The Dark Trail

by J. C. Fields

  For the first time this evening, Sheriff Blake chuckled. “You mean those nerds you’ve got in Montana playing with Facebook?”

  With a nod, Marks said, “Those nerds as you describe them, are the ones who are spreading the word over the internet about Monk. They are calling him a martyr who died trying to save this great country from…” He hesitated. “Being overrun by immigrants.”

  Neither man spoke as they stared at Marks. He continued, “Very soon, the internet will explode with information about what Monk was really doing. When that occurs,” he took a sip of beer,” all of those seeds we’ve been sowing will start sprouting and producing results.”

  Lyon smiled for the first time.

  While they ate, Marks decided to tell them about the next step. “While the FBI is running around our county like chickens with their heads cut off, the real activity is taking place in Iowa and Kansas.”

  Blake held a napkin to his lips to cover his full mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  “What happens in Kansas and Iowa?”

  With a snort, Lyons said, “Not much.”

  “Farming, gentlemen, farming.”

  “So?” This from Blake.

  “What do farmers need to grow a good crop?”

  A small smile appeared on Blake’s face. “Fertilizer?”

  Marks nodded. “Exactly.” There was a pause as he popped a piece of steak into his mouth. The two other men stared at him while he chewed. After swallowing, he said, “We’ve been doing it for two years now. Our associates have been slowly collecting bags of ammonium nitrate, one at a time and storing them carefully in four different locations.”

  “How the heck can you do that? Ammonium nitrate is highly regulated.”

  “Yes, but if you have an individual sympathetic to our cause buying small amounts of it on a regular basis for their farm, you can get around the regulation. Then, once a month, one of our people drives around and collects those bags from our sympathetic farmers and takes them to a storage site. We’re buying other chemicals, but that is the main one we need.”

  “Why are we just now hearing about this?” Lyon had not taken a bite since this part of the conversation started.

  “There was no need to discuss it. We were simply gathering and accumulating. A need to know was kept to a minimum number of individuals.”

  Blake frowned. “What if one of these sympathetic farmers gets a guilty conscience?”

  “We’ve had a few of them, it is unfortunate, but several met with a freak accident on their farms. So, they are no longer in a position to discuss their guilty consciences. And remember, gentlemen, none of these farmers knows the others exist. They are in different counties all over the two states.”

  “How much do you have stored?”

  Marks smiled and said, “Enough.”

  “What do you mean enough?”

  “Enough that we aren’t collecting anymore.”

  Lyon frowned. “Why?”

  “Because we have our targets identified.”

  “What are they?”

  “It’s best neither of you know. Plausible deniability and all that. What I can tell you is one site will be on the east coast and another on the west coast.”

  Blake smiled just before he took a bite of mashed potatoes. “I like that.”

  “One will target Washington DC and the other will affect all those bleeding-heart liberals in San Francisco.”

  “Those are also the areas with the larger concentration of the population.”

  Marks nodded. “Exactly.”

  Chapter 36

  Springfield, MO

  The Next Day

  “What did the labs find on Monk’s and Peter Greer’s laptop?” JR sipped coffee as he sat down in his cubicle.

  Kruger leaned against the credenza behind the cubicle, studying the brownish black liquid in his mug. “Not much.”

  “Who looked at them?”

  “Charlie’s group.”

  “And they didn’t find anything?’

  “Nothing useful. Why?”

  “What if Alexia and I look at them?”

  “I’m actually ahead of you on that request.”

  Looking up at his friend, JR tilted his head. “And that means?”

  “Both computers will be here sometime today via FedEx.” He looked up. “It’s amazing what a newly ordained assistant director can get accomplished.”

  JR chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  With a sheepish grin, Kruger said, “That’s what Stephanie told me.” He paused for a second. “What do you think you’ll find on them?”

  “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself. We know they followed the same Facebook pages, right?”

  A nod was his answer.

  “All but one of those pages has been deleted.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah, they disappeared right after the attack on Thomas’s team. Whoever took them down knew exactly what to do—they’re gone without a trace.”

  “What was the content, JR?”

  “Mundane stuff, mostly. However, Alexia looked at them before they disappeared and thought she saw code words within the posts.”

  Sipping his now-cold coffee, Kruger remained quiet.

  “Uh—she said it reminded her of the ways the Russians communicated with her when she was in Mexico.”

  Kruger frowned. “Do you remember a conversation we had a few weeks ago where you mentioned something about shortwave radio stations that only broadcast numbers?”

  “Yeah.” He paused as his eyes grew wide. “Oh, shit.” JR turned to the computer and his fingers danced on the keyboard. It was several minutes before he sat back in his chair and pointed at the left screen. “That’s the only remaining page that both Monk and Greer followed.”

  Leaning over, Kruger put his half-readers on and stared. “It’s a gun enthusiast page.”

  “Yeah.” JR cupped his chin with his right hand and leaned forward. “What if the numbers stations are telling followers how to find the hidden messages on a Facebook page?”

  “It’d be an almost unbreakable communication system because you’d have to know what numbers station to listen to and which Facebook page to use.”

  JR looked up at Sean. “I need those laptops.”

  ***

  At exactly 11:34 a.m., JR’s receptionist sent him an instant message that appeared on the bottom right of his middle screen. He stood, hurried to the staircase and descended to the first floor. As he breezed by Alexia’s cubicle on his way back to the conference room, he said, “Christmas came early this year.”

  She glanced at him, saw the FedEx box in his hands and followed.

  As two of the world’s foremost hackers entered the conference room, Kruger spoke into his cell phone. “The laptops are here, Charlie. Gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

  JR placed the box down and turned to Kruger. “Did he tell you what they found on these?”

  “Yeah, he said there were numerous encrypted files they never gained access to.”

  After extracting the laptops from their shipping enclosure, Alexia plugged one into the power strip on top of the conference table. She busied herself as JR placed the second laptop in front of him.

  Turning to Kruger, JR said, “This might take a while.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll wait.”

  With a nod, JR plugged the laptop he held into the power strip.

  Just as he turned on the computer, Alexia said, “The encryption software is 7-Zip.”

  JR smiled as his fingers danced on the keyboard. “This one uses 7-Zip also. That’s interesting.”

  With a frown, Kruger said, “What? What’s interesting?”

  Alexia replied as she looked up from the laptop, “7-Zip encryption software was developed by a Russian freelance programmer. His name is Igor Pavlov and he introduced it in 1999. Since then he has been updating and maintaining the software.”

  Kruger tilted his head. “Why is
that interesting?”

  She continued, “7-Zip can be used to encrypt specific files. Plus, I find it interesting that two individuals who probably didn’t know each other used encryption software developed by a Russian.”

  JR nodded. “I agree with Alexia.” He paused. “Why 7-Zip? There are other encryption programs out there—why did Monk and Greer choose one developed by a Russian?”

  Kruger considered JR’s statement and smiled. “Because they were told to use it.”

  Alexia nodded and JR started typing faster. He studied something on the screen and typed again. He mumbled, “I thought Monk was supposed to be smart.” He raised his head and said to Alexia, “Key is in a text file labeled Open.”

  Her hands flew over the keyboard. “Got it. There’s one here labeled Open It.”

  Kruger waited patiently as the two worked.

  Five minutes later, JR looked at his friend. “Monk may have been a mathematical genius, but he was lazy when it came to securing his computer. I’m surprised Charlie’s group didn’t figure this out.”

  “It doesn’t matter, JR. What’d you find?”

  “A swamp filled with Russians.”

  ***

  By the time the team assembled in JR’s conference room, Alexia and JR knew the secrets held by the two laptops.

  Kruger started the meeting. “JR, will you and Alexia give us a summary of what you found?”

  JR nodded at Alexia. She sat next to her husband and said, “Most of the files within the encrypted sections of Peter Greer’s laptop were Word documents. From what JR and I can determine, there were five Facebook pages he frequented, all of which are no longer active and deleted. The code this group is using is simple yet complicated. We found a cheat-sheet chart for a specific shortwave numbers station. It transmits in the 49-meter band.”

  Sandy said, “That band works great at night—not so much during the daytime.”

  JR nodded. “That’s what we learned, too. We don’t think either Monk or Greer possessed a transmitter, we believe they only had receivers. From the cheat sheet we found on Greer’s laptop, the number station was static and stayed on the same frequency all the time. Alexia checked. It’s still broadcasting. The numbers repeat for twenty-four hours and then change. We haven’t been able to listen to it long enough to determine any pattern from day-to-day. So, we’re speculating here. We think the broadcasts told the listener what Facebook page to follow and the location of the real message within the page.”

  Clark said, “Sounds complicated.”

  “It might be at first. But after using it a few times, it would become familiar. To the casual viewer, there would be no way to break the code.”

  Kruger spoke up. “From what I gather from his writings, Greer was a relatively new recruit for the group. He’d recently been instructed by his college to find another school due to poor grades and absenteeism. His writings suggest someone angry at just about everything without a reason for his anger. I hate to stereotype someone like him, but he fits the same profile as a lot of the individuals who conduct mass shootings.”

  “Why wasn’t he identified, Sean?”

  “Good question, Jimmie. My guess would be he kept his feelings inside and didn’t broadcast them to the world. Some of these individuals do, but the really dangerous ones, as a rule, don’t. He fed his anger by concentrating on social media. How he came across Monk’s group would be anybody’s guess.”

  Knoll nodded. “That’s exactly how ISIS recruited.”

  “I agree—same process. Only these guys are doing it within our borders.”

  Alexia spoke next. “JR and I think there’s a Russian connection.”

  This statement made Sandy Knoll, Jimmie Gibbs and Ryan Clark sit up straight and stare at her wide eyed.

  Kruger nodded. “That’s an angle we’re exploring. It’s pure speculation at the moment, but what little evidence we have so far sure points in that direction.”

  Gibbs was quiet for a few seconds. “So, what’s our next step, Sean?”

  “We need to find the broadcast site for the numbers station and see who’s programming the broadcasts.”

  With a nod Knoll said, “In other words, we’re going into the field?”

  “Yes, Sandy, we are. All of us, including JR and Alexia.”

  The big man smiled. “Good, I was getting bored.”

  Clark asked, “Are we on our own on this?”

  “I believe we have to be. While Paul was correct in assigning a lot of agents to investigate the ambush, until we know exactly what we are up against, the less attention we attract, the better.”

  Chapter 37

  North Central United States

  The object Sandy Knoll held in his hand resembled an old fashion TV antenna, but with a smaller profile. “The process we’re going to use is called fox-hunting by ham-radio operators. They do it for fun and award prizes to who finds the hidden transmitter first. It also has military applications if your enemy is communicating with shortwave radios.”

  The other members of the team nodded.

  Dusk would soon turn to night as four members of the team stood next to Stewart Barnett’s HA-420 HondaJet parked on the tarmac at the Bismarck Municipal Airport. Knoll looked at the other three men and smiled. “JR believes the numbers station we are seeking could be somewhere between here and the Canadian border or possibly inside Canada.” He pointed at Clark. “Ryan and I will take JR and head west toward Dickinson, while Sean, Jimmie and Alexia go east toward Jamestown. That will give us a roughly one-hundred-and-eighty-mile base line. We know the signal is northwest of our current location. We’ll need at least three GPS locations by each team to triangulate the station’s position with accuracy.”

  More nods from the three men.

  JR and Alexia stepped off the plane with their laptops ready. Knoll continued, “Communication will be with satellite phones. We’ll probably get into some isolated areas and cell phone reception could get spotty.” He paused; when no one replied, he continued, “When either JR or Alexia believe they have the location triangulated, we’ll head north. If everyone is ready, let’s get our equipment loaded into the SUVs and we’ll head out.”

  Before the team ventured north from Springfield, Knoll arranged with Enterprise to have two GMC Yukon Denali’s positioned in Bismarck, North Dakota for their use. Stewart Barnett, who served KKG Solutions as their pilot, flew them to the Bismarck airport and remained on standby in case they needed fast transportation elsewhere.

  The two SUVs traveled in opposite directions on Interstate 94, their drivers stopping every thirty miles to take a directional reading on the shortwave signal.

  At 9:51 p.m., from the back seat of Knoll’s SUV, JR said, “Got a fix.”

  Ryan Clark twisted around in his seat. “Where?”

  “Northwest of Minot Airforce Base.” He paused as he typed on his laptop. “It’s right on the Canadian border near a town called Portal.”

  Knoll picked up his satellite phone and told Kruger the info and then started looking for a highway to take them north.

  Four hours later, Knoll’s rented Denalis sat parked along the side of a seldom-used country road. He could see through night-vision binoculars what appeared to be a deserted farm house one-hundred yards from the road. “It looks vacant. Are you sure this is the correct spot, JR?”

  “Yup. Do you see an antenna anywhere?”

  “No, just an old wind…” He took the binoculars from his eyes. With a smile, he looked at JR. “Mill.”

  JR nodded. “That will be the antenna.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “How long before Sean gets here?”

  “Should be any minute.”

  This far into the countryside with no city lights near, the Milky Way ribbon provided almost the same amount of illumination as the quarter moon low in the western sky. The headlight of a vehicle could be seen off in the distance heading their way. It was a few minutes before the SUV driven by Kruger parked behind
Knoll’s. As he stepped out and walked up to the others, he asked, “That it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s in Canada.”

  “Huh.”

  “The place looks deserted. So far, we haven’t seen any activity.”

  Kruger took out his cell phone, checked his signal strength and searched for a number. Before pressing the send icon, he glanced at the time and realized it was a little before four in the morning. Probably closer to five where the person receiving his phone call lived.

  “Thatcher.”

  “Bentley, it’s Sean Kruger.”

  Bentley Thatcher, recently promoted to the rank of superintendent with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and an old acquaintance of Kruger’s, replied, “A bit early isn’t it?”

  “You’re apparently up.”

  “True. What can I do for you, Sean?”

  “We have a logistics problem near Portal, North Dakota.”

  He heard a chuckle. “Logistics problem. I take it you have a suspect inside Canada.”

  “No, nothing like that. Have you ever heard of a shortwave numbers station?”

  “Not that I can recall.”

  Kruger explained it to him and added, “We’ve triangulated the station’s signal to a house about one hundred yards inside your country. I really don’t want to cause an international incident, but we need to check it out.”

  Thatcher laughed out loud. “Do you realize how often that particular spot of nowhere is patrolled?”

  “Wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “Once a week if it’s lucky. I’ll make sure they skip another week.”

  “Thanks. Bentley, I owe you.”

  “I heard congratulations are in order.”

  Kruger frowned, not knowing where this was going. “Uh—not that I’m aware.”

  “I understand you’re an assistant director now.”

  “Oh, that. How’d you know?”

  “Apparently, our Minister of Public Safety and your National Security Advisor met yesterday. I’m told it was a productive and cordial meeting. Both entities pledged mutual assistance with fighting domestic terrorism.”