by Eden Sharp
When Pulido reappeared in front of me, he had an altogether different look in his eyes. He held something in his right hand. I let my gaze wander down his arm and tried to focus through the blur. He moved both hands behind his back and leaned in, but I'd already seen a flash of something dark concealed in his palm and my mind said pistol.
'What about the guy?' he asked.
'Just muscle but on his way here,' I said.
He didn't seem convinced. He shook his head and then he fired.
From the moment the probes shot from the muzzle and hooked onto me, I had no control over my body. The electricity attacking my central nervous system was making every muscle I had retract and tense up. All I could think was, this hurts really bad, and I need it to stop right now. I experienced every little jolt in my fingernails and teeth.
I didn't give him the satisfaction of screaming out from the pain because I wasn't able to summon a sound. Pulido's voice retreated in to the background, fading away until the five second stun cycle ended.
I had read the manufacturer’s instructions for tasers once and knew they didn't react with water like a regular electrical current. I was grateful for remembering that fact. But at the same time I was afraid of prolonged pain, and rape, and threats to people I cared about. Then I thought about the one place Knox shouldn't go anywhere near and how Pulido seemed so sure that no help for me would be arriving at any time soon.
FIFTY-NINE
John Knox
There was no mistaking it, even after looking more closely at similar tattoos and questioning his recollection.
'It's not there,' Knox said finally.
'That's the A-list,' the cop said. 'But we got books. Pull up a chair.'
Knox sat down at a desk overflowing with files and paperwork. There seemed no order to any of it.
'Can you describe the gang for a start? Like the colors?' the cop said.
'Blue. It happened at Franklin Square near Seventeenth Street. I was sitting in traffic and a gang ran down the street throwing bottles and firing weapons. There was graffiti sprayed on a wall. M13. The guy I saw had a shaved head with a tattoo on the side. A rabbit with a bandanna covering its face. It had the letter “M” on it.'
'Sureños,' the cop said.
He pulled open a drawer and started hauling out plastic books. Each had a typed label attached to the front with an “S” on plus details of the types of images to be found inside like a catalog a tattoo artist might have. He selected three and hauled them across the desk to Knox.
'These are the ones with animals,' he said.
Knox picked up the first book and started flicking through the pages. Every time the page turned he expected there to be a picture of what he was looking for on the other side. He went through the first book with no success and opened up the second.
At each turn of the page Knox convinced himself a breakthrough was forthcoming.
He looked at the front label of the next book he picked up. There at the bottom was a date. He hadn't noticed they were dated before. He was taking a trip further and further back in time.
He finished the last one in the pile and slung it back down on the desk.
The cop looked up.
'Nothing?'
'Nope.'
'Could you do me a favor?' Knox asked. 'Could you call Officer Stuart Kerpen for me and ask if we could talk for five minutes?'
'No problem. You know the department?'
Knox shook his head.
The cop picked up his phone and started pressing buttons.
A few moments later he said, 'You got an Officer Kerpen there?'
The cop listened to the response. 'Thanks.'
He pressed the button to disconnect the call before redialing. 'He might be out on patrol,' he said.
He connected to another department. 'You got a Stuart Kerpen on the roll today?'
The cop nodded, thanked the recipient and hung up.
'He's currently seconded to Narcotics,' the cop said.
The other cop looked over, an older, fatter guy, looked like he'd spent longer behind a desk.
'Hey they gotta strike unit up there. You should talk to the senior Inspector, Ortiz. See if he recognizes your gangbanger from his time. He transferred from here to Narcotics way back. He may know him.'
The younger guy made a third call with the same request.
'Kerpen's not in today,' he said.
Angela McGlynn
Pulido tased me a few more times. He'd given up on the questioning. Now he was just enjoying himself. The part between cycles was actually worse. My body would relax slightly, then the anxiety would flood back in at the expectation of the pain recommencing. The repetition of zero to sixty, where my mind had to work itself back up to what was coming, was an additional burden to bear.
I watched myself from the outside somehow, saw myself hunkered down, until gray spots danced before my eyes and I disappeared like a small spark of light into blackness.
When I thought I'd reached the verge of endurance, a horrible realization came. I was disappointed to have endured, for my consciousness to have continued along with it.
I hoped that he would reach the conclusion soon that he was going to get nothing more from me and that he needed to end it, to get rid of the problem I presented. I also hoped it didn't involve him finishing me off right there and then in the basement. Something had to give and soon.
'Don't you need to ask your boss what to do next?' I said.
I saw the punch coming towards the center of my face, a result of frustration and maybe me touching a nerve, and I turned my head so he connected with my cheek bone. Probably hurt him as much as it hurt me. Hands were vulnerable.
I prayed that he would have to leave to get permission. Or a weapon. Or that he would have to take me to a different location to get it done. Timing was going to be all.
Then something gave. He stormed off up the stairs and left me there alone.
The cell phone I had set to record, and which Pulido had disabled, had convinced him there was no longer any threat. Before we got down into the basement however it had utilized near field communication to upload an application to his own phone.
The cell I had left sitting on the porch roof was configured to be used as a homemade wireless network in order to create an internet access point on the fly. Initially it would have advertised itself to local devices to connect and join.
Rooted to increase connection speed and triggered by Pulido's phone joining, it would have already successfully completed its first task: relaying its position to another location just over nine miles away.
The network's second task may have been actioned but had almost certainly been interrupted by signal failure. That was until now.
SIXTY
As Pulido made his way down the basement stairs I said, 'You think being an informant makes you fireproof?'
He didn't react. Began cutting through the plastic ties binding me to the chair. This meant we were leaving the basement. It was also the warning sign that the danger level was about to escalate to an outcome I wanted to avoid.
Ordinarily I would have been ready to slug it out, but I'd had little sleep, been tied up for hours, then half-drowned and electrocuted over and over so I wasn't feeling my best.
As he released the binds, I tried to stretch. Every one of my limbs was heavy and numb. Pins and needles shot up and down my legs as electrical signals which had previously been restricted all fired at once. Cold, dead, stiff muscles were no use to me.
Pulido leaned in until we were cheek to cheek, put his hands under my armpits, shuffled through his arms, and lifted me up out of the chair to standing. I was draped over him like a rag doll. His tank top smelled like a mixture of grease and alcohol-filled sweat.
The sensation of every one of my skin cells, of each individual hair, felt heightened like my whole body was on high alert as he hoisted me up and over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged me up the basement stairs.
&nbs
p; When he wrestled open the door, the light felt like it was piercing my skull. I was aware of emerging into the kitchen. I caught a glimpse of a clock on the wall and noted the time.
'You think you're not expendable? Ortiz and Aaron have got careers to protect, reputations,' I said.
'You think they won't kill you? You know everything. You might have killed Amber Grigson but they planned the kidnapping to get to Jaime Secora's mother. How did they plan on flipping her? Were they going to play the heroes and stage a rescue in return for her compliance? To them you're just the stupid dumbass who screwed up the job.'
Pulido stayed silent. Then I was peering down at the hall flooring and we were going up stairs, my legs bumping against the walls, making our way to the top of the house.
I could feel the muscles in his arms and chest tense and contort underneath me as he wrestled me through a door. We were in a bathroom and the tub was filled to the brim with water.
Hot or cold, it didn't look inviting at all. I didn't blink, didn't close my eyes, but could no longer see anything but a fuzzy kind of gray as he slid me down to my knees and pushed my head down to meet it.
When there is no fear of dying the only question left in life is how much do you really want to live?
I tensed my muscles and pushed back with all my might. A wave of water crashed out over the top. Pulido slipped backwards and I landed on top of him. He was gasping, flailing his arms.
He flipped me over on to my stomach, so he was on top of me. I hooked my fingers and thumbs and dug them into the fleshy parts of his belly and inner thighs.
He landed a couple of blows to the side of my face and tried to pin my arms. We thrashed and kicked in the pooling water, both trying to gain some purchase in the constricted space.
I flipped myself onto my back and felt my elbow connect with his face. He pulled back a little and I scrabbled backwards trying to get out from under him. He got his hands around my throat. My knee made contact with his groin and I managed to scrabble clear.
A small, round free-standing mirror on a shelf full of cosmetics caught my eye. Smashed into shards it would make the perfect instant lethal weapon. I reached upward for it. He caught me by my ankle. I slipped backwards. My nose connected badly with the floor and I saw stars.
Pulling me up by my hair, he body slammed me into the side of the tub and plunged my head down till my face smacked into the water. He held it there. I pushed back as hard as I could until I cleared the surface. The water was turning red.
Then I was dragged backwards with enormous force. My head hit the floor. Sucking up the biggest lungful of air I could, I flipped on to my side and tried to pinpoint his position.
Pulido was lying on his back looking up at the door. Three or four men stood framed in the light. All of them had guns. All of them were pointed at us.
'Ne dvigayutsya' one of them barked.
SIXTY-ONE
John Knox
Knox couldn't quell the sick feeling rising in his stomach. He forced himself to remain focused and calm. After a brief recon around the perimeter peering through windows, he returned to the front steps of the blue house in Bayview and knocked on the door. He caught a brief glimpse of Cantrell. With an identity confirmed, he kicked the door in and punched the man inside to the ground. Shock and awe. Mission accomplished.
Knox flipped Cantrell onto his front, pinned him with his knees and took out a roll of silver duct tape to secure both his hands and mouth. Cheap, easily accessible and no keys required.
His satisfaction with his initial moves, which had been accomplished in under a minute, gave way to a certain nervousness about who else might be present in the property. He would have preferred to have a team or at least a partner behind him, watching his back, clearing and holding ground.
He took out his pistol then stood still and listened. No sounds emanated from further in. He stepped forward to his left and checked the living room. It was clear. His initial gung-ho hadn't taken into consideration a house full of hostiles.
He walked backwards up the stairs, pistol raised and checked the next floor up before returning to the hallway. He was lucky that Cantrell was alone.
Knox reholstered his weapon, grabbed his prisoner by the ankles, and dragged him into the living room. When he reached the couch he hauled Cantrell on to it, flipped him onto his back, and ripped off the tape from his mouth. Cantrell started to speak so Knox punched him again. He needed him to listen. He pulled out his gun and held it against Cantrell’s left knee cap.
'Tell me where Pulido is right now or lose it,' Knox said.
Cantrell's eyes were bulging from his face. 'He's got more than one crib man. Whatever he's done it ain't nothing to do with me.'
'You're a slow learner,' Knox said. 'The next thing you say better be an address. And if it's the wrong one, I'm going to find you and cut your balls off.'
Angela McGlynn
The men parted and a shorter blond-haired man stepped through the gap they had left. It identified him as the boss.
He looked at Pulido first then at me.
'This is Grifthawk?' Zlenko asked.
I nodded. 'Yes.'
Pulido's head jerked from side to side. Looking at me and then at the man who had just interrupted his party.
Anyone with a cell phone within a few feet of Pulido would now have received what he had already transmitted.
NFC transmission frequency for data was 13.56 megahertz. Like all radio signals, the transmissions traveled in waves, with peaks and troughs. The distance from the peak of one wave to the next was a wavelength. At 13.56 megahertz, the signal had moved at 13.56 million wavelengths in the span of a second carrying data at a rate of 424 kilobits per second.
'Take him. Make it slow,' Zlenko said.
Pulido started to make a lot of noise. And then he was gone.
'Torrent42 I presume.' Zlenko said.
I almost laughed. It was so formal. Like we were in the nineteenth century.
‘How did you find us?’ he asked.
I cleared my throat.
'From back-hacking his machine.'
They would have arrived sooner and saved me a certain amount of pain if the GPS coordinates and message I'd provided hadn't been blocked by being held in the basement. Still, even though I'd flipped a coin, I was still winning.
Zlenko said, 'Why did you give him up?'
I pushed myself up a little until I was leaning with my back against a wall.
'I found out what he'd done. He wanted me gone. I saw a way to remove the threat.'
Zlenko’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were hard to read. What I could see, I didn’t like.
'You're going to have to give me a lot more than that,' he said.
I had known all along I would be replacing one problem with another. It wasn't exactly a surprise. With hacking, a large task was broken down into smaller more manageable parts. I now needed to manage the next part and continue engineering events. Perception was reality and the key to creating a story was in making it believable, logical, flexible, and consistent.
'My name is Nicola Hoffman. I hack guys who use hookers. Blackmail them. The girls get a cut. I almost met my match with this guy.'
Zlenko smiled but his eyes remained deadly serious.
'And now I'm meant to let you walk right out of here?'
'Information is valuable right?' I said.
He shrugged. 'You have no more use to me. I don't care about the data. It's old, too risky. We'll get more.'
'I hear lots of things from these girls. I'm talking about ten kilos of cocaine. An exchange. This afternoon,' I said.
His eyes locked on to mine. Studying me.
'I'm waiting,' he said.
'If I tell you now, I'm no use again. Let me go and I'll contact you with the details. If I don't, I'm sure you can find me.'
Zlenko reached inside his jacket and pulled out gun. I recognized it as a Glock 26. A smaller, subcompact variant, designed for concealed carry and
the civilian market.
'No,' he said.
He glanced away from me towards the door.
'Petriv.'
Zlenko looked back at me.
'You come with us,' he said. 'We check you out, your story, your identity. If you're working for the government or police, it's not going to go well for you.'
SIXTY-TWO
John Knox
Knox pulled in to the curb and left the car a little way from the house. The street seemed quiet. He counted the numbers in his head, noted the target location, and strode up the street then straight up the front path. He noticed an access point to the rear yard which would have been his first port of call. Until he noticed the front door was open. Unlocked. A two-inch gap lay between the jamb and the edge of the door. Not good.
He drew his weapon, held it at the gap and pushed it open with his other hand. He waited and listened. Nothing.
Keeping to the edges of the hallway and shifting his weight carefully from one foot to the other, he stepped right and peered round an open door into a living room. It was empty. A door at the end led into another room.
He stepped back and moved round to the left, all the while keeping his hearing attuned to any potential movement or threat. He quickly glanced up the stairs then continued round towards a door on the left-hand sweep from the hallway. He tapped it with a finger and it opened an inch. A slight squeak escaped from unoiled hinges. He stopped, strained to listen. Didn't hear anything. He pushed it a little further and squeezed through the gap holding his weapon steady.
An empty kitchen. A door at the end he was confident led through into the living room. There was another open door which appeared to lead into a basement but to him going down was counterintuitive. He preferred going to higher ground.
Then he noticed a rusty streak on the kitchen floor. Through the grime he couldn't tell if it was old ketchup or blood. He felt the sick feeling return in his stomach. He backed out through the kitchen door and made his way to the bottom of the stairs.
