by J. C. Fields
“That was well timed.”
“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with the meeting, would you?”
“You give me too much credit, Bentley.”
“That’s not what I hear. Anyway, keep me posted. If I need to be concerned about this numbers station, I would appreciate a head’s up.”
“You’ve got it. Thanks for the assistance.”
After putting his cell phone in a back-jean pocket, Kruger said, “We’re good to go for crossing the border.” He looked at the eastern sky. The first hints of the coming new day were already visible. “It’s going to be light soon. We need to find a hotel, but I haven’t seen anything for miles.”
Alexia, still sitting in the back of the Denali, looked up from her laptop and said, “Closest hotels will be in Estevan in Canada. It’s about thirty miles from here.”
“Let’s go.”
***
In daylight, the structure appeared to be a typical two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. A barn and a smaller shed stood fifty yards behind it. Both appeared old and on the verge of collapsing. The house, having seen harsh winters and little maintenance, also appeared to have fallen into disrepair. Sandy and Jimmie were doing reconnaissance on the structure and by mid-afternoon were preparing for a closer inspection after dark.
Knoll asked, “What do you think?”
“Looks abandoned to me.”
“JR did a Saskatchewan Assessment search on it and the owner is listed as an LLC in Wyoming.”
Without taking his eyes away from the binoculars, Gibbs said, “Huh.” He was quiet for several moments. Taking his eyes away from the lenses, he looked at Knoll. “I could slip over there and nose around a little.”
“If someone is there, you’d be seen. The plan is to do it tonight.”
“I don’t see any signs anyone has been there for a long time, Sandy.”
“Someone has to maintain the radio station.”
“Not necessarily. It could be totally automated with a computer.”
“It’d have to have internet.” Knoll stared at the building. “I don’t even see electrical lines running to it, let alone internet.”
Gibbs was quiet as he once again looked through the binoculars. “Sandy, drive past and see if we can get a better angle on those outbuildings.”
The big man drove the SUV past the property and stopped a hundred yards later. “Is that good enough?”
“Yeah.” Gibbs exited and walked to the rear of vehicle to survey the barn. He climbed onto the rear bumper of the Yukon to get a better view. A minute later he returned the passenger seat. “Behind the barn is an array of solar panels on the ground. They’re not visible from the road. I had to stand on the bumper to see them. There’s also an antenna outside the second-floor window on the east side of the house. It’s the same kind you use on a recreational vehicle and doesn’t have to be pointed toward a satellite.”
“Pretty sophisticated set-up this far out in the boonies.”
Gibbs nodded.
“Think that’s where the station is, on the second floor?”
“Makes sense. Couldn’t be seen by anyone looking into the first-floor windows.”
“Exactly. Let’s get back. Tonight, will be interesting.”
***
Sunset occurred at 7:31 and with the overcast sky, complete darkness made an appearance a little after eight. By then Kruger and Jimmie were on foot and approaching the house from the west. Both wore night vision goggles, black jeans, black long sleeve T-shirts and black watch caps. When they arrived at the structure, Kruger circled toward the back with Gibbs heading toward the front.
Kruger held his Glock in his right hand as he placed his back against the west wall of the home. He cautiously looked around the corner to make sure no surprises awaited them. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he continued his survey of the outside. A small wooden porch in the center of the north wall indicated where the door to the inside would be located. What he found at the entry reinforced his perception of the building. A house designed to look abandoned but with hidden secrets.
The steel door he found possessed a keypad for a lock. This meant multiple individuals could gain access to the interior without the need of a key.
Jimmie appeared around the east corner and approached Kruger. “Front door is bolted shut. Only way in is to breach it. Plus, all the windows are painted over.”
“I noticed that.” Kruger pointed at the keypad. “Someone has this placed locked down tight. My bet is if this door is opened by any unauthorized individual, there will be an alarm sound somewhere.”
Gibbs grinned. “I have an idea.”
Kruger followed the ex-Seal as he jogged toward the windmill fifty yards northeast of the house. When they arrived, Gibbs explained, “This has to be the antenna for the broadcast.” He bent and examined a coax cable exiting the ground and running up the inside of a windmill leg. “That’s probably the antenna lead.”
“What happens if the lead is broken?”
With a mischievous grin, Jimmie said, “It stops transmitting.”
“If it stops transmitting, someone has to come out and service it, right?”
Jimmie reached into his utility vest and took out a pair of wire cutting pliers. He placed the tip around the coax and snipped it. “You mean like that.”
“Yeah, just like that.”
Both men chuckled and headed back to the SUVs.
When they arrived, JR looked up from his laptop. “Station’s off the air.”
“We know.”
“Now what?”
Kruger smiled and looked back at the house. “We wait.”
***
During the years Jimmie Gibbs spent as a Seal, one of his skills included marksmanship. He had become a highly regarded sniper during his various tours of duty. Patience and the ability to hide in plain sight within a sniper hide were two of his more endearing attributes. The prairie grass around the house, being tall and thick, provided a perfect environment for his skills. Wearing his favorite ghillie suit, Gibbs positioned himself to blend into the natural surroundings in the house’s backyard. Armed with a Remington 700 and a powerful pair of binoculars, he waited for the anticipated arrival of someone to fix the now-snipped antenna wire.
Dawn came and went as the sun rose higher in the eastern sky. His patience was rewarded by the appearance of an ancient Ford Bronco twenty minutes after ten. The individual who stepped out of the vehicle appeared to be in his late twenties, clean shaven and stocky. A backpack slung over his right shoulder indicated he might be the repair person for the facility. He punched a number into the keypad, opened the back door and walked into the house.
From his position, Gibbs could see the numbers and made note of the combination. With his mission accomplished, he started to slowly back out of his hide, but not so fast as to be detected.
Fifteen minutes later and once again stationary, he watched the man exit the house and stride purposefully toward the windmill. He whispered into the microphone of the comm set on his head. “Show time. He’ll see the antenna’s been cut.”
The man stooped over and examined the antenna lead. Gibbs could hear him swearing as he stood and swept the area with his gaze. Putting his hand on his hips, he stared in Gibbs’ direction for several seconds and then continued his survey of the surrounding area. Not seeing anything that concerned him, he went back inside the house. Less than a minute later, he reappeared with his backpack over his shoulder. When he returned to the windmill, he extracted several objects and started to repair the coax cable.
A little while later, Gibbs heard Sandy over the radio, “Station’s back on the air.”
Gibbs clicked the transmit button twice to acknowledge.
The man kneeling next to the windmill packed his tools, stood and swept his gaze over the area again. He then walked back toward the house and stepped inside. Ten minutes later, he returned to the Bronco, turned it around and headed back to the country road j
ust inside the United States border.
Glancing at his watch, Gibbs noted the repair job had taken just under an hour. He dialed a number on his satellite phone. “We have the combination, head on back to the house.”
Chapter 38
United States and Canadian Border
Knoll and Ryan Clark stood next to the two Denalis parked behind the outbuildings of the isolated farmhouse. They kept their attention trained on the road which straddled the two countries’ border. Knoll held a small radio to keep in touch with the four members of the team currently inside the house.
The big man pointed off to the west. “Looks like we have company coming.” A cloud of dust could be seen off in the distance heading toward their location. Knoll raised his radio and spoke, “Sean, we’re about to have visitors.”
“Buy us five minutes.”
“Got it. Send Jimmie out.”
“He’s on his way.”
As the dust cloud grew nearer, Gibbs emerged from the house and ran to Knoll. “What’ve ya got?”
Knoll pointed toward the west. “Looks like two vehicles heading this way.”
Gibbs shot a quick glance at Clark who stood still, his attention on the dust cloud and his Glock in his right hand. He rushed to the back of Knoll’s SUV and extracted his Remington 700 from its case. With the rifle in hand, he headed toward the interior of the barn.
Tracing Gibbs’ steps, Knoll also went to the back of the GMC and retrieved a Bushmaster ACR Pistol. This he held in his right hand by his thigh as he looked toward the approaching vehicles. With the handheld radio in his left hand, he said, “Sean, we’ve got two pickups with unknown numbers of occupants.”
“Got it. We’re almost done in here.”
“Too late—they’re turning off the road and approaching.”
Knoll clipped the radio to his belt, kept the ACR out of sight behind him and stared at the approaching vehicles. A dusty fifteen-year-old Ford F-150 4x4 stopped first. Parking right behind it came an older model Dodge Ram 1500 with large knobby tires. Four men stepped out, two from each truck, as the dust settled around them.
The driver of the Ford glared hard at Clark and Knoll. After shutting the truck door, he said, “You fellas are trespassing.”
With a shrug, Knoll replied, “Got lost.”
The three remaining men kept their hands resting on their holstered handguns as they spread out from the trucks.
The driver said, “Well, you need to be lost somewhere else.” He shot a glance at his partners who withdrew their handguns and trained them on Clark and Knoll.
The sound of a rifle bolt being thrown in the barn could be heard by everyone. One of the men from the Ram glanced toward the loft’s opening.
Knoll saw Kruger emerge from the back of the house with his Glock in hand. Knoll said, “Sorry, boys. Can’t do that—we’ve got business here.”
“Since this ain’t your property, you’ve got no business here.”
Kruger was now behind the four men and said, “Put the guns down, gentlemen. We’re with the FBI.”
The driver suddenly turned to see who had spoken. Knoll brought the Bushmaster up and pointed in the direction of the men. Clark moved to his right and behind the engine compartment of one of the Denalis, his Glock trained on the newcomers.
A slim man from the Ram wiped his mouth with his sleeve and lowered his pistol slightly. He looked nervously at Clark and Knoll. His attention was drawn back to the opening above the barn door. He licked his lips and pointed. “Joel, they’ve got a sniper in the loft.”
The driver, who was apparently Joel, shot a quick glance toward the barn. His worried look changed rapidly to a sneer. “This ain’t the US. We’re in Canada. FBI don’t have jurisdiction here.”
Kruger said, “Gentlemen, I will ask you one more time and only once more to lower your weapons. This is official FBI business and you are interfering with a lawful investigation.”
The standoff in the isolated farmhouse yard continued as Joel licked his lips and shot hard glances at both Gibbs in the barn loft and Kruger behind him.
The driver of the Dodge wore a well-used cowboy hat. He spat something into the dirt in front of him and said, “This is typical overreach by the United States Federal Government, Joel. They think they can go anywhere and do anything they want.”
Joel remained quiet as his stare locked on Knoll. “Let’s go boys. We have to give them this round. Next time, maybe not.”
All four men climbed back into their trucks and spun gravel as they accelerated back to the access road.
Kruger watched them drive off as he holstered his Glock. He walked up to Knoll and said, “Nice touch having Jimmie in the loft.”
“Wasn’t my idea. He did it himself.”
Nodding, Kruger patted Knolls shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here. My bet is they will shut this place down by nightfall.”
***
The return drive to Bismarck took four hours. During the trip, JR and Alexia sat in the back of Kruger’s rental concentrating on their laptops, saying little except to each other. Jimmie sat in the front passenger seat, staring as the barren country slid past.
Kruger glanced at him. “Good idea being in the barn loft.”
“I’m lucky it didn’t fall in on me.” He turned, checked on the two passengers in the back seat and turned his attention to Kruger. “What did you mean when you said they’d shut the place down by nightfall?”
“Exactly that. Our purpose wasn’t to stop the broadcast. Quite the contrary, we need them to keep it broadcasting. They’ll just move the station to another location.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at JR. “Did you get what you needed, JR?”
Without looking up from the computer, the hacker replied, “Yup and more.”
A grin appeared on Kruger’s lips. “Our real goal at the station was to gain access to their computer network. Nothing more.” He paused for a few heartbeats. “The guy who came to the house to fix the cable knew something was amiss. Coax cables just don’t separate cleanly on their own. That’s why we had four visitors an hour later—the repairman reported something was wrong at the house. Now with access to their computer, JR and your wife can learn more about this group’s computer connections.” He glanced at his young friend. “With luck, we can start learning just who the hell these people are.”
***
Sitting next to JR on the plane, Kruger watched his friend working the laptop perched on his thighs. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and felt the long hours of the past few days catch up with him. Momentary doubt crept into his thoughts about his decision to return to this lifestyle. Without even thinking about it, he said, “Am I being selfish, JR?”
“About?”
“Returning to the job.”
“It’s who you are, Sean. How many times did you retire and return?”
“Couple.”
“Exactly. Don’t fight it. You can no more not be an FBI agent than I cannot be a computer hacker.”
He opened his eyes and ended the self-reflection. He pointed to JR’s computer. “Have you discovered anything?”
A frown appeared. JR stopped typing and looked at Kruger. “They have something big planned.”
“Were you planning to enlighten me now or wait till it happened before you told me?” This was said with a mischievous grin.
Chuckling, JR closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. “When I knew more details, yes. That’s the problem Alexia and I are having. We have access to their emails. But there is nothing specific in them. Details are never mentioned—just obscure references.”
“Is there someone directing the group?”
“What was the name of the county where you found Monks’ cabin?”
“Fremont.”
“There are a lot of references to the county seat, which is Lander. Alexia believes directions are coming from someone there.”
“Tell me about the emails, JR.”
“All are Gmail accounts with either
random letters or numbers as the identifier. Alexia believes, and I agree with her, somewhere in all those emails is an attachment with the key to understanding the code being transmitted by the numbers station.”
“How many emails are you referring to?”
“Thousands.”
“What about back-tracking to a server?”
With a shake of his head, JR touched a key on his computer and the screen went blank. “I don’t think they have one.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In a low voice he said, “We’ve determined one person is directing traffic and making the decisions.” He shot a glance at Alexia—she sat next to Jimmie, her head on his shoulder and her eyes closed. “Alexia has the emails from this individual isolated. The pattern is always the same. One person sends an email to three individuals, who in turn forwards it to three more individuals and so on so forth. It’s always the same sender and email recipients. There’re at least a hundred distinct email addresses in the chain. No one communicates with the entire group.”
“Huh.”
With a nod, JR continued, “There’s something else.”
“I’m listening.”
“In the short time we’ve been poking around in their emails, she found several from a computer located in Belarus.”
Kruger did not respond.
“These emails were addressed to the individual we think is the leader.”
“The ones from Belarus?”
“Yes.”
“What town?”
JR gave his friend a grim smile. “Horki.”
“Same place where some of the ransomware attacks originated.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a coincidence, JR.”
“I’m beginning to believe that as well.”
“So how are you going to figure this out?”
With a sly smile, JR turned to his friend. “I have to do something I haven’t done in a long time.”
“Should I ask what that is?”
“Hack into the NSA computer system.”