Take the Fourth

by Jeffrey Walton

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Yes it was two or three years into my marriage with Grace. I started second guessing my relationship. Getting that grass is always greener sensation. Here was this object of my love within reach and relatively close, a sister-in-law for Christ sake. Like I said, we fought a lot but it sparked emotions deep within us and I just knew we could have lived with the lively debates and with each other for we would have eventually matured. I needed to know if there was still a chance so I asked her to meet me.”

  “Where?”

  “The place she loved the most. On her boat. She picked me up on the docks. I brought champagne and some glasses. We talked over one of the most beautiful sunsets and as the sun went down the water became as green as her eyes. I learned that evening she had regrets as well. So here are two people who both made choices in their life yet found each other at this crossroad. Honestly, I told her I would divorce Grace if she would do the same. She couldn’t because of you but said she would sleep on it. And I respected that. She dropped me back off the docks and that was the last time I saw her, never to return to either of us. You can see why I never told your aunt.”

  Jorja gave her assurances that everything was going to be alright and shortly thereafter she parted ways. Once back in her car she was relieved, relieved because she didn’t have to be in the presence of a killer anymore. She knew he was lying the moment he started down the waters of the Chesapeake. He was covering his wake so to speak. Had Jorja not sent him the true AFIS file using Greg’s email address he would have never brought up the fact he was even on a boat or had champagne with her mother; that she was sure of without a shadow of a doubt. The senator knew his fingerprints might come back to haunt him. How convenient was his story that she dropped him off the docks and he went his merry way. She didn’t buy it for a second. Jorja was a clever girl and she studied her uncle’s face as he told the story. It was as if it were rehearsed rather than from memory. He was careful to insert words to proclaim his innocence, trying to mold her thoughts as if the events were real to him but real for Jorja was the finality of truth.

  . . .

  Chapter 72

  The database administrator of the Director of National Intelligence was already on the line when Scott walked into the Oval Office.

  The President was in the midst of speaking. “So are we saying that this Greg guy over at the CIA was the pivotal point in our situation?”

  “It looks that way,” Scott interjected, “he reported to the deputy director, Jorja Carson, who you now know is the niece of the senator, seems he knew about the affair as well and wanted to expose it based on some underlying obsession with Jorja, we really don’t understand the psychology behind all of it.”

  “How did he find out about the affair and more importantly how did he find out about your plan?”

  From the voice on the phone, “the CIA has a set of big ears, and Greg was a master with email systems and file uploads throughout the intelligence community, he probably saw one of Scott’s original emails and just followed the trail because it pertained to his boss in some manner.”

  “What does Jorja think?”

  Scott fielded this question. “She’s between a rock and a hard place, on one hand she wants to expose us for our,” and he corrected himself, “my plan, for the tabloid photo shoot, on the other, it was her subordinate that initiated the plan to actually have her aunt killed by our rogue agent, not to mention he may have sparked the senator’s rampage by his phone call. Truth be told I think she’s still on the fence about her uncle’s involvement.”

  “So we still don’t know who killed Grace, do we?”

  “All signs still point to Senator Carson, he received the phone call from Greg right around eleven which he then manipulated to look like it came from a payphone, probably a tip off, then we have all the circumstantial evidence such as the senator was home at the time of the murders or within our window scope, the bullets were the same caliber as his handgun, and coupled with the fact his gun was freshly cleaned, it all does draw suspicion. Again it’s all circumstantial and for all intents and purpose he should be acquitted. If O.J. can get off…”

  “How about this lieutenant colonel everyone keeps mentioning?”

  The voice on the phone again, “We just don’t know, we assume he’s dead since his transmissions have ended.”

  “Who erased him in the first place?”

  “Scott you wanna take that one?”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Just admit it Scott, you erased him to cover your own ass but you forgot the backups.”

  “But he’s still not transmitting is he? You’re the database guru, I’m the Chief of Staff, I don’t go playing in your sandbox, so unless you have unequivocal proof, go…”

  “Enough,” the stern voice of Jonathan rumbled, “so if John Smith is dead, who killed him, the senator?”

  “Very possible, since they both were in and around the vicinity of the Carson’s residence, but if he didn’t that leaves a huge gaping hole. There are a few scenarios, the first being the senator murdered all three people, Grace, Blake, and our lieutenant colonel but if Smith followed out his change of plans provided by Greg, then the senator could have just killed him, or that gaping hole comes into play, the senator had nothing to do with it, and either Smith or a person to be named later does the deadly deed.”

  “Okay if Smith is dead, where is the body, the evidence?”

  “There is none.”

  “None? That’s totally unacceptable, with all this fucking technology that our system provides, we still can’t prove a goddamn thing. We can’t even solve a simple murder case.”

  There was silence, then, “there’re still gaps yes, like, not everyone is in the system yet, and the elapse tracking time is every five minutes, which pretty soon, we should have to under a minute, and we haven’t blanketed the entire country, there are still blind spots,” echoed from the conference phone.

  “Still, the wasted manpower, the years of planning that went into this, I expect more, no, I demand more, we have this system to protect the American people from harm, so they can live in a world free from crime, so the American people can be free. We didn’t come all this way to fail, yet what I’m seeing here is complete failure, failure through incompetence, and we are very much running out of time.”

  “Well, with Carson out of the race, it does look like another term, and when the senate passes our new bill, then we are one step closer to providing coverage to the entire country, plus if the scare of pandemics continue, and they will, since we now have officials on the board of WHO, the demand for vaccines will rise. We always knew this system wouldn’t be one hundred percent flawless, but with each passing day we get closer to our end goal. Remember, in just a few short years we have a little more than half the population being tracked every five minutes, that is one hell of an accomplishment. We are still ahead of our projected timeline.”

  “I want these timelines moved up, Scott, you take the lead in that, and here,” as the President handed Scott back his letter, “that better be the last time it’s on my desk, now let’s get back to business.”

  “Hold on, before you hang up, so are you going to unlock me now,” quipped Scott?

  “On one condition.”

  “I know, I know, I should have never doubted you.”

  “Listen, we of all people have to stick together, we alone know the true power of this system.”

  “So again, I never should have doubted you… or pissed you off.”

  As he clicked a few keys there was a slight laugh, “okay, you’re good to go.”

  “Thanks,” and Scott punched off on the phone, never knowing the true meaning behind his laugh.

  That laugh was indeed for Scott because he was dead on to doubt him. He knew the day, the hour, even the second, when Greg and Jorja first entered the system. He knew the very first time they saw through GOD’s eyes. He built the system, he knew the system, he kn
ew all the traps, all the firewalls, all the safety features. When the sensor tripped he kept his watchful eye on them and liked the fact that they had no qualms in disregarding the amendments of the United States. He watched their every move. He knew the length of the leash that he wanted to keep them on. They could be future allies and he knew he needed allies when the system becomes fully operational. He wanted to trust them but that all changed because of Greg, more so with Greg’s obsession with Jorja and the system. He spent every waking hour pouring over data, tracking everyone she ever encountered. He was becoming unstable. He was becoming a shaken champagne bottle with its gate released. He alone had to take care of Greg and what better way to do it than frame Greg for the murder of the senator’s wife and an easy plan it was. Greg had laid all the ground work with the emails to and from Reynolds, so he merely made it look as though Greg had changed Reynolds’ original email from pictures to kills and hid Lieutenant Colonel John Smith’s NID’s. The rest was a dash of denial, a pinch of paranoia, and a splash of good old fashion jealously. He was just hoping that Greg would be fired and take his rank among the 9/11, grassy knoll and UFO conspiracy theorists until his encounter with a car fender. Yes, the database administrator for the Office of Director of National Intelligence was the true card player in this game. He knew the real power of the system, the system of justice. He knew that the truth lies in the data and there is no hiding that fact.

  . . .

  Chapter 73

  The trial lasted three weeks and was just as gripping as a daytime soap opera yet the general public just didn’t seem to care. They already had tough political skin as they’ve been inundated by everything from coked-up mayors and gay turning governors, to seat selling senators and lying-through-their-teeth presidents. They only cared about the outcome and nothing more—“We the jury find the defendant, Floyd Benjamin Carson not guilty.” The only so-called evidence was the fact he was possibly home during the time of the murders. There was no GSR on him, no blood, and the bullets’ striations never matched his gun. The jury never knew the true meaning behind the phone call he received just prior to the murders since they never knew who was on the other line. It was disregarded simply as a wrong number. The jury never knew that as soon as the senator walked into his study he had grabbed his 9mm caliber Bereta 92 from his gun safe, loaded it, and calmly walked upstairs and shot his wife and her lover. The jury never knew he had cleaned himself, changed his clothes, and more importantly, changed the barrel on his gun. They never knew he came back to his study, oiled his gun, placed it back into the box, took a sedative and a sip of bourbon and passed out. The jury never knew that he later disposed of the well-hidden extra barrel in a trashcan inside the Georgetown Mall. They never knew the power of his rage regarding infidelity. They never knew the weight of his burden, his reoccurring nightmare that took its toll on his everyday life. They never knew it was a constant battle to keep his emotions in check. The jury never knew that he would wake in the middle of most nights with his hands grasping an imaginary champagne bottle and bringing it down on the back of Carolina’s neck. They never knew he dropped her overboard in the middle of the Chesapeake. They never knew he ran the boat aground and simply walked off to become a well-respected senator and almost a president. The jury never knew he had a true love before, murdered before, and got away with it before. They never knew, but Jorja knew. Jorja knew he was responsible for her empty heart. Jorja knew this man had taken away the two most important people in her life. She knew he had killed her mother. She knew he had killed her Aunt Gracie. After all the redirections, false implications, and conspiracy theories Jorja knew the Lieutenant Colonel John Smith was telling the truth. She also knew that Greg was right not to trust the senator. She also knew now that Greg was gone she had an even bigger burden to carry alone, a bigger burden than knowing your uncle was a murderer gone free. It was the burden of the system, of GOD’s eyes.

  As Jorja sat at her desk, the desk of the Deputy Director of Directorate of Science and Technology, and gazed at her “Eye” poster, she tried to deny the existence of the system. She tried to deny the allurement of the system, its seductive powers of knowledge and truth. She couldn’t. She turned towards her monitor and was about to log in when she heard a rap on her doorframe.

  As she looked up from behind her wire frames, “Jorja, do you have a moment, Will Clark from DNI.”

  She didn’t recognize the face, immediately thought of only one thing, and said, “ah, the famous pioneer, I have some time, come on in.”

  He shut the door behind him, “so you already know about me?”

  “Well, without you the world would seem smaller I suppose.”

  “I suppose, and that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “What, your great expedition?”

  “Well, yes, you can call it that I guess,” and from her smile he sensed they were not on the same page, “wait a sec, exactly what are you talking about here?”

  “It’s William right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I was referring to your buddy, Lewis,” noticing the sort of puzzled look she added, “Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, Lewis and Clark, the Great Expedition?”

  “Yes, okay, I’m with you now, as a matter of fact I do want to talk to you about the great expedition.”

  Now it was Jorja’s turn to have the puzzled look on her face, “you do?”

  “The one you and Greg took April of last year.”

  Jorja looked at her monitor, then looked at the man before her, she noticed his insignia ring, she noticed the “PS” and then tried to formulate a question “Are you talking about the… the…”

  “Yes, I am talking about the system, I’ve known all along Jorja, I’m its creator, well one of them anyway… I’m coming to you because I need someone I can trust.”

  She felt the weight of her burden lightened.

  . . .

  Chapter 74

  William Clark was at his desk when a calendar reminder popped up. It stated one word—Ripley. It was exactly one year to the date that Ripley Newenburg was found alive thanks to him and a few good cops. He broke the rules. He skirted the Constitution. And he would do it again and has. It was a feeling that the greater good must always prevail.

  He quickly went to the system and dialed up the now six year old’s ID. It was a Sunday and he found her at home, in the backyard. Little did he know the parents were keeping an even closer watch over her from the kitchen window. This particular sun filled summer afternoon, she was playing with her brother Sam, and his favorite new found game, hide-n-go-seek… . and she could be heard from the window… “I found you, tag you’re it.”

  . . .

  Epilogue

  The director of the FBI was at home sorting his mail and came across a certified letter obviously signed for by his wife since she was home during the delivery. It was an ordinary plain white envelope and he assumed it had something to do with taxes. When opened, the envelope contained a single sheet of paper. He unfolded the paper and was a bit perplexed. He didn’t know what to make of it. It was a list of the FBI’s 10 most wanted ranging from murderers to terrorists and bank robbers to sexual deviants, and next to each picture was either an address or the word “unknown” cut out of newspaper/magazine print. There were five addresses and five unknowns. “Some kind of joke,” he thought and simply tossed it with the outgoing flyers he would soon dispose. When he was finished with the rest of the mail he gathered the flyers, the opened envelopes, and any other disregarded pieces and tossed them into the trashcan. He noticed the registered letter was on top. He reached for it and once again, read it. He dialed the Philadelphia office.

  “Hey Dale, I need you to send a few agents over to 718 West 57th, apartment 2C”

  “For?”

  “Just following up on a hunch.”

  “You, a hunch, since when are you back in the field, it’s been quite awhile hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was just something I got in
the mail, make sure your agents are familiar with the Jason Brown case.”

  “Jason Brown? Something in the mail? Are you kidding me, he’s been on the list for a few years with no such luck.”

  “Just tell me what you find out will ya?”

  “Sure thing boss.”

  Within two hours the FBI’s ten most wanted list was whittled down to nine. Within two hours after that there were stakeouts at the four remaining addresses. Three more criminals were apprehended during the next two days and just like that, the list was cut to almost in half only to soon be replaced by the next in line. The envelope was sent to the lab for further analysis. The paper and envelope were generic in nature bought at any office supply store. Both the stamp and envelope contained no DNA from saliva since they were the self-adhesive kind. No fingerprints were found except for the director’s. Not a single clue as to where this letter originated. Not one. Yet thanks to this letter, somehow, in some way shape or form, four of the most dangerous criminals that ever walked this earth were behind bars, just like that.

  On the other side of the continent a similar envelope arrived at the doorstep of one Mrs. Ling. It simply had a picture of her missing daughter and an address in East L.A . . Turns out the runaway was seduced into a life of tricks for the trade and stoked out on heroin. The two were reunited and although a long way from returning to a normal life, they’re on the right path.