by E Y Mak
Candice looked around the room as Captain Hansen spoke. The oak paneling, built-in table, and dark lighting gave the place the vintage feel of a fifteenth-century galley. Various pieces of Guardian history adorned the walls. Prominently displayed above the entrance was an unsigned draft of a secret executive order purported to authorize the original Guardian to defend the US mainland against German submarines in World War II. The story was that the letter had been prepared for signature, but, as the United States had not yet declared war on Germany, the Guardian was unofficially sanctioned by a wink and a nod from President Roosevelt. Phineas took this as authority for the Guardian to act as a privateer and legitimized its presence above the Eastern seaboard of the United States. In the Battle of Nantucket, the Guardian detected, intercepted, and sunk two German U-boats approaching an American shipping convoy within visual range of New York City. This single act bought Phineas almost thirty years of goodwill with the United States federal government, which, as the librarian pointed out three weeks into training, the company had leveraged well to become a trusted ally of United States interests.
Captain Hansen continued to speak. “Our deal with the FAA only permits the Guardian II to be tethered to the Tower for a maximum of twelve hours at any given time. We don’t often tether in Manhattan, but now and then, on days like today when the wind is relatively calm, we find it as a useful drill for the crew.”
“This beauty can stay suspended above the city for a month at a time. Then it goes down to New Jersey for three days of maintenance. There’s a lot to maintain with the mechanical parts, the hull, and the engines. But nowadays, it’s an equal amount of maintenance on the technology—firmware upgrades for the onboard computer, adjusting the solar panels that help power the ship. Not to mention buffing and cleaning the six hundred separate zoom lenses. When the Guardian is down, the other airships and drones reconfigure their formation to cover for the huge hole created by the Guardian’s absence. You almost wonder sometimes if the Guardian is just a relic now, devoid of utility except for historical significance, and there’s always this talk about replacing it with a new version. We’ll see.”
Captain Hansen concluded with a history lesson that Candice had already heard in class. Afterward, the captain and another crewman led the group on a tour around the gondola. The students got a glimpse of the engine room, the crew’s quarters, and the helicopter launching pads. The crewman demonstrated the launch procedure “just in case” any of the agents were called upon in short order. Despite the many chances to stand and look out the windows, Candice kept her distance and avoided participation as much as possible. Come on, Candice, what’s the problem here. She had graduated at the top of her class at FBI academy before her recruitment by Phineas in her second year as a field agent. She was an excellent marksman, a skilled hand-to-hand combatant, and an intense competitor. But afraid of heights.
Following the tour, Captain Hansen approached her. “You looked pretty hesitant during the tour today. I’ve seen this before. Just to let you know, most Phineas agents aren’t onboard very often. It’s mostly used for intelligence gathering and not directly in investigations.”
“No, I just had a bad lunch and a long day. I’m not usually like this—but thanks for the excellent tour.” Embarrassed as she realized that her tentativeness was so obvious, she blushed and rather abruptly left the mess hall, retracing her steps to the exit door. Stay calm, Candice. No one has to know what you’re afraid of.
The recruits had already lined up outside the exit. She had nearly made it to the end of the platform when a gust of wind shook the platform, knocking everyone standing on it to their knees. Although she was in no real danger due to the raised solid rails bordering the steps, she felt a bit lightheaded as her knees buckled beneath her.
She quickly regained her composure and stood up. She looked around her—everyone else was still on their knees. One of the R&D recruits had fallen flat on the ground in front of her, and she quickly reached over to help her fallen colleague. Once they were both up, she walked slowly and calmly the rest of the way to the elevator, one hand on the metal guardrail.
Never again if I can help it, she said to herself, over and over again.
Chapter Five
“Lukas speaking,” answered Lukas in his thick Brooklyn accent.
The last couple of times they had chatted, Lukas had always seemed to breathe too heavily. Since becoming a practicing attorney, he had started speaking and eating to match his expanding salary, and the labored breathing was a side effect of his decadence.
“Hey Lukas, it’s me,” said Russell.
“Russell! Been a long time. How ya doin'?”
Lukas and Russell exchanged brief pleasantries, discussing old friends whom they had met in law school. Lukas was still practicing corporate law at Russell’s old firm, Tetrault, Silva, and Lim LLP. Russell had met Lukas as a mature student, a gritty Brooklynite amid a midlife crisis secretly longing to live the Manhattan lifestyle. Russell had just returned from a tour in Afghanistan, where he had completed a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology through distance education. He had dreams of being a federal drug prosecutor. Quickly, the allure of big-money law seduced Russell, and he agreed to do the corporate thing “until he really hated it.” After completing their first year of practice at separate Wall Street firms, Russell hooked Lukas up with an associate position at his firm. It was only five years following his call to the bar before Russell made the daring move of giving his one month’s notice. Becoming a lawyer had certainly made his parents proud but had bored Russell out of his mind. The relentless research projects and paperwork were overwhelmingly mind-numbing, and he longed for action. He hadn’t yet regretted the decision with his move to Phineas.
Lukas said, “Russell, it’s about my brother, Tim. You probably heard about him—CEO of Ndian Resources Corp.”
Russell raised his right eyebrow in curiosity. Ndian had been the headline of a prominent news cycle three months ago. The stock had gone from pennies to a high of three hundred and fifty dollars in six weeks due to a startling gold discovery in Cameroon. However, an anonymous source tipped to the New York Times led to an investigation by the enforcement divisions of both the SEC and Canadian regulators. A forensic computer audit uncovered evidence of impropriety by Burrard Consulting Inc., who had prepared a geological technical report supporting Ndian’s public disclosure. Tim had allegedly masterminded the fraud. He had committed suicide six weeks ago.
Russell faked sympathy. “Oh, Tim Butler. I’m sorry to hear about that. I didn’t realize he was your brother.”
“Thanks, Russell. During the upswing on his discovery, we were chatting every other day. He had big plans for the company and what the discovery would mean for him. Big plans, Russell!” Lukas said before letting out a deep sigh. He continued, “Detailed. I know my brother. He ain’t got a shady bone in his body. And he didn’t sound like a guy perpetuating a fraud at the time. It woulda fallen apart once everyone found out that his mine didn’t have any gold. Tim and I were close. Don’t make any sense.”
Russell could feel the sadness in Lukas’s voice. He was talking slower than usual and he was leaving long gaps between sentences. Lukas was a Brooklynite through and through and was known in law school for being able to talk his way out of any argument, but usually through the brute force of his loud voice. His measured speech here suggested that Lukas genuinely believed in his brother’s innocence. I trust him.
However, Russell had been following the case closely and knew that there were records of many mysterious telephone calls between Tim’s office line and a blocked telephone number in Singapore, where Burrard Consulting was located. Similarly, there were emails from both Burrard and Ndian disclosing poor results, all of which were digitally traced and confirmed to have originated from the IP addresses of their respective organizations. There was the text from a disposable cell phone located to Tim’s home, providing instructions on how to salt the assay samples. And then there was a
smoking gun—the video chat where Tim directed Burrard to doctor the results. Tim publicly denied all of the evidence, but he had no explanation except that he was “hacked” and that the video was faked. Lukas was delusional, Russell thought. Kinship and friendship, for better or for worse, often overcame objective reasoning.
“Lukas. If the allegations are true, he was hiding this from the very beginning. Even his staff didn’t know what was going on. It was sophisticated and detailed. He went far to mask what was going on. He was manipulating everyone. He would certainly be ready with a cover story for friends and family. For you.”
Lukas quickly responded. “I know that, man. I know what the stories are saying! But he just denied the allegations. He didn’t have a response—he had nothing to add! No color. No backstory. Just a denial. I asked him. The last time I saw him, he was just defeated. He was an honest guy and I have to believe in his integrity. But he looked like he had been cheated. He didn’t have any answers.”
Russell flinched as Lukas exhaled deeply, creating a loud crackling in his phone earpiece.
“He would have never done that to Cherry. He loved her. Suicide would have voided his life insurance. He wouldn’t do that to Cherry!” he repeated. “That’s not the Tim I know.”
Russell leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He rubbed his palms into his closed eyelids. He was tired. No. He was exhausted.
“Okay. What do you want me to do?” asked Russell.
Lukas hesitantly answered, as though he was overstepping the boundaries of their friendship.
“I want you to look into it.”
Russell thought about his friend’s request. With Russell’s current workload, it was going to be difficult. But he knew that Lukas would not have made such a request if he was not entirely convinced of Tim’s innocence. Lukas was a busy man, just like Russell. Russell redirected the query. “What did the police say?”
“I spoke with Cherry. The police closed the file last week. Conclusion confirming that it was suicide. Hung himself in his home office.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Russell said, genuinely, this time. Just talking about the victim seemed to humanize him, no matter the fraud he had perpetrated. He was a dead man and entitled to some semblance of respect.
Lukas continued, “Anyway, they indicated that their investigation was complete. Outside any new and extraordinary evidence, there would be nothing further on the matter. Russell, I want you to look into it. Maybe find the evidence that others may have missed. Maybe your eyes will see something that the NYPD didn’t.”
Russell’s thoughts immediately turned to his earlier conversation with Daniel. He knew that the fees on this file would be minimal, if non-existent. There was no glory in clearing the name of a suicide victim, especially if the victim was guilty of misusing his office for financial gain. Even if Tim had been murdered, at best, it had likely been for his role in manipulating the market and causing severe financial loss for thousands of shareholders.
On the other hand, if Lukas was right, were not Tim, his wife, his family, and friends entitled to the truth? With limited resources, suicides were not always investigated thoroughly by the police. It was simply a matter of hours in a day—and there was never enough of them.
Lukas must have sensed the trepidation in Russell’s pause. He repeated his request. “I need to find out who did this. I don’t believe that he was a fraudster, but I’ll give you that it’s a possibility. But I can’t believe that he was someone who would kill himself.”
Russell digested the information. “Okay, Lukas. I’m in a bind right now with my superiors, who think I’m spending too much time on side projects. But we can at least have breakfast and talk about this a bit more tomorrow morning. Are you free?”
After confirming plans with Lukas for breakfast at Bons, a local diner next to Phineas Tower, Russell hung up his smartphone. He stood up, put on his trench and shut off the light in his office. In the newfound darkness, his eyes were immediately drawn to a flashing light in the distance outside his office window.
Walking closer to the glass, he saw the familiar sight of the Guardian II. Gentle, graceful, and quiet, the airship floated unperturbed, its external positioning lights flashing at a slow, methodical place. His eyes moved to the streets below; thousands of tiny beacons, vehicles moving in predictable patterns on the road, shining the street in front of them.
It’s time to go home.
He stood up, tightened his trench coat, shut off the light, and went home.
Bons was decorated with a ’60s theme. It had a checkerboard floor, Marilyn Monroe portraits on the wall, and far too much pink and red. More than once, Russell and Daniel had discretely discussed a particularly challenging file at three in the morning, the tacky surroundings serving as a distraction from the serious tones of their conversations. Marlene, the only waitress that Russell knew, directed him and Lukas to a booth in the back corner of the diner.
After Marlene walked away, Russell warned his portly friend about the menu at Bons. It was a hidden hole-in-the-wall diner, where an unprepared patron could incapacitate him or herself on the huge servings. This had happened to Russell the first time. Not one for waste, he had finished the “British Breakfast,” which included three eggs, sausages, bacon, multigrain toast, and hashed browns.
Today, he had a busy day ahead of him, so Russell opted for oatmeal and fruit. As usual, he requested a coffee, one cream and sugar. Lukas was on the wrong side of two hundred and fifty pounds and ordered the British Breakfast with a Diet Coke.
“So, tell me about Tim,” Russell said.
Russell always began his interviews with the most open-ended question possible. This facilitated obtaining responses that were full and meaningful. It was a trick he had picked up in his law practice days. An investigator could quickly go down the wrong path if he or she started with a poorly phrased or too specific question.
Lukas outlined the details of their childhood, their college years, and the fact that each had served as best man for the other’s weddings. He paused briefly as Marlene came by with their breakfasts. As he slurped down his first runny egg, Lukas started going into details of how Tim had founded Ndian.
After Russell finished his breakfast, he got to the meat of the interview. “So, tell me about Tim’s behavior after the regulators began investigating Ndian.”
“Tim was floored at the announcement, but defiant. He knew the news was coming, as the SEC had contacted him in advance. I got the sense from him that the possibility of anything turning up was impossible, so the guy just shrugged it off.”
“What kind of gut feeling did he have against the allegations?” Russell asked, thinking of arrogance as a possible answer. He had met enough clients to know the overconfidence that often accompanied these early-stage companies.
“I’d say—surprise first, anger second, and then just confusion.”
“Confusion?”
“Yes. Confusion. Towards the end, the guy was just paranoid.”
“Tell me about that.”
“Well, he claimed that his phone was having problems. What was it?” Lukas briefly scratched his big bushy grey beard before continuing, “Oh right. That emails he had sent were no longer there. And new emails were showing up that he hadn’t seen before.”
“That’s a pretty common first defense, and easy to disprove,” said Russell. “We have digital forensic tools to detect and authenticate that kind of activity. And deleted emails always carry a trace somewhere, even if it’s not on the phone or computer. There is always a digital signature somewhere.” If only deleting digital memories were so easy.
Lukas shrugged. “Fuck if I know. He also claimed that he was being followed.”
“Followed?” asked Russell.
“A tallish guy, about six two, six three. Slender. The weird thing—he said that the man had no expression.”
Russell raised his right eyebrow again. “What does that mean?”
“
He said he glimpsed him a couple of times. Each time, it was the exact same expression—he didn’t smile, didn’t frown, no wrinkles, even minimal eye movement. Like he was made of stone. And just an empty, creepy glare.”
Russell took another sip of coffee. It was a Colombian blend and he savored the fullness of the dark flavor. He had first become addicted as a member of the Canadian Forces right after high school. The caffeine didn’t affect him anymore. But it was a warm friend on a cold day. Or even a warm day.
“Where did he see him?” he asked.
Lukas looked left and right and behind him before leaning in. “In the streets. He’d be walking and see this guy reading the newspaper. Or in a car. All over and in random places. Weird stuff.”
“Did he ever see him near his home? Or near his office?” asked Russell.
Lukas shrugged again. “Don’t know.”
“Do the police know about this?” Russell queried.
“Yes. Cherry told the NYPD detectives. I don’t know how deep they went with it.”
Russell continued his questioning and slowly wound down the interview. He thought about what he had learned so far, and there seemed to be enough to at least review and confirm the police file, even if it was for appearances’ sake. He passed these thoughts on to Lukas.
“Lukas. I’ve got to let you know, my boss has been lighting a fire on my ass to keep my eyes focused on only big client work.”
“I can give you guys a ten-grand retainer for fees, but that’s about it. I know this is asking a lot—but I need a favor.” He looked straight at Russell without breaking eye contact.