As far as she could tell, at least consciously, nothing in the place had been disturbed an iota.
And yet this disquieting feeling remained.
She walked around her home once again, this time more slowly, becoming a human divining rod, counting on her hidden mind to signal her when it sensed something worth exploring.
When she approached the thick glass desk inside her home office, her stomach tightened, and she paused near her computer, listening. She lowered her ear to within inches of the petite tower that represented the guts of her expensive desktop machine, and was just able to make out a nearly imperceptible hum. A tiny fan, as quiet as they came, was operating on its lowest setting, working to cool off the densely packed electronic chips inside, indicating the tower must have heated up very recently.
She checked, but her computer had not been force-fed software updates from the web in weeks. Which meant that someone had used it while she was gone. Extensively.
Anna felt like Goldilocks. But it wasn’t her porridge that was too hot. It was her computer.
Which confirmed that her condo had been broken into, as her intuition had indicated. By an individual or group who possessed skills that were truly exceptional. She found it hard to believe that the condo’s security could be breached by anyone, no matter how expert. Not only had her security been brushed off with ease, but those responsible hadn’t left the slightest telltale sign of their visit, other than the nearly inaudible computer fan, which had likely come on only after they had left.
The job had been so clean. So professional. So sophisticated.
She rushed around her apartment to confirm what she already knew in her gut to be true. Nothing had been taken. Not even the expensive jewelry that she owned but hadn’t worn in many years. Which made this violation even more chilling than if it had been a robbery.
They had come for one reason only: to hack into her computer. To tamper with it. And they had gone to a lot of trouble to be sure that she never discovered this tampering.
And it would have worked—had she been anyone else.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, but after ten minutes she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary, even with her intuition to guide her. Whatever they had done was well hidden. Her secret bank account was untouched, with its usual balance of slightly over twelve million dollars.
So why had they come? What was their endgame?
There was only one answer that made any sense: they had to be trying to frame her. They must have planted something incriminating on her computer. Still, unless the authorities searched her home computer—extensively—which they had no reason to do, this wouldn’t help them. So there must be more to their plan.
Anna lifted her phone to call a computer expert she had worked with many times, who could get to the bottom of what had been done, when her ringtone came to life. She examined the screen. The caller wasn’t anyone she knew, but she doubted it was a solicitor. Even telemarketers had the good sense not to call at eight-thirty at night.
“Hello,” she said, taking the call.
“Detective Anna Abbott?” said a male voice.
“Who is this?”
“My name is Jimmy Jessup.”
She frowned. The name didn’t ring any bells. “What do you want?”
“I work for a drug dealer here in town, Detective. I won’t name names over the phone, but it’s a name I’m sure you know. He’s a major player, and I’m one of his primary lieutenants.”
“I’ll bet your mother is very proud.”
The caller laughed. “Good one.”
“I’ll ask again, what do you want?”
“I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve got your panties in a bundle over a new drug that’s just hitting the streets. One called Foria.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And?”
“And I’m calling to offer my services. As an informant. More to the point, as a paid informant. Highly paid. Assuming you care enough about stopping this drug to spend all of your allowance in one place.”
“And why would you inform on your boss?” asked Anna. “Even if I bust my budget on you, you won’t exactly be able to retire to Maui.”
“I’m making this offer because I’m a survivor, Detective. And I’m smart. It’s clear that this new drug has hit your radar in a big way. And you’ve developed a bit of a rep. Word on the street is that you always get your man. So I’d like to stay out of your crosshairs. Give me a payday, and immunity from prosecution, and I’ll help you nail my boss.”
“I always get my man, Jimmy, remember? So why do I need your help?”
There was a long pause, as this question must have caught Anna’s would-be informant off guard. “The launch of Foria is starting slowly,” he replied finally, “but it will spread like wildfire. I can help you stop it now, rather than later. I gotta believe that’s worth throwing a small fish like me back into the ocean.”
“Maybe,” said Anna, noncommittally. If he really was a primary lieutenant for a major player in town, he wasn’t exactly a small fish, but she decided not to argue the point.
“If you’re interested, meet me in thirty minutes at the back parking lot of Salem Hills High School to iron this out. If you don’t show, my offer disappears forever.”
“Why does it have to be tonight?”
“I’m smart, but so is my boss. And ruthless. If he finds out I’m doing this, it’s my ass. If we agree on a deal, I can give you enough evidence to take him down within a few days. Which limits my exposure. So this is a one-time offer, Detective. Be at Salem Hills High in thirty minutes, or miss out. Your choice.”
“No way I can make it in thirty minutes,” said Anna. “It’d take me forty-five to get there if I left this second,” she lied. “And I just stepped out of the shower, dripping wet. Give me an hour and a half.”
There was a long pause. “An hour and fifteen,” replied Jimmy. “Not a minute more.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll see you soon, Detective. But know this, if I smell anyone else within five miles of you, the deal is off.”
“Don’t worry,” said Anna evenly. “I’ll come alone.”
7
The detective ended the connection with Jimmy Jessup, and her mind began to race.
She relied on her subconscious to help her, yes, but like the Almighty, the subconscious helped those who helped themselves. Headquarters still needed to contribute the lion’s share of planning in situations like these.
The meeting was a trap. This required no intuition at all. The most clueless civilian could have figured that out, provided they knew that her place was broken into, and her computer hacked, just prior to Jimmy’s call.
Both happening at once was too much of a coincidence.
And given the level of skill and care exhibited by whoever had broken into her condo, the trap could well be elaborate, and heavily manned.
She had bought herself some precious minutes, but she had no time to waste. She slid into her black mesh office chair and pounded away at the computer, bringing up a bird’s-eye view of Salem Hills High on her monitor, and conducting a virtual flyover of the school.
The grounds were more extensive than she had imagined, with endless places for hostiles to hide. A large concrete parking lot snaked around a multi-armed one-story building, which seemed to have expanded almost haphazardly over the decades as the student population had grown. There were a dozen or more cars spread out around the sprawling but mostly empty lot, either inoperable or left for unknown reasons. While the footage was archival, she suspected that a smattering of cars were always present.
The flyover revealed any number of towering trees, some looking wide enough to hide a tank, along with rising and falling knolls, football and baseball fields with dugouts and stands, eight tennis courts, and various stand-alone buildings. There were three small, self-contained concrete bathrooms with metal toilet seats spread around the grounds, like the kind found at public beaches, and two storage sheds
for sports or landscaping equipment.
Satisfied, Anna quickly stripped out of her dress and donned black jeans and a bulletproof vest, which she concealed with a black sweatshirt. She armed herself with her police-issued Glock, and shoved a spare handgun between her waistband and the small of her back, slipping a switchblade knife into her front pocket for good measure.
She then went to work filling a blue canvas duffel bag with various weapons, including a third handgun, with a silencer attachment, a tactical flashlight, a pair of IR binoculars, plastic zip-ties, a roll of duct tape, and a comprehensive first aid kit.
She removed a padded case from a desk drawer and carefully placed it inside the large duffel, as well. The case housed two sophisticated octocopter drones, one the diameter of a dinner plate, and one the size of a dragonfly, duplicates of the ones she kept at her office. Finally, she added a small tablet computer that could control the drones and display the video footage they captured, and rushed to her car, duffel bag in tow.
The larger drone had served her well on many occasions, and she had no doubt it would do the same on this night. She had never anticipated a situation like this, but she had become an expert drone operator over the past two years, insisting on taking a bird’s-eye video of every crime scene she could.
She continued to acquire more and more sophisticated drones as new technology became available, and this latest employed the best noise-canceling technology money could buy, along with the best night-vision lenses. The smaller version of the drone had the same technological bells and whistles as its larger twin sister, but was tiny enough to fit comfortably in the palm of her hand, giving it a more limited range and largely relegating it to indoor use.
Anna raced to the school in record time, sometimes streaking along side streets at twice the posted speed limit, and using her police remote to ensure that all traffic lights she encountered were green. She parked well out of sight of the school, lowered her window, and sent the larger drone into the sky. It leaped straight up, effortlessly, paused briefly when it reached its flying altitude of eighty feet, and then darted toward Salem Hills High.
Anna had no doubt there were any number of cameras active in the area, but it must have been child’s play for those who were after her to temporarily disable them.
She watched the drone’s feed on the small tablet computer, which was also controlling its flight, and could soon make out a figure down below, in the center of the back parking lot.
“Hello, Jimmy,” she whispered out loud.
The man she had come to meet was standing near a towering parking lot light, which, although dim, was one of the few that was at least working. She guessed that whoever was behind this had seen to it that most of the other lights around the grounds—in the parking lot or otherwise—were turned off. Even so, the IR capabilities of the drone were state of the art, and it had no trouble capturing clear images of the terrain below despite the limited ambient light.
She flew the drone in ever-widening circles, and soon discovered that whoever had set this up had prepared even more of an ambush than she had expected.
Four additional hostiles were spread out around the grounds, each quite distant from Jimmy Jessup and out of his view. Two were on the move, patrolling to the east and west of the man she had come to meet, guns in hand, staying low or hugging buildings to remain unseen.
One other, nearest to where Anna was parked, was dressed in black, and was pressed against one wall of a corner of a building, using the building to stay screened from both Jimmy and the approach Anna would most likely take. This man was on his knees, with one eye glued to the scope of a sniper rifle, which was being held steady by a tripod.
Which left one additional hostile, fifty yards to Jimmy’s south, who also had a sniper tripod in place, although he was standing, rather than kneeling, and was concealed behind a mighty tree, with only the tip of the muzzle peeking around the edge of the trunk.
Anna’s gut was insisting that trying to turn the tables now was sheer suicide. That even she couldn’t overcome odds this bad. But for once she ignored these signals.
She had to learn who was behind this, what they had done, and why they had done it. With this much of a concerted effort against her, she could run from the pending encounter, but she couldn’t avoid it. And the longer she remained in the dark, the more vulnerable she would be. Right now they assumed she was a sheep being led to the slaughter, which gave her the upper hand she needed. But if she left now, the element of surprise would be gone, and they’d be bringing the party to her, which would be even more dangerous.
She double-timed it to the northernmost edge of the grounds, keeping one eye trained on the drone’s feed. These men could well be communicating through a comm system. Even if not, she couldn’t let them cry out. Which meant she had to take them out one at a time. And she had to do so with such speed, stealth, and precision that none of them would be able to sound an alarm.
Perfect, she thought miserably. She liked a challenge as much as the next gal, but come on . . . . She was a detective, not a commando.
Anna allowed herself a brief flicker of a smile at this thought. She might not be a commando, but she wasn’t helpless, either. She had read books on martial arts, both consciously and for her subconscious, and had practiced for years. She wasn’t anything special if she tried to direct her own moves. But whenever she let herself go, let her hidden mind read her opponent and make the moves for her, she was nearly unbeatable.
The night was cool and unnaturally still. Anna took a deep breath and then blew it out. Here goes nothing, she thought, and then began to creep quietly around the side of the building, approaching the position of the sniper nearest to her.
When she was a few feet from the corner of the building, she imagined she could hear the sniper breathing just around its edge, but knew that this was only the product of an overactive imagination. She knelt low and used the tablet computer to guide the drone closer to the sniper’s position. Finally, she lowered the drone behind him, its noise-canceling technology so advanced that she made sure it hit the back of his leg on the way down so he would react the way she wanted.
An instant before the drone hit him, Anna placed the tablet on the ground and readied herself for action. As the drone deflected off the sniper’s leg, he gasped and swiveled around to look behind him, still on his knees.
“What the hell?” he muttered to himself. As he lowered his eyes to inspect the drone, Anna darted around the corner of the building and savagely kicked his head as if she were an NFL punter. The man instantly jackknifed backwards and onto the ground, groaning in pain.
Remarkably, he somehow managed to shake off a blow that would have left most men in a coma, and rolled toward Anna, pulling a lethal combat knife from a sheath and slashing at her legs with catlike agility. She dodged this effort, skipping backwards with exceptional speed, as the hostile took this chance to jump up to his feet.
Anna’s gut anticipated this move seconds before she did, and sent her right leg and body into motion before the man had even landed, such that she swept his legs out from under him the moment he was standing, giving him no chance to block or avoid the blow. He went down hard again, and Anna followed him to the ground, hammering the butt of her pistol into his forehead with enough force to crack a walnut.
The light in his eyes went out instantly, and this time he stayed down. Anna checked for a pulse, which was faint, but present. She quickly hogtied him with zip-ties, a detective turned rodeo star, and sealed his mouth with duct tape.
Anna blew out a long, relieved breath, and waited a few seconds for the deafening pounding of her heart to subside. When it did, she looked through the rifle’s telescopic scope, being careful not to move it. As expected, it was aimed squarely toward Jimmy’s general vicinity, but not directly at him. The sniper had most likely been awaiting her arrival, at which point he would adjust his aim to place the crosshairs on the middle of her forehead.
Still, somethi
ng was eating at her. Something was wrong.
She didn’t recognize the make and model of the rifle.
But why should that matter? After all, she wasn’t a sniper. She wouldn’t recognize most rifles.
Still, this was only one in a long list of wild suggestions her gut had made that had turned out to be important. So somehow it must matter. She took a quick photo of the weapon and had Google compare it with images it had in stock. Within seconds Google had found a match. The rifle was a Kester 8500.
It was a sniper rifle all right, one with an invisible laser site and night vision enhancement. But it didn’t shoot bullets. It shot tiny tranquilizer darts.
Tranquilizer darts?
She wasn’t aware that there was such a thing as a tranquilizer dart sniper rifle. At least not consciously. But the brilliant stranger in her mind had known.
And now the true picture slammed into focus all at once. The answer to why there were two snipers instead of only one. Why both were out of view of Jimmy. And why both were almost certainly shooting darts.
She had been stubbornly clinging to the idea that whoever was behind this had planned for Jimmy to shoot her during their meeting, and that his four colleagues were hanging around as possible backup—just in case.
But of course that wasn’t right. The truth was that they were planning to sacrifice Jimmy along with her. They would make it look like she and this criminal had had a falling out, and had shot each other, nearly simultaneously.
They were framing her, and this frame would be all the more compelling if they were willing to sacrifice one of their own. When her body was found in a dark high school parking lot near the body of a known felon, this would certainly get the ball rolling.
They just hadn’t told Jimmy.
If the snipers took either of them out with actual bullets, the ballistics would be way off. Their neat little story would pop like a balloon as it became almost instantly clear that one, or both, had been shot from afar.
Instead, while she was meeting with Jimmy, they would knock them both unconscious, simultaneously, no doubt using a very short-acting tranquilizer dart, probably to the neck. Then they could stage the double homicide at their leisure. They would use gloves and put Jimmy’s gun in his hand, shooting her in the neck to cover up the puncture mark made by the dart. Then they would do the same in the other direction. Finally, they would plant evidence on her, so it would look like she had been on the take.
Oracle Page 5