White Hat Black Heart (Cyber Teen Project Book 1)

by D. B. Goodin

  Her phone chimed again.

  “Awaken the sleepers.”

  Cassidy looked for another sealed envelope; she pulled out the one labeled “Sleepers.” That folder contained the contact sheets of several more pictures, including her brother Milo and Mr. Robinson. She texted the codes to awaken the operatives for the next phase of the operation.

  Cassidy didn’t know this, but awakening the sleepers set in motion a series of events, all designed to help a fellow intern.

  Mr. Robinson walked into the precinct of the Milford Police Department.

  “Hello, Commander,” Mr. Robinson said as he passed his desk.

  “Hi, James. I didn't know you were working tonight!”

  “Yup, coming in late due to a mess at the high school.”

  After a few minutes of preparation, Mr. Robinson did some reconnaissance down the hall where the holding rooms were. The information he received was that Nigel was held in the last room on the left, close to where the hall ended. Mr. Robinson waited until the coast was clear, then quickly opened Nigel’s holding room door. Nigel’s head was buried in his hands. As Nigel’s head came up, Mr. Robinson slapped a small piece of paper into his hand.

  “Hey, you’re not supposed to be in there,” a uniformed officer said, poking her head into the room.

  “Sorry, I was just cleaning. Thought these were empty.”

  After Mr. Robinson left, the officer shut the door and locked it.

  A small paper folded several times over was in the palm of Nigel’s hand. He carefully opened it.

  “Hang in there, Kid. Help is coming. Say nothing. The FBI has nothing on you. Eat this paper immediately after reading.”

  Nigel did as instructed, but was baffled as to why Mr. Robinson gave it to him.

  Hunter Garrison checked the forums for available bounties in the eastern United States. Since he was a founding member of Black Iris, he had certain site privileges, like reactivating canceled contracts. Of all the recently canceled contracts, Nigel’s looked the easiest and most promising. His location was only a few hours away; he was young and lived in a smaller community.

  Hunter’s brief research into court records found that Nigel was currently arrested on suspicion of hacking.

  Hunter configured his computer to scan the IP range of all addresses in the Milford area. His port scan revealed vulnerable cameras operated near the precinct building. He found visible precinct coverage on a hardware store, grocery store, and pharmacy, and configured each camera to upload recordings.

  Agent Appleton received a call with a small lock icon next to an unknown number. The connection was encrypted, which could only mean official agency business.

  “Agent Appleton speaking.”

  “Comrade, I have a proposition for you,” the mysterious voice said. Agent Appleton thought that the voice had a subtle Russian accent but wasn’t sure.

  “Who is this?”

  “Consider me a mutual friend. You have someone in custody that I want released.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Nigel Watson.”

  Agent Appleton was intrigued.

  “What do I get in return?”

  “You get a hacker who is responsible for stealing thousands of American identities, creating accounts, then selling the merchandise for profit. I think you are getting the better end of the bargain.”

  “What is your interest in this kid?”

  “Let’s just say that I see his full potential.”

  Agent Appleton considered, then nodded. “You got a deal.”

  Alexei hung up the phone.

  He delivered Gregor gift-wrapped on the steps of the local FBI field office. He was tied up with green and red rope. His mouth was stuffed with a small Christmas stocking, held in place with holiday tape. A note was taped to Gregor that read:

  “A gift for Agent Appleton. Do open before Christmas. Happy Holidays!”

  A USB flash drive was taped to the note. When Agent Appleton examined the flash drive, he realized that it was encrypted. He didn’t want to bother Mr. Henry again, especially during Thanksgiving weekend, but he had to know what was on the drive.

  He drove to Milford and asked for Mr. Henry.

  “What do you want?” Mr. Henry said in a cold voice.

  “Can you please help me with another encryption problem?” Agent Appleton asked in a good-natured tone. He considered Mr. Henry a friend. He thought they developed some rapport over these past weeks.

  “Nigel Watson is a good kid. You should consider releasing him,” Mr. Henry said.

  Agent Appleton raised his eyebrows.

  “Good day, Agent Appleton!” Mr. Henry said as he closed the door on him.

  “I will see what I can do to get him released,” Agent Appleton said to the closed door. Mr. Henry didn’t respond.

  Several days after his arrest, Nigel was still incarcerated. Ellen hired an attorney without using a recommendation from Sally or anyone else. She found Julius Shcherbakov, Esquire, in Newport, the next town over. Julius promised to work with Agent Appleton and believed that he could have Nigel released within the next twenty-four hours.

  “The FBI’s case is weak. All of the evidence is circumstantial,” Julius said.

  Ellen felt assured that Julius was working on Nigel’s behalf. She had sold her only vehicle, her jewelry, and other valuable items to help pay for Nigel’s defense. She also thought about getting another job.

  “You should set up a fundraiser page to help raise the additional funds,” Julius suggested. “I will help you.”

  With Julius’s help, Ellen was able to craft a message for the crowdfunding website:

  “Nigel Watson is an honor student and takes time away from his studies to help others. His grades have guaranteed an internship for a large software company. My son has been wrongly arrested for crimes of computer hacking he did not commit. The FBI has failed to provide sufficient evidence, so I demand my son be released immediately. Please help my son and donate whatever you can to aid in his defense.”

  A copy of the Milford Gazette was left at Ellen’s front door. That is odd. I don’t subscribe to the paper. She opened it, and a note fell to the ground which read, “Go to the circled section, bottom of the fold.”

  The circled section read: “FBI Targets Honor Student.

  “In a desperate attempt to gain a conviction, the FBI mistakenly incarcerated a young honor student whose name is withheld because the student is a minor. The student in question has yet to be charged and has been incarcerated for more than a week. ‘We intend to seek damages for the student’s wrongful arrest and conviction unless the student is immediately released,’ Julius Shcherbakov, the student’s attorney, said.”

  Agent Appleton was called into the deputy director’s office.

  “Explain your actions concerning the unauthorized detainment of a minor,“ the deputy director demanded.

  “I have proof that ties Mr. Watson’s IP address to the hacker I picked up.”

  The deputy director didn’t seem to care. “I’ve been told that the family has lost nearly everything and they may have grounds to sue. This is unacceptable and unbecoming of an agent. You are suspended with pay until we can sort all of this out. Surrender your badge and firearm before leaving this office!”

  Agent Appleton was in shock. He was escorted to central processing, where he had to turn in his badge, firearm, and FBI-issued phone.

  Just after former Agent John Appleton was signing the receipt for the official items, his personal phone rang. The caller was from an unknown number.

  “Hello,” John said.

  “This is only the beginning, Agent Appleton. Or should I call you John now?” The call ended with an audible click.

  Chapter 23

  Hunter reviewed the video footage from the past few days. He noticed that officers and other civilian workers were departing from an unseen location. While he didn’t have eyes on the actual door, he noticed that some workers would enter th
e front of the precinct, then exit from the rear of the building in an alleyway of some kind.

  Perfect cover.

  Hunter drove by the Milford Police Station to get a feel for the place. Several officers were gathered in front of the precinct, many of them talking, smoking, or drinking coffee. He parked in an alley behind the hardware store. The precinct was just one block up and another alleyway over. He gathered his pole-climbing tools, then headed toward the adjacent side alley.

  Hunter looked like any other telecommunications line worker. No one even gave him a second glance as he climbed the telephone pole and mounted a wireless camera. He concealed himself behind a junction box. Once he was satisfied that the camera wouldn’t be easily noticed, he gathered his equipment, checked the camera’s feed, and left the area. Hunter now had eyes on the back exit.

  Hunter received an alert from the webpage tracker code he installed. The Milford court docket had changed; it appeared that Nigel now had a court date. A quick check of the online court docket revealed the courthouse and judge. The room wasn’t sealed, which meant that anyone could visit the hearing. Hunter was planning on attending.

  “I’m here to see my client,” Julius said to the front desk of the Milford Police Department. “Nigel Watson.”

  The duty chief buzzed in Julius. “He has been moved to the conference room near the back of the precinct. Give this to the guard on duty.”

  The duty chief handed the authorization slip to Julius. Since Nigel was a minor, the Milford police had a legal obligation to separate him from any adult that was incarcerated. Apparently all of the holding cells and interview rooms were full if Nigel was in a conference room.

  “How you holding up, Kid?”

  Nigel’s head was buried in the sleeves of his hoodie. Several snacks, sandwich wrappers, and a toiletry pack were visible on the table.

  “The good news is that you have an actual court date tomorrow. We have an excellent chance of getting you released.”

  Nigel’s head snapped up with a small smile, the first sign of joy he had seen on the kid’s face.

  “Legally, the court had to see you within twenty-one days of arrest. You’re at ten days, but I convinced a judge to move it up sooner since you were denied visitors for the first several days.”

  Julius handed Nigel a paper and pen.

  “Write down your suit size. We’re going to court!”

  Hunter’s strategy was to take care of Nigel before he appeared in court. Based on the court documents he was able to exfiltrate, the prisoner would be transported to the courthouse via a waiting vehicle in the back alley. The perfect spot for an ambush.

  Hunter walked the length of the alleyway. There were no potential hiding spots even remotely close to the back door of the police station. However, there was a dumpster behind the hardware store five hundred feet away from the door. That would have to do.

  The dumpster provided good cover. Hunter waited there in an oversized appliance box in a coat that he purchased from an actual homeless person for $20 and a bottle of cheap wine. After rubbing some dirt on his face, he looked like any other homeless man in America.

  Hunter heard a car turning the corner toward the police precinct. Time to move.

  He rounded the corner just as the precinct door opened. Nigel Watson appeared in a full suit, accompanied by his attorney and a uniformed police officer. Another officer waited in the car.

  Hunter quickly pulled out an object the size of a tennis ball and hurled it toward the vehicle. There was a loud banging noise, followed by a puff of smoke. Hunter pulled small knives from his coat and threw several in quick succession. The officer escorting Nigel took a knife in the throat, and blood gushed out. The officer stumbled, withdrew the knife, dropped to his knees, then slumped over.

  Nigel dropped to the ground—he felt a sharp pain in his right bicep. A small knife was embedded in the muscle. Another knife penetrated his left side with an explosion of pain. Nigel screamed as the pain washed over him. It felt worse than anything he had ever experienced, even more than the bullet graze. Beside the police car, a man appeared with knives in each hand, several smaller knives in his belt. Lying at his feet was the officer from the car and his attorney. He had no idea if either one was alive.

  There was blood everywhere.

  Detective Foster was in his office writing a report when he heard a loud sound. He recognized the sound as a flashbang and immediately started making his way toward it. The hallway leading to the back door was deserted. Prisoners were in the holding cells shouting, even louder than normal. At the end of the hallway, Detective Foster heard muffled cries from the other side of the door. He pulled out his service weapon and crouched, then flung the door open.

  He took in the bloody scene before him. At least four people were down, and a lone man in a ragged coat hovered over a kid in a suit. The man’s back obscured part of the view, but Detective Foster noticed the gleam of a large knife pressed against the kid’s throat. Detective Foster’s eyes widened when he recognized Nigel.

  “Stop!”

  The figure proceeded to cut. Detective Foster shot the figure several times in the back. The figure slumped over, then began to move. A vest! The figure turned, and Foster was met with the piercing intensity of the figure’s eyes. His face was concealed with a mask that appeared to be a burlap sack with eye holes cut out. A second later, Detective Foster was hit in the chest with a small throwing knife.

  “Your weapons cannot harm me. Cower before me, Mortal,” the figure growled. Foster turned onto his back. Blood gushed from his wound and mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled to stay awake. Three uniformed officers appeared and gave chase; another stayed with the carnage and called for backup.

  The figure had too much of a lead on the pursuing officers. He rounded the corner of the only possible exit. The coat and mask were left behind. The officers split up, determined to find the perpetrator that attacked their own. Officer Anderson’s endurance began to flag. He stopped to have a look around.

  “Any sign?” the other pursuing officer said.

  “None!”

  Police blocked off streets within two blocks around the precinct. Ambulances were the only vehicles allowed through. Officers checked the street, each car and every building, inside and out. When pedestrians were interviewed, no suspects were discovered, which only heightened the tension of the Milford police.

  Officer Anderson decided to walk Main Street one last time before giving up. It was subtle at first—a tree about fifty feet away shook unnaturally. It was just outside the perimeter. Officer Anderson squelched his radio, then approached from the street, which provided some cover from parked cars. Officer Anderson inspected the suspect tree and saw a man dressed all in black clinging to the trunk of the tree.

  “Come down from there!”

  Officer Anderson dodged a throwing knife and fired at one of the perpetrator’s legs. The perpetrator moved, but not before getting grazed by the bullet. Hunter groaned in agony but didn’t leave the tree. Officer Anderson attempted to call for backup. A lasso of nylon rope was thrown over his neck and tightened as the perpetrator pulled upward. Officer Anderson attempted to aim the weapon again, but he couldn’t breathe. Officer Anderson grabbed the rope with both hands, dropping the pistol. The perpetrator looked like a kid, eighteen or nineteen at most. That was the last thing Officer Anderson remembered before he passed out.

  Hunter vacated the area before reinforcements arrived.

  Nigel awoke to the sound of machines. He opened his eyes and discovered that he was yet again in the hospital. His mother, brother, and attorney were in the room. Julius’s head and arm were wrapped. Nigel tried to speak, and only a gurgling sound came out. He touched his throat. It was taped, and a tube was protruding.

  “Don’t speak, Honey. The doctors performed a tracheotomy.”

  Ellen turned away. Nigel could hear her sobbing.

  Once she regained some composure, Ellen gave Nigel a pad of paper and a
pen. He wrote, “What happened?”

  “The Milford Police Precinct was attacked,” Julius said. “They’re still looking for the suspect. He threw knives at us, like he had martial arts training. Two officers died from their injuries. Detective Foster is in surgery but is expected to make it. Another officer was hung, it appears. The suspect didn’t have time to finish the job. I believe he will make it. I was grazed by a couple knives; another plunged into my arm. Other than that, I’m okay,” Julius said.

  John Appleton walked into the room.

  “Agent Appleton, what brings you down here?” Ellen asked.

  “I don’t think you should be here,” Julius said at the same time.

  “I drove down as soon as I heard. I want to lend a hand if I can. I’m here as a friend, not as an agent of the FBI,” John said.

  “You’re not an agent,” Julius said.

  “Suspended pending review,” John corrected. “Mistakes were made, but I will do what I can to rectify the situation.”

  Nigel raised his hand, then wrote, “Let him help.”

  “The FBI has two suspects in custody. Both have direct ties to Nigel.

  One of them is a hacker.”

  “Who is this mystery hacker? Why don’t I know about him?” Julius demanded.

  “His name is Gregor, and he was a member of the hacker group called The Collective. Not to be confused with Collective Systems, which has been verified as a legitimate business,” John said.

  Nigel frowned. He recognized the name, but didn’t want John Appleton to know.