by Charlie Cole
Jess got up to find some and I stared out the window, thinking. Director Sinclair had asked me why Randall Kendrick had come back for me. It had been a good question. A better question that I had realized at first. Kendrick seemed to have put me in a position where whether I returned or not made for a tipping point for him… If I came back, we’d take down Max Donovan together. But if I didn’t, Kendrick went into business with Donovan. Why would he do that? There had to be a reason. Something there I wasn’t seeing. I just couldn’t get my head wrapped around it. Jess returned with pen and paper.
“Alright, I’m going to call people and I need you to help me organize… what we need, who can get it and how do we set it up,” I said.
Jessica was already writing on the paper.
“Okay,” she said. “What’s first?”
I was dialing my new cell phone.
“I’m calling the FBI,” I said.
“What? Why?” Jess asked.
“Good morning,” I said. “Mr. William Bender, please. Thank you.”
A moment later, I was connected.
“This is Bill,” came a young voice over the phone.
“Billy Bender,” I said. “Simon Parks.”
I heard Billy curse to himself. Why did everyone have that reaction when I called? I chuckled anyway.
“Long time,” he said.
“Not that long,” I replied. “How’s the trainee status going for you?”
“Good, I guess,” he said hesitantly. “Just trying to stay out of trouble.”
That was a minor jab in my direction.
“Billy, I’ve got a project. I need to borrow you.”
“Really?” Billy replied. Billy couldn’t help but be hopeful. Working on a Blackthorn project was something only whispered about, but it made for a reputation. If a person were good enough to be recruited, agencies would want to retain that person, use them more internally, promote them. It proved worth. It was in their own best interest to work with Blackthorn. And for now, that was the cover I was operating under.
“Billy, pick up your gear and catch a cab,” I said. I gave him directions to a nearby coffee shop. “Call me back on this number when you get there.”
Jess and I worked and called people for half an hour until Billy called me back. I could hear the clink of dishes and table conversations in the background.
“Simon, it’s Billy.” I knew he hated it when I called him Billy. He wanted to be taken seriously as an FBI field agent one day, but Billy Bender was in his early 20s with a mop of blond hair and looked like a track star. I couldn’t imagine ever calling him Special Agent William Bender. To me, he was Billy and for now he was just fine with that.
Billy had been assigned to the Bureau’s Computer Crimes division as a trainee in the Chicago field office. I’d used him remotely in the past when I’d lived in Virginia but now he was in my backyard. Billy had an eye for numbers, a talent for schmooze and a taste for the latest electronics.
“Billy, we’ve got a Blackthorn op going on right now in town, here in Chicago,” I said. “I need your help.”
“Sure, Simon. Whatever you need, man.”
“We need financing,” I said and my eyes met with Jessica’s. She’d been a little nervous when I’d called the FBI field office and I couldn’t blame her, but now she’d settled back to watch me work. Learning how I did what I did.
“Billy, I need you to set up a funds transfer out of Banco Del Pacifica in Panama,” I said. I gave him the account number and routing information and told him to call me back when he was ready to make the transfer.
“You have money in Panama?” Jessica asked. I nodded.
“Blackthorn was a self-financed operation,” I explained. “We literally ran more like a corporation than anything. We didn’t receive federal funding. We had no budget that was directly attributable to any government agency.”
“So where did your funding come from?” Jessica asked.
“We were tracking terrorist operations and often following their banking transactions,” I said. “Once we had the information to stop their immediate operations, we seized their assets and used them internally at Blackthorn.”
“You were using terrorist money to fight… terrorists?” Jess asked. “Doesn’t that make it dirty money?”
“Money’s money, Jess,” I said. “The money itself isn’t tainted, it’s what you do with it. If we stole funds from Osama bin Laden’s bank account and gave it to survivors of the 9/11 attack, would that be wrong? We used the money to do good things.”
Jess nodded.
“I was in charge of recruiting the talent to track transactions,” I said. “By extension, I hid the assets in offshore accounts where we could easily access it whenever we needed it. Kendrick had me keep an account for personal expenses.”
My phone rang then and I picked it up.
“Hello? Yeah, Billy… no, it’s okay. Go ahead transfer the whole amount. Somewhere local. Yep… no, the whole five million. Thanks… call you soon.”
I hung up. Jess was staring at me.
“You have five million dollars for personal expenses?” she asked.
“Yup.”
“I need to buy some new shoes…” she suggested.
***
Jess and I walked in the park that afternoon. It didn’t take us long to find our next contact. Her name was Nancy. Nancy McNally. But everyone called her Nan, which as she was fond of saying was short for nanosecond, which was exactly how long it took her to hack into most bank accounts and other secure files. Nan’s hair was black with unnatural blond highlights. Her fingernails were black too and just then they were flying over a keyboard on a wireless laptop computer while she sat on a park bench. Her face was intent, eyes focused behind the heavy makeup. Unconsciously, she bit her pierced lip. Nan had just turned nineteen years old.
“Hello, Nan,” I said as we approached.
She looked up suddenly. She hadn’t noticed our approach. Her eyes were wide taking us in. I could never forget Nan’s eyes. They were the cold, pale blue color of autumn skies. She looked me up and down, then Jessica, a little longer then I’d like, then turned back to her laptop.
“Oh… hi,” she said noncommittally.
I’d used Nan in the past. I would have liked to have used her on the DHS project when I was working for Max but Nan’s criminal past was deep and dark and she never would have passed the background check. Now, it didn’t matter much.
“Have you got anything for me?” I asked.
I’d talked to Nan earlier in the day and she’d begun a research project for me. I just had to see where we were now.
“Isabelle Athabasca,” Nan said, reading from a report on her monitor. “Before two years ago, Ms. Athabasca does not have any history whatsoever. Betcha she’s using an alias.”
“Isabelle?” Jess looked at me.
“Isabelle works for Max,” I said. “She speaks seven languages. And the night that we went out for dinner, she was watching us. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now… I’m wondering if she works for Kendrick as well.”
“I ran a background check on her and came up with nothing,” Nan said.
“Nothing?” I asked.
“Scary nothing,” Nan confirmed. “Like ‘wipe me off the map and make me a new identity’ nothing. No one has that little personal history unless they’re a spook.”
“Who would have known having too little history could get you in trouble,” Jess observed. She was right though. Everyone leaves a financial footprint in their lives. Rent, cars, utilities, something. To have no history at all was questionable.
“Run her credit cards,” I suggested.
Nan’s fingers flew and within moments she had a report set up.
“She goes to a club every Friday night,” Nan said.
“Which one?” Jess asked.
“Scarlet,” Nan replied without looking up.
“Scarlet?”
“As in ‘The Scarlet Letter
’ the famous literary novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne,” Nan rattled back. Then in a mock whisper, “Cuz people go there to hook up.”
Nan let out a sharp barking laugh at her own joke.
I turned to Jess and saw Billy Bender approaching from behind her. I pointed him out and Nan’s head perked up.
“Who’s that?” she blurted. “And why’s he dressed like such a noob?”
I was only slightly versed in the Leetspeak that people like Nan conversed in, but I understood that she was referring to Billy’s suit and buttoned down appearance. I decided to rattle her a little.
“He’s with me,” I said. “FBI was having a sale on noobs.”
Nan nearly choked when I said ‘FBI’ and tried to grab her stuff and run. I caught her arm.
“Hey, hey, Nan,” I said laughing. “Seriously, he’s with me.”
Nan stopped, looked at me, then at Billy and cursed so colorfully, I can’t begin to remember the impossible act of self-copulation she recommended. She finally relented and Billy joined us.
“Simon,” he said when he approached. I introduced Jessica and Nan.
“Do I know you?” Billy said, looking closely at Nan. Nan was shooting daggers at Billy and I spoke up.
“Billy, how did we do?” I asked.
“I divided the money into the accounts you specified. I used the list of names you gave me, so any of those people will be able to access funds as needed,” Billy said.
“How many more did you recruit?” Jess asked me.
“Two, they should be on their way,” I replied.
“They’re not from the FBI, too, are they?” Nan snapped.
“What’s wrong with the FBI?” Billy began. I quickly interceded.
“Listen, you are my project team,” I said. “We each have a job to do and not a lot of time. If we pull this off, there’s a big payday in it for everyone, ok? So, let’s learn to at least tolerate each other, ok?”
Nan grumbled but nodded and Billy did the same.
“How’d we do on wires?” I asked Billy.
He pulled a tiny transmitter from his briefcase and showed it to us.
“Mid-range transmitter, so we’ll need to stay close, but it should go undetected,” Billy said. “Where’s the meet?”
“Nightclub,” I confessed.
“Oh that’s not going to be good. There’s a lot of noise distortion there. You’re going to need to get your subject someplace quiet.”
“Who’s wearing that?” Jessica blurted suddenly. I could tell she was afraid that it might be her and she didn’t seem very much at ease with the idea.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s not you. There’s only one person that I can think of who Max still trusts that could talk to Ms. Athabasca for us. I just hope she’s still willing to talk to me…”
***
“Simon, I swear to God, I’m never talking to you again as long as I live,” Christine Frost told me.
I couldn’t honestly say that I blamed her, but I did need her, so ruffling her feathers wasn’t my best option.
“Christine, I totally understand if you’re uncomfortable with the situation,” I began, “but let’s remember why we’re doing this okay? You stuck your neck out for Tom Ellis by giving me your security pass that day at the office. So, I know you care. And I know you care about what happened to Tom.”
I stopped talking and let Christine stew on that. Her face was taut with apprehension and angst. She seemed to be thinking it through. What Tom had meant to her. Professionally. Personally. He’d been a coworker sure, but he was also a friend and despite my slightly jaded view on the world, if given a chance to catch the person that hurt you or someone near you, I believe that people will take it.
I turned my attention away from Christine for a moment. We were riding in the back of a van outfitted for surveillance. It was taken from an FBI utility lot and I’d forged the papers for Billy to use to requisition the vehicle. I’d also signed Kendrick’s name to the authorization. If anything happened to the van, they could send him the bill.
Billy was driving to “Scarlet”, while Jess and I sat with Christine. She hadn’t wanted to come at first, but at the news that Max had killed Tom, she broke from her frozen state and came along. The discussion now was only to cement the decision that she had already made. She’d taken the news of my involvement, my Blackthorn involvement, surprisingly well. I’d shaded the truth with her, but the reality of situation still held true.
“Tom was a friend, Christine,” Jessica said, breaking the silence. “We need to stop Max. He’s sick… He needs to be brought in. We just need to know where he is.”
Jessica was good. In the office, she was a hell of a recruiter, true headhunter material. Now, we were in the middle of a covert, unsanctioned operation to stop the sale of classified intelligence to a foreign power and Jess was working Christine like a veteran handler working over their asset for information. I’d always appreciated Jess’ ability to adapt to a situation and get the job done. She was doing it again here.
Christine was nodding. She looked up at me.
“You’re going to be right outside?” Christine asked. “Just in case?”
“Jessica will be in the club with you,” I said. “I’ll be here in the van with Billy. We’re going to be watching you every step of the way.”
Billy stopped the van, slipped it into park and came back toward where we were sitting.
“How are you going to be watching me?” Christine asked. Her voice was wire thin and tight with fear. She was handling it as well as I would expect anyone to handle the situation.
Billy pulled the tiny microphone from his equipment bag.
“We’re going to have you wired for sound with this,” Billy said. He leaned forward to attach it to Christine, thought better of it and handed it to Jess. “Maybe you can help with that?”
Jess took it and patted Christine on the knee to reassure her. Christine was wearing a red dress, just short enough to catch attention. It was the most scandalous thing in her wardrobe. Jessica was wearing the classic little black dress. I couldn’t help but want to spend the evening with her under completely different circumstances.
“We’ve also got a camera in your handbag,” Billy said. “It’s undetectable from the outside and gives us a decent picture. The lens is right here.” Billy indicated a seam in the handbag. I couldn’t see where the lens was but when he pointed it at me, my picture appeared on a nearby monitor in the van’s control console.
“Just point it like so,” Billy said “and we see what you see.”
“Great… real spy stuff,” Christine said without enthusiasm.
“Are we all set?” I asked.
Jess nodded and helped Christine attach the mike inside of the neckline of her dress. Billy flipped on some monitors and we got a quick audio check and confirmed that we were set and ready to go.
“Jess…” I began.
“I know,” she replied.
“No, really, I mean it,” I persisted.
Jess gave me a quick peck on the lips before opening the door of the van. Christine shot me a withering glare that told me that she had always suspected about us. I could only shrug.
“I hate you, Simon,” Christine said through a thin smile.
“You too,” I sing-songed back to her and closed the door as the two ladies walked up the block to enter the doors of “Scarlet”. Billy and I busied ourselves, getting seated in front of the monitors and putting on headphones, not wanting to talk about how volatile the situation could be.
“Who else do you have coming in for the job?” Billy asked, mercifully changing the subject.
“Ron Crawford out of Los Angeles is coming in for our tactical side,” I said.
“Oh, he’s good,” Billy mentioned offhandedly.
Ron Crawford was ex-LAPD and had served on their SWAT team. He’d been a new boot during the training for the 1984 Olympics and had retired twenty years later. Ron could “shoot and loot” with
the best of them and was more accessible to me for Blackthorn operations than a lot of the Special Warfare guys in SEAL Team Six or Delta Force.
Ron worked private security now and had a knack for acquiring the latest firearms systems. His brought limitless value to a project like this.
“I also got Geoff Spanner,” I said.
Billy paused, thinking.
“Don’t know him,” he said finally.
“Not surprising,” I replied. “Geoff just came over from the U.K. He was a race car driver over there. He’ll be selecting some vehicles for us.”
Billy nodded and returned to his monitor. What I didn’t tell him was that Geoff had served in the British SAS, England’s counterterrorist unit, and had been working in executive protection until he was caught in the servant’s quarters diddling the client’s daughter home from university. I couldn’t speak to Geoff’s morals but he could shoot the bull’s-eye out of a target at a dead run and outdrive anyone on city streets. He was a natural choice.
Jess and Christine made it to the door of Scarlet’s and were waiting to be let in. A moment later, the doorman stepped back. He had been a giant of a man and his crossed forearms looked like tree trunks. He pushed the door open and the women walked into the club.
“Where’s Nan?” Billy asked. I knew it was nervous chatter, so I indulged him.
“She’s working on a special project for me,” I replied and left it at that.
I could feel the pulsing beat of the music through the microphone and the low murmur of lost conversations. Billy was right, we’d get no audio while we were on the dance floor. I saw the handbag-cam tilt in Jess’ direction and she waved at Christine and crossed the room. Christine paused and the camera tilted away and then bounced along at Christine’s hip as she walked in the other direction.
Couples were dancing to the music. Lights swept across the floor, up the walls then back. The music drove on the crowds, working them into a gyrating frenzy of bodies while arms and hands lifted to each other, above their heads, letting the moment take them.
The handbag-cam began to move with the rhythm and I knew that Christine was dancing her way through the crowd. It didn’t take long to find Isabelle Athabasca. I just barely recognized her when I saw her. For a woman who had kept herself buttoned down at the office, dressed in conservative women’s business suits, she certainly broke the mold when she was out of the office.