by Eden Sharp
The wood flooring was cleaner in the hallway and he crouched down to check it from a different angle. The light revealed half-dry streaks like the floor had been recently washed.
He walked backwards up the stairs, looking up for any potential hostiles and testing his weight on each tread for loose boards before committing to each.
The danger area was the landing at the top, with at least three doorways visible and the possibility of other rooms off to the sides where the hallway dog-legged both left and right and out of his line of sight.
The first room, immediately ahead, lay wide-open. The small dimensions were enough to contain a desk and computer. Obviously a study area. He turned, following the hallway round to the right. Before he reached the door sitting open to his left, he knew there had been some kind of incident. The carpet outside the door was stained darker. He could see a slither of tiled floor and a large puddle of water. A bathroom. Knox took a deep breath and went and took a look.
Inside was chaos. Shampoo and lotion bottles lay strewn across the floor, some leaking a colorful gloop. A once-white bath rug with dirty footprints sat bunched up against the side of the basin. The water in the tub was tinted red.
Knox stood transfixed for a moment. He forgot about the other rooms. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth from heel to toe. He became aware of a loop of words repeating over and over in his head.
Go and take a look. Go and take a look.
He made his way toward the next room as if sleepwalking. All he could think about was his dream. A marble white body under a sheet, bereft of life. Another notch against his name on a ledger somewhere in hell.
He pushed open bedroom doors in a daze. No longer concerned about enemy combatants. Checking and clearing. Performing on full auto-pilot. He became aware of a sharp pain in his lip and tasted the coppery taste of blood. He thought back to the scene in the bathroom and slumped down onto the floor.
SIXTY-THREE
Angela McGlynn
The one called Petriv had hesitated at the front door, maybe checking for neighbors watchful of large Eastern European men herding bound and bleeding women barefoot into the back of luxury SUVs. I had been sandwiched in between him and another man in a black Cadillac Escalade with Zlenko up front. A Chevy Impala with three guys inside had followed on behind, possibly with a fourth passenger in the oversized trunk. I guessed I should at least be grateful for not being transported with Pulido.
Zlenko was on his phone, speaking in Russian. The only word I made out was “DMV”. A database with photo ID. An obvious and excellent choice, and one that I was banking on the hackers working for him would go to first. It wasn't a big ask to crack. The first thing on my list of things to do if I got out of the situation alive was to correct the temporary changes I had made.
Twenty minutes later, Zlenko had made and received three additional phone calls. As we were almost at Pier 70, I could only assume things had gone in my favor. I had never hated sitting in traffic more. We pulled into the site entrance and parked near the loading bay of an abandoned warehouse.
Zlenko turned in his seat to look at me. The lower half of his face smiled. His eyes remained serious. He looked at Petriv.
'Stay here. Let me know if anyone shows up. Wait for my call.'
Everyone got out and we were left alone. I scooted across the back seat to create some space.
Petriv pushed down the doors’ locking mechanism then sat and stared at me. I looked out of the window trying to calculate my chances of unlocking and exiting the vehicle then crossing open ground to cover with my hands tied behind my back. With the range of his weapon, I didn't feel hopeful.
There are moments in life when nothing much happens. No excitement. No adventure. No conversation. You think that life is boring, that something is missing and passing you by. Those are the moments to hang on to. If being bored is your biggest problem, when things suddenly take a turn, they're the moments that you miss the most.
I heard what I thought was a gunshot from inside a building. Just a muffled sound which could most likely have had several different explanations. Then another and it was unmistakable. Petriv heard it too and snapped his head towards the direction of the warehouse a block ahead.
Then there were gunshots coming from everywhere and movement on the periphery. A bullet hit the vehicle and I threw myself into the floor well. I heard the door mechanisms release and felt the weight shift as Petriv got out. A burst of automatic gunfire vollied back and forth from outside the vehicle.
Bullets ricocheted off the outer skin. It sounded like tin targets falling over in a carnival duck shoot and I hunkered down as flat as I could hoping that the thicker metal at the reinforced impact bars and chassis welds would be enough to save my skull.
I was aware of shouting but the loud reverberations of projectiles cutting through the can I was in, made it hard to make out any single isolated words. Then the door nearest me was wrenched open and I tensed up expecting to feel a bullet in my back. Maybe before one was put through my head.
Instead, as though it were coming from somewhere far away, I heard 'FBI, you're under arrest.'
There was a delay then. A no-man's-land kind of calm. The door remained open but no one spoke. No one got in or shut it again. The space was too small for me to turn around. I heard footsteps, more people arriving. Then a hand on my back. I tensed. The hand pulled back. 'Ma'am?'
I think they thought I was dead.
Someone grabbed me by my wrists, then I was being dragged by my legs and I was outside. The ground was cold under my bare feet. I shivered. A guy opened up a blue nylon windbreaker. Then stopped.
He shouted something instead to someone away from the vehicle. He had a navy-blue vest on with FBI printed across his chest. Everyone had the same lettering across vests, across jackets, across baseball caps. Like fans of designer labels who hadn’t been sure when to stop.
I was led across to the back of a truck and offered a seat inside. Someone put a blanket around my shoulders and asked me my name. I told him and gave him my license number. He wrote it all down.
Then I saw Zlenko and Secora being marched past me in handcuffs by grunts. The higher ups behind them looking cheerful.
Three FBI guys with Ortiz and Aaron. A congratulatory air. All smiles and jokes. New friends and relationships.
Someone wiped my face. I could smell antiseptic.
'How did you end up here?' Notebook Guy asked.
'I've been investigating a missing person. She turned up dead. Then I get picked up in the street by these Russian guys. I don't know who they are or how they're connected.'
I looked him in the eye.
'What just happened here?'
'Drug bust. SFPD trying to take the credit for beating us to it. But we'll take the glory,' he said.
I said a silent prayer of thanks for GPS and its tracking capabilities. Including this in the information I'd sent had allowed them to find me.
I looked back at the group. Waited for Ortiz to see me. The celebratory mask slipped momentarily but reappeared in a flash. The guy had game. I gave him my biggest smile.
SIXTY-FOUR
John Knox
When he had first arrived home, Knox had had the crazy notion that he would be able to predict everything that happened next. That nothing had changed or mattered. That time had stood still. He was wrong. He'd expected normalcy but it was just an illusion.
At first he had been inordinately grateful for small conveniences like showers and going to the store for food, then when the novelty of all those things had subsided he'd begun to think that all effort was futile. That when grief took you over, it owned you.
The doctor had said though it may never go away, in time it changed shape. A week later he still wasn't ready to deal. Knew that sports channels and bourbon and compartmentalizing were only temporary salvos.
When his phone rang, he had expected it to be Kelly. Back from France. Just get through until Kelly ge
ts back, he had told himself. Then decide.
Unknown.
Not Kelly.
'Hey.'
It was the one person he hadn't been expecting.
'I've been trying to reach you,' he said.
'I have a new phone.'
'We need to talk.'
'Why don't you come over to mine?' McGlynn said.
Then, 'The Randall on First.'
He hadn't expected that either. Or the exclusivity of the address and landmark location.
'What number?'
'The penthouse.'
The penthouse.
'You going to introduce me to your husband and kids McGlynn?'
'Ask the concierge for Ms. Bryan.'
Angela McGlynn
The guy working the front desk called up as always to announce I had a visitor. I went and opened my front door and waited outside on the little private landing for the elevator to arrive.
Knox followed me through into the hallway and into the kitchen without saying a word. I offered him a seat on the couch. He just stood where he was and stared. He looked tense. I thought I saw tears beginning to form.
'I am so sorry for the way I spoke to you,' he said. He looked away for a moment. 'I should have been there.'
I didn't blame him. I would have done the same. He didn't know me. He had asked some good questions. He was being careful, looking out for himself.
'You're not used to questioning authority. Personally, I never had that problem. You had every right to speak to me the way you did. Even if some of your assumptions were wrong.'
'I tried to find you. I made it to the house. I was too late. There was blood everywhere. I thought... I needed to know you were okay.'
Just another level completed. Bosses defeated. Adrenaline high. Health temporarily drained. All lives intact.
'I got a bloody nose, that's all. And yes, I'm okay.'
He studied me for a moment.
'Why the hell did you take so long to call me?'
'Things got a little intense for me there at the end. I needed some time.'
Knox looked around the room. Maybe taking in the surroundings for the first time. Then he looked back at me.
'Can I ask you a personal question?’
Here we go.
'You rob a bank?'
More curious than loaded.
'I bought this luxury place in this sweet spot as an investment with the inheritance I got from my parents,' I said. 'But I don't have a driveway for my nice car. Just an underground lot.'
My attempt at humor hadn't raised a smile. Knox nodded.
'You Harding's girl?'
And there it was. Two for one.
'No.'
'Then how do you know him?'
'Through his wife, Jo. I met her in Thailand working at an orphanage for street children rescued from the sex trade. She was dying of cancer. I helped her get home. She was the closest I ever came to having a mom. He's a friend and a mentor, that's it. We good?'
'The Ms. Bryan thing. What's with that?'
'Bryan was my mother's maiden name. I like my privacy.'
'What now for us McGlynn?'
I felt awkward then.
'I don't want a boyfriend John. But I think you've got a real talent for this and that you're good at what you do. And I reiterate, I thought the sex was fantastic. I think you're a very good friend to have.'
He pulled a face but was nodding.
'I think maybe you should work towards getting your own license,' I said.
I had his full attention.
'You mean working together for real?'
'Yes.'
'But we'd do things by the book, no illegal stuff like hacking right?'
'Yes, by the book.'
'Where did you learn how to do it?'
'In a different life,' I said.
'In Japan?'
'It started at school. The kids I hung out with. Gaming. We liked computers. We worked on our skills.'
'Does Besson know?'
'No.'
He nodded.
'Okay. I'm in.'
Better to keep it as two separate things. Two different lives.
'So how did it go down?' he asked.
'Rough. Amber Grigson was dead before I took the case. There was nothing that we could have done to help her. I found out Pulido did it but there was no evidence against him strong enough to take to court.'
'So he gets away with it?'
'Actually, a Russian-speaking mafia outfit took him out.'
The serious look was back.
'What about Ortiz and Aaron?'
'I got caught up in a drug bust of theirs. The Feds turned up and took over because it was Eastern Europeans who were selling to Secora. Ortiz and Aaron appeared to be clean. They even got joint credit with the Feds for busting him.'
'How about you?'
'Neiger was arrested and there are no charges against me.'
'Did you know that Ortiz transferred from the Gang Task Force to Narcotics?'
'No, I did not know that. That was good detective work.'
'I really thought they were involved.' Knox shook his head. 'So we were both wrong about them.'
'Not exactly. Kerpen told me they got busted by Internal Affairs. Apparently they'd opened new bank accounts and made suspiciously-timed deposits way too big for police salaries. They were on the take and they'd used their own names.'
The smile reappeared.
'I had a plan B,' I said.
I took out a bottle of Jack from my kitchen cupboard.
'Just in case you said no.'
Knox walked over to the shrine I have in the corner of my kitchen consisting of a Buddha figure, a flower, a lit candle, burning incense and a glass dish for adding offerings. Similar to the one he’d seen at Jeff's.
'What does it mean?'
I walked over and stood next to him.
'The offerings aren't made to the icon. It's just a piece of wood. They're made as symbolic reminders. Flowers die quickly, so they're a sign of impermanence. Incense symbolizes the fragrance of pure moral conduct. And the light drives away darkness.'
'Can I do something?'
'Sure.'
Knox took out a dirty piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. There was a child's drawing on it. It looked like a pineapple except it had a face. There were little oval shapes underneath the eyes. The pineapple was crying.
He held the corner of the picture to the candle's flame until it caught light and turned the paper around in his hand. When he couldn't hold it anymore he dropped it into the glass dish and watched it disappear into ashes.
Dedicated to:
Sue Sutton
For your bravery and courage I carve your name here with pride.
&
Al Rogers
We dreamed our dreams together. I still hear you laughing.
Acknowledgements:
I would like to thank Sandra Cain, Dr. Devon Campbell-Hall, Dr. Tom Masters, Seamus Finnegan and Morag Joss for answering my questions and providing guidance, and also Tara Sharp and Rebecca Fisher for their unwavering faith and support.
GET9
Eden Sharp
(Vigilante Investigator #2)
Everything in Angela McGlynn's life as she knows it is about to change. When you're in the law enforcement business, it's not ideal when your criminal past begins to resurface.
Running background checks on the personnel of a local tech company in her native San Francisco, Angela McGlynn finds herself caught up in an impossible situation when the federal government becomes involved. Immersed in a rapidly changing scenario in which allies and allegiances are switching fast, secrets from her dark past begin to surface which threaten to destroy her and those closest to her.
First published in 2019 by Maximum City Publishing
Copyright © Eden Sharp 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any
form or by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise - without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Transcript of live online broadcast
by hacktivist group, The Infinite 9.
Our leaders are isolated from reality, swimming in their own hubris, believing they know better than all others. They limit and hoard information and abuse secrecy making possible crisis capitalism and virtual colonialism. Corruption is endemic.
Ambitious, selfish or misguided individuals, they hoard information rather than share it for the good of all, sacrificing accountability and enabling crime.
Our leaders focus on war, that giant trade fair for the arms industry, when they should focus on preventing genocide and creating the infrastructure for global networking to solve the many problems facing mankind.
Our leaders are incapable of learning from others, are not interested in those with more expertise than themselves. They are biased. Their information is subjective, filtered and late. By eradicating rule by secrecy, we will create a system which works for the good of all.
No one person, no one organization, no one country can know all that they need to for informed decision making. With a shared knowledge network, one that is transparent and trustworthy the only objective will be truth.
Our leaders do not care about truth. They are only interested in optimizing profits for the few at the expense of the many.
The wisdom of the wired, all working collaboratively, can solve the crises of natural disasters, war and social disintegration. The few do not have the numbers. The many, once awake, have all the power.
