“Agent Davis reporting, sir”, the young man said with an arrogant tone as he offered his hand. Holden took it, a little deflated from the knowledge that this ‘superstar’ they were sending him, may have an attitude to match. He gave a little extra squeeze from his powerful arms as a gentle, if not subtle, reminder of who was senior here.
“Have a seat, Agent Davis,” Holden said as he walked back around his desk. “I see that you have been briefed,” noting the file in Davis’ hand.
“Yes, sir I have. If I may?”
“Go right ahead.” Holden offered.
“As I understand it, sir, several years ago, the government made a decision to allow a little more collaboration than normal among several hi-tech firms. They did this to give our own companies the advantage in world markets, primarily to minimize duplicated efforts and also to aid in setting industry standards for easier interfacing. But about two years ago, someone started leaking these strategies and some highly sensitive technical secrets to the Chinese. So far, we have several suspects but no strong evidence implicating any one of them.”
“That’s a concise way of putting it,” Holden jumped in. “We’ve got a hole to plug. Problem is, we can’t seem to find the hole. It was thought that maybe some new blood could bring a new perspective on the case. That’s why you’re here.” He was about to continue when his phone rang.
“Holden here….”, he answered. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Put him through,” he said, shooting a glance at his colleague.
Holden listened as the party on the other line spoke. After about a half a minute he interrupted.
“Oh, really? Well I could…..” he began before being interrupted himself. His eyes narrowed slightly and the caller continued. Agent Davis shifted in his chair during the uncomfortable silence.
“Hell, Joel. I’m not proud. If you’ve got anything, anything at all we’ll take it,” Holden said. “The natives are getting restless over here anyway. As a matter of fact, I have one sitting right here with me. Mind if I put you on speaker?”
After receiving permission, Frank depressed the speakerphone button on is desk console and continued his conversation.
“Joel, even if it’s a false lead, at least we’d have something new to pursue,” he went on.
“Well, it’s not easy to explain,” the caller on the other line stated, “kind of a vague connection, really. But if you want to stop by my place for a beer, I’ll throw on a couple of steaks and we can go over it. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow for China. I’ll be gone for a week, and I’d hate for this to wait until I get back. Besides, if my information is accurate, I’ll be right in the lion’s den.”
Not one to turn down a beer and a free meal, much less the opportunity to solve a case, Holden jumped.
“Sure, Joel. Where do you live?”
Joel gave him the address.
“Give me about an hour and a half,” Frank said. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up---and traffic this time of day is nuts.”
“Okay, see you then,” Joel responded, ending the call.
Holden looked up at his newest team member.
“Davis, you may be my good luck charm. You walk in here and just like that a new lead drops in my lap. That was Joel Levine over at the commerce department. He’s the Undersecretary of Commerce for Asian affairs. Anyway, he’s been my liaison with the department regarding this case. He may have something for us, so I’m going to meet with him.”
“A political appointee?” Davis inquired, telegraphing his distrust of appointees.
“Yeah, I know,” Holden acknowledged, “but he’s really O.K.. He takes his job seriously and I kind of like the guy. He was in the high-tech field in the private sector before taking this position and apparently, he found something in some files he was reviewing that jogged a memory; something about a rumor going around at a convention he was attending a few years back. Anyway, we shall see.
You’ve been assigned to team two. I’ll run you by their offices and make the introductions on the way out.” Holden finished and both men stood and headed for his office door.
* * *
Across town, Joel Levine hung up the phone and laid the file he had been reading to the side. He had a total of fifteen files to review that night, each of them a dossier on the hi-tech industry leaders who would be in attendance on the upcoming trade mission to China. Having been formerly employed in the private sector addressing software development and licensing issues himself, he already knew most of those who would be in attendance either personally or by reputation.
Each of the leaders attending this trip was powerful in their own right. Nine of the fifteen were self-made men, while the rest had fought their way through the corporate labyrinth, and into to the boardroom. All would be breathing down his neck with the knowledge that someone had been leaking information to their Chinese competitors.
They were to attend a high-level meeting with Chinese officials, hopefully to convince the right people the importance of intellectual property. The mission was extremely important and Joel was under tremendous pressure for it to succeed. The Commerce Department had come under fire recently for being too large and having duties deemed to diverse to be effectively managed. Critics in Congress were looking into eliminating the department altogether, and assigning its various functions to other agencies within the government. His boss, the President of the United States, did not want this to happen, so it was imperative that this mission succeed.
Joel picked up the next file and started scanning it. Nearly an hour later he rose, the eighth file in hand, and walked out onto his balcony. He laid the file on a small table while he turned on the gas to the grill and lit it. Leaving the file behind, he went back inside, closing the door behind him. He walked to the kitchen with the intention of seasoning the steaks. Just as he opened the refrigerator, he was startled by a knock at the door. Looking at his watch, he wondered if Holden had made good time with the traffic and gotten there earlier than expected, but as he looked through the peephole in the door, he realized the inaccuracy of his assumption. Instead of seeing the well defined, powerfully built Frank Holden, there was a beautiful woman, about his age, standing on his porch impatiently wringing her hands. He unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door.
“Hello. May I help you?”
* * *
Holden left downtown Washington, heading for the beltway and into the mid-afternoon traffic. His thoughts soon drifted to his case and the leaks of sensitive information to the Chinese. In each of several incidents in question, it had cost the U.S. economy hundreds of millions of dollars. That kind of money means jobs and jobs mean votes, and in this town, that was the commodity of trade. He could sympathize with Levine for the political pressure he was under. It was even more than he was under himself. Of all the people he had interacted with in the government over the years, Joel was the only one he had even thought of becoming friendly with. He was third generation American and was a patriot to this country in every sense of the word. In this day and age, that seemed like a throwback to earlier times, but Levine didn’t mind if people viewed him that way. His grandparents had been freed from concentration camps by American GI’s at the end of World War II and had been lucky enough to migrate to the country responsible for their freedom. His family would never forget and Holden new he could trust Levine to be straight with him on matters pertaining to the investigation, even if it got him fired.
“How refreshing,” he muttered to himself as he continued his thoughts. Levine was to leave for China in two days, taking with him a group of hi-tech barons. It was hoped that they could finally convince the Chinese of the importance of protecting intellectual property since in the recent past, there had been obvious indications that they were showing a lack of respect for these rights. Factories had been churning out pirated music CD’s and movie videos while Government officials turned a blind eye to
the whole matter, all at a cost of billions to the U.S. economy. When called on the matter, the response of the Chinese government had been to gather piles of the materials and bulldoze them. Great copy for the evening news, but the factories were still standing and hadn’t missed a lick.
Free market economics dictates, that in order to have continued innovation and product improvement, it is imperative that the person or companies providing the innovations be rewarded. If ideas or products are repeatedly stolen and copied without compensation, then the rate of innovation will slow dramatically, which is not in anyone’s best interest. This was becoming all that more important in this new information economy. In order for stability in the new ‘World’ economy, the Chinese needed to be convinced of the importance of recognizing and protecting these rights.
“Boy I don’t envy you Joel. I don’t envy you at all.”
The car slowed and exited the highway.
Twenty minutes later, top down and music blaring, Frank Holden pulled up in front of Levine’s townhouse. The D.C. area was enjoying its Indian Summer, and he had been taking full advantage of the light breeze and pleasant temperatures. Walking up the steps to the door, he pulled out a comb and tried to flatten down his wind-blown hair, with little success. Oh well, his convertible would be his excuse. He reached forward, leaning into the bell a bit harder than necessary, and waited for Joel to answer. As he waited, he was lost in his thoughts, wondering now about his sore biceps and the added weights he’d been piling on during his workouts lately. When there was no response, Frank rang and knocked again. Still there was no answer. “Maybe he’s out back cooking on the balcony,” Frank thought to himself as he walked down the stairs and around the building. On his way, he could smell that faint scent of a hot gas grill and, Frank surmised he had guessed correctly.
Joel’s unit was on the end, and when Holden got around to the back, he looked up and saw that the grill was indeed lit, but there was no sign of Joel anywhere. Holden’s sixth sense took over as he walked back to the front of the building. This time when he went up the stairs, he was reaching for his revolver and not his comb.
He knocked and tried to turn the knob. It opened freely. The sounds of classical music reached the agent’ ears. “Joel, its Frank Holden. Hey, anybody home?….Hello, Joel?”
As Frank started through the door, he was met with the all too familiar scent of recently spilled blood. He saw Joel sprawled on the floor; his face looking like the raw meat they should have been grilling. “Jesus,” fighting the urge to vomit, Holden pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He identified himself, and filled in the operator on what he had seen. When he finished, he called The Bureau’s forensic team, not envying them their jobs.
Normally this would be an exclusive matter for the local law enforcement officials, but since this involved a high-ranking government official, and in light of their last conversation, the FBI would be all over this investigation. He stepped back onto the front porch, once again feeling nauseated.
* * *
An hour later Frank stood talking to Buddy Gilman, veteran supervisor of the FBI’s forensic team. Holden had finished the all too common, tedious discourse with the local police detectives regarding jurisdiction and rank, and was thankful the investigating officer had decided to beat his chest and retreat, giving Frank a break from further confrontation. Meanwhile, Buddy’s team had been working in the background.
The townhouse itself was pretty typical but impeccably kept. Expensive leather furniture filled the rooms paved with hardwood flooring and high-end audio/video equipment was still playing classical music. Buddy was the first to speak.
“What we’ve got so far is a stack of files that appear to be dossiers on some executives or something, Okay?” he said pointing to a table next to the reclining chair. “We called his assistant and she said he had fifteen of those files, but we’ve only found fourteen so far.”
Holden, remembering the grill asked, “Has anyone checked the balcony?”
“Not yet, we just looked out to make sure no one was out there. We wanted to focus in here for now, although, by the looks of the guy,” Buddy continued, “there sure was no question of getting any last-minute statement.” Remembering, suddenly, that the victim was Frank’s friend, Buddy apologized and quietly proceeded with his laborious search.
Holden, ready for any excuse to get him out of the room, walked carefully through the kitchen to the balcony door. Buddy Gilman had a strange way of talking, but Holden had worked with him in the past, and he was good at what he did. Real good! Frank removed a handkerchief and wrapped it around the doorknob, being careful not to disturb any latent fingerprints that may remain. When he stepped out onto the balcony, he immediately saw the missing file lying on the small table, mercifully protected from the slight breeze by a heavy spatula. He grabbed the file, turned off the grill, and went back inside, wishing this whole mess was over, but knowing it had only just begun.
Frank approached Gilman and showed him what he had found. “Buddy, when Joel called me, he said he saw something in one of the files that jogged a memory about a case we’ve been working on. Did his assistant say when he got these files?”
“Yeah, he got them today, right before he left the office.”
“Yes, okay, Buddy, dust each of these for prints. We may be able to narrow our search a little. If Joel’s prints aren’t on some of the files, that means he hadn’t read them yet and we can pretty much rule out those people for now. In the meantime, I’m going to focus on this gentleman here. This was the only file that was separate from the rest, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, Frank,” Buddy answered. “Uh—sorry about the comment earlier. Forgot for a moment that he wasn’t just another taped off carpet decoration. God, sometimes I’m an idiot . . .”
Holden looked at Buddy, waiting for him to finish, but he just moved off, still mumbling his discomfort. He shook his head, pursed his lips, and looked at the file in his hand. The name on the tab was Vincent Marks. He looked at the file again and then back at Buddy, “I’ll tell you what, Buddy, it’s going to be hard for me not to take this case personally. I don’t like anyone selling us out, and besides, I really liked this kid.”
“Um, excuse me sirs,” another agent interrupted. “I just found something here.” The agent held up a tiny electronic gadget.
Holden’s face turned red from anger, an anger of sudden enlightenment. “Those fuckers were listening to us talk and knew he had made some connection. God Damn it!”
Frank started pacing, not believing what was happening. “What’s the range on that kind of device and how long can it send out a signal?” he spat.
The agent looked at it closely. “This is really top of the line, micro-battery operated,” he said turning it over in his hand. “I would say it has a range of about five hundred yards and a sending life of about two weeks, maybe three.” He paused to look up at Frank who was staring at him inquisitively and continued. “It hooks directly into the phone line and doesn’t activate until the receiver is picked up. My guess is that we’ll find a relay somewhere nearby that’s hardwired to a power source. The signal is then boosted, so the actual listeners are probably miles away.”
Buddy spoke, “Call some help in on this and find that relay. I want some progress before this lead gets cold, okay Bufford?” Buddy made a habit of nicknaming his rookie agents, and some of those names tended to stick. For the sake of this new agent, Frank hoped the Bufford thing would fall by the wayside.
Buddy turned to Holden, “Frank, depending on the type of relay involved, we could narrow the search to, say about twenty square miles. What do ya think?”
“A lot of good that’ll do, Buddy!” Frank shot back. “These killers are probably long gone by now! It’s hardly worth the waste of time. Something in one of these files cost this kid his life and I’m going to find it. Let me know what you find out, though, about the prints and
all. Meanwhile, I’m going to get copies of these dossiers from his assistant and pour over them tonight.”
Holden turned to leave. As he walked towards the front door, he had to step over the taped outline of Joel Levine’s body. “Something really big had to be occurring to have a high-level government official assassinated,” he thought, “something really big!” Frank headed for his car. As he got in, he mumbled to himself, “This bloodhound has a trail now, and the first scent I’m going to track belongs to one Vincent Marks.” Holden closed his car door, and no longer in the mood to feel the night’s fingers in his hair, he gave the convertible top a jerk and left the townhouse behind, heading back into the city.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Vincent J. Marks sat back and adjusted his seat belt as he looked around the converted interior of the Boeing 777. This was the first time he had been able to fly one of the new planes, and he had been looking forward to it, immensely. In fact, if not for the horrid news of Joel, he would have really been enjoying the chance to attend the international conference. He heard the telltale thud as the Air Force attendant closed the door of the jet. Besides being responsible for Air Force One, the air force maintained a number of redesigned airliners for high-level government officials and dignitaries. This was the newest plane to join the fleet.
Vincent looked around the cabin and made a note of the members of the trade mission, except of course, Joel Levine. One-by-one they had settled into their seats for the taxi down the runway. The cabin was uncommonly quiet, each of the passengers reflecting on what had happened two days before. There had actually been some discussion of scrapping the mission, altogether. However, in the end, it had been decided that they should proceed since so much preparation had taken place. In reality, the meetings were far too important to cancel, and for that reason, the Secretary of Commerce himself had joined the group.
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