by HN Wake
Chestnut Hill sat at the end of a tentacle that spread northwest from the city, roughly following a river, called the Norristown Line. The Chestnut Hill station looked to be about 30 minutes from 30th Street and the tenth stop: 30th Street, North Philadelphia, Allegheny, East Falls, Wissahickon, Manayunk, Carpenter, Allen Lane, St. Martins and Chestnut Hill West
Did Maar and Freda know each other from high school? Could it be that simple?
If Cal was right, it meant Maar had come back to her roots and was hunkered down in Chestnut Hill to run an op. When she needed to, Maar sent her results via courier to Stacia DeVries - Freda’s front man at the New York News - to run an article.
If Cal was right, there would be records of Maar attending the high school.
The website for the Germantown Friends High School displayed historic buildings spread across a rolling green campus littered with sports fields. For a kid from a working class neighborhood in Atlanta, the school looked like an Ivy League college. It touted 100% of graduates attended four-year colleges. There were 850 students enrolled and 85 full-time teachers.
He called the principal’s office. “Good afternoon. I’m with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms here in DC. I wonder if I couldn’t ask you a favor.”
“Oh?” The secretary hesitated. “Yes? How can I help you?”
“We believe one of your alumni may be able to help us out in a federal investigation.”
“You say an alumni is involved? How is that?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say.”
“Oh. Ok. What do you need?”
“Would you be able to send me a copy of the school’s yearbook from 1986? Perhaps an electronic copy?”
There was another long pause. “Well, they are publicly available so I suppose that’s fine. Let me have your details. I’ll need to verify who you say you are, then I’ll send you a photocopy by email.”
He gave her his name, Ruby’s number, and his email. “Thanks so much.”
Ruby called his cell phone ten minutes later. Her voice was harsh. “You had better know what you’re doing. I just vouched for you for some school in Philadelphia.”
“Thanks, Ruby.”
“You know the Director has been looking for you. He found out you’re not in Arlington.”
“Yeah, I meant to call him. I’ll try him in the morning.”
“Cal, you’re on thinner and thinner ice around here. I’m not sure I can keep helping you. It may get me in trouble.”
“I know. I appreciate everything you do for me, Ruby. I promise to not call you again.”
She whispered, “I heard your name mentioned today. The DA was in there two hours ago.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Something about a Senator covering up some State Department report. Seemed like they were all in a big hurry to meet. The Director came out during that meeting, asking me where you were. I couldn’t find you. You’re not answering your cell.”
“Sorry, I’ve been occupied.”
“You’re supposed to be out in Arlington doing menial, non-occupied work.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m heading back there ASAP.”
“Where are you? What are you doing?”
“Nothing, nothing, Ruby.”
“Listen, call in the morning and appease him, will ya?”
Manayunk, PA
The burner phone pinged on the architect’s desk with a text from Penny. “ATF interviewed Freda.”
Mac texted back, “As expected.” She sat back and lit a cigarette, blowing her smoke toward the open loft window.
Penny pinged again. “I can’t stop thinking about that squirrel.”
Mac took another drag.
“If he hadn’t moved, the cab would have plowed him. I would have watched guts splatter all over street.”
Mac stared at the burner phone. The pine from the cleaner was strong in her nose. “Yup.”
“I just stood there. I should have shooed it.”
“It was a squirrel.”
“Yeah. I get that. But what’s weird: where was my own self-preservation?”
Mac didn’t know what to say to this.
“I could have been splattered in guts.”
Mac texted, “Are you at work?”
“Of course.”
“There aren’t always answers. Find a distraction."
The burner phone went silent.
Mac fixed herself a cup of coffee and lit another cigarette as she stared at the weeping willow in the park.
Twenty minutes later Penny texted again. “Aaargh!!! Still can’t figure out why I just stood there.”
Very slowly, Mac pecked out, “XO”
New York, NY
It was late but the newsroom was still packed and rowdy. Stacia leaned back in her chair and stared up at the bright ceiling lights. She reached across her desk and picked up her cell phone, texting Charlotte, “We agreed I should do something right?”
“Yes. It’s not ok for a newspaper to put a finger in news.”
“Right. Ok. Will discuss tonight what I should do.”
“Agreed. Bring wine.”
Stacia smiled weakly. Her apprehension was growing. She turned back to her screen and checked her inbox. There were fifty new messages that had arrived in the last five minutes.
She sat up, startled. She opened the first. It was from an obviously illegitimate user, ‘gothhand2210’ and read, “We know where you live Stacia. With your roommate. Pretty girl Charlotte. PS we like our guns. You shouldn’t be treading on us.”
She closed it quickly, staring at the newly full inbox. Another three emails arrived. All the new emails looked to be from illegitimate users.
With a trembling hand she picked up the desk phone and dialed the tech team.
48
New York, NY
The next morning, Stacia read through the mounting comments to her latest article. The IT guys had called earlier, told her they couldn’t do much about tracing the anonymous emails that had hit her inbox. “The trolls kinda come with the territory.”
They were trying to remove the threatening comments from the website, but she was seeing them before they were scrubbed.
Stacia you are a toadie of the liberal media elites. Use your brain!
Another twisting of the facts. The SFG protects our freedoms.
You need to be more careful, dumb bitch. The SFG has put you on their hit list. (Link)
She clicked the link on the last comment, her brow furrowing. It directed her to sub-page of the SFG Lobby site titled ‘SFG Traitors List.’ She scanned down the 100s of names starting with celebrities, corporations, and foundations. Her fear hit a new level.
Manayunk, PA
Mac’s eyes snapped open from a sound sleep. She rolled over and yanked up her cell phone. It read 7:30 a.m. as she knew it would.
If she got up now she could be dressed and outside when Joe passed on his morning walk around the park with the mutt. She stared at the ceiling and imagined herself waving, his eyes widening as his face cracked into a huge, tender smile. It was an unconvincing image.
She glanced at the few folded clothes perched on the cardboard box. She rolled easily off the mattress and picked up jeans and a black t-shirt, glancing at a pair of dark shorts, weighing her choices. She pulled on the jeans.
She leaned into the mirror over the bathroom sink as she brushed her teeth. She turned her head left and right, looking for any new wrinkles. She brushed out her hair while digging into her courier bag for mascara. She hurriedly stroked a few wipes on her lashes. She backed out of the bathroom nook, trying to see her full length in the small mirror.
At the loft door, she sized up the meager collection of running shoes, flip-flops and Dora’s pumps. She slipped on the flip-flops.
She grasped the doorknob.
Her eyes gravitated to her hand. There it was again, unrecognizable.
The thought immobilized her. Time slowed.
Her heart began to race. Her
chest felt heavier and heavier. She began to pant in short bursts. Sweat stormed her armpits and around her neck. She glowered at her hand, forcing it to release the knob. It held fast.
With a concerted effort, she spun herself around.
She leaned back against the door and slowly slid to the floor.
She raised both hands, fingers splayed in front of her face, and stared at them.
The chill began at her feet and swelled up through her legs. An icy undercurrent dragged down on her hips. The cold rolled up over her chest, forcing her to gasp rapidly, hyperventilating.
Finally, her mouth stretched wide around a silent scream as the frigid wave of panic crashed over her.
New York, NY
The next morning, inside an internet cafe, Cal checked the headlines on the Huffingtonpost.
SFG Board “Had No Idea” - Too little too late?
Early this morning, after a hastily called meeting, the Society for Guns’ Board released a statement. “The Board of Directors of the SFG is deeply outraged and saddened by what appears to be an ill-informed strategy undertaken by the Executive Director and Chief Strategist. To be clear, the Board is hearing of these emails for the first time and deem them inappropriate and unacceptable. We will take all necessary actions to rectify this situation.”
As well they should. According to IRS rules governing non-profits, a Board of Directors has fiduciary responsibility for the organization.
The Virginia State’s Attorney commented,“Both my office and the IRS take non-profit governance issues very seriously. Board members are charged to ensure that the organization pursues its mission, that it not waste assets, and that it not involve itself in what the law calls self-dealing.”
Senator Payne, the author of the assault weapons ban up for vote tomorrow fired off a quick statement. “If they didn’t know about this egregious strategy then they were duped. If they did know about it, they are liars. Either way, the SFG has systematically defrauded their members in a wholly premeditated manner.”
The SFG communications office did not respond to inquiries.
Cal opened the email from Germantown Friends High School. The school secretary had sent him a PDF of the entire yearbook and the cafe attendant informed him that he could print it for $.50 a page.
The printed 1986 yearbook was 100 pages of photos: professional photos with captions, group photos, sports photos, photos of the campus and buildings. He found Freda’s formal, senior class photo. She was a young, innocent teenager with big hair curled back off a fresh face. In her caption, she had quoted The Who. The yearbook listed her activities as field hockey, lacrosse, student newspaper, and Student Government.
He slowly flipped through the rest of the yearbook looking for her image. In one photo, she was jumping, her legs kicked up behind her with a hockey stick raised in the air, on a lush, green hockey field. In another, she was hunched over a paper-strewn desk. The caption read, “Newspaper journalists hard at work.”
The last photo in the yearbook was landscaped across two pages. Twenty students stood in formation on risers on a high school stage, a red theatrical curtain hung in the background. The caption read, “Senior Class Student Government.” Freda was front and center in the first row, her arm thrown around a striking, petite black girl.
His eyes narrowed on the petite girl. From the caption he read her name, Penny Navarro.
On his cellphone he pulled up the photo of the Board of Citizens Against Illegal Guns and skimmed through the names. There. There it was: Penny Navarro stood next to Freda Browne.
In the yearbook photo, Penny Navarro was smiling shyly, her hair pulled back off her face in a ponytail. She had pearl earrings and a pearl necklace. Cal squinted trying to decipher more, but she revealed nothing. Perhaps she was still inscrutable in real life.
He flipped to her formal, senior class photo. She quoted Virginia Wolf and was listed in swimming, debate team, and Student Government.
An internet search of Penny Navarro revealed she was a partner in the litigation area of Ruben, Walters, Thompson and Arrpen. It was a top tier, ‘white shoe’ law firm with blue chip clients and offices on Times Square. A second search revealed their offices were near the internet cafe.
Out on the street, he got his bearings in the crush of commuters and headed toward Times Square.
A block later he realized his oversight; once he had identified Penny Navarro he stopped cross-checking the Citizens Against Illegal Guns board members with the Germantown Friends. What if there is another high school friend?
He stepped into a diner and ordered a coffee. Using the Yearbook and the photo of the Board members on his phone, he continued to cross check the rest of the 1986 student body.
He came up empty handed.
He returned to the list of board members for Citizens Against Illegal Guns and began, laboriously, checking each member’s biography on the internet.
He found her twenty minutes later. Ms. Laura Franklin was also from the Philadelphia area. In the gala photo she stood in the back row, a heavyset black woman with a dazzling smile.
She had attended a rival school in the Chestnut Hill area. It turned out she was a self-made billionaire. Billionaire. Having built a very successful online gambling site, she was part of the 32 self-made billionaire women who made up the 1.9% of all the world’s billionaires. Her address was listed on the Upper East Side overlooking Central Park.
Within five minutes, he was back out in the swarm of people heading toward Times Square.
Behind him, Beam followed at ten paces. He was blending in well with the morning commuter crowd. His suit was blue, nondescript. His sunglasses weren’t out of place.
He texted Odom. “Doing searches on computers. Appears to be heading to Times Square.”
49
New York, NY
Penny’s assistant looked around the wall. “There’s a G man in the big conference room, waiting for you.”
Penny flinched. “A G man?”
“Yeah, like FBI or something.”
“How do you know what the FBI look like?”
“I dunno. Maybe the movies? For sure he’s a Fed.”
“Can you let Cliff know I need him in there? Probably something to do with our case.” Really, she just wanted a friendly witness to whatever was about to transpire.
She headed down the hallway, smoothing back her hair. Stepping into the conference room, she saw a tall man in a blue suit sitting opposite the door at the long table. She stepped around the table, her hand held out. “Penny Navarro.”
“Agent Cal Bertrand with the ATF.” Cal shook her hand as Cliff stepped into the room.
She introduced the two men. “I’ve asked Cliff as a partner in litigation to sit in with us.”
“Sure, sure.” The three sat and Cal began. “I’m investigating a case that I believe may involve you, Ms. Navarro.”
Her heart began a mild but consistent beat inside her chest. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“We have reason to believe you might be able to shed some light on a current line of inquiry.”
She squinted at him and adopted her professionally neutral ‘lawyer-in-a-confrontational-meeting’ tone. “Please, proceed.”
“It has come to our attention that a certain high-net-worth individual in New York is quite heavily involved on the issue of gun control.”
Penny raised her eyebrows, said nothing. Beside her Cliff perked up.
“Turns out this individual also has ties to the Citizens Against Illegal Guns.”
“As do I. Who are you talking about?”
“Laura Franklin.”
“Laura?”
“You know her?”
“Of course, we’re from the same area in Philadelphia. Our families were friends, you could say. Are you investigating Laura?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just a hunch I’m chasing down.”
“A hunch?”
“Have you been reading the New York News artic
les about the SFG?”
Penny nodded.
“It appears someone has provided the SFG with a million dollar donation that landed them in pretty hot water. I’d even go so far as to say it looks incredibly like a set-up.”
Penny glanced at Cliff. He was stock straight in his chair, his lips pinched, holding his mouth closed. She turned back to Cal. “I’m sorry, Agent, I’m not following you.”
“I believe the donor intended to entrap the SFG.”
“Well from what I’ve been reading they stepped right into it. I would have thought the ATF would have found that admirable? No? Wait --” Her tone darkened. “Are you suggesting Laura is this secret donor?”
Cliff sat forward. “Penny --”
She cut Cliff off by asking Cal, “That’s what you’re implying, right?”
“We’re working on a hunch.”
“Speaking of hunches, isn’t fraud an FBI issue? Why is the ATF on this?”
Cliff tried to smooth her. “Penny, perhaps we should be here to help out the ATF?”
Cal spoke over him, “It’s cross-bureau cooperation.”
“How convenient,” she said. “But I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“Have you been in touch with Laura recently?”
It took a long, slow moment before the sweat condensed below her arms. A mild pressure built in her ears. She crossed her legs and clasped her hands in her lap. Sail close to the wind. Her tone remained perfectly neutral and professional. “Yes, in fact, we had lunch about a month ago.”
“Where?”
“A lovely place across town. Jean Gorges.”
“Did she mention anything unusual?”
Penny’s response was quick, tinged with a mild sarcastic. “About funding a sting operation against the SFG?”