by Eden Sharp
I rechecked the security protocols of my rig then went for a deep dive through the computer files of a property landlord whose router I owned. Conveniently, the NSA would be helping me with this. The NSA’s priority was surveillance before security, meaning when the government discovered vulnerabilities in commercial products they hoarded them for their own use rather than disclosing them to vendors so they could be fixed. It made the NSA’s life easier but opened up everything for hackers too. It was great for a group like i9 who wanted to get the truth out there, and seemingly acceptable to those who wanted to start wars.
Donald Malsizor was speculating with other people’s money, his loans to be repaid in full with interest to a group called Levin Investments.
The emails between him and his lawyer were interesting and definitely something I’d be able to use. The law firm actively marketed itself as a specialist in Ellis evictions almost bragging about the fact.
Chuck Sewell
To: Donald Malsizor
Subject: Ellis
At the top end recommend tenants charged $100k
each as proportionate shares equaling $818 over and
above the monthly rent until paid out. (Rate of rent
increase from 40% to 170% of normal base rent).
Gives a total of $8.6m through capital improvement
passthrough. Estimate 30% of tenants will vacate.
Bottom end – if bluff evictions and intimidation not
working recommend use of pretexts. ‘Accidental’
water leaks can be blamed on tenants and result in
breach of contract or you could go with the tearing
up of ground for pipe replacement etc. Temporary
evictions during repair works with guaranteed
return dates for tenants can then be unfulfilled. Any
pay-outs, offer no more than $10k.
Malsizor had already made $3.6m from other projects by having previous groups of tenants, now long gone, pay for building refurbishments they would never see. Illegal practices were being openly recommended by Malsizor’s attorney.
I created a file and included every incriminating thing I could find then set up a burnable email account that couldn’t be traced back to me. I hit compose, attaching a copy of the documents.
To: [email protected],
[email protected]
Subject: Ellis
Oh no. Looks like you’re about to be doxxed.
You’re not going to be very popular with your
investors now. See you in court!
Next, I broke a rule by deciding to use a dropsite for comms, plus I got to tease the FBI at the same time.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:11] Gh057H3x: wildwild?
It didn’t take long for the alert to register and her to get back to me.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:13] wildwild: I’m here
[Tuesday 9th May 20:13] Gh057H3x: ID?
[Tuesday 9th May 20:13] wildwild: cpop719
[Tuesday 9th May 20:13] Gh057H3x: are we golden?
[Tuesday 9th May 20:14] wildwild: we are. Gimme 5
Golden was a journalist at the Chronicle and a trusted i9 supporter who had written about our ops in the past. Jeanna, aka Wildwild came back with a new message.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] wildwild: we’re here good to go, ready and waiting.
I created a brand new channel and invited them both in. I knew Jeanna would have already done an ID check.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: hi, I have a proposition for you
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: Hi. I’d like to hear it.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: You’ve been writing about i9 for a while, been trusted with info on ops.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: Yes.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: something big is happening. Will break soon. You could help with something. In return I’ll give you exclusive contact with AV1. Direct interview.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: That would be big for me. Wide syndication. What do you want me to do?
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: I’m sending you documents and instructions to dropsite.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: OK.
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: thank you
[Tuesday 9th May 20:21] golden: When do I get to make contact with AV1?
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: you won’t have to wait long, few weeks, we keep our promises
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: I know that. Can I contact you directly?
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] Gh057H3x: go via wildwild for now
[Tuesday 9th May 20:20] golden: OK. Speak soon.
I leaned back in my chair, happy that things were percolating. Golden would create a firestorm around Ellis, draw attention to the people of this city’s plight and the corruption surrounding it. I’d asked that she also publish the details of local housing charities and lawyers willing to work pro bono and help connect the disparate groups of Ellis protesters around the city to create a movement.
I called Saul to tell him the news.
‘Get in touch with the others, tell them you’ve organized this and that there’s going to be lots of support for a city-wide march against Ellis happening on the 29th. But keep the date out of the press and away from the authorities.’
Saul sounded happy when I ended the call. I was too. i9 would ensure a day of action took place that would cripple the areas downtown when and where we needed it.
My cell vibrated against the desk. Knox again.
‘You still up?’ I asked.
He hesitated for a minute. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Time to test the theory. ‘You can call it a night now. As you know I’m back at home, so you can quit tailing me,’ I said.
‘Trying to make best use of my time while you’re busy reliving your youth,’ he said.
That stopped me in my tracks. Was he referring to the hacking or did he think I was sleeping with Charlie?
‘The male ego is such a delicate thing,’ I said.
‘Huh. But what about his ego? The fact it’s never on display makes him even more dangerous in my book.’
‘You think it would have been better if we hadn’t have slept together Knox?’ I asked.
‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘The sex is outstanding but you’re a distant lover. I hope you’re a closer friend.’
That was probably true and something I couldn’t argue with. My friend, Ollie, had always said I didn’t date, that instead I became friends with the people I slept with and saw again. I’d somehow always been more intimate with people on a friendship-only basis.
‘No response?’ Knox asked.
‘Actions before words,’ I said.
‘Always,’ he said. ‘See you Thursday at seven. Birthday drinks at Hep.’ The line went dead.
I longed for my bed, but I had more work to do. I seriously needed to disavow Douglas from the idea that I was Ghosthex. I scheduled some future posts in the chatroom to coincide with the time I would be physically sitting in the next FBI meeting while they continued with their questioning.
I woke to a ding telling me I had a reply to my message on DiscMart. I had laid my head in my arms in front of me needing to rest a while and must have dozed off. I checked the time. A few hours had passed.
I checked into the site and saw Karim’s avatar, the radiation symbol.
Dossierdespin: Yes. I have one.
blackhatandjacket: DM me with address and details.
A reply came back from Karim in real time as a direct message away from the public forum. He sent through the coded details of where and when we could meet so I could collect Charlie’s new passport. A precaution to keep it away from the NSA’s catch-all net.
Things had to go right this time. The original plan might no longer be an option. Always good to have a plan B. I thought for a moment and sent back my own
reply.
Better make it two. Female, twenty-seven. I’m sending over my picture.
27
Wednesday May 10th
Aaron Cole
Cole studied the sink full of dirty cups and picked a couple up, choosing the one with the least sediment at the bottom and poured in the freshly brewed coffee so that it covered the ring mark from the last cup. He told himself it was just like being in the field. No need to get bent out of shape about day-old coffee grinds.
He wasn’t in the greatest mood to begin with but when the doorbell rang it needled him and sent it plunging. He saw the place with a new set of eyes. Still no matter he wouldn’t be answering the door anyway.
The bell rang again three or four times. Whoever it was they were persistent and there was an outside chance it could be mail addressed to his new cover. There shouldn’t be any other way for someone, apart from a couple of contacts, to knew where he was. This was the boonies even for Montana.
‘What?’ he shouted.
‘Cole, open up.’
Now he knew who he was dealing with. Who would be privileged enough to have such information. He probably hadn’t been as careful as he should have been.
He knew whoever was outside wouldn’t be chatting business through a closed door and that they’d have information he’d want to hear regardless of how unpalatable it might be. What he felt about it or did about it after hearing it was another matter.
That he’d want to hear it led to another problem. No ten second tidy or straightening of papers was going to make the place look any better but it wasn’t just the piles of detritus. Maybe because his focus was narrowing in, for the first time the odor became oppressive.
He’d never really noticed the all-pervasive, greasy and sickly scent before and he wondered where it came from. Lack of air and negative ions possibly, but more likely body odor from soiled sheets and unaired drapes seeping into the carpet, upholstery, and everywhere else.
He ran a hand over an unshaven face. Not that a week or more of growth was going to make him unrecognizable. He looked down at bagging knees protruding from week old sweat pants, a T-shirt that could have acted as last week’s menu, and decided his only option was to go outside. Perhaps there was an iota of pride left after all.
‘Give me a minute,’ he said, knowing automatically that it would put the visitor on high alert, call for their strategic planning and thinking while they anticipated the possibility of a dumbass move. How did he know they were alone anyway?
He peered through a chink between the curtains and the wall staying well away from the body of glass that offered zero protection.
‘Who is it?’ he said. God he was out of practice. Whoever was out there was out of sight.
‘Reardon.’
Recognizing the voice he relaxed slightly then the anxiety built back up. Not because it was likely the man might be a threat, but because he had to change his appearance into something resembling human. And in opening the door wide enough to exit, not to reveal the inside of the place, let out any stink, and also anticipate any possible attack in a finite window.
At least the piece he cleaned religiously over and over was field-ready should the need arise. He told himself it was mantra and meditation, a familiar repetitive process that made him feel calm and acted like therapy but he knew it was more like OCD and waiting for the day when it all came down.
The apartment now made him feel like a caged, swaying animal in a too-tight compound at the zoo rather than a safe space to tune out, turn off and plunge to depths even he didn’t know he could sink to.
Perhaps sensing his unease, his visitor, with his distinctive shock of bright red hair, came into view making sure he could be seen from the window where he must have known Cole would be watching.
Cole was expecting Reardon to be put together and turned out in a business suit so it was something of a surprise to see him in sweats. He picked up a pair of black pants from the floor but the color was too revealing of several pale stains so he went for jeans and a cleanish tee instead.
Even though Reardon had undertaken military service he still looked incongruous in sportswear. Like they didn’t belong on him. Like he was a man at a costume party.
‘Let’s take a walk,’ Reardon said.
Cole wondered if there would be a blacked out vehicle waiting around the corner and was surprised that he didn’t really care but he bet if it came down to it, the old reflexes would still kick in.
At least the breeze was blowing in the right direction and he hoped it would take the scent of the grease at the back of his neck off his collar and away from his freshly laundered ex-colleague leading the way.
‘Shit’s floated to the surface,’ Reardon said.
‘You can’t crucify me twice,’ Cole said.
‘No but we can offer salvation,’ Reardon said.
‘Yeah and how’s that?’
Reardon stopped walking and turned to him.
‘We found AV1,’ he said.
Cole bristled. The guy who had brought about his downfall by back-hacking him on an unsecured laptop and internet connection.
Reardon went for the play.
‘You set up a recovery op which will put you back in the driving seat. Shit happens? You revert to your former default position and make it all go away.’
Reardon had always been a brilliant strategist. Cole would commit because he needed the fuck back in. But his real talent lay in wet work for which the CIA had initially employed him.
His ambition to be pulled out of the field meant he had been placed to lead some of the more unpleasant black ops run as insular projects lacking scrutiny from Langley’s higher ups. Losing sensitive data had left him out in the cold though Reardon and those closest to him had managed to cover themselves by containing everything from brass.
The potential of the files resurfacing reactivated the threat. Reardon bringing him back now meant, should the op fail, they could scapegoat him or end him without too many tears being shed. Plus, if they required anything too unpleasant, they knew he wouldn’t just handle it, he’d enjoy it.
‘What do you think?’
Cole afforded Reardon a nod.
‘I think I give you options. And that you already know I’ll go all out for this.’
28
Angela McGlynn
Becky was enjoying a quiet spell when I met her for the second time. She looked up as I entered the reception area even though I didn’t have on the same stupid shoes that had announced me before. I felt more comfortable wearing my jeans and not the unfamiliar office-wear I’d worn last time out but could sense the sub-zero temperature below her practiced greeting.
‘I’ll let Mr. Guzek and Mr. Lau know you are here. It’s Angela right?’
There was a pointed emphasis when she said my name which was fair because I’d come in under an assumed identity before. I wondered how Charlie’s chat had gone over with her.
Soon afterward the guy who had hired Charlie led him through into reception. Guzek seemed slight in comparison but walked with a pronounced swagger.
He came over and shook my hand, using his left to hold my elbow in place while he shook my right, making a quick withdrawal impossible. Handshakes originated from something we’d recognize more as arm-wrestling now, where the leaders of Roman legions would grasp each other’s hands to determine strength and impose superiority. I wasn’t surprised when Guzek crushed my hand and made sure the top of his hand was slightly over mine, dominating the situation.
‘Angela, how are you doing?’ he said.
I could see Becky staring at me in my peripheral vision and pushed her to the back of my mind.
‘I’m sorry I don’t know your first name,’ I said.
‘Guzek is good,’ he said, making it sound like a statement of being more than a permissible form of address. He pumped my hand a bit more before finally letting it go after what seemed like an unnaturally long time to me but then I do have an intense dislike of
being touched by people I don’t know.
Guzek was around the same height as me but much shorter than Charlie and whereas he was lean, Guzek was thicker. Even his head seemed wide as if otherwise it might get lost on such broad shoulders. Whether he was balding and trying to cover up the fact or he was going for convenience, his head was completely shaved.
He wasn’t unattractive in that he had blue eyes and full lips but there was still something odd about his looks. He reminded me of a mannequin that hadn’t yet been dressed. He looked almost unfinished, sparse and asexual, although he had the presence of someone who thought a lot of himself.
We traveled in Guzek’s SUV to a downtown restaurant of his choosing with oak-paneled walls, polished tile floors and Versace-style chairs that seemed too expensive for lunch and we got down to studying a predictable but okay menu.
I didn’t like the way he was bossing the show so far and almost had to start a fight to be allowed to pass on what he thought I should order.
His insistence was tedious so I let him get his own way and agreed to an appetizer. I now knew this was going to be a long, drawn out, feat of endurance.
I went for an arugula and artichoke salad followed by scallops so I could pick at my food and maintain an intake of greens and Charlie ordered roasted asparagus and the scallops. Guzek ordered foie gras and a sixty dollar rib-eye, the two most expensive items on the menu.
The waitress was courteous and professional but Guzek didn’t make eye contact as he spoke to her and acted like she wasn’t really there. She smiled and withdrew and I sipped at a twenty dollar glass of Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley and tried to make the best of things.
‘So how did you two reconnect?’ Guzek asked.
I shot Charlie an admiring glance. ‘I saw him in a restaurant in Chinatown.’
‘You’re a very beautiful woman,’ Guzek said.
