Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3)

by Nellie Neeman

  A waitress walked by, and Luanne raised a hand, summoning her. “Please bring me a screwdriver, straight up. On Mr. Steadman’s tab.”

  Jon looked at her.

  “Business expense, right?”

  “Whatever.” He faced the waitress, lifting his glass. “And another one of these, please.”

  When the waitress left, Luanne said, “I was reviewing your notes. Your professor friend in Israel said something that got me thinking. We need to figure out which people have both the skill set and equipment to pull off the OBooks scandal.”

  Jon thought a moment. “That’s good. I should have come up with that angle.”

  “We’re not competing.”

  He let that go. “I suppose academics, lab workers, that sort of thing.”

  “Think your FBI magic can look into people who are in those fields and cross-reference with criminal records?”

  “Possibly, if the person had his or her fingerprints taken—like someone who’d been arrested or who works for the government. Otherwise, it’s unlikely we would have them in the database. Besides, we’d need to drastically narrow down the pool. I’m only profiling and could be way off, but taking your thinking a step further, we’re probably looking for someone who works for a lab located in the West. We could start by isolating DNA testing labs. How many could there be?”

  Luanne looked on her iPad. “Twenty-eight to be exact according to Google. Now what?”

  “We get our guys to compile lists of employees who have direct access to submitted samples.”

  “Sounds excruciatingly time consuming.”

  “I’ll call my office and see what’s involved.”

  ***

  New York City

  It was three a.m. when Doug woke with a start, thinking it was all an awful nightmare, only to realize in the early seconds of wakefulness that none of it had been a dream. The space beside him in bed was empty. Erica’s nightshirt was still in the bed among the sheets. He pressed it to his face, drinking in the remains of her scent. He was alone now.

  Knowing he’d never fall back asleep, Doug got up, used the facilities and moved to his home office. He poured himself a scotch and went over his accumulating emails. There was one from his assistant, offering an update on Jon’s investigation in Los Angeles. Steadman had surprised him, showing up at the funeral. And again when he found him passed out afterward. Maybe there was more to him than he realized. Just like Erica had said.

  He read the case status report, realizing Jon may be in over his head. Warrants, probes. Doug felt a rare pang of guilt throwing Jon into the game without real guidance. With Erica’s hospitalization, Doug had not been available. But Jon did have the resources of the FBI behind him, if only he knew how to properly use them.

  He looked at the clock. It was twelve-thirty in LA. What the hell. He dialed.

  “Sir?” Jon answered on the first ring, sounding fully awake.

  “Just saw your update on the DNA case. Looks like you could use some help.”

  Thankfully, and he guessed purposefully, Jon didn’t ask how he was managing. “The LA field office and Luanne are helping.”

  Doug said, “You’ll need more.”

  “Okay. Who do you have in mind?”

  Doug set his empty tumbler down on the wood desk, leaving a damp ring. “Me.”

  ***

  Los Angeles

  It had been pure serendipity. Theo rarely brought in the mail since Nicole typically got to it first. But he had been running around with Lizzy that day, and the envelope was waiting in their box when they got home. Since then, he made sure to be first to the mailbox.

  Now, another mailer had arrived, exactly like the last one. But this time it was addressed to Nicole. Theo freaked. What is this crazy person doing? Grabbing it, he took it to his office and locked the door. He opened the envelope. Inside, he found only the pictures of Abigail, no DNA printout. Just enough of a tease to stoke Nic’s curiosity about who the girl was.

  Chapter 29

  Metropolitan Museum of Art

  New York City

  Terry sat beside Shira on an isolated wooden bench in the middle of the second-floor gallery, enjoying an unobstructed view of Renoir’s By the Seashore. The painted woman was seated in her wicker chair staring back at them with hooded eyes.

  Keeping her head facing forward, Shira said, “There’s no way you can leave now. You're in the middle of a mission. A few days off can result in an egregious attack on our classified systems.”

  “I’m not the right person for the job.”

  “I agree, but it’s too late. You signed up for this —"

  “For a few days, not indefinitely,” Terry interrupted, irritated by the quick affirmation of her inadequacy.

  “Your personal life is of little concern at the moment.”

  Familiar with Shira’s poor social skills, Terry tried to maintain her composure. “This is not only about Gabe. I still have a very demanding job at my lab. There is only so long I can allow others to handle my workload.”

  An elderly couple holding hands entered the gallery, stopping in front of In the Meadow. It was one of Terry’s favorites. A poster of the oil painting still hung on the wall of her childhood bedroom, a gift from her grandmother who claimed the blond girl in the white dress reminded her of Terry.

  Shira said, “I'm sorry that our country's security issues are not occurring at a more convenient time for you.”

  Terry felt her face heat up. It took all her restraint to wait until the couple walked away. When they did, she turned to face Shira’s still profile. Terry’s volume crept up several notches. “I think we've already established that guilt tripping me will only backfire!”

  A stout female guard standing along the far wall stared at the women, lifting a finger to her lips. Terry stood up and without another word, strode to the exhibit’s exit. She flew down the grand marble staircase, whisking past the rotunda’s information desk and out the front door.

  Shira caught up with her atop the museum’s iconic steps where tourists and New Yorkers sat eating their lunch. She spoke just above a whisper, her tone void of emotion. “You have a decision to make, doctor. If you choose to bail out now, it will delay us, but we will find someone else. I can say without question that you will no longer be called upon to assist in government matters. This is not a guilt trip. It is basic logic. We need operatives who can see a mission through to its end. I will need a decision by the morning.” With that, Shira descended to the sidewalk of Fifth Avenue and disappeared from sight.

  Terry felt her ire abate. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the museum’s large glass door. Her face was drawn, conflicted. Once again, she found herself torn between love and duty.

  ***

  FBI Field Office

  Los Angeles

  Doug Matthews sat across from Jon in one of the smaller conference rooms. The smell of burnt coffee permeated the space. “Profiling is a quasi-science, but one that is used regularly in our field. Not especially PC, but it works.”

  Jon sized up his boss. He appeared thinner, gaunt. Defeated. He knew Doug had come to LA more so to get his mind off his wife’s death than to help with the case. But that was fine. He had been in Doug’s shoes and knew the drill. Distraction was nearly as good a healer as time. If losing himself in work would numb the pain, all the power to him.

  Doug looked down at Jon’s report and continued. “Seems Ms. Parker got started on profiling. Let’s see if we can further narrow the field. Who would fit the bill of this sort of perp?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Let’s start with age.”

  “I’d say probably someone on the younger side.”

  Doug nodded. “Yes, likely. And backed by stats. Write that down.”

  Jon took a red marker, stood, and wrote it on the white board bolted to the wall.

  Doug asked, “Ethnicity? Gender?”

  Jon shrugged. “Could be anything.”

  “We’re
talking likelihoods, not facts. Take an educated guess.”

  “From what I’ve read, statistically, hackers tend to be white males.”

  “Correct.”

  Jon added that to his written list.

  “Marital status?”

  “Almost always single,” Jon ventured.

  “Now I’ll add in my experience with hackers. Usually unemployed, living with another family member who financially supports them, social pariahs, exceptional IQ.”

  “If they’re so smart, why are they unemployed?”

  Doug put down the report, looked at Jon. “There’s IQ and EQ. Those with emotional or social ineptitude are less likely to hold down a job for extended periods.”

  Jon thought about that. “That would eliminate professors. Especially if they are tenured.”

  “Good.”

  Jon enjoyed the rare praise.

  “So, that leaves us with who?” Doug asked.

  “More transient but knowledgeable workers.”

  “Right. Think lab techs, computer geeks, those sorts.”

  Jon jotted down all the traits. It was a long, impressive list.

  Doug pointed to the board. “That’s where we start.”

  ***

  New York City

  Terry tossed and turned, unable to sleep. As much as she hated to admit it, the decision was an easy one. For better or worse, she was a pragmatist. Her country needed her service, and she loved her country. She loved Gabe as well, but if she missed the weekend with him, there would be no ramifications. She couldn’t say the same for taking a few days away from the mission. Even if she was severely burnt out.

  Despite their temperamental differences, Shira was right. If Terry wanted to keep her unique role with the Mossad, she would need to stick with the mission to the end. She wasn’t ready to permanently walk away from her special status with the intelligence agency. She’d been handed a unique opportunity to make a difference and knew it was an honor and a privilege. Decision made, she called Shira. It was nearly one a.m. If she woke Shira, so be it.

  Her handler picked up on the first ring. “What’s your decision?”

  Terry no longer expected a proper phone greeting. She had long ago assumed Shira was on the spectrum, the subtleties of social interaction lost on her.

  “I’m staying.”

  “Tov.” Good. “Check your email for further instructions.”

  Terry heard a click. The conversation was over.

  ***

  Los Angeles

  The next morning, Jon and Matthews were back in the same seats. With the Fed techs having more manageable parameters to work with, they’d sent over a short list of nine names. Jon was hopeful to finally get a lead.

  “None of these are perfect matches. Let’s start at the top.”

  The two men worked through the list, pointing things out along the way.

  Jon said, “Seventy-nine percent match with Jason Wang. Thirty-two, works for ItsRelative.com, an online genealogy company in a place called Lehi. Been there for six years.”

  “Pretty stable career. That’s why the lower relevancy score.” Matthews read from his copy. “Computer programmer. No record. Went to Stanford. Seems he dabbled in hacking while there, almost got suspended but was given a pass for first offense. Without malice.”

  Jon pulled out the paperwork on the next name. Then stopped. “Hey, wait a second. Where’s Lehi?” He pulled out his iPhone and checked. “No way.”

  “What?”

  Jon ecstatically drum-rolled the table. “Sir, I think we got him.”

  ***

  The next few hours were spent pulling up everything they could find on Jason Wang. Lehi was in North-central Utah, the same area the payments to Chavez were sent from. It was too much of a coincidence.

  Wang was the only child of Chinese immigrants who resided in Los Angeles County. After he had excelled in high school, his parents scraped and sacrificed to send him to one of the best schools in the country.

  A warrant allowed for access to his credit cards. They showed he flew home once a month to visit his parents for the weekend. Helped them with expenses. No girlfriend but was well-liked at work. Hadn’t missed a day on the job since he started. Till now.

  Jon didn’t think Wang matched the profile they came up with and said so.

  Matthews said, “I agree. Something feels off. But we need to check it out. Determine if the Utah connection is nothing more than a strange coincidence.”

  “You don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then, what’s the strategy?”

  “We contact the company and tell them there’s been a breach in confidentiality. Then we lie in wait. See who bails.”

  “Why not target him directly?”

  “Never a good idea in these sorts of situations. He would clam up, claim he had nothing to do with it. Without proof, it’s a false accusation and a black mark for the Feds. This isn’t a police state. He needs to mess up for us to go after him.”

  With that, Matthews wrote a strongly worded letter without pointing fingers, addressed to the CEO of ItsRelative. Vague but suggestive. He sent it overnight delivery. Signed on New York FBI letterhead. A letter like that would get their full attention.

  ***

  Salt Lake City

  Franklin checked the Facebook page, something he did nearly every day. He was a voyeur, wanting to know everything about the man’s life. He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t help himself. For years he cyberstalked the man. Well, now he could finally exact his revenge.

  ***

  Los Angeles

  Theo’s mind was spinning, unable to focus on anything. He understood whoever sent him the letter was toying with him, watching him squirm. Technically, it wasn’t blackmail if they weren’t asking for anything. He briefly considered telling Nicole everything but shelved the idea. He knew his wife. Infidelity, even years old, would not be tolerated. Let alone a child she never knew of. She would view it as the ultimate betrayal. Their marriage would be over. He’d have to fight to see Lizzy. He couldn’t bear having no relationship with another one of his children. It was time he did something about it.

  ***

  Luanne was keeping vigilant. She never left home without her Sig now. The coldness of the metal at her back was comforting. Stepping into the hospital lobby, the smell of antiseptic stung her nostrils. She looked around, grateful there was no metal detector. The doctor had called saying it may be helpful for Ed to have visitors. She knew his girlfriend had stopped by but no one else.

  Ed had no family other than an ailing sister. Luanne approached the information desk, asked the attendant for Ed’s room and was guided to the third floor ICU. Despite her arrival during visiting hours, the corridor was deathly quiet, save for the ubiquitous sounds of beeping machinery. She supposed most patients were not conscious in this ward.

  Luanne passed the nurses’ station and made her way to room 302. A large window offered a view of the interior from the hallway. Ed lay in bed, gaunt, hooked up to various monitors, an IV stand beside his bed. She’d never seen him so thin. If he was awake, she knew he’d joke about what it took to lose a few pounds. Quietly, she opened the door and stepped inside, unsure what she was supposed to do.

  She sat down, noting the flowers she’d sent were arranged at the bedside. Ed stirred, flickered his eyes open and looked at her. For a moment his face remained blank, then a slight expansion of his eyes and a look of recognition. The tube in his throat prevented him from speaking. He blinked and raised a hand a few inches in greeting.

  Luanne smiled. “Hi, Ed. Funny meeting you here.” What the hell am I saying? Humor had always been a defense mechanism. Even back in school when kids made fun of her ‘look.’

  Gearing for a one-way conversation, she began. “The guy who attacked you is dead. I shot him when he came after me.” This seemed to agitate Ed more than appease him.

  “I’m fine, see?” She stood, twirling
, then sat back down, Ed watching her closely throughout. “Put my dad’s gun to good use. Whoever is behind this wants us to stop investigating the layoffs. I’ve made a lot of headway but still haven’t found who’s behind it. Actually, the case has grown exponentially. I won’t get into the details now, but Jon Steadman is the one that got the ball rolling and has the FBI behind him. We’re not pulling any punches.”

  With the mention of Jon’s name, Ed seemed to calm.

  He believes in him, Luanne thought.

  “There’s more, but I’ll let you rest. Just get better fast so I can have my mentor and friend back soon. Okay?”

  Ed gave a small smile, nodded, and closed his eyes.

  ***

  Lehi, Utah

  Wang arrived at his cubicle at 7:45. He liked coming in early, before everyone, when the floor was still quiet. It was his most productive time. He also intended to catch up on some work he’d neglected. Over the last several days he’d lost his focus.

  He looked at the photo pinned to the board on his divider wall. It was of him with his mother on his graduation day. His father had taken it, making faces to get them to laugh. His father’s usual stoic demeanor was superseded by the joy of having their son graduate from Stanford. That was a great day. Since then, he’d designed a sophisticated ten-year-plan comprised of goal markers he’d set for himself. So far, he was on schedule—tech-based job with a promising company, check. Enviable starting salary and benefits, check. He’d even met his deadline for the beta stage of his surveillance app. He wondered what would happen if his parents learned of his involvement with Franklin. It had begun with good intentions. He’d befriended the shy programmer, a co-worker for two years. They had gaming in common, and Wang grew to feel protective of him. Other employees either ignored or just tolerated him. It amazed Wang how few people were comfortable with someone like Franklin. He never really understood it but as always, he took up the cause of the underdog. When Franklin was put on probation for using expletives to describe his department manager on social media for all to see, Wang was the first to defend him, saying he’d been under a great deal of stress with family problems.