom.” Kruger paused and folded his arms. “Do you have problems with survivalists here in Colorado?”
A quiet fell over the meeting. Taking a deep breath, Shark nodded. “It’s more than a problem. While we have a lot of legitimate individuals who are preparing for a collapse of society, others are using it as a ruse to conduct gang-like criminal activity.”
“Such as?”
“The usual stuff—drugs, prostitution, smuggling guns, protection rackets, et cetera. You name it, it’s being done.”
“Any problems with crimes against people with ethnic backgrounds?”
Shark nodded. “You have to remember Colorado is a fairly liberal-minded state, marijuana is legal here. However, as you venture further north up the Front Range Urban Corridor, attitudes change to a more libertarian disdain of any interference by government.”
“What’s the Front Range Urban Corridor?”
“The eastern side of the Rocky Mountains from Pueblo, Colorado up through Denver to Cheyenne, Wyoming. That encompasses about five million individual souls.”
“So, why is that a problem?”
“I hate the term, but I would call the individuals involved white nationalists.”
“How bad?”
“It gets worse the farther north you go. Lots of places to hide in the Rockies.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Tom.”
“No, I didn’t because, to be honest, we really don’t know the extent at this time. When you get into certain regions of the mountains, it resembles another country. Witnesses are either afraid to talk or they secretly agree with the groups.” He hesitated. “The bureau’s lost a few agents over the years.”
“Huh.”
Shark nodded. “I was sent here to clean it up. So far, I’m not making much progress.”
“Do the local authorities support your efforts?”
“Some do. Others shrug their shoulders and look the other way.”
“Let me guess—the more rural counties.”
“Not necessarily. If the sheriff’s been in office for a while, the office is helpful. It’s the newly elected ones who turn the blind eye.”
“What about state government?”
“Colorado is on board. Wyoming, not so much.”
“Why?”
“The previous SAC didn’t have evidence, but he thought these groups were contributing tons of money to members of the state legislature. He felt the governor was being pressured by members of his party to lay off. Apparently, he tried to clean it up and then, all of a sudden, stopped.”
“Is Paul Stumpf aware of this?”
Stark shook his head.
“Why not?”
“The previous SAC got frustrated with the problem and turned his attention to other priorities. I’ve only been here a month and everything I’m telling you is from discussions with other agents and from reading the retired SAC’s files.”
Kruger smiled and nodded. “Got it.” He paused and walked to the window in Stark’s office. He stood there and held his hands behind his back. “How many agents do you trust?”
There was silence from Stark.
Turning and glancing at him, Kruger raised his eyebrows. “That many?”
“I don’t know them well enough to trust yet. I’ve got some eager-beavers here in Denver, but the ones up in Wyoming have been around a while.”
With a smile, Kruger said, “Then it’s time for them to be transferred.”
“How’s that going to happen?”
The corner of Kruger’s mouth twitched. “Leave it to me. That way, you will have nothing to do with it and can start fresh with new agents of your own choosing.”
Shark smiled and nodded. “Can you tell me what you found in Monk’s cabin?”
“Not yet. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t completely understand it. What I can tell you is it appears he was part of a larger organization. An organization posing a serious threat to our country.”
***
The death of Dorian Monk presented two options for Kruger. One, he could disband his team, end his tenure with Homeland Security and retire. Or, his team could delve into the documents found in Monk’s mountain cabin and determine how serious the threat was. Kruger chose the latter.
Two days after his meeting with Shark, he was once again leaning against the credenza behind JR’s cubicle, sipping a cup of coffee. The original Keurig machine Kruger fussed about for years had eventually stopped working and been recycled. Replacing the Keurig and occupying its own serving cabinet and storage area was a Bunn commercial coffeemaker with a brewing station and two warming plates. A local company serviced it on a bi-weekly basis.
Kruger looked at the new unit. “I like this new system Jody authorized for the second floor.”
“I miss my Keurig.”
“Why? The coffee sucked.”
JR turned to look at his friend. “That’s a matter of opinion. I could experiment with different styles of coffee with the Keurig. All you get with that monstrosity over there is a brownish-black liquid that tastes the same every time you make a pot.”
“That’s the point, JR. Consistency.”
“Bah, humbug. Where’s the excitement with consistency?”
With a grin, Kruger said, “You’ve got money, buy yourself a new Keurig.”
“Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“But…”
“I don’t want to hurt Jody’s feelings.”
“Bullshit. You hadn’t thought of it yet. Had you?”
A sheepish grin appeared on JR lips and he chuckled. “No, I really hadn’t.”
Both men laughed before the conversation turned serious. Kruger said, “Have you been able to find anything?”
JR stood and walked the short distance to the coffee service area, poured a fresh cup and returned. “They have a website I’ve been poking around in. It’s crude and made by someone using a WordPress template.”
“And…”
“Very amateurish. There’s not much to it.”
“You sure it’s the same group?”
“I believe so.” He paused and took a sip from his fresh cup. “From experience, we both know cell phone reception in the remote parts of the Rockies can be spotty.”
Kruger nodded. “I would think internet would be too.”
“Exactly. That’s why I believe the group isn’t communicating through their website or with cell phones.”
“Then how are they talking to each other?”
“With shortwave radio.”
With a frown, Kruger tilted his head.
“That was my reaction at first. Have you ever heard of a numbers station?”
“No.”
“During the Cold War, number stations were used by various governments to openly communicate with their intelligence officers in other countries. The idea was to broadcast a set of numbers which would be meaningless to someone without the key. If the listener knew the key, they could understand the message.”
“Sounds like a bad spy movie.”
“Kind of, but the system works and is still being used to some extent today. Computer generated voices speak the numbers and the broadcasting equipment is portable, so you can move it around. Plus, it could even be outside the US.”
“So, what are you saying, JR?”
“Shortwave radio is not line of sight. If the conditions are right, you can broadcast a shortwave signal around the world. Which is perfect for communicating with someone who lives in the backwoods of the Rocky Mountains or in some of the more isolated areas of Wyoming, Montana or Idaho. Or for that matter, anywhere in the US.” He paused. “I beli
eve they are using the website to communicate the key to the numbers stations.”
“But internet would be spotty at best in some locations.”
“Yes, but if the numbers repeat for a while and then suddenly change, members would know to go to a Wi-Fi spot and get the key.”
“So that means you can break the code, right?”
JR shook his head. “Like I told you, the website is very bland and mundane. I’ve searched it for hidden links and can’t find any. They may use images to tell members where to look for the key for the number station broadcast. I just don’t know.”
“You’re making it sound pretty sophisticated.”
“It is.” He took a sip of coffee. “That’s why I don’t think it’s the work of a bunch of white nationalists.”
Kruger’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think it is?”
“I can’t be certain.”
“Spit it out, JR. Who do you think it is?”
“Who’s been interfering with our elections?”
“Depends on who you listen to and believe.”
“Right, but the general consensus is the Russians, right?”
A nod was his answer.
“I don’t have any proof of what I’m going to tell you but think back about Alexei Kozlov.”
“Okay.”
“He was a sleeper agent planted in the US during the Cold War to interfere with our financial institutions. Right?”
“Yes. But that didn’t work out too well for them, did it?”
“No. My guess is they learned from it.” JR took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need to do more digging into Monk’s background.”
“Okay, stop right there. You’re talking in circles. What do you suspect?”
With a grim smile, JR said, “There’s a hole in Monk’s childhood of about eight years I can’t find anything about. Where was he?”
Rolling his eyes, Kruger shook his head. “Would you please just tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Looking at his elementary records, there’s no mention of his being a math prodigy as a child. His grades were so-so.”
“Lots of smart children find themselves bored in elementary school and get poor grades because of it.”