“Have your letter of resignation on my desk within the hour.”
“I want to see this out Mr. President.”
“And you goddamn well better, I want to know what the fuck happened, what went wrong, we’ve been through a lot, and you know way too much, but, but mark my words, you will be the one who takes the fall should this get out, just have your goddamn letter ready and pray I don’t have to use it.”
Scott went back to his desk and pulled up a letter that he has had on file since the day Whitaker took the oath. He just changed the date, printed the thing out, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to Stacy. Within ten minutes it was on the President’s desk.
His cover story really wasn’t much of a cover story, more like the truth taken from the pages of Parson’s Weems book “The Life of George Washington with Curious Anecdotes Equally Honorable to Himself and Exemplary to his Young Countrymen.” Sure the story of little George fessing up to the brutal destruction of one of his father’s favorite fruit bearing trees was indeed embellished a bit but the heroic nature of a boy or in this case, a man telling the truth in front of the utmost power and in the midst of almost utter annihilation speaks volumes for his integrity, even when the circumstantial evidence states otherwise. Yes, Scott was a smart cookie, he could bluff with the best of them but it became clear to Scott to fold for he decided the end game was more important than the single hand and he wanted very much to continue playing in the highest stakes of a game.
The President was also a smart cookie, you don’t get to be president of the United Sates otherwise, though some would question George W. Bush. In any case, President Jonathan Whitaker had an ace up his sleeve but it just so happened to be the same ace that his chief of staff uses from time to time. He dialed his direct number.
“Scott was just in my office, he confessed to being involved in this morning’s breaking news.”
“I’ve already been doing research for him.”
“And?”
“And yes, he’s involved but from my brief conversation with him this morning he’s looking for the same answers as everyone else.”
“What else?”
“I found that the John Doe from this morning, who police are now calling Blake Linge a banking consultant, is actually Blake Remus, and get this, he’s a Beta Group employee.”
“Scott mentioned that he had the group involved, I guess he was their inside man?”
“Appears that way, pretty good cover, records in all the right places. He did basic work for the group, nothing too outside the lines, mainly drop-offs and pick-ups, with the occasional gray area here and there but right now I’m looking into finding John Smith.”
“Who?”
“Lieutenant Colonel John Smith.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Scott mentioned him to me, actually he said you were the one looking for him.”
“And his story?”
“Not much to tell at this point in time, he was a marine, a deeply undercover op, retired, and as of almost four years ago, deceased.”
“So I’m betting he’s not eighty-sixed, where is he now?”
“That’s the million dollar question. He’s not in the system, he should be by our standards, but he’s not, never did exist in the system as far as I can tell at the moment.”
“Has he worked for the group?”
“His past bank records appear that way, looks like a heavy hitter, you don’t get this kind of cash without being totally covert.”
“Scott said this was just a scandal, just pictures, then why use a man of this stature?”
“Another million dollar question, I’m sure this guy could handle a camera just as easy as a berretta or a glock, but mix in the fact that he’s not in the system and I think it’s a bit of overkill for just some snap snaps.”
“Okay, Scott’s hiding something and I need you to find out what it is and when you do”
“You’ll be the second to know.”
“Second?”
“Yes, I’ll be the first.”
Jonathan wasn’t in the mood for his pissy little semantics and hung up without so much as a closing remark. It now looked liked his morning plate was full. Although Scott called first, just like in the game pinochle, trump wins and in this suit the trump was the President.
He logged back into the system but before he could do anything something happened. He came face to face with one of the most cursed-out-loud screens a computer monitor could display and on cue he uttered, “fuck me.” It was the “blue screen of death.” A critical system error had occurred. His computer froze and the only thing he could do was power it down and then back on again. Things like this just happen; it could have been overheating, faulty memory, a bad video driver, or a thousand and one other things inside the black box. If it happened again he would have to investigate further but he didn’t want to cross that bridge unless he had to, plus there was no way in hell he was going to let the fellas of IT near his computer.
While his computer rebooted he took the opportunity to take a restroom break, clear his head, and make a trip to the cooler for some hot water and a teabag. When he got back to his office he placed his steeping cup of tea on the desk and again uttered, “fuck me.” There it was again, the “blue screen of death.” This wasn’t good, not at all. He powered it down again and realized the amount of time he would need to do a restore if this continued to happen. Before he turned it back on, he got down on his knees and removed the side casing of his computer. This time he uttered, “son-of-a-bitch,” in almost disbelief. His cpu fan was choked full of dust and debris. He was almost certain the computer was overheating. Being a computer expert he should have known better than to let his machine go maintenance free for so long, but being the computer expert, he had the remedy on hand. From the bottom drawer of his desk he removed a can of compressed air, placed the little plastic straw in the end and fired away, blowing dust and debris everywhere. Within a minute he had the casing back in its proper place and fired up his machine. When his desktop reappeared he was relieved that he didn’t have to do a restore from his backups since that would have taken the better part of the afternoon.
Then like puberty hitting Aquarius, it dawned on him, in order to do a complete restore it would take his latest backup, with backup being the operative word here. Why he didn’t remember this before was beyond his grasp at the moment but he took a few of those moments to point his application to the secondary database. Upon a major malfunction of the real-time database the secondary/backup would kick in automatically without so much as a hiccup to the end user. Since the regular database was running smoothly he had to manipulate his settings and change the port number (the computer address to the database) in his property file. Since he rarely did this he had to locate the exact number buried in or on his desk somewhere. It used to be written on a scratch piece of paper but he had no clue where that could have gone—he didn’t care either since anyone who would happen to glance at the number would assume it was a five digit zip code if left out in the open. Since his desk was a lost cause the easiest way to find the number was to search his system and he found it in an obscured extraneous file. Now it was a matter of inserting it into his application and rebooting the program. When his application came back online he was connected to the secondary database and started checking for any errors he may have missed the first time around.
. . .
Chapter 52
The Chief of Staff wasn’t in a good mood but his neck was the one in the noose and he wanted to breathe a little easier and remain in the game. He thought about the current hand that he was dealt. John Smith was the key, yet he wasn’t in the system so he wasn’t going to use the system, instead he opened the military’s database once again. From there he doubled checked that John Smith was injected with Frank Simosiks’ bio-nano concoction in October over three years ago. He also found that he was in the IIR’s database for immunizations and the lot number was tied to his social
security number. He should be in the system, “unless,” he thought, “unless, just how feasible could it be a faulty lot,” as he reached for the phone. He dialed his buddy’s number and waited. Four rings, five, six, seven rings. It never went to voicemail. Eight rings, then nine, and this happened almost all the time. On the other end his buddy would be so engrossed in whatever it was he did, the ringing of a phone became ambient noise; even a fire alarm once went unnoticed by him. Ten rings, eleven, twelve… .
“Yes?”
“What, you’re not busy today, you answered rather quickly Frank?”
“Well, I was just thinking about perfume, why do they always have to smell flowery, I mean if a woman had perfume that smelled like steak or pepperoni pizza, they’d have men all over them.”
“Like that one commercial where a woman has a taco or something in her purse at the bar, next thing you know the men are all over her.”
“See that’s my point, men are attracted to smells they like, not what women like, I’m telling you, if she smelled like pepperoni pizza, I’d eat that. I was also thinking of developing a line of candles strictly for men, fuck that vanilla and mango shit, how about wet asphalt, fresh cut grass, or even gasoline.”
“Frank, what are you lighting with that Bunsen burner that’s making you so high?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, listen I have a question for you, for your bio injections, that stabilizer with the radio nanos, have you ever had a faulty lot.”
“Sure.”
“So that might explain it then.”
“Explains what?”
“Well we had a person get injected and was never put in the system.”
“It’s not a faulty lot.”
“But you just said…”
“What I said was an answer to your question, do I ever have a faulty lot, and that answer is yes, but each lot is checked before it leaves and if it leaves then it is not faulty and besides, these things have a good five year shelf-life. What was the lot number?”
“BR7”
“One sec… . okay, here it is, out of the three hundred people injected with that lot number, two hundred and ninety seven people are in the system. The three who have gone to meet the maker and are bereft of life are Kathryn Gilberts, a one John Smith, and Stacy Bel… . Bel… fuck it, there’s no way I’m pronouncing that name.”
“What system are you looking at?”
“I’m doing a combination search, my database, the IIR’s and the system.”
“Okay, but see John Smith, he was injected but his records were never in the system, doing a quick check both Kathryn and Stacey were, not now though, since they are both pushing up the daisies.”
“Kicked the bucket, expired and gone to meet the maker, joined the choir invisible.”
“Listen John Cleese wannabe, will you please pay attention.”
“I got it, I got, he was never in the system, yet this John Smith, real original name there huh? Well, this John Smith was injected with BR77UK which was working as it went out the door of my plant, it was put in my system on October nineteenth and looking at the upload file to the system, there were no exceptions reported during or after that upload. He has to be in the system.”
“Well he’s not.”
“Well something’s wrong.”
“Gee you think? I’m betting that your little nano thingys failed in some way shape or form.”
“I beg to differ and I will not accept that until proven otherwise. Who is this John Smith, if that is his real name.”
“He’s an ex-marine, black ops, now consultant and is off the grid.”
“I think you’re out of the loop.”
“What?”
“Okay, let me get this straight, your guy, ahem, John Smith, was injected with our solution, yet was uploaded to the system, yet never appears in that system, so what do you think the chances are that the one faulty lot in BR7, which by the way, is not possible, but just for your sake I’ll roll with it, just happens to go into a person who is black ops… come on I’m waiting, . . . I said I’m waiting.”
“I know, I know, I’m just trying to rule out coincidences.”
“And?”
“And I hit a fucking wall.”
“So do you like the smell of burning wood?”
“Yes, umm.”
“How about a locker room?”
“Huh?”
“You know the smell of sweat, dirty clothes, you know for my candle collection?”
Click.
After his conversation with the doctor and his smells, he figured Frank’s logic was spot on, someone was hiding something and his money was on his partner in crime. There were only four people who had access to the system, the big man himself, Mr. DNI., Frank, and the obvious. Frank and the President dabbled in the system more for their curiosity than for obtaining actual knowledge in crisis situations but his colleague knew the database all too well; he certainly knew all the finer details of data collection and storage so he was the blood-doping favorite to blame in this race.
. . .
Chapter 53
It was rare that the President took his toy out for a ride but this time he was curious to find some information on his Chief of Staff from firsthand knowledge. It was an even rarer occurrence that he got an ACCESS DENIED error.
“Son of a… .,” and before he could finish, the reply came from the phone.
“I know, I know… I’m in the process of bringing it back up, the system was down.”
“Why?”
“Doing research.”
“Yes, but”
“I was going on,” and paused for a rather long time before he continued, “going on a hunch, I was just restoring the application to point to the secondary database… . and… .whoa… whoa…”
“Whoa what?”
“I found him.”
“Who?”
“That lieutenant colonel Scott wanted me to find.”
“John Smith.”
“Yes, it looks as though on October nineteenth, about three years ago as per company regulations, a one John Smith was injected with STBL5 from a lot produced by our friend from the Etimiz Corporation and on that very same day was placed into our system.”
“And?”
“I’m getting to that.” The President could hear his typing on the other end. “For three years his entire travels where tracked by the eye in the sky and his last entry was… . less than twenty-four hours ago at twelve thirty-seven a.m. just after the shootings at the Carson Estate.”
“What do you mean his last entry,” as he could hear the feverish clicking of keyboard strokes, “is he off the grid?”
“Yes but I think it’s a bit more permanent than that, I think he’s dead, his last marker readings were just before one this morning, probably right after the murders but the interesting thing is someone manually removed him from our system, erased him, then literally erased him.”
“Then how did you find him.”
“Whoever erased him forgot the backups, like I said we have a few redundant systems in the hills here and there, and he was in the secondary database but not the primary.”
“So this who?”
“Only one person it could be, that is unless you or Frank recently graduated from Lincoln Tech.”
“Scott?”
“Bet the house but you have to ask yourself why, why give us the name of the marine in the first place?”
“To throw us off the track, you know the complicated headgames this dick can play, the master chess player he thinks he is.”
“Isn’t that why you hired him?”
“Yes, but he’s still a dick.”
“So do you want me to tell him or what?”
“Can you monitor him?”
“That’s not a problem, it will take some time to put listeners on his cell, email is pretty easy as well as his office phone.”
“Then, when he calls you, go ahead and tell him John is dead.”
&nb
sp; “And when he asks how I know?’
‘Tell him what you told me and see how he reacts.”
He bit his tongue because he was about to say some smart-ass remark regarding the fact he couldn’t see Scott, just hear him, besides he needed his ass to sit in the chair, “Do you want me to accuse him of deleting John Smith.”
“Let’s not go there, if he wants to play chess, let’s see his next move before we take his queen off the board.”
. . .
Chapter 54
“Whatcha got for me?’
“I was just about to call you Scott, that marine you wanted me to find, well I found him, sort of.”
“What do you mean sort of?”
“Well, I found him in the backup database, only he’s no longer transmitting.”
“Are you saying he’s dead?”
“Well he was in the system, now he’s not, like I said, he’s no longer transmitting which for all intents and purpose means he’s dead, he was extinguished just before one this morning.”
“By who?”
“I don’t have that information but it looks as though whoever did this did not have any marker injections, or it could very well have been the senator.”
“Was John around the Carson’s residence at the time of the murder?”
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