Vigilante Dead

by DV Berkom

  The idea of running into my ex, Sheriff Cole Anderson, stopped me from going any further.

  Yet another relationship I’d managed to screw up.

  I just had to own it—I was no good at love. Or dealing with family.

  Or living my life.

  No, I needed to finish this business with Angie and Dobson and then leave for parts unknown with no forwarding address. Make a clean break. Moving to a location where no one knew me had a strong appeal. I could be someone with a normal past. I’d make new friends, get a job somewhere. Yeah.

  The one thing I was good at.

  Leaving.

  Twenty-Seven

  THE NEXT DAY Angie texted me a location in a nearby neighborhood and asked me to meet Eve there at noon. At twelve o’clock sharp, I pulled up to the nondescript, five-story brick building and parked next to the curb. I made a mental note of the two-hour parking limit and walked up to the entrance where I hit the button for apartment 16-A. A moment later, someone on the other end buzzed me through.

  The apartment was at the end of a long hall, last door on the left. The corridor was painted beige and smelled of pine cleaner. Cheap dome lights dotted the ceiling. Two of them had burned out, leaving a portion of the hallway in shadow. Somewhere behind a closed door a baby cried.

  Before I could knock, the door to apartment 16-A opened and a pale, delicate oval face I didn’t recognize peered out at me. The sleek, close-cropped black hair, dark eyeliner, and nose ring didn’t give any cues as to gender, but my instincts told me the person was more than likely a she. Not that it mattered.

  “I’m here to see Eve.”

  The young woman gave me the once-over and stepped aside to let me in. For some reason, I felt like I’d passed inspection.

  “She’s over there.” Nose Ring nodded toward the living room, where three people were huddled around their laptops. No one spoke.

  With Nose Ring behind me, I walked into the room, unsure where to sit or what to do. Should I wait until Eve acknowledged me, or would it be better to interrupt? I hated to break such intense concentration so opted for silence. Eve continued to type for a few moments before she looked up.

  She closed the laptop and stood, gesturing for me to follow her. We walked down a short hallway and into what was originally a bedroom, but now had large pieces of equipment with blinking lights lining the perimeter. There was barely enough room for the table and four chairs that were in the middle. A low hum permeated the stuffy room. Nose Ring closed the door behind us. Eve opened her laptop and turned it to face me, nodding at Nose Ring.

  “This is Lady Dedlock. Lady D for short. She’ll be working with us on the Pro-Pharma thing.”

  I was about to ask her why the unusual name when I noticed the words written across the virtual file folder on the screen. Operation Dirt Bag.

  “Have a seat.” Eve pulled out a chair and indicated I should sit. Lady D took the chair next to Eve. “Take a look.” She held herself like a Labrador on point and my heart rate kicked up a notch. Had she found the information I was looking for already?

  Inside the file folder were several items: documents, webpages, screen shots, even bank statements. I clicked through them and whistled. The words Pro-Pharma or Mick Dobson were on almost every one.

  “Damn. You’re good.”

  The comment elicited a smile. “We aim to please.”

  I studied each page and took notes. When I was finished, a plan had begun to form in my mind.

  “Can you hack into his personal computer?”

  Eve cocked her head to one side and gave me an amused look. “Where do you think I got the banking information?”

  Oh. “Is it really that easy?”

  Eve raised an eyebrow. “Once I figured out his IP address and ran a port scan, getting in was a snap. Especially since he never updates his plug-ins.”

  “This helps. A lot.”

  “What exactly are you looking for?” she asked.

  “A weakness to exploit. I’m hoping to hit him where it’s going to hurt the most. His finances. It’s the only reasonable explanation for what he did.”

  “Profits before people from corporate America? How unusual.”

  Her droll response spoke volumes. It wasn’t the first time I wondered what kind of hacking she did. Apparently the look on my face spoke just as loudly as her words.

  “I sense that you’re curious about our methods.”

  “You know, it’s really none of my business,” I said, hastily adding, “No questions asked. I think that’s what Angie said.”

  “Angie assured me that you were no danger to our little community.” Eve gave me an enigmatic smile.

  “She’s right on that count. I’m hardly one to make trouble for you guys. I am interested in why you’re helping me, though. It’s not like the money I’m paying you is enough if you get caught.”

  The enigmatic smile made another appearance. “Let’s just say that some of us have a vested interest in the outcome.”

  When I asked what she meant, she changed the subject.

  “So, what’s the game plan?”

  “Is there a way to copy the contents of his computer?” I asked. “I mean everything.”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Then what?”

  “Then, depending on what I find, we pay Mr. Dobson a visit.”

  “That’s going to be difficult.”

  “Why?” Surely it would just be a matter of surveilling his house to figure out the best time to break in. “Too much security?”

  She waved away my question. “Everything, including the cameras, is wirelessly connected. Taking the teeth out of that will be simple, unless he has dogs or something we haven’t anticipated. He’s not a computer geek, to put it mildly. Looks like he had someone set up his server and then left it at that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “His house is surrounded by water.”

  “Like a moat?”

  “Like the Strait of Juan de Fuca.”

  ***

  The San Juan Islands are located north of Seattle, an archipelago near Vancouver Island, British Columbia, in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Over 400 islands populate the area, although some are hardly bigger than large rocks. All are accessible only by boat or floatplane.

  Dobson owned one of those rocks, not far from Friday Harbor. Friday Harbor was on one of the four main islands accessible by ferry, the others being Orcas, Lopez, and Shaw Islands. We’d have to first locate his island via satellite, and then make sure he was there before we attempted our plan. Once we’d confirmed his presence, we’d have to sneak onto the island and into his house without being detected. After we were inside, I’d use the information from Angie’s enhanced interrogation module to get him to confess, which I’d record and upload to the cloud for safekeeping.

  Although the threat to release his and Chacon’s recorded confessions would give him a mighty strong incentive to stop selling the dangerous meds, I wasn’t convinced we could pull off the plan. There were too many variables that screamed prison if we were caught. On the other hand, if the video was released, Pro-Pharma’s stock would tank and he’d lose everything. In a perfect world, he would be held liable and charged with the victims’ wrongful deaths.

  “But Eve, think about it. This plan has so many holes it’s like chicken wire. First, we have to correctly identify the exact rock where his home is among 400 islands. Once we do that, we have to be able to confirm when he’s there—alone. If that isn’t enough, then we have to sneak onto the island and into his home without anyone knowing. The guy’s a CEO for a pharmaceutical company with a lot of discretionary income. He’s got security.”

  The annoyance on Eve’s face told me she didn’t care about the odds. “All of that can be circumvented.” I played devil’s advocate for a while longer, but she was adamant.

  “Look,” she said, as though speaking to a recalcitrant two-year old. “We’re doing this with or without you. It’s your call. There’s to
o much at stake for us to stop now. Besides, Angie says you’ll do whatever it takes. Was she wrong?”

  I studied her, trying to figure out if she was bluffing or not, and came to the conclusion that she meant what she said. I knew Angie did. On that point, I was screwed. If Angie wanted me to go with these guys, I would have to go.

  “Why are you so eager to do this?” I still wasn’t clear on her motivation, and Angie had gone to ground and was unavailable. Again. I couldn’t pick her brain about the hackers. “You could go to prison for this. Maybe it’s not murder, but breaking into a man’s home and blackmailing him after threatening his life isn’t going to get you a slap on the wrist.”

  “That’s my business. I will tell you this, though. The deaths from those drugs hit close to home for a lot of us.” She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “That’s all I’m going to say.”

  Isn’t that exactly how I felt? That I wanted revenge for what happened to Lisa? As long as Dobson walked free, the need to make him pay would eat at me. I knew if I didn’t act, I’d sentence myself to a lifetime of frustration for letting it go.

  “Okay. What about this? I’ll work with you in an advisory capacity. I’ve been a part of successful clandestine operations in the past, and if there’s one thing that stuck in my mind, it’s that preparation is key. If you don’t have a plan, you won’t have a chance in hell of achieving your objectives.” I had Quinn to thank for that.

  “Fair enough. Does that mean you will or won’t come with us to the island once we find it?”

  “If Angie thinks I need to be there, then I’ll go.”

  “Deal.” Eve closed the laptop. “I’m pretty sure Angie will insist that you join us.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Locating Dobson’s home turned out to be relatively easy, using satellite photos readily available on the internet. His satellite connection had a static IP address, and Eve was able to narrow the search to a manageable area, eventually identifying the estate. The main house was set in a clearing in the center of the island surrounded by a small forest, and was accessible from a dock with stairs leading up a steep rock face. There were also some smaller outbuildings, one of which appeared to be a caretaker’s cottage.

  Eve discovered the permits and plans for the estate, which detailed an extensive solar array in a clearing to the south, as well as an elaborate cistern running underneath the buildings. Wastewater was filtered through rain gardens and other gravity-fed systems, and sewage was diverted into bio tanks treated with microbes. Two large propane tanks fed his gas stove and three fireplaces. His internet connection was powered by a dedicated satellite feed which bypassed the normal frustrations of the technology like slow loading times and breaks in service.

  Tracking his movements was relatively easy, at least for Eve and Lady D. Like many people, Dobson used a smartphone and synced it to his personal laptop. Eve was able to send an innocuous string of code from his computer to his phone that allowed her to take control of both the webcam on his laptop and the audio on his phone without being detected.

  We would have to move quickly. Once we tracked him to his house on the island, there was no guarantee that he’d stay there. I suggested watching his movements for a longer period of time, getting a feel for his habits, but Eve and Lady D objected. In the few short days they’d been tracking him, he’d consistently spent the night at a waterfront condominium, one he apparently used while in Seattle. When I proposed that we try for the confession at the condo, both Eve and Lady D shook their heads.

  “He’s not alone when he’s there. Besides, security is tight for the entire building. Neither one of us are comfortable with that or the location.”

  “How do we know he’s going to be alone on the island?”

  “We don’t, exactly, except for what we can hear on audio or see from the webcam. But we know for a fact he’s not alone at the condo. Besides, the condo location has more room for failure, like witnesses and faster emergency response.”

  Lady D added, “Once he’s on the island, we’ll have to move the first night he’s there. What if he decides to take a trip? We’d have to wait until he got back, and that could be weeks.”

  “I see your point. But I’m a little uncomfortable just ‘storming the castle.’ What if there are groundskeepers? Or security guards, or caretakers? I would assume since there’s a caretaker cottage on the estate and he’s not there all the time that he’d at least have someone keep an eye on things.”

  Eve shrugged. “No worries there. As long as he’s within shouting distance of his computer or phone, which is 99.9 percent of the time, I’ll be able to hear most of what he says.” She looked pointedly at me. “That means plans he discusses with other people, like his assistant.”

  “How does he get there? Boat? Helicopter?”

  It was Lady D’s turn to answer. “He keeps a floatplane at a marina on Lake Washington. I suggest that we get our gear together and be ready to go, so it will just be a matter of grabbing it and heading for the island. Everyone’s on call, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. All we need to do is wait for Dobson to signal that he’s leaving. Once that happens, we can be there with plenty of time to find a way into the house.”

  “How are we going to get there?” It wouldn’t be difficult to rent a motor cruiser, but the less of a paper trail we left, the better.

  “We’ve got it covered.”

  ***

  Two days later, Eve called with the news that Dobson was heading for the island later that afternoon. He’d left instructions for his assistant to let people know he was going to be MIA for a few days in order to get some work done, but to not tell anyone that he was at his estate in the San Juans. He’d also sent a one-line email to someone named Amelia, letting her know he was going to be staying at the island over the weekend.

  “He texted his girlfriend and told her he’d call her when he got back,” Eve said. “Which means he’ll probably be alone in the house, at least for the first night or two.”

  “Unless he’s meeting someone else there. What about the email to Amelia? Do we know who she is?”

  “We think that she’s his housekeeper here in town, or maybe a standing appointment, like his masseuse. His messages are always terse with very little emotion, like an order. Strictly business, so probably not a second girlfriend.”

  Eve and I had met earlier in the week and put together everything we thought we’d need, stowing the items in a couple of waterproof duffel bags. We left the bags inside the front door of Eve’s apartment, ready to be transferred at a moment’s notice. Also earlier in the week, Eve had spoken to Angie, who insisted I be involved with the operation all the way through to completion.

  Not that I was surprised. But she dangled the carrot of the damning video in front of me, with assurances that if I joined this one operation, she’d destroy the evidence and we could part ways.

  Not that I believed her.

  Our ticket onto the island turned out to be a friend of Eve’s who was into extreme sports and owned a cabin cruiser, a gift from his wealthy parents. Instead of selling the boat off and using the money, he decided to live aboard, tied up to his parents’ dock. By not having to pay a mortgage or rent, he was able to use his money to travel wherever his whims took him. He’d just gotten back the week before from free climbing somewhere in Utah and was on call as needed.

  The boat we were going to use had an average cruising speed of twenty-five knots, so it would take us about three hours to reach Dobson’s private island. Our plans involved arriving before he did, but training from my time in the Yucatán kicked in, and at my insistence we’d developed a plan B and C in case things went south.

  For the last two days, Angie had followed me, showing up at weird moments in places I’d never have expected. Like my mechanic’s garage. Or the grocery store I frequented. She even sent me a text to ensure that I arrived at our rendezvous in the quaint town of Edmonds at two o’clo
ck on the afternoon Dobson was scheduled to fly out.

  Annoying, to say the least. Like I’d forget she had me on video during the commission of a crime and skip the island tour.

  The Asian-inspired waterfront house owned by the guy’s parents overlooked the Puget Sound with a fantastic view of the Olympic Mountains. A rolling grass lawn sloped down to a long metal dock boasting two motor cruisers, one larger than the other. I assumed we’d be taking the smaller of the two. I was wrong.

  The two waterproof duffel bags we’d packed earlier rested on the dock next to the larger boat. At close to forty feet, the Olympic Dream could have been classified as a small yacht. In addition to the cockpit and cabin, the cruiser sported a fly bridge and what appeared to be enough room for at least two forward cabins. An inflatable was tied to the stern.

  A guy in his mid twenties with longish brown hair came out of the cabin, hopped onto the deck, and grabbed one of the bags. Hoisting it to his shoulder, he climbed back on the boat and disappeared inside. I walked down the grassy slope and onto the dock, stopping near the stern. I didn’t have long to wait. He reappeared a minute later and stopped short when he saw me.

  His tall, athletic build and snapping brown eyes reminded me of a much younger Sam, although the latter’s calm, thoughtful exterior wasn’t in evidence. He jumped off the bow onto the dock and stuck out his hand.

  “You must be Kate. Welcome aboard.”

  I smiled as I shook his hand. “And you are?”

  “Luke, at your service.”

  I handed him my bag and climbed onto the boat. Eve and Lady D were already inside the cabin, stowing their things, along with two other people I hadn’t met. When Eve saw me, she gestured to the other two to follow her out to the deck.

  “Kitten and Darwin, this is Kate.”

  We exchanged handshakes. The two were complete opposites. Kitten was a few heads shorter than me, with long, flowing black hair, sultry good looks, and a mischievous glint in her eyes, while Darwin was tall and wiry with flaming red hair and a smattering of freckles across his pale face.