Chasing the Captain

by Terry Shepherd

  Lee kept her eyes focused on the smartphone’s screen. “Maddox told us we couldn’t investigate. He didn’t say, I couldn’t report.”

  “To whom?”

  “To Detective Ramirez.”

  “What are you telling her?”

  “Everything. If the roles were reversed, I would want to know.”

  Zoe thought about their boss’s parting shot. “I bet you wanted to ask Maddox if the fact that the goons who jumped us ended up dead was a coincidence.”

  Lee kept typing. “It’s not. And he knows it.”

  “So, you’re just going to follow orders and let it be?”

  Lee pressed the send button. “Yes.”

  Zoe smirked. “You’re not a very good liar, Liyanna. Be careful with this. Something tells me that Maddox is getting his instructions from pretty far up the chain.”

  “Maddox can’t tell us what to do with our own time.”

  “Yes, he can, Lee. We’re cops twenty-four-seven.”

  “And good cops follow their instincts. Mine are telling me there’s more to this than anybody knows. It smells like it’s within the Met’s jurisdiction at the very least, perhaps even MI6.”

  Zoe put a hand on Lee’s arm. “Then let people who are smarter than us handle it.”

  Lee pressed the send button on her phone, opened the door to her vehicle and gave Zoe a hard look. “All we did was scratch the surface of this thing, Z, and looked what happened. Harry Duggan dies. We get accosted. The two sods who jumped us end up sipping. And Maddox sends you to the palace and me to purgatory. If this Marie woman is still alive, she’s in grave danger. I’m not sure I can let this one go. Nobody seems to care about her but you, me, and a cop in Illinois.”

  Zoe held up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong, partner. I think many people care about this. We just don’t know why.”

  Lee’s face broke into a grin. “We don’t know why… yet.”

  20

  Research Lab—British Secret Intelligence Services / MI6—London

  The MI6 research laboratory doesn’t have modified Aston Martins or exploding cigarettes in its inventory.

  Director Gerhardt swung his electric wheelchair around so that he and Commander Anastos could see what the young lab technician, CJ Riemer, was working on. The wiry kid pointed to a pair of familiar smart devices becoming a common fixture in more and more British homes.

  “You have both probably met ‘Frieda’ before,” CJ said, patting the hockey puck-shaped item with a hand. “She’s the most ubiquitous piece of electronics in the world, telling more people the temperature and turning more appliances on and off than all her competitors combined.”

  CJ pointed to two flat screens on the wall that quietly scrolled lines of digital code in white characters on a dark blue background.

  “This is a visual output of Frieda’s data stream. When you say her name, they call it the ‘wake word,’ she comes alive and tries to do what you ask.”

  “I don’t like the idea of any device with a microphone on the premises,” Gerhardt grunted. “No matter what the manufacturers say, we have no confidence that they ever stop listening.”

  CJ concurred, “Frieda is programmed to sleep unless she’s awakened. That means her microphone should only come on when someone speaks her wake word.”

  He tapped the device on the left. “I bought this one today. She’s fresh out of the box. We’ll talk about where we found her sister in a moment. Watch.”

  CJ spoke to the devices. “Frieda? What time does Manchester United play Arsenal tonight?”

  The two devices spoke in unison. The friendly female voice everyone knew from dozens of television commercials touting the product brightly answered CJ’s question.

  “Manchester United and Arsenal meet tonight at nineteen hundred thirty hours at Old Trafford. Would you like to order tickets?”

  “No, thank you,” CJ said.

  He turned to the two flat screens. “Look at the two data streams, gentlemen. They begin with the unique device ID number. The code that follows is almost identical. The connect command wakes up the servers that process the request, followed by the binary representation of the question. Note the brief delay, and then the answers appear.”

  “The device on the right is still spitting out characters,” Commander Anastos said.

  CJ nodded. “Indeed, Commander. Frieda number two is still listening. And look at this.” The technician issued another command, “Frieda, power down.”

  “Shutting down now,” the two voices cooed. “Press the red power button to turn me back on.”

  CJ pointed to the LED power indicators on both units. It was dark. “The lights say the devices are off. But notice…” The tech pointed to the right screen. The data flow continued to output, spitting packets every time it heard a sound. “This girl is still listening and reporting. We’ve done some cursory packet tracing, and the information is not going to the company servers.”

  “Where is it going?” Gerhardt asked.

  “To a spoofed IP address somewhere outside of England,” CJ answered. “She’s all ears and reporting everything she hears.”

  Commander Anastos scratched the stubble on his chin. “What does it mean?”

  “It means,” CJ said, “that someone has hacked the operating system to turn Frieda into his personal spy.”

  “How did you acquire this little gem?” Anastos wondered.

  “Purely by chance. I have a mate who works for sanitation, and he grabs stuff out of trash cans he thinks he can salvage. He gave me a ring when Frieda misbehaved.”

  “Misbehaved?” Gerhardt repeated the word as a question.

  CJ patted a black square box with a CAT5 connector on the back. “This is my friend’s smart hub. It controls his television, lights, and… this one got my attention… the door to his flat. Frieda decided last night that she wanted to play with his toys. He heard the lock click open, figured out what was happening, and pulled Frieda’s plug.”

  Gerhard frowned at Anastos. His own knowledge of technology surpassed the Commander by a mile. The Director wondered if his subordinate could keep up.

  “There’s more, gentlemen,” CJ continued. “When he told me about it, I asked my mate if I could borrow this little square baby. The data stream from the hub is flowing across this third screen. Notice anything interesting?”

  The two men studied the flow of numbers and letters. Anastos saw it first. “That sequence is almost identical to what Frieda Number Two is spitting out.”

  Gerhard could tell that CJ was pleased.

  “Well done, Commander. You have a future in computer forensics. Frieda Number Two here has infected my mate’s control hub. It’s now talking to the same unknown server and listening for commands.”

  As CJ finished, Frieda Number One started spitting out data. The color drained from the technician’s face.

  Gerhardt’s expression morphed into concern. “What is happening CJ?”

  The tech pulled the power plugs from all three devices with lightning speed.

  “The device I bought this morning just got infected with Frieda Number Two’s troublesome code. She’s now on someone else’s team.”

  Gerhardt watched the wheels turning in the young computer whiz’s brain. CJ pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

  The Director darkened. “You’re not supposed to have those things in this building, CJ.”

  “I know, sir. I suggested the regulation. But I wondered about something and wanted to test my hypothesis.”

  CJ dropped his phone into a power holster on the lab bench, firing up a fourth flat screen. The white characters began to race across the display.

  “Shit.” He turned to the two men. “Turn off your cell phones right now, gentlemen.”

  Gerhardt frowned. “We locked our devices in our vehicles, CJ. We follow the rules.”

  CJ began typing commands furiously into his terminal. “I don’t know if it happened here, there, or anywhere, but that
code has infected my cell. I’d get everyone in the building down here at once to see how many others have phones on the premises that are compromised.”

  “Who would do this?” Anastos asked.

  Gerhardt tapped the controls of his wheelchair with a pair of fingers. The device spun toward the exit. “Drop everything else you’re doing to find that out, Commander.” Just before he pressed the accessible exit button, Gerhardt stopped cold. “CJ, where did your friend get that device?”

  CJ remained focused on his terminal. “Out of the rubbish bin in 91 Waterloo.”

  Gerhardt turned his wheelchair to make eye contact with Anastos. “91 Waterloo. The Maitland Corporation.”

  21

  Police Headquarters—Paloma, Illinois

  Jessica Ramirez sat, alone, across the large oak desk that was the centerpiece of the Paloma Chief of Police’s office. She felt like O’Brien didn’t even know she was there. The only connection was his concentration on the thick personnel file with her name on it.

  After what felt like an age, the Chief finally regarded her. “You have a knack for attracting trouble, JRam.”

  The nickname she had received on day one at the academy had followed her for a decade. Once upon a time, the moniker bothered her. Now it was part of who she was.

  “We found Jimmy.” O’Brien tossed that one out as if it were an afterthought.

  Jess perked up. “Did he tell you anything?”

  O’Brien turned his attention back to her file. “The dead have little to say. Single bullet in the head. A professional job… As usual, you’ve drawn the attention of some pretty bad people.”

  Jess scanned the hundreds of criminal encounters that were part and parcel of a career where she’d purposely put herself in harm’s way. “Crouch?”

  The chief rolled his eyes. “Yes. Crouch. He’s been running his operation from Statesville, and a scum-bag lawyer got him released pending a retrial. It sounds like he’s out for retribution.”

  Jess felt her temper flare. “I was a minor player in that ballet. Why isn’t Crouch going after the district attorney and the sting team who set him up? Abernathy and Harrison should be on the top of his list.”

  O’Brien slid a briefing paper across the desk. “They are. Apparently, there was a coordinated attack on all three of you yesterday. Some valet kid turned the keys on Abernathy’s Caddy after lunch at some restaurant. Same C4 explosives that vaporized your vehicle. The poor boy is playing a harp.”

  No cop likes it when a kid dies. Jess could see O’Brien’s legendary composure crack. “They think they killed Harrison. He has a doppelgänger out there who got popped by mistake. They came closest to success with you and Clark yesterday afternoon.”

  Jess tried to wrap her head around the news. “Crouch’s deal was federal. Why isn’t the FBI involved?”

  O’Brien gave her one of his looks. The one that told her he knew way more about her personal life than was appropriate. “They are. Your boyfriend in DC pulled some strings. I’m supposed to encourage you to take thirty days off with pay and leave the country until they can catch the people responsible.”

  Jess’s thoughts instantly vectored to la familia. “I’m not going. If they can’t target me, they know the way to extract retribution is to target my family.”

  The chief took a long breath. “I’ve already spoken with your mother. She’s as stubborn as you are. But I’ve convinced her that she, Maria, and your grandmother deserve a department-funded vacation in Mexico for a few weeks. I have officers at the house right now helping them pack. They leave from O’Hare tonight at seven.”

  Jess tried to process this extraordinary news. It had FBI Special Agent Michael Wright’s name all over it. Her lover was looking out for her and her family. The usual mixture of anger and desire pounded in her head like a migraine. “Then,” she stuttered, “I-I think I should go with them. They might need my protection.”

  O’Brien shook his head. “The Feds think it’s best to keep you away from them. Crouch wants you. But he’s a small-time gangster. His reach is still only regional. If you’re on the other side of the world, Agent Wright thinks you’ll be safer.”

  “Safer.” That didn’t mean safe.

  Jess gave it one last try. “I was involved in Crouch’s capture, Chief. That’s why he’s after me. Doesn’t it make sense that I should be part of the team to lure him out into the open?”

  “No, JRam. My orders are coming from far above Agent Wright’s pay grade. He’s just the messenger boy.”

  O’Brien’s tone softened. It made Jessica wary. “You’ve lived your entire life right here in Paloma.”

  Jess instantly vectored to the horrors of Nashville.

  O’Brien had conveniently forgotten about that minor detour. “Think about someplace in the world you’ve always wanted to see. And make that decision quickly, or DC will make it for you.”

  Jessica Ramirez sat across from Alexandra Clark at The Vine and Barrel, Paloma’s most popular watering hole. The owner gave Jess and Ali carte blanch there, after they arrested an unruly patron at Christmas.

  Ali raised her bottle of Pilsner Urquell, clinking its base against the tall glass filled with Jess’s third Margarita. “So where are you going to go, partner? The world is your oyster, and the company is paying.”

  “I want to go catch that bastard, Crouch,” Jess slurred. “Yeah, Jimmy was a loser, but he wasn’t a bad guy at heart. I’d love to put a hollow point between Crouch’s baby blues.”

  Ali rolled her eyes. “When you get angry and drunk, what little good judgment you may have evaporates, Jess. This is your golden ticket. How are you going to spend it?”

  Jess took a bigger slurp of her Margarita than she should have. A rivulet rolled down her chin. “I can’t believe they just up and shooed la familia to Mexico. By rights, I should be there with them. If something happens down there…”

  Ali interrupted, “You’ll never forgive yourself. Listen, Jessica. You are not responsible for what happened to your father. And Michael Wright wants into your pants so badly that he’ll do anything to impress you. Mama and crew will get Secret Service-level protection down there. Let it go, partner. Focus! If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

  Jess pulled her cell phone from her pocket and flipped the display in Ali’s direction. “You know exactly where I’m going to go, Alexandra.”

  Diamond-like white reflections of the dim spotlights accented the words MARIE CULPADO IS ALIVE.

  Ali took another long drink from her beer bottle. “I was afraid of that. Don’t you think O’Brien has already figured out that you would come to that conclusion?”

  “I think this mob hit stuff finally cracked that knucklehead’s skull. He feels sorry for me. Protective is a man’s vibe. Maybe he’s, at last, got some remorse for forcing me to watch that fucking execution. He knows that lit a fire under my ass, and I won’t rest until I figure out what really happened. Letting me jump from one frying pan into another is his way of expressing affection.”

  Ali shook her head. “You’re as crazy as he is, Jessica. Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this horrible idea?”

  “You know there isn’t, partner. And deep down, you want me to go for it.”

  Ali drained the last of the Pilsner Urquell from the bottle. She motioned to the server to bring the cops two more drinks.

  “I totally do. Go get him.”

  “But on my way,” Jess slurred, “I need to see a guy in Washington.”

  22

  Washington, DC

  Michael Wright considered the beauty sitting across from him. “You attract some pretty interesting men.”

  The love of his life mesmerized the FBI Special Agent. He wanted to thank this Crouch dirt bag for helping to bring Jessica Ramirez to Washington, DC, even if it was just for a one-night stand.

  Nothing had changed since Michael had impulsively asked Jess to marry him from a hospital bed in Phoenix last year.

  “And t
he mood lighting here at The Dabney makes you look more attractive than ever.”

  Michael studied Jessica’s beauty in the converted row-house at 122 Blagden Alley NW, satiated with the five-star cuisine and enjoying after-dinner cocktails on the taxpayer’s dime. Once again, Michael thought, Jessica would judge his lavish expenditures as a total waste of her tax dollars.

  To his surprise, her mood wasn’t combative. Her voice was soft, almost sexy, and she was actually wearing make-up.

  “You always flatter me, Michael. Be honest. What can you possibly see in a Latina from an Illinois river town who has done nothing but treat you like crap since the day we met?”

  Michael felt a shiver of delight. Their arguments had passionate bookends that still were the stuff of his most prurient dreams.

  He chuckled and took another sip of his single malt scotch. “I wouldn’t say ‘totally.’ You have to admit that in many ways, we fit well together.”

  “I’ll ignore the sexual reference. I owe you a debt, Michael. Thank you for doing what you did to keep my family safe until your guys put Crouch back into the slammer. Is O’Brien really paying for all of this with city money, or is our vacation funded by the national treasury.”

  Michael winked. “Let’s just say that the safety of the Ramirez family is in the best interest of the country at the moment. You saved a lot of lives last year. It’s the least we can do.”

  Jess leaned forward. Michael noticed her V-neck plunged deep enough to provide a delectable view of what was beneath it.

  “That thing you said at the hospital. Now that the drugs are out of your system, I hope you realize what a mess that could be.”

  Michael took a deep breath. Nothing had changed. He wanted Jessica more now than ever. But how to tell her… that was delicate.

  “I’ve been married before, Jessica. It was early in my career, and I don’t think either of us knew what being a cop meant. You do. I don’t want to tell you where to live or what to do with your life. We’re very much the same. Passionate about our work. Bullheaded. Our values sometimes drive us past the edge of the envelope to get the job done. We take risks for the small guy and don’t take shit from the big guys.”