by Wally Duff
“Does this mean you have listening devices in your home too?” David asked.
“I did have.”
“When did you find them?” he asked.
“After Linda found a keystroke logger on my computer, I assumed the feds had also planted electronic listening devices all over my home, so I checked for them.”
“How?” he asked.
“I have an electronic scanning machine I purchased when I was working on a story in Afghanistan. I found the bugs, but I was wrong about who planted them.”
“It wasn’t the feds?” Linda asked.
“No, it was Jamie. He broke into our home and planted them. At the same time, he put the keystroke logger on my computer. It was the one you discovered and later removed.”
“Did you check your house for listening devices after the events at O’Hare?” David asked.
“I did. When I returned from the airport, I swept the house and found the devices were not functioning. I assumed the bugs had been removed by the FBI and were no longer a problem.”
“What if the FBI didn’t remove the listening devices but only turned them off after they caught the industrial spies?” he asked.
“Why would they do that?” Molly asked.
“It would have taken the feds a long time to find all devices, since they didn’t know exactly where they were placed,” he said. “Not removing them could simply have been a matter of expediency.”
“Or maybe they kept them in place in case they needed to activate them again to listen in on what is being said in my house,” I said. “They’re aware I’m writing investigative stories again and might want to be dialed in on what I know.”
“Could the bomber have seen Jamie install the bugs and he knows they were never removed?” Linda asked.
A very disturbing question.
82
“If you’re right, how could the bomber get into my house to turn on the listening devices?” I asked.
“He could do it from his computer, especially since it’s clear he’s techno-savvy,” Linda said. “David, did you check his electricity bill?”
“I did,” he said. “You and I know how much power it takes to run the setup he has. After Tina showed me the bomber’s videos, I hacked into the city records and checked his electric use ever since he moved into that apartment in June. Initially, it was normal for a single man, and then, in July, it went up substantially.”
“When he activated the computers and cameras,” Linda said.
“And the electrical use remained at that level until August sixth, and then it escalated even more.”
“Which was a few days after I initially discovered my home was bugged, and I later assumed the devices were shut off by the feds,” I said.
“I think when you check again you’ll find that the listening devices are back on,” he said.
Damn!
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “He’s been watching and listening to my entire life.”
“I’m glad we discussed this on your front porch yesterday,” David said. “If we hadn’t, he would have heard every word we said.”
I let out a deep breath. “That’s the first lucky thing that’s happened to me.”
“At least your computer is clean,” Linda said. “Or at least it was when I last checked it.”
“You think the bomber is going to do something soon, maybe to Micah, right?” David asked.
“Or to me, or the rest of you.”
“I think you’re wrong about that,” he said.
“Unless you’re the bomber, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.”
“According to you, the bomber’s ultimate goal is to gain widespread publicity for his cause.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“And he’s accelerating his attacks to entice you to tell his anti-abortion story, especially since your recent article shows you are writing this kind of story again — and in a big city paper that can be accessed by potentially millions of readers.”
“I think he is.”
“If you’re right, he’ll keep attacking until you write his story,” he said.
“Then that’s the solution,” Molly said.
“Solution?” Linda asked.
“We set a trap and catch him,” Molly said.
83
David came home with Kerry and me to see if he was right about the listening devices. Margaret walked next to her daddy.
We entered the kitchen. I put Kerry in her booster chair and gave her apple juice in her sippy cup. David put Margaret’s iPad and earphones on the kitchen table. She climbed up on one of the chairs and logged on.
I didn’t have to worry about entertaining her.
“You’re having trouble with your dishwasher again, right?” David asked.
After our discussion, I was so rattled about what we might find that I wasn’t tracking with what he was saying. “I have?”
He arched an eyebrow and pointed at his ears.
“Right, right, I have,” I said. “Here, let me show you.”
I walked over to my kitchen junk drawer, opened it, and pulled out my electronic scanning device. I switched it on. The red light began blinking. Kerry watched me.
Here we go again.
There was at least one listening device active in the kitchen.
I opened the dishwasher and rattled the dirty dishes around. David made a circuit of the room and pointed to several locations where the red light stopped blinking and remained on.
That’s where the bugs are.
“Turn it on,” he said, as he walked into the family room.
“Sure, but stand back in case it begins leaking,” I said to his back.
While he was gone, I put soap in the machine and turned it on. It filled with water. I stopped the cycle by opening the door and then restarted it.
“See, that’s what’s been happening,” I said to the machine and listening devices. “It goes on and then off. Drives me crazy.”
I repeated the sequence several more times until David reappeared.
“I see what you mean,” he said. “Let me check it out.”
He opened the door and rattled the racks. “Does Carter have any plumbing tools?”
“Carter? My husband, Carter?”
Carter graduated from the University of Chicago. They don’t “do” any kind of tools there. The only one he used on a regular basis was his fingernail clipper.
“Oh, you know what?” I said, picking up Kerry. “He has them downstairs. Follow me and I’ll show you.”
He helped his daughter down and carried her iPad and earphones to the lower level.
84
When we bought the house, the room we now use as a wine room was intended to be a storm shelter. Carter had lovingly converted it to a full wine storage facility with wooden racks to the ceiling.
He’d purchased two vintage White Sox bleacher seats from the now-demolished Comiskey Park. They were positioned next to a used French oak wine barrel topped with a never-used candle stuck in an empty Bordeaux bottle. He’d even added speakers that hooked up to his iPod dock.
The plan was for us to sit in the wine room listening to romantic classic music – which was his choice, not mine – savoring a glass of wine from one of his favorite vintages. The concept was fabulous, but the first night, after ten minutes of freezing my ass off in the fifty-four-degree temperature, I went back into the warmth of the computer room, which was adjacent to the wine room.
And there was no way a true Cubs fan was going to plop her butt down in a seat that had been in Comiskey Park.
I put Kerry on the floor with her blocks. David put Margaret on the chair in front of my computer. She began playing on her iPad. David and I walked into the wine cellar. I activated the detector. The light turned green, indicating there were no functional listening devices.
“A few weeks ago, when I checked the wine cellar, it was clean, and it looks like it still is,” I said.
“I
f your cell phone works in here, you have a location from which you can make calls undetected by the bomber.”
“One way to find out is to call Carter from in here and tell him what’s going on.”
I pulled my cell phone out of my shorts and dialed my husband. He would be furious when he found out what was going on, but he would also understand the realities of the situation. We could catch the bomber, have a fabulous story, and finally be safe. No more worrying about the “D” word.
The phone rang, and Carter’s secretary picked up.
“Hi, Moura. Is Carter around? I have something to tell him.”
Carter picked up right away. “Is Kerry okay? Are you safe?”
“We’re perfect,” I said. “I was just getting ready to carry our sweet daughter up for her nap.”
“Then what do you want?” His voice hardened. He didn’t like to chit-chat at work.
“We now have unique control of this story.”
The line was silent a few seconds. “That’s an interesting choice of words. What exactly does that mean?”
“The bomber has bugged our home with listening devices.”
The prolonged silence was ominous.
“Carter?”
“Yes?”
You don’t sound happy.
“The bomber doesn’t know that we’ve discovered his bugs, and we can now set a trap for him.”
“That is intriguing, but how are you talking to me now without him hearing you?”
I told him about the device-free wine room.
“We can talk more about it tonight in here,” I said.
“Fabulous!” he exclaimed, a little too excited about the prospect of spending time with me in his favorite room.
85
Thursday evening, after Kerry was down for the night, Carter and I sat in the wine cellar on the used seats from Comiskey Park. I opened our Nanit app on my cell phone so we could see and hear Kerry in her crib.
In a minor form of protest, I brought down a Cub’s seat cushion to protect my booty from White Sox cooties. Carter opened another bottle of Fourth Estate Pinot, which he poured in the dim light of the candle he was finally able to use. The music coming from the speakers was from the latest CD by Steely Dan – my choice, not his.
And then what I call “Carter’s process” began. First, he swirled the wine in his pinot glass before he put his nose into the top of the glass to sniff the wine’s bouquet. Next, he swished the wine around in his mouth and “chewed” it before he swallowed it.
Finally, his assessment: “This has elegance and a Burgundian flair. I detect dark fruit paired with floral notes and distinct taste of cherry cola.”
I sipped. My take: it tasted good, but what can I say? I grew up in Omaha.
“When we catch the bomber, I’m going to thank him for this,” he said.
“And why would you do that?” I asked.
“If he hadn’t bugged every room in our house except this one, you would never be down here with me.”
When Carter first arrived home, I showed him the bug detector and how David and I had discovered the devices. I admitted to him that I had not been setting the security system lately when I took Kerry out in the jogging stroller. He was upset, but he’d seen me struggle with all the paraphernalia and understood why I’d made that mistake.
I had omitted two small facts: the cameras in the apartment zeroing in on our back window and how close the bomber had to be to the same window to use the listening devices. If I told him either element, I was certain he would call the police and the bomber would disappear along with any chance of catching him.
Carter topped off his glass. “Using your previous bomber files, we now have all the background material for the R and D of the story.”
Research and development is critical to a properly written investigative article. I already had that material in my files.
He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot that I brought a surprise for you.”
“Me?”
He nodded and handed me a Chicago Tribune press credential. It even had my picture on it.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t understand.”
“Thanks to Micah, I’m going to interview the president on the 11th. I want you to be there, too, and have full access to the event.”
YES!
I gave him a big hug. “Thank you so much for including me.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He sipped more wine. “But we do have one other problem.”
“We do?”
“Yes, we do. Sex.”
“Honey, that’s one area that has never been a problem for us.”
“I understand, but what do we do now?”
“Now?”
“I can’t perform properly in our bedroom with him listening.”
Men!
They always worry about their performance. But he did have a point.
I took my ski parka off. “I guess I’ll have to take one for the team. Try not to take too long or do anything fancy. Just the basics.”
86
Friday morning, The Irregulars — minus Linda, who was still on bed rest — were at Hamlin Park. If the bomber watched the park, the noise from the cars and trucks on the heavily trafficked surrounding streets would make an audio pickup almost impossible. This gave me a chance to explain my plan to the rest of the group.
Margaret was in preschool. The rest of the kids were with Alicia Sanchez. We needed to concentrate on what we were going to do, and our kids would be a distraction.
“We need to act normally,” I began. “We don’t deviate from anything we do in our everyday lives. I have an inside source about the bomber’s activities. When I hear from that person, we’ll contact Tony Infantino and capture the bomber when he goes to the next clinic to blow it up.”
“Sounds too easy,” Molly said.
“I disagree,” David said. “That’s the beauty of the plan. This man seems driven to stop abortions. He is extremely careful, but my sense is that he might rely more on his own abilities than computers.”
Cas clenched her jaw muscles. “How did you come to that simplified conclusion?”
“He appears to be a hands-on person. He’s obviously comfortable with computers, so he could blow up the clinics from miles away, but now he’s using a gun, which is up close and personal.”
“I think we need to fool the bomber to make your plan work,” Molly said.
“How are we going to do that?” he asked.
“You have a person who’s going to tell you when the bomber’s going to hit his next target, right Tina?” Molly asked.
“I do,” I said.
“And the bomber can hear everything you say in your house.”
“David and I are reasonably sure he can,” I said.
“Why don’t we have a meeting there and discuss trapping him somewhere else?”
“I don’t understand,” Cas said.
“You tell us you have a plan to trap him, maybe a week or so after we actually intend to catch him. He’ll be fooled and not be watching out for us.”
“He’ll hear all of our plans and assume we’re not on to him when, actually, we are,” David said.
An intriguing idea.
If the bomber assumes we’re focusing all our energies on a different target and time frame, he won’t anticipate our trap.
“This is brilliant,” I said. “Have you done something like this before, Molly?”
“Yeah, lots of times.”
She began fiddling with her cell phone.
“Ah, Molly?” I said.
“What?”
“The times?”
“Oh, right. The farmers had me give the wrong intel to the bad guys I hung out with. They never suspected the farmers were actually going to do the opposite of what I told the bad guys.”
“Disinformation,” David said.
“Yeah, that was the word they used,” Molly said. “Disinformation.”