by Ralph Rotten
“ECM?”
“Electronic counter measures. He used some kind of radar jammer to blind them. Knocked out their communications as well. Most likely he used the car to affect a faster getaway.” Straightening up, Asanté was momentarily distracted by a splash of dust on his ostrich skin cowboy boots. Hand-made to fit his feet, the boots had set him back more than a few bills.
“He jammed us? You mean like a military grade jammer of some sort? Is this son of a bitch military? Are we dealing with a Chinese agent here?” His questions coming at a fast pace, Phelps seemed to be leaping to conclusions quickly.
“No, sir, the fact that he used a fifty-year-old car tells me that he is likely not a foreign agent. Right now we have people going over every inch of the ship to see if he left us any evidence, fingerprints or equipment, anything that could lead us to his true identity, but that will take a while.” Glancing up the ramp, Asanté could not help but notice the shapely young tech carrying a toolbox. No more than twenty-five, he noted right away that she wore no ring on her left hand.
“So agent Assad, what DO you have for me?” Irritated, Phelps was still remembering the recent NSC meeting. His staff had managed to instill a sense of urgency in him.
“We have a phone number.” Returning his attention to the conversation, Asanté could not help but smile as he revealed the one detail that had been withheld from the other agencies. “When the science team got the plates off of the hull they turned out to be exactly what they appeared to be; just tin plates from a camping cook set. No doubt they were intended to distract us from the real device. Anyhow, stamped onto the back of each was a phone number. Apparently he, or she, left it for us to contact him.”
“She?” Phelps’ tone was dismissive at the idea of a female inventor. “What do we know about the phone number? Can you trace it? We need to get ahead of this thing; I don’t like the idea of this guy leading us around by the nose.”
“We are looking into it now. Once we have things in place I was going to make contact. Do you have any fiscal guidelines for this?” Stepping back, Asanté watched the cute young tech strolling down the boarding ramp. Flashing her a bright smile, he made a mental note to bump into her at his first opportunity.
“Offer him whatever he wants, then take the technology AND the inventor.” His voice hard, Phelps leaned into the receiver as he spoke. “Am I making myself clear? We need absolute control of this device and its creator. You have Presidential clearance to use extraordinary rendition to secure this technology and the minds that created it. Am I making myself clear?”
Asanté gave that some thought before answering.
“Yes, sir. It will be done.” He was about to add something to the conversation when the line went dead. Realizing that the President had hung up on him, he slowly mulled over the orders he had just received. While many agents would have been bothered by such directives, Marco Asanté had no problem with them. He had realized several days ago just how important this technology would be to America, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his country.
Pocketing the phone he mumbled to himself. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one.”
Nodding serenely, he felt at ease with what had to be done. With Presidential approval to use whatever means necessary, he could now dispense with superfluous details like federal statutes or habeas corpus. It made things much simpler this way.
Spotting the shapely little tech heading his way again, this time with several large equipment cases in hand, Asanté made sure to flash her a warm smile.
“Here, let me help you with those. They look heavy.” Grinning broadly, he revealed a row of perfectly aligned teeth as he took one of the heavy cases from her.
Standing some distance away, Rangi had been interviewing the security guard when he spotted the familiar form. It did not surprise him at all to see Asanté hitting on the young tech. After all, that was his modus operandi. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket the big Samoan agent pressed the number at the top of his speed dialer list.
“Hey Jenna,” He spoke in a grim tone as soon as she answered. “You’re never gonna believe who they brought in from Department of Homeless Security.”
First Contact
The site they chosen to make first contact had been an easy choice; it was the last working pay phone anywhere in the city. With cell phones being universally ubiquitous, the old phone booths had all but vanished from the terrain. Those few that remained were usually badly vandalized or completely out of order. Hence, the list of possible locations had been dramatically shortened. With three drones in place, Jamie had a complete view of the entire northeast corner.
In his mind Jamie calculated how much time had elapsed since DHS had found the phone number stamped into the plates. Although Jamie had intended to include a prophetic message that would set the tone for their negotiations, his brother had instead stamped something much coarser into the metal. As if it were a wall in a gas station lavatory, Jack had emblazoned the tin plate with the message ‘for a good time call…’ followed by the phone number for the pay phone that Jamie now surveyed.
Knowing that they would use this location, Jamie had deployed drones to the site days ago. During that time he had allowed Alexis to record the faces of the regulars; those people that frequented the dirty little convenience store. Compiling a database made it easy to spot anyone out of the ordinary. Since the plates had been removed from the hull of the Queen Mary, those faces had begun to change dramatically. Although it was subtle at first, the traffic at Donny’s Stop ‘n Go had picked up noticeably. There were two new transients pushing shopping carts, a tech working on the nearby fiber optic lines, two gang-bangers in the alleyway, and a taxi-cab that had stopped for gas three times. While he doubted most of these people were genuine, it did not surprise him in the least. They had expected this from the beginning. It had been a foregone conclusion that the feds would stakeout the entire block before making the call. In truth, the entire exercise was just a way for the savant to gauge their intent at this point in the game.
“They’re calling.” Alexis informed him in a tone devoid of emotion.
“You know what to do. Put it on speaker phone please.” Reclining in his office chair, Jamie was in his most serious avatar today. As Captain James he preferred to run a tight ship, devoid of any Tom-foolery. Watching as the undercover agents reacted to the sound of the ringing pay phone, he scrutinized them as if they were a horde of invading Klingons.
“Hello.” Alexis was cheerful as she answered the call. Having long ago hacked into the phone system, she was able to intercept the call at the regional switch. There had never been any intention of physically sending someone down to the Stop ‘n Go. In a nanosecond the AI had traced the phone number to its owner.
“This number was found on a tin plate attached to the hull of the Queen Mary. Am I speaking to the person who placed it there?” Asanté’s voice was stern. Intent on maintaining a firm tone, he needed to control the conversation.
“I represent the entity that did.” She kept her reply neutral. With her massive processing power she had long ago concluded that it was not in their best interests to reveal their true numbers. While the government would eventually realize that there were two brothers, there was no strategic value in releasing that information at this juncture.
“Why did you levitate the Queen Mary?” Although he knew the answer already, Asanté wanted to start with the basics. He had an agenda to conceal, after all.
“I did it so you would call me, Agent Asanté.” Alexis let slip a giggle. “Also, to demonstrate to the world that our gravitational disaffinity technology was indisputably real.”
“You must understand that this technology will change the balance of power in the world. I would like to meet to discuss terms to acquire it.” Asanté had barely finished speaking when his phone chirped. Glancing down he noticed that he had received a text message from an unlisted number.
“I have forwarded you a
link to our terms.” The humor gone from her voice, Alexis paused long enough for him to check his messages. “I will give you some time to take this to your handlers, Agent Asanté. Please call back when you have an answer.”
His mouth moving, Marco never had a chance to object before the line went dead. Turning to the technicians who labored before computer screens, his tone was sharp.
“Well, did you get a trace?” Demanding an answer from the techs, the agent felt his blood boiling. Used to being in command of the situation, it irked him to have terms dictated to him in such a manner. What gall that woman has, he thought darkly.
Looking up from the nearest desk, the lead tech on the project had a hesitant look on his face as he answered Marco’s question.
“We were unable to track the phone call itself. They hijacked the signal at the DSLAM. We’ll need to get into that and see if they left any digital fingerprints behind.” Busy explaining what they had found thus far, the lanky technician found himself cut off before he could tell the best part.
“What the hell do you mean you couldn’t trace it? You’re supposed to be the smart guys.” Shouting loud enough to make the other people in the room jump visibly, Asanté made no bones about how he felt. With a mandate directly from the President of the United States, the stress was already gnawing at his nerves. “You fucking geeks get me something to work with or I’ll replace you with outsourced monkeys from India. You understand where I’m coming from?”
Nervous at the confrontation, the lead tech stammered as he tried to point to something on his screen.
“What! Speak the fuck up!” Asanté shouted again as his anger was fueled by the man’s passive demeanor.
“We couldn’t get anything from the phone call, yet, but we did get a trace on the text she sent you. We have a physical location.” His eyes wide, the cyber-specialist tried to ward off any further attacks with this information.
“Where?” His voice a growl, Asanté slid a notepad towards the tech.
Jenna had steadily worked her way through names on her list. Beating the pavement, she had spent the morning interviewing people known to have been in the area when the mysterious flying car photo had been snapped. Coming up short each time, she had ultimately found herself at the county jail.
“Welllll hellooo.” Chet Burke seemed pleased at the sight of her in the professional visitation center. With her law enforcement credentials they were able to meet in one of the booths normally reserved for lawyers and other members of the court system.
“Sit down.” Not interested in being objectified by trailer-park trash, Jenna was no stranger to leering men.
“I likes it when ya talk tough to me.” Like a cat looking over a cage full of canaries, Chet took his time to ogle her. Indeed, she was quite attractive with her professional-woman motif that included badge and holster.
“I have a few questions for you.” Still unflinching, Jenna waited until the big man was seated.
“Normally I got nothing to say to the cops, but you’re such a pretty little thang, I betcha I could be convinced into a little pillow talk.” His hand moving as he spoke, he finally gripped her wrist firmly.
Showing a grimace, Jenna had seen it all before. Rather than yanking her arm away immediately, the young professional instead looked up to ensure that there were no cameras observing them. Satisfied that they had privacy, the former military police officer flipped her wrist around, grabbing Chet by the same forearm that he held her with.
The big man had less than a split second to interpret what she had done. It seemed counterintuitive since he had been expecting her to pull away. While his brain was still processing the equation, Jenna used the heel of her left hand to impact sharply with his nose. Continuing to hold him by his dominant forearm, the agent slammed him twice more. His head swooning from the impact, Chet seemed to be stunned in his chair. Giving it some thought, Jenna decided he needed another whack, just for good measure.
Finally releasing his arm, she allowed Chet to slump back in the plastic chair. With blood starting to run out of his shattered septum, it was clear that she had broken his nose.
“Here, use your shirt to catch all that.” Pretending to be helpful, she directed the stunned man. Really, she just wanted him to stop bleeding on the table.
“You bit be!” His voice morphed by his broken nose.
“And you assaulted a federal agent. Guess which carries more prison time.” Flashing a flat smile, Jenna knew there would be no formal charges. While she was not prone to police abuse, this was far from being the first time a man had tried to pull that sort of thing on her. “Any guesses?”
“I got nothing to say to the fuckin’ cops!” Collecting himself finally, Chet started to rise up from his seat when he saw the photo in her hand. “Whoah…”
Jenna’s eyebrows went up as he showed recognition. “Tell me about this car.”
“That’s the same sumbitch who put us in here. That mother fucker!” Raising his voice angrily, it was obvious that he recognized the little Mustang right away. “That cum-guzzling mulatto motherfucker!”
“I need a name.” Pulling her phone from a pocket, she already had notepad open.
About to divulge that information, Chet caught himself. “Yeah, how about you get me outta here, get all charges dropped, then we’ll talk.”
Jenna pretended to consider that for a few seconds. Keeping her cool, she knew she had more than enough leverage.
“You and your brother were arrested for felony speeding while shooting guns out the window. Police subsequently searched your car and found drugs, guns, and a bag of used sex toys. Eww.”
“Hey, thems weren’t ours. We took them offa some guy on the street, we thought they was valuable the way he acted. Me an’ my brother didn’t use none of that stuff…” His face flushed, Chet tried to explain away the embarrassing circumstances of his arrest. “And it was that sumbitch Jackie Sparks what dropped a ketchup bomb on us. I told the police when they stopped us that we was just defending ourselves was all.”
“Jackie Sparks? Do you have an address?” Her voice perking up, Jenna was already moving to the next topic.
“Fuck that shit, what’re ya gonna do fer me?” Suddenly remembering himself, Chet stopped wiping his bloody nose long enough to give her the stink-eye.
“How about I don’t charge you with assaulting a federal agent, impeding national security, or have you shipped to Gitmo for further interrogations. Ever been water boarded?” Flashing him a pleased smile, Jenna let him know that she had him where she wanted him.
“Bullshit! After I start tellin’ people how you assaulted me, it’ll be you in jail, bitch!” Back to pinching his nose to staunch the flow of blood, the big man tried to remain defiant to the end.
“Oh sure, because the staff at this jail are totally gonna believe you over me. You weigh…what…two-ten, two twenty? And I weigh maybe a buck and a half. Sure, they’ll totally believe that I assaulted you without any provocation. Are you high? Seriously?” Jenna’s smirk slowly faded as she sat forward to stare him directly in the eyes. “Now you fucking tell me where I can find this Jackie Sparks person or I’ll charge you with so many felonies that you’ll spend the rest of your life in an eight by eleven foot cell, beating off to the Sunday circulars and hoping your celly doesn’t decide to gang rape you after lights-out.”
Something about her words seemed to hit a nerve with Chet. No doubt having already spent a few weeks doing much what she had just described, the idea of facing real prison time scared him. Sneering, he looked a little foolish with blood dripping down his upper lip. With Jenna sitting back in her chair, the silence was deafening until he finally spoke.
“Fine, I dunno his address or nuthin, but he still lives in his folks’ old house at Sycamore and Birch.”
Nodding in satisfaction, Jenna Jaramillo rose slowly. Giving him one last look, she sniffed before departing the room. A few seconds later the security door was buzzed, allowing her to depart the fac
ility.
“A billion dollars?” Marty DeColle raised his eyebrows slightly. “That’s actually not a bad price, considering…”
“But it’s only a ten year lease on the technology.” His lip curling up, General Hicks showed obvious disdain for the contract.
“And title and deed to the moon.” Bowles shook his head. “Clearly these people are insane.”
“That’s not the half of it.” Marty held up a copy of the contract where he had used a yellow highlighter to mark the addendum clause. “He also wants King Joffrey’s crown, the original, not a replica.”
“England probably has that in a museum. I doubt they’ll give it to us.” Phelps shook his head.
Leaning over to whisper into his ear, his son-in-law quietly informed him that King Joffrey was actually a fictional character in an HBO show.
“Oh.” Surprised, Phelps made an odd expression.
“And what about the rest of this crap he, or she, asked for?” Cutting in, Bowles did his best to cover the President’s blunder as he detailed the list in his hand. “They want three rolls of duct tape, a fucking crown, pliers, fire extinguisher, a laundry marker, a painter’s mask, safety glasses, title and deed to the moon, and a hemorrhoid donut, just to mention a few items. Clearly whoever sent us this list is unbalanced.”
“I agree.” DeColle used his pen to tap the last paragraph on the page. “There’s even a clause that says that the contract is null and void if we attempt to kill them with silver bullets, golden bullets, blue bullets, the one true ring of power, or any other prohibited weapons. I have to agree that we may be working with an individual that is mentally unhinged.”
Sitting back in his chair, Phelps watched his advisors bicker over the terms that had been provided by the mystery woman who had answered Agent Asanté’s call. Although he had been over the entire document twice, the legalese of it all read like stereo instructions to the President.