by Josie Brown
The word, enigma, means riddle, or puzzle.
During World War II, Nazi Germany created a roto-cipher machine called Enigma, as a way of coding and deciphering messages. This was first discovered by one of its enemies—Poland, with the help of mathematicians from France. When Great Britain entered the war, Enigma cryptology went into full gear.
It provided the intel that helped in winning the war.
It’s much easier to break a machine-made code than to decipher the emotions and feelings of a human. Machines may be able to calculate outcomes, but most humans act first and think later.
Sadly, the end result isn’t always what we hope.
We are the ultimate enigma.
Jack was up for Ryan’s suggestion that they break bread at Duke’s Malibu restaurant. The food was great, the dress code was casual, the patrons were laid back, for the most part, and it was far enough north on the PCH that it didn’t attract the tourist flow from the Santa Monica strip.
By the time Jack got there, Ryan was already seated at one of the inside tables near a window—a great place to be as the sun set below the horizon. Jack knew Ryan would have asked that their order be put on the grill the moment he walked through the door. The menu was small, and those who came knew to order the catch of the day—seared rare and rubbed raw with seven spices—along with the grilled Brussels sprouts, and a hunk of the hula pie for dessert. Case closed.
Ryan beckoned Jack over, then tapped his glass to the waitress and held up two fingers. She nodded and by the time Jack had reached the table, she was at his side with a tumbler of Johnny Walker Blue.
When he smiled at her, she blushed.
Ryan laughed. “Does it ever get old?”
Jack looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“You know—the effect you have on women.”
Jack shrugged. “You didn’t call me here to talk about my love life.”
“You’re right. In fact, it’s the last thing to do with what I’ve got to ask you.” He placed his napkin in his lap. “However, you’re close enough to the subject that you may have some useful insights.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
Ryan looked him in the eye. “I’d like to ask Donna to work for us.”
“Say that again?” The place was buzzing with talk and laughter, not to mention the crash of the waves just outside the window, so it seemed to Jack that he had good reason to ask Ryan to repeat himself, when in reality he’d heard his boss perfectly well.
He just hadn’t liked what he’d heard.
“I said I’d like to ask Donna to work for us.” Ryan popped a Brussels sprout into his mouth. “What do you think about that idea?”
Jack stared out at the water for a moment while he tried to think of a way to back Ryan off this harebrained scheme without seeming unprofessional, or worse yet, irrational about it.
Not to mention, the last thing Jack wanted was for Ryan to realize he’d fallen in love with a woman he’d never formally met. “I…I think it’s crazy. And stupid. She’s a wild card! She’s—”
Ryan nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I agree. I’m doing it.”
Jack put down his glass with a thud. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
“Yes. But you’re not talking from your head, you’re talking from your dick.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“We all have our reasons as to why we’re here, Jack. If you were to be honest with yourself, you’re primarily here for the exact same reason that Donna would join us: to avenge a loss.”
“Okay yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m out for blood. But two wrongs don’t make a right. Remember that old proverb?”
“Of course I do. Here’s another golden chestnut: try it, you’ll like it.”
Jack frowned. “That’s an old ad slogan—for Alka-Seltzer.” Something he could use, right about now. Instead, he gulped down his drink and signaled the waitress for another. “Okay, let’s say you hire her. What’s she going to do? Do you know if she even types?”
Ryan’s brow went up an inch. “What difference would that make? She’d be out in the field—a fixer.” He smiled. “Like you.”
“Now I know you’re crazy!” Jack pushed his plate away. He took a big breath. He was just getting started. “You give her a license to kill, and believe me, she’ll kill, alright! She’ll be a killing machine—because she’s driven to avenge Carl’s death. If you do this, you’ll regret it.”
“I disagree. In the first place, her kamikaze tendencies will always be in check because, despite her loss, unlike you, she still has a lot to live for—her kids.”
Jack reeled back, as if Ryan had punched him. Touché, boss.
Instead he said, “There are other reasons, she’d be all wrong for wet work. Those kids have already lost one parent. Should something happen to her, who’s going to look after them? Her crazy aunt?”
“During your investigation of Donna, what was your take on her?”
Jack felt his chest tighten. “In…in what regard?”
“I’m asking if you ever saw her have a meltdown.”
“No.”
“Did she throw tantrums? Was she depressed?”
“No. She was…sad, I guess is the right word.”
“I can imagine why. It’s got to be frustrating to lose the person you love most in the world, and not be able to do anything about it.”
“Tell me about it,” Jack muttered.
He kept his eyes on the waves. It was high tide. The waves rolled in all the way under the pylons that held the restaurant well above the surf and sand.
The way he felt at that very minute, if a wave cracked the glass at that moment and pulled Ryan out with it, Jack would do nothing to save him.
He wondered to himself: Why should I? He’s going to ruin the one reason I have for living.
This deep emptiness was something Jack had not felt since he’d last seen Donna. Now it filled him again, like the specter of an unwanted friend. “Go ahead then, ask her.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “My guess is that she’ll take a pass.”
“You’re on. I’d bet a Benjamin on that.” Ryan reached for a roll. “In the meantime, you’ll head up her background investigation.”
At first, Jack was going to protest. Then it struck him:
Great. That way I can ensure she doesn’t get on with Acme.
In fact, it would be better all the way around. If Donna Stone were looking for revenge, she’d get herself into trouble with or without Acme’s help.
Suddenly, Jack wasn’t hungry. He drank his dinner instead.
Chapter 13
Open-Source Intelligence
They know what you’re thinking.
No, they are not clairvoyant. They read what you post online—on your blog, or on Facebook.
They can see you, too. You’re so cute, especially when bathed in an Instagram glow!
Or maybe your thoughts are succinct enough for a mere one hundred and forty characters. If so, Tweet away.
Didn’t you win a blue ribbon at the county fair? They read about it in the newspaper.
Did you know your cousin posted a video of you on YouTube? In it, you’re blowing out the candles on your birthday cake. (FYI: They were somewhat concerned for you because you ran out of breath before you hit the last flame! Seems the years have indeed taken their toll.)
And every time you tap the GPS on your cell phone—to find a route or catch a bus—they are at the other end, waiting for you.
Yes, following you. Isn’t that what you wanted?
They call it open-source intelligence, or OSINT.
You may prefer, “Big Brother is watching.”
Either way, rest assured, they are everywhere.
The first time the jet-black Brutale 800 Dragster drove up to the doorstep of Jack’s Venice Beach apartment, it was so loud that he thought it was barreling through the front door.
The biker’s helmet came off, revealing a woman—hell, m
ake that girl, since she couldn’t have been twenty-one yet—with jet-black spiked hair, darkly lined eyes, and four tiny nose rings in her right nostril. She wore a cropped T-shirt emblazoned, GOTTA WEAR A TAT TO GET U SOME OF THAT, with an arrow that pointed straight down.
Naturally Jack’s eyes were drawn to where it stopped: at her slim waist, just above her low-riding black leather jeans.
On the other hand, her appraisal of him was no more than a cursory shrug. “Emma Honeycutt. Ryan sent me. I’m supposed to assist you with the investigation.” She didn’t wait for an invitation. She just waltzed past him, into the apartment.
Maybe Ryan isn’t so serious about Donna’s vetting after all, Jack thought.
But now, as he walked around the dining room table and perused the stacks of research waiting for him, he was dumbstruck by all she’d done in such a short period of time.
“Way to go, slick. But are you sure you got everything?” He was kidding, of course.
“Probably not. But at least it’s better than what Acme had on Mrs. Stone when I started this project.” She pointed to a very slim file.
In fact, it was the file Jack had pulled together specifically on Donna during his investigation of Carl’s death.
“Since there’s wasn’t much to begin with, I also took the liberty of combing through your files from the investigation into Carl’s death,” Emma continued.
“If I remember correctly,” Jack said, “Acme’s recruiting ops went in with a proctoscope before bringing him onboard as an operative.”
“You’re right. Needless to say, I was hoping to find the kind of intel that would give us some insight as to why Donna and Carl were attracted to each other in the first place. As husband and wife, Carl should have known her better than anyone. I’d hoped something—anything—in his files could give us more clarity on her. But for the most part, it was a wash.” Emma tossed the file aside.
Jack nodded silently. No one knew that better than him. He’d made sure the file kept strictly to the facts. He hadn’t wanted his obsession with her clouding his investigation into Carl’s murder.
Emma had her head stuck in his fridge. When she resurfaced, she was holding a Pork Slap Pale Ale in each hand. She handed him one. “When I was done pulling all this dry stuff—it’s a real snore, let me tell you—I started trolling for the good stuff—you know open-source intel—on both of them.”
He popped open the beer and took a sip. “Considering our profession, I presume you drew a blank with Carl.”
“You’d think so, right? Nah. The years BD—before Donna, that is—produced a gold mine of commentary from his old girlfriends”—she rolled her eyes—“all two hundred and thirteen of them. And those are just the ones I found on Facebook and a couple of online dating sites! You know, things like his pick-up lines, how long it took him to run the bases, his favorite positions . . .”
Suddenly, the thought of what might end up in his own file made him queasy. “You mean to tell me your research methodology is that thorough?”
“It’s why I get paid the big bucks.” She laughed. When he didn’t join in, she muttered, “It’s a joke. I’m an intern, remember?”
Jack took a big gulp. Ryan would be a fool not to hire this girl full-time, he thought. “So a bunch of old girlfriends are reminiscing about the best—or worst—lay they ever had. What does that have to do with tracking down the Quorum, let alone finding where he hid the intel they want so badly?”
“Who said anything about ‘worst’?” she winked knowingly. “And for that matter, who said they were all ‘old’ girlfriends?”
Jack shrugged. “He doted on his wife. But sometimes the job calls for a little…well, moonlighting.”
“Is that what you call it, moonlighting? Ha! Okay yeah, sure, playing raven is all in a day’s work. But this isn’t about his ‘moonlighting.’ It’s the key to why Carl and Donna fell in love, and why he decided she was Miss Right—especially for someone who was such a big player to begin with.”
Jack had to concede she had a point. “Okay, so what’s your take regarding his love life, BD?”
“He liked playing one side against the other. And he was into ‘catch and release.’ In other words, as soon as he scored, he moved onto the next challenge.” Emma plopped down on the couch. “I presume he was the same way in the field—that is to say, somewhat competitive.”
Jack winced. “Sure, I can vouch for that.”
“Also, he took chances, and accepted the toughest assignments because they have the biggest rewards.”
“Really? You got all that by reading the comments of his former lovers?”
“It was a quantitative analysis. All I had to do was count the number of Kama Sutra positions he was able to pull off and weigh them by how strenuous they are.”
Seeing Jack’s scowl, she sighed. “Just kidding! Seriously man, lighten up.” The levity went out of her voice. “Jack, there’s another thing you need to know about the Carls of the world. Because they’re ego-driven, sometimes they get sloppy”—she paused in order to take a deep breath—“and for that matter, sometimes they can be turned.”
“Look Emma, Carl may have been a player—and yes, he was an arrogant son of a bitch, too. But he was loyal to Acme and to his country. He proved that many times over.”
She shrugged. “Just telling you like it is. Don’t get your manties in a twist, okay?”
“I’m boxer briefs, in case you’re wondering,” he growled. “But I presume you’ve already pulled up my Visa account and scanned it for that kind of pertinent intel.”
“Your last underwear purchase was at Nordstrom—two pair, Hugo Boss, Regular. Both black—”
“What the hell?”
“Just kidding! It was a lucky guess, I swear!” In order to hide her smirk, she went over and plucked an iPad from the desk. “I guess that’s the ideal segue to Carl after Donna. I did find two things of interest, both having to do with her.”
She swiped the screen until a video appeared. “He mentioned meeting her at a firing range near his apartment at the time. I searched within fifteen miles of his residence, and found the right one. As it turns out, the range keeps its webcam footage for a ten-year period.”
From what Jack could tell, he was looking at an interior firing range. There were several shooters, all male except for a slim, pretty, long-haired brunette in jeans and a T-shirt. She couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one.
It was Donna.
She wore safety goggles and held her pistol two-fisted. The first few shots hit the target, but they weren’t bull’s-eyes. By the frown on her perfect cupid-bow mouth, she was obviously frustrated by this.
Jack then noticed the man just beyond her—Carl. Like Donna, he was around eight or nine years younger at the time. From the tilt of Carl’s head and his sly grin, Jack could tell that his old friend was scoping her out.
Within minutes, Carl had introduced himself. In no time at all, he was giving her hands-on instruction on how to steady her aim.
“Cute meet, wasn’t it? I guess you could call it ‘love at first shot.’” Emma clicked onto another video box. “Now, here’s a few days prior to their meeting, at the same range.”
Not only the same range, but the same girl, too. This time, her aim was not only steady, it was a string of consistent bull’s eyes, no matter what target was in front of her.
And right through the heart, especially if the target was of a sinister man.
Emma paused the video. “It was quite a ploy to get him to notice her. And it worked like a charm. Maybe Ryan is right, and she’s a natural for field ops.”
Jack winced. “She’ll have to be more than a good flirt.” He wondered if Carl had ever found out how well she shot.
“Oh, I’ll say she’s that, and more, when it comes to Carl.” She laughed. “I’ll bet you can guess Donna’s email password.”
Jack shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“Really? Go ahead and try.” She
waited patiently.
Jack thought a moment. “MaryJeffTrisha? Her date of birth? Their address? Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“It’s ‘Alex0417,’ the combination of Carl’s middle name and his birthday.” Emma raised a brow. “Something tells me she’ll be one toxic avenger.”
Jack hated the thought that Emma was right.
Seeing what she pulled up on Carl, he was almost afraid to ask, but he had to: “What kind of OSINT have you found on Donna?”
“Apparently, she’s not much for socializing—online, anyway. Ryan should appreciate that. I haven’t found any accounts for her on Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, or Facebook. I’ll keep monitoring her internet activity for any social media log-ins.” She swiped the screen again. Mary’s face appeared. She was older now. “On the other hand, her eight-year-old, Mary, has a Facebook account.” From what I can tell, Mom hasn’t caught onto this fact yet. As for email, the Internet browser used by the family Stone isn’t the most secure one out there.” She rolled her eyes.
Wow, thought Jack, Mary is her mother in miniature—Donna 2.0! He wondered what Trisha looked like, now that she was no longer an infant.
Well, he’d soon find out.
Jack forced a smile onto his face. “All the same, let’s see if the former Donna…what’s her maiden name again?” He picked up Carl’s personal information file. “Here it is—Donna Shives. Let’s see if any other anomalies pop up in your research that might burst Ryan’s bubble about her.”
“You know, he wasn’t always a fan.” She slid a single sheet of paper his way. It was an Acme memorandum:
To: Carl Stone
Fr: Ryan Clancy
Re: Recent Change in Your Personal Status
It has come to my attention that you’ve recently married. First and foremost, let me congratulate you on your nuptials. At the same time, I presume you are well aware that Acme protocol mandates that the company be informed of any change in personal status—especially an issue as important as an engagement, let alone a marriage. Such information, provided in a timely fashion, helps alleviate any uncomfortable situations that may arise in light of the background check that will take place, according to Clause 14(a)(5) of your employment contract.