by Dave Buschi
C’mon, you’re pathetic. He redoubled his efforts, straining. It started to move. An inch… he kept pushing, not letting up. Thing began to roll. Now we’re talking.
He kept at it, practically walking the thing now. Once he’d walked it about fifteen yards, he stopped. Thing kept rolling.
Shit. He watched as it kept going. Must be a slope on the driveway. Son of a gun.
It finally stopped. One of the wheels hung up on the edge of the grass, about two-thirds way down. Marks hustled over and got back in the car. He flipped open all the locks. Moments later, he pulled his Strider knife from his duffel and hustled back to Lip.
As he peeled around the far corner of the house an explosion went off. The garage door exploded outwards.
Talk about cutting it close.
Marks got back to Lip.
“What the hell was that?” Lip said.
“Your rank gas just exploded.” Marks pulled out the blade and began to cut through the plastic cuffs.
“Where’s my water?” said Lip.
“Sorry, I forgot.”
“You’re worthless,” Lip said. “I can’t see a damn thing.”
“Guess that means I’m driving.”
Marks helped Lip walk. Partner wasn’t kidding. He couldn’t see a thing. Tear gas had done a number on him. They went through the yard, past burning pieces of wood and roof.
“I don’t remember the car being here?” Lip said.
“I moved it. Keys?”
Lip handed them over, albeit reluctantly. Marks helped Lip in, then got in himself. He put the key in the ignition and fired her up. He yanked it in reverse, hit the gas, and peeled through the grass and onto the driveway. As he pulled into the street, he spun the wheel. The Suburban carved a big bouncy turn—thing was like a friggin’ boat—and scraped against something.
“What the hell!” Lip said.
Marks looked at what he’d hit. Nothing serious—he’d tagged the back of the landscaping trailer. He put it in forward and hit the gas again; more scraping, and then they were in the clear.
Lip scrambled to get his seat belt on. “Jesus Christ!” He buckled himself. “Where’s my water?”
Marks handed him an unopened bottle. Lip fumbled with the top and got it off. He took off his glasses and poured the water over his face, dousing his eyes. He slurped some down, gargled, rolled down the window, and spit out what he had in his mouth.
“Feel better?” Marks said.
“Like a million bucks.” Lip put his glasses back on.
“Really?”
“No you big ass gorilla. I feel terrible. How’d you move the car?”
“I picked it up and carried it.”
“Whatever. Are you going to slow down?”
“In a minute. I want us out of here.”
A stop sign was ahead. Marks did a rolling stop and then gunned it through.
“Stop sign.”
“I noticed.”
Lip took off his glasses again and splashed some more water on his eyes. “Eyes hurt.”
“Are you done complaining?”
“I think I’m coming down with a cold,” Lip said, putting his glasses back on.
“Anything else?”
“We should probably ditch this car.”
“I like this car.”
They heard the wail of sirens. Lip pulled his Blackberry out.
“How’s the head?” Marks said.
“Hurts, but it works.” Lip got busy tapping with his thumbs.
“Adding to your blog?”
Lip ignored him. Marks took a turn. The sirens faded behind them. They were lucky the response time was bad. Another minute or so, and they’d have been toast.
Just like the house.
“Johnny Two-cakes’s going to kill us,” Lip said, practically reading his mind.
Marks grunted. Lip was still holding onto the idea that Johnny Two-cakes was alive. “Nice house. Too bad we got zip from it.”
“I don’t know,” Lip said. He pulled something from his jacket. “I think Johnny Two-cakes wanted us to have this.”
Marks glanced over at the envelope in Lip’s hands. “Why do you say that?”
Lip shrugged. “I don’t know, just a hunch.”
Marks looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Leonard Markston and Thomas Lipkin.
91
“GOOD guess,” Marks said.
“Ah, it was nothing.”
Marks looked at the envelope. Below their names was their business P.O. Box address. “What’s in it?”
Lip opened it and pulled out a jump drive.
“Anything else?” Marks said.
“Just this.” Lip palmed it. It was one of those memory sticks the size of a pinky finger. “Ten gigs. Must be something.”
“Well, check it out.”
“Hold on,” Lip said. He put it down and got back to his Blackberry. “I want to understand how those guys found us. Make sure…” he trailed off.
“Sweeping again?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“Nothing.”
Car wasn’t bugged. Marks had to concede a point now and then. Lip’s gadgets had their place. It was so automatic that Marks forgot that Lip was always doing it. Before they’d taken the vehicle Lip had done his standard sweep for bugs. He hadn’t detected any distortion over any radio frequencies, which meant they didn’t have to worry about listening devices, RFIDs or GPS trackers.
“How’d they find us then?” Marks said.
“Must have been something with the house I missed.”
“House didn’t look like it had been searched,” Marks said. “Can’t see them leaving the office like that for us to find. But you never know… maybe they didn’t intend for us to be in a position to talk about it.”
Lip frowned. “If that’s the case, why didn’t they kill me?”
“Because you’re cute and cuddly?”
Lip snorted. “I know that. Besides that?”
Marks pulled up to a stop light. They’d left the neighborhood and were on a busier road. Couple more turns and they’d be at the exit they needed to take. “They needed you for information?” Marks said.
“Like they needed Marion?”
Marks nodded. “Must think we have something.”
Lip fingered the jump drive. “Something like this?”
“Which could have been planted.”
“Can’t rule that out,” Lip said. He held up the envelope with its distinctive scrawl. “But this? Tell me that ain’t Johnny Two-cakes’s handwriting?”
“Man used Leonard.”
“And Thomas,” Lip said. “Knows I hate that.”
“Not planted,” Marks said.
“Be my bet.”
92
LIP was right. About ditching the vehicle. Whoever called in the gunshots and fire might have gotten a glimpse of it. Wouldn’t be long till the authorities had its description. Once that happened, there’d be an APB hitting the airwaves. Could be any minute now.
Lip scanned the police frequencies using his Blackberry and earplug.
“Plenty of chatter. Looks like half the PD is mobilized.”
“Why did it take them so long to respond?” Marks said.
“Can’t tell. But they got it as a 187 and Code 11.”
Homicide and SWAT call-up. “So they found the bodies?”
“Two of them. Fire Department is on the scene.”
“Nothing about our car?” Marks said.
“Not yet.”
Marks pulled off on their exit. They just needed thirty more minutes and they’d be good. Ditching the car was easy. Dealing with the bags wasn’t.
“I’ll drop you off and then dump this.”
“My house?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Works for me.”
TWENTY-THREE minutes later, they reassessed that plan. They didn’t stop at Lip’s house. The two police cruisers parked out front were
disincentive enough. They drove past.
“Shit,” Lip said.
“That was quick.”
“Can’t be for what just happened.”
“I agree. We’ll swing back.”
They left the neighborhood and drove to the nearest strip mall. Marks parked in a CVS parking lot. Lip handed Marks his Blackberry and earplug. “You listen. I’m getting some Aspirin and something for my cut. Want anything?”
“Like that?”
“Like what?”
Marks smirked. “You’re a mess.”
“They’ll take my money. Want anything?”
“As long as you let me mooch, I’m good. Big bottle.”
HALF an hour later, they swung back. Like magic. No police cruisers.
Mrs. Lipkin came out as they parked.
“Hey Ma, everything good?”
Mrs. Lipkin looked at her son and her eyes opened wide. “What happened to you?”
“Ah, I was working out, overdid it, fell down… I’m fine, don’t worry. Everything okay?”
“Working out? You need to be more careful, and your pants are ripped. Why are you working out in your nice clothes?” She shook her head. “You just missed the police, they came by to follow up on my statement. Hard to believe, first time. I remember it took them two days to get back with me when I last called them.”
The Cadillac. Lip’s ma must have reported it stolen.
“Was there any problem with that, Mrs. Lipkin?” Marks said.
“No, they were very nice and very polite, like always. They had seconds of tea. Good news is they found it. Isn’t that wonderful?” Mrs. Lipkin didn’t hide her sarcasm. She looked at the Suburban with puzzlement. “Is that a new car?”
“Yeah Ma, I returned the other one,” Lip said. “Engine blew up. Must have been a lemon.”
“Oh dear.” She rolled her eyes.
They unloaded the gear after Mrs. Lipkin went inside. Marks helped carry it into the garage.
“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour or two,” Marks said. “You gonna sack out?”
Lip shook his head. “No, I want to get on it now. I don’t like this. I’m worried about Ma. They found us. Johnny Two-cakes was worried about Marion. Seemed extreme before, but not anymore.”
“We’ve taken out nineteen and wounded two,” Marks said. “That’s got to put the hurt on ‘em.”
“Maybe, but we don’t know the full size of their operation,” Lip said. “They could have an army as far as we know. I want to do some footprinting. Take their measure. It’ll make me sleep easier, if nothing else. I don’t want to be sleeping with one eye open.”
Marks nodded. “Good hunting then. See you soon.”
93
LIP checked on Ma. He didn’t want to alarm her, but thought it best if she took some precautions. Reluctantly, she agreed to lock the deadbolts and set the security system.
“I’ll be out back, Ma, if you need me.”
He went to his cottage house. Not that deadbolts and a shrieking alarm would stop these guys, he realized, but it was better than just inviting them in. He didn’t like feeling on the defensive. Being gassed and trussed hadn’t been fun. It was time to gain the initiative again. Be on offense instead of defense.
The aspirin had helped. His head still hurt, but it was a dull pain now, pushed back far enough that at least his head was working. A hot shower worked out the rest—the bruises, cuts and nicks. The cut on his head was superficial. It’d heal. Just a flesh wound. Still he was gentle with it as he showered.
Sleep wasn’t on his mind. He should be exhausted, but there was something about fear that was better than caffeine; it gave a rush like none other. Fear of the unknown, not knowing if he needed to be looking over his shoulder right now, afraid to even close his eyes while he was shampooing, afraid for his ma’s well-being. Time to nix this, put a round in it, as Marks would say.
Lip, after checking to make sure the cut on his head hadn’t started bleeding again, put on some fresh clothes. He completed the ensemble with his favorite bunny slippers. Not exactly an intimidating package.
Oh, it’s just a harmless little bunny, isn’t it?
Not quite.
Why that’s no ordinary rabbit. That’s the most foul cruel bad tempered rodent you ever set eyes on. With vicious teeth a mile wide… a killer!
Don’t fuck with the bunny. The bunny slippers, modeled after the Monty Python bunny, complete with plush fangs, were a gag gift from Brit many Christmases ago. They were worn and completely falling apart. In fact, they looked like they had the mange where the fuzziness had worn down to the nap. He brought them out now and then, mostly for special occasions. Over the years he’d grown attached to them. A part of him was convinced he did some of his best work in them, and wearing them always brought back memories of watching that movie on the couch with Brit. She’d loved that movie almost as much as he did.
Don’t fuck with the bunny.
He allowed himself one more nostalgic glimpse, seeing Brit’s cute little feet on his lap as he massaged them. Another time, another place. Lip pulled a Red Bull from the fridge. Time to get busy. Live in the now, buddy. With a rueful shake of the head, he went to his office and sat down in his comfy office chair.
Time to chew off some heads.
First, he plugged in the names from the IDs he’d exploited from the site. Next he ran the men’s prints—not for all the guys, just three of them, which should be enough, least for now. He figured those would take some time to run. That done, he switched gears and decided to check out the jump drive.
He used one of his laptops this time; one configured to handle just such tasks. There was no telling what was on the stick. Isolating a thing like this was always the way to go. Marks and he had taken many a system down using a stick just like this. The Stuxnet deal they did in Iran, back in 2009, popped to mind. Nasty little malware that had been, but damn effective. That little worm had put a round in Iran’s nuclear plans for quite some time. Set ‘em back years. Totally screwed up their centrifuges.
Thing was a beaut. When they’d downloaded it on site, it had stayed dormant until it could assess the security systems in place. It was almost alive the way it worked, totally adaptable. Once it figured a way to bypass the security defenses, it sought out specific targets. The beauty about it was it didn’t destroy anything. It just misled the computer networks that ran the centrifuges. When uranium samples were inserted for refinement, it caused them to spin faster than they were designed for and then stop. Completely ruined every sample.
Of course, the Iranians never knew what hit them till it was too late. Long after Marks and he were gone. All the readings in the following months and next year registered in the right parameters. They thought everything was cool.
Till it wasn’t.
That piece of malware hadn’t come cheap either. It had cost millions to develop. And Marks and Lip were the go-to guys to deploy that little baby. It was a big honor. Huge. Almost as big as having Barack himself giving them a fist bump when that baby did its job. Come to think of it, Marks did seem to enjoy hanging out with the Number One Dude. His partner wasn’t fooling anyone. Guy was all tough and gruff, but when it came down to it and he was in the little voting booth… Bam! He voted for the man. Lip still couldn’t believe it. Guy must have been sauced. Marks voting Democrat? Who would have thought?
Hard to believe that was four years ago. Six weeks, and it was time to do it all over again. Election day. About the only good thing with the shit they’d been through in the last twenty-four hours was they were spared the media circus out there. Hadn’t seen one hate-filled pep rally or vitriolic negative ad on TV. Now that was truly unbelievable. There was something to be said about tuning out and getting off the grid. The whole damn mess was depressing. Every one of those bums, on both sides of the aisle, seemed to be running the country into the ground. They couldn’t agree to disagree. They just didn’t get it. It held true for Dems and Reds. They were both to blame. Th
ey’d put off the hard choices forever if they could. Sabotage their own country for their own personal gain. Compromise was a foreign word to them.
Let’s hope after this election they come to their senses and find a dictionary. Compromise. It’s in the C-section, boys and girls.
Alright, what the hell am I doing? Right.
Jump drive.
Lip fingered it before he put it in. It paid to be cautious here—thing might have a virus. Regardless of his gut feeling, there was a chance that Johnny Two-cakes’s crib had been infiltrated before their little visit. Planting this thing for them to find was a distinct possibility. Unlikely, considering how everything went down. But? And there was always a but. Things were not always as they seemed.
Lip plugged the jump drive into a USB port on his laptop. A moment later a screen popped up. Oh come on, it was asking for a password.
He pulled out the envelope the jump drive had been in and double-checked to see if he’d missed anything. There was nothing in it, and on the outside there was just their names and P.O. Box address. Lip frowned. He was missing something here. He considered typing in some guesses, like maybe Leonard and Thomas, but he knew he’d only get three chances before the contents were automatically erased, and that would be a waste. Guessing was not the way to go.
Think. Imagine you’re Johnny Two-cakes.
A scary thought, but he put himself there as best he could. Johnny Two-cakes was hyper paranoid about this. The deal with Marion… the instructions in the letter. If the jump drive had anything important, he wouldn’t risk it would fall in the wrong hands. Maybe the guy had forgotten to send it? Not like him, but maybe he anticipated they’d search his house? Either way, he still wouldn’t have the password and jump drive together in the same place. If he was going to send them, he’d do so separately. And definitely not to the same address.
He could have sent the password electronically? That’d be the easiest way; just need to encrypt it. Lip pulled out another laptop that had Internet access. He had several email accounts, all of which he used for different purposes. One for his real estate properties, another for his and Marks’s business, and three others, which he used as needed. Occasionally he used other email addresses for temporary jobs, but Johnny Two-cakes wouldn’t know those, and wouldn’t be in a position to find them out—not with the way Lip sanitized using onion routers to mask his identity.