Joe nodded once again, as he went out to greet his wife, who must now be told that their bedroom had been bugged, and their lives spied upon.
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Buddy Charles, the Continental computer expert, had an disconcerting habit of concentrating upon one problem only, to the total exclusion of everything else. This sometimes led to calamity, as he had left pans to boil, cigarettes to burn, and visitors waiting for hours, as he pursued the relevant itch until it was cleared. He had made a few mental notes of Joe Kozcinski's talk with him about the phantom spread sheet, and had finally come to the conclusion that it was not the spreadsheet file he should be pursuing, but the listed terminals which automatically gained entry to the hidden system. He set up a scan program, aimed at the mainframe, which gave an overview of the connected terminals, how they were all configured, and any departures from the norm. Buddy was none too confident that this scan would work, but decided to give it the old college try. He set the program up to run, and kicked it in, then sat back and waited for any deviations to be reported on the screen. When the report came back, there were three terminals listed. One selection was a Ben Newcomb, an junior administrator in the pensions department at Grand Rapids, the other was a senior pensions man, also at Grand Rapids. The third terminal was in the head office complex, but the computer was unable to give its number, or location.
Buddy played around with various combinations of entry techniques, simulating the terminal at Grand Rapids, but failed to break into the system. As he lived alone, and therefore had nothing calling him away from work, he decided to drive the seventeen miles to the Rapids plant, and find out what was hidden in the listed terminal. He left without logging out from the system, went out to his car, and settled himself for the drive to the Grand Rapids plant, through the light evening traffic. He waved his ID at the gate, and worked his way, after parking the car, through the office until he came to Ben Newcomb's desk, and terminal. He sat down, logged in, and started searching through the electronic maze, trying to break the pattern. He knew human behaviour, however, and decided to try a hunch. He entered the third level, then typed in the letters 'NEWCOMB', and a query flashed on to the screen 'Terminal number please?' Buddy gave the terminal number, and the screen filled with the spreadsheet which Joe had seen on his own terminal. The first column was still encrypted, and unintelligible, but Buddy knew that there was no authorised sheet like this in the whole Continental network. He tried to break into the encrypted area, but still had no joy.
The computer file which Buddy had accessed had an alarm fitted, which warned the file server of access, even by the correct password, and the senior pensions administrator stood in the gloom of his office, gazing out at Buddy's back as he sat, keying in at the terminal. He picked up his phone and dialled out, waited for an answer, and simply said, "We have a break in on the file. Vince, I think it's the security expert from Detroit office. He's got wind of the file, and how we only access from selected terminals. He still hasn't worked out how to break the encryption, but I know this guy! He is one stubborn sonofabitch, and he ain't gonna go away. Can you take care?"
The cold voice answered him, "Can you give me his address?"
Fingers raced over the keyboard, and the answer was given in a minute.
"Okay, he's meat. We'll clean him up tonight, if you want to leave it to us? Do you think he's left anything behind?"
"No, he's driven over from Detroit, and I can check any thing he leaves on the terminal. I'll use Jerry Touche for the job, and I'll have to clear the terminal at head office as well, I'll give her a call. Thanks for the help!"
The phone was replaced, then raised once again, and a call made, answered by a female voice, "Hello, who's calling?"
"Hi, it's me! We got a problem. I've had to put Vince onto Buddy Charles. He's got a little too close to the Selection file, and we're gonna wipe him tonight. He may have left some traces on his terminal, a scan or something. Can you deal?"
"I'll drop back right now, and see if there is anything on his terminal. Thanks!"
Forty minutes later, the woman walked through the Continental main entrance, then angled off towards the Computer Suite. She keyed her password in, nodding at the gate guard, as the security guard was only being present during normal working hours, and made her way through the glassed gate, and into the computer area, with the big VAX running accounting files, and humming away. She walked to the terminal used by Buddy Charles, and saw the scan search, and the resultant giveaway answers on the screen. Lips tightened, she sent the cursor up to select the whole package, then hit delete, and the screen cleared, the program having been destroyed. She briefly searched the desk, stuffing any papers into the shredder, then walked swiftly back the way she had come, passing the gate guard who called, "Goodnight, Miss Horrigan!"
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The Detroit police department, in common with many large American cities, had it's fair share of informers, paid and unpaid; and in truth without their services, would not have such a good clear-up record as they enjoy. Such a stool pigeon was Elmer 'Legs' Diamond, who had inherited the nickname, but not the fearsome criminal reputation, of the original. Elmer sat, seemingly semi-comatose, in the bar of the Green Candle, which was a favourite haunt of many of the low lifes who inhabited the records section of the Police Department. He raised enough energy to wave a hand at the barman, who brought over another double bourbon on the rocks. His movement was noted by a group of three men, one white, and two black, who sat and grinned at the drunk, in the next booth down from Elmer. What none of the customers in the bar, and especially the three men next to Elmer, realised that the glass which was slapped down in front of the seeming drunk was in fact ginger ale, from a special bottle. The arrangement that gave the informant a perfect cover derived from a small amount of blackmail which 'Legs' held over the Green Candle's owner.
Thus it was a stone-sober Elmer who slumped back against the seat, and heard the taller of the black men give clear instructions to the other two, concerning the proposed murder of a man named Buddy Charles, who lived on Riverview, which had to be carried out that night. Elmer's head rolled around, and he slipped down in the seat, while straining to get the address of the intended victim, but only got the road. He heard the contract price agreed, and the white man simply ask, "Half now, half on the burn, okay?"
"Sure, you do the burn, and I'll get you the rest of the money tomorrow night. Same place, okay?"
The three rose together, walking towards the door, and Elmer then recognised the short black man as the pistol man for a group of travellers; guys who actually moved large amounts of heroin and cocaine, for a price, into the city, for the local drug barons. He remained perfectly still as the white man slowed as he passed the bar, then spoke to the barman, dropping a bill on the counter as he did, "Give our friend at the booth another, I feel good, and he ain't got the strength to lift his hand," and all three left the bar. Elmer, however, nearly ruined everything by jumping up and shouting that he didn't need charity from any lowlife who passed, but wisely kept his cover. A good half-hour passed before the informer eased to his feet, and slowly left the bar, in a drunken stagger which nearly drove the bar owner to applaud in admiration, before easing his way down the side of the bar wall to where his car was parked, well away from the front of the building. He slotted his keys into the door, got behind the wheel, stated the engine and rolled away from the Green Candle, searching for the first payphone on his route.
The call to Inspector Costello woke him from a deep dreamless sleep, sprawled on the couch of his home in the west of Detroit. "Inspector Costello, is that you?"
"Who the hell wants to know? Don't you know what the goddam time is? Shit, if this is some joker, I'll find you and tear your balls off!"
"inspector, it's 'Legs' here, 'Legs Diamond'. I gotta hot tip, I know it's only partly to do with the Narcotics, but you are the only one I'll deal with!"
Sitting straight, rubbing
his eyes to help clear his head, Costello mumbled, "Okay, Legs, what you hear that is so important that it can't wait until a decent hour of the day?"
"Inspector, they are gonna blow him away! I heard most of the contract laid out, the only thing I didn't get was the road number. There is a real mean black guy, he's the main man; he is paying Jerry Touche, he's the pistol man, and some other white guy, to burn this guy called Charles, and they are gonna do it tonight, or early tomorrow morning. He lives at an address on Riverview, and the word from this black guy was simple, this Charles man had to be burnt, no wounds, no hospital, he had to go!"
"Okay, okay, Legs, I get the picture, there is a contract, and the client wanted confirmation. Did he say why?"
"He said it was a favour for a Friend!"
The policeman paused, "Does the Friend have a capital F?" queried Costello."
"Yup!"
"Jeez, what's a Family getting involved in some taxpayer in Detroit for?"
"No idea, nothing was said."
"Okay, thanks, Legs, if this pans out, we can go as high as a grand; suit you?"
"That would be just fine, Inspector. Bye"
The Inspector paused as his wife came down the stairs from the bedroom, concern mirrored on her face, "Don't worry, it was just a tip-off about work, honey. Go back to bed, I gotta go into the office!" as he struggled to put his shoes back on. He kissed his long suffering wife, and sent his car racing towards the Central Precinct, while alerting the force on his radio. He arrived, after speeding over nearly deserted roads, in the Central office, and saw the reinforcements he had radioed ahead for, already gearing themselves up for a possible shootout. Sergeant John Murphy, together with the Duty Lieutenant, stood waiting in the entrance. and nodded their heads as he laid out the scenario which he had been given by his informant. "I think it is genuine, and we must act now," said Costello, "I know that it is only partly drug related, but we have been looking to take Jerry Touche down for a long time, and I think that they are gonna try and wipe this Charles guy, tonight, and we should be there to stop them. Has anybody located the address yet?"
"Yes,"answered the Sergeant, "He lives at 463, Riverview, and we have already got an unmarked mobile there, just in case they beat us to the draw! Don't worry, Patrick, we'll take good care of the lad!"
The Lieutenant gave his final dispersals, and the convoy moved off, no sirens or extra lights, for the run towards the address on Riverview. They made contact with the mobile already in position, and spread their vehicles around the darkened street, while Costello, Murphy and a patrolman went to the rear of the house, which showed a single light in the kitchen. They gently knocked on the window, and pressed shields up against the glass to identify themselves. Buddy opened the door, and in whispers, the policemen introduced themselves, explained their mission, and requested that they be allowed to enter. Buddy removed himself to the safety of an armour-plated cruiser, while the force made ready to welcome the visitors. Dispositions achieved, the police sat back, either in cars, or around the house, and waited. An hour passed, before a call came from a mobile parked at the top of the grade, "Big car, maybe Lincoln or Caddy, slow, turning into Riverview; no lights!"
The warning received, the police simply made their guns ready, and became just that hairtrigger more alert. Inside the house, the Sergeant, who had view of the road from a lounge window, simply called, "There's one behind the wheel, and one in the back, " as the car slowly rolled past. No one moved, as the intruder drove about a hundred yards up the road, turned in a driveway, and came rolling back towards the house where the ambush was laid, stopping at the kerbside. Both figures emerged, one carrying a big pistol, and a carrygrip, the other going to the trunk and emerging with what looked like an big shotgun. "The muted radio buzzed, "Let them come forward, and try getting in; remember, we want them alive!" The pistol-carrying hood walked quickly towards the back of the house, where there were five policemen armed with enough firepower to take out a tank, slowed and leant against the rear door, and tapped the glass until it splintered. His buddy came up behind him, and raised a hand. The first intruder nodded, then slid his hand through the break in the glass to unlock the door. This was the signal for the guns to come up to aim, the lights to flash on, and a loudhailer call, "Raise your hands, do not attempt to move, you are under arrest!"
The man with the shotgun swung around, searching for a target, but was himself the target for an aimed blast from a shotgun, which cut his leg from underneath him. He went down cursing, but his buddy swung towards the fence, his pistol out before him. It was the last thing he did, as he was hit by four bullets simultaneously, and dropped dying to the ground, where his body twitched for maybe ten seconds before the reflex action finished.
The noise of the guns, and the lights, together with the sudden movement of cars, was enough to rouse the neighbourhood, but they were far away from the kitchen, where the surviving Jerry Touche lay groaning about his leg. The two lieutenants and the long-serving Sergeant stood around, all other officers having been detailed outside the house. "now, Jerry, I've been wanting a talk with you for a long time, but I'll contain my questioning to one item, who put the contract on Buddy Charles?"
"I ain't saying nothing. you gotta give me my rights, under the law!" gasped Touche.
"Ah well, you haven't been arrested yet, Jerry, so the rights bit doesn't apply. Now if I was to suggest to the Sergeant here that maybe we could adjust your bandages, just so you get a little more ease, I don't suppose you would object, would you now, Jerry?"
The drugrunner gazed back at the three policemen, and instinctively knew he would get nothing from any one of them but pain and agony, if he did not speak, but tried anyway. "I've got to speak to an attorney, that's the law!"
"Funny thing, Jerry," said the Sergeant, "I know that right now, your leg could be saved, but if one of us was to lean just there," tapping the bloody leg with a pistol muzzle, "you would never walk again!"
The gunman flinched at the delicate touch of the steel, then broke, "What about a deal?"
The three policemen gazed at each other, gathered closer and, as one, said, "Deal?"
"I'll give you the man, plus what I know on the snow on the streets, but you gotta give me immunity on this job, and take me into your, whassname, protected witness thing!"
The Central lieutenant smiled at his partner from Narcotics, who already had a wide grin on his face, "I think we can do something along those lines, Jerry!"
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Unfortunately, the man who had agreed the murder with Vince Lombardi always believed in belt and braces, and had come as a back-up to Touche and his now dead companion. He had followed Touche so far, but had parked about four hundred yards away from the house, in a drive which placed the vehicle at right angles to the road. The lights and commotion warned him that things had gone sour, but he knew that Buddy should not speak, and he took his work very seriously indeed. He held a pair of night glasses steady on the scene, with the butt of a Sako Hornet match rifle lying across his thighs, ready for action. He dropped the glasses, and raised the rifle, and staring through the scope saw the uniformed Sergeant lean inside a cruiser, and help out another man, whom the watcher recognised as the computer security man from Continental . The two were joined by two more, both seemingly plain clothes detectives. The rifle was already pushed through the open window of the car, and the assassin slid the safety forward, while holding the target in the view of the big scope on the rifle. The four turned back towards the now fully lit house, silhouetting Buddy against the lighting from the lounge window. The killer's finger gently squeezed the trigger, the rifle rocking back and up with the recoil, and the bullet, travelling at twice the speed of sound, impacted on the base of the skull of the computer expert, ensuring his immediate death. The sound of the rifle shot sent everyone diving for cover, which gave the killer, as he had seen his target drop, the extra few seconds he needed to send his unlit car the few yards to an intersection, and
then down a small hill, and away, before the police could even find out what was happening. By the time a cordon was organised, the sniper was driving, well within the speed limit, towards the freeway, and safety.
The ambulance which had been called for Jerry Touche came screaming up the road, and fishtailed to a stop, with the attendants jumping out, but they were waved into cover by the still wary police. After a minute, they were allowed forward, to pick up the wounded man from the kitchen table. The Narcotics Lieutenant saw his prisoner waving at him, as he lay on the stretcher and scrambled over. "Is that guy dead, Inspector?" Costello nodded. "Sorry, Lieutenant, I changed my mind, no deal. I think I'll take my chances in court. There ain't no way they would allow me to speak! I know what you might promise, but when they send a back-up team to make certain some guy gets hit, then it is Family business, and I ain't saying nuttin! Okay?"
Costello started to object, and to try and tell the wounded gunman that he would be protected; and he should at least say why Buddy Charles had been targeted, then simply gave up, patted the prisoner on the shoulder, and allowed the team to load him into the ambulance.
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Vince Lombardi sat at a table in the small hotel where he had made his base, chewing his breakfast while scrutinising the morning paper. His mobile phone buzzed briefly, he keyed in and held the receiver to his ear, "Yeah?"
"The target was burnt, Touche is in hospital, but silent, and the other guy was killed by the cops!"
"Good work. You reckon Jerry will remain silent?"
"He knows what is good for him. He'll get a good lawyer, and you know that he can plead down to maybe two years on a gun charge, you can also message him that he will get a good bonus if he does his time without making waves. Agree?"
"Fine by me, the boss is very happy with your idea to back up our friend Jerry. Any ideas on how the cops knew about the 'hit'?
"There may have been a leak, but since I don't have any police record, they won't have much to go by. There was a drunk who sat close, when we set the 'burn', and I may wipe him just to be on the safe side, but I might let it ride, he may be just a drunk!"
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 16