by Mike Brogan
Van Horn heard a door click open behind him. He turned and saw a flush-faced young blonde walk out of Krugere’s private bathroom, buttoning her blouse. The large-breasted woman looked like she was smuggling balloons. She winked at Krugere, who winked back as she sashayed her bouncy booty out of the office.
Krugere signaled to Van Horn that he was finishing his call, then gave the sales manager one last harangue, and slammed the phone down.
“Wimp couldn’t sell Islam to an Arab! What’s up?”
“Bruner.”
“Now what?” Krugere said.
“Back when he worked at GV, someone overheard him talking to me!”
Krugere’s face turned crimson. “How do you know?”
“Madison, the ad woman, has a friend - Brooke Daniels. She’s a GV engineer who worked next to Bruner’s cubicle at GV.”
“So . . . ?”
“So she remembers Bruner calling me many times,” Van Horn said.
“But you told Bruner to never call you from GV!”
“Bastard always does what he wants!”
“What about what we want? What we just paid him millions more to do? Expand the surge. Is Bruner doing that?” Krugere held his Mont Blanc pen like a dagger.
“Yes. He’s surging more early-release XCars. And he’s programing the surge of new XCars arriving at dealerships for the nationwide launch. Thousands are being delivered. Customers are lining up to buy on launch day. But here’s some good news . . .”
“What?”
“Some greedy dealers are selling new XCars early, before the launch. So Bruner will attack those XCars now.”
“Excellent,” Krugere said. “And what about my new request – surging GV’s Carmel SUV and the 6Pack Pickup?”
“He’s programming that now. He’ll activate it soon.”
Krugere took out a long Cohiba cigar, lit it, pulled deep, and huffed out white smoke. “I just saw some XCar surge research. The surge is hurting the XCar forecasts bad. Many more surge accidents will cause the XCar and GV brands to sink like the Titanic!”
“Yeah, but Bruner’s loose lips might sink me first!”
Krugere shrugged. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We can explain Bruner’s calls to you.”
Van Horn wondered what Krugere meant.
“It’s simple. You say Bruner called you about job recommendations. You know a lot of people in the auto industry where he was looking for a new job. You said you’d check around for him.”
Van Horn had already considered that excuse. He thought it might work if Brooke Daniels had not heard Bruner mention the XCar surges.
Krugere drew on his cigar and puffed another smoke rope toward the shiny gold ceiling fan that spread it along the ceiling like low-hanging clouds.
“As soon as Bruner finishes our work, wipe out any online connection between you and him . . . use Vlad the Ukrainian hacker. Double his fee. Tell him to delete all emails, text messages, tweets, phone calls. Even our secret email draft folder. Delete it all.”
Van Horn nodded.
“And you know what else to delete?”
“Bruner . . .”
Krugere nodded. “I don’t trust that sonofabitch!”
“I never did. But there’s a problem.”
“What?”
“He’s disappeared. We found what’s left of his UP cabin up north. He totally destroyed it. Blew it up. Eliminated all evidence there!”
“Was his body inside?”
“No.”
Krugere’s jaw muscles tensed up into angry knots. “Eliminate Bruner!”
Van Horn nodded.
Krugere sipped his whiskey. “So the bottom line is - this lady GV engineer, Brooke, told the ad woman, Madison, about Bruner talking to you on the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Who’d Madison tell this to?”
“She tried to tell FBI Agent Shaw, but his mail box was full. She’s probably told him by now.”
“Where is Madison now?”
“At her ad agency an hour ago. Chensen is keeping tabs on what she’s learning from Brooke Daniels and what the FBI knows.”
Krugere leaned forward, “But Daniels might know a lot more that Bruner said.”
“That’s right.”
“She may have heard some very incriminating things.”
Van Horn nodded, fearing the same.
“Daniels needs to . . . have an accident,” Krugere said.
“She will.”
“So does the ad woman. Chances are she knows everything the Daniels woman knows.”
THIRTY SEVEN
“Got your passport?” Madison asked Kevin as she stuffed some XCar folders into Kevin’s carry-on bag.
“Yep.”
“Picture ID?”
“Yep.”
“Ticket?”
“Yep!”
“Boarding Pass?”
“Yep!”
“Prove it!” she said.
He held up his iPhone screen showing the pass.
“Picture of your beautiful wife?”
“Which one?”
“Smart ass!
Kevin was flying to Brussels to meet with all the Turner affiliate agency CEOs and creative directors in the nine European countries where they would sell XCars. He would brief them on the XCar advertising goals, then together they’d develop some XCar photographic materials and television commercials adaptable for all their countries.
She worried about Europe’s narrow city streets stuffed with pedestrians. What if XCars surged into them?
Madison had planned to go with Kevin, but they decided she should remain and help Pete Naismith and Hank Harrison with the XCar’s growing image problem.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“My favorite hotel. The Amigo. One block from Europe’s best medieval square - the Grand Place.”
“Be safe. Love you!”
“Love you back,” he said.
“What’s wrong with my front?”
He smiled at her stomach. “Needs weight!”
“WHAT?”
“A baby bump.”
“I’m working on it!” She hugged him and pushed him out the door to leave for JFK Airport.
Christine Higgins hurried into Madison’s office.
“Traffic’s heavy down near Wall Street. You should have left ten minutes ago for your PetHealth meeting.”
“I know,” Madison said, checking her watch. She had an important meeting with a client who was anal-retentive about meetings starting on time. She grabbed her presentation documents and raced out the door.
The XCar problem had absorbed so much of her time that she’d neglected her other clients, like PetHealth. She reminded herself to pay more attention to them, or risk losing them as clients. Poor service was the number one reason clients left ad agencies.
She stepped into the lobby and saw the empty taxi waiting outside the entrance, hopefully the one Christine called for her.
She hurried out to the taxi. The driver hung up his phone and nodded to her.
Madison said, “Are you waiting for - ?”
“- if you’re Madison, I am.”
“I’m Madison.”
She got in the back seat. “I need to be at Wall Street and Pearl as soon as possible.”
He checked his GPS screen. “No problem.”
The driver, a heavyset man with a ponytail, a gold earring, and an anchor tattoo on his forearm, headed north, then took 74th to Second Avenue.
As they drove, Madison reviewed her PetHealth presentation. She would recommend a social media program to help PetHealth build an ongoing dialog with pet owners. Customers could call, text or twitter in to an on-line site call “Pet Vet Net.” Pet owners could also talk with live veterinarians on a cable TV show called - Bark if You Have Questions.
The driver hurried through a yellow light and then shot onto FDR Drive South. Traffic was light and he made good
time. Beside her, Madison saw an XCar with a young couple and a toddler. She prayed the car behaved.
She phoned Chase Chensen, her media director on the PetHealth business. She knew Chase was still greatly disappointed that she didn’t name him overall agency Media Director when the former director retired. Instead, she named Howard Goldberg who frankly was smarter, nicer, had broader media experience, and much better client skills.
“Chase, which advertisers are interested in our PetHealth cable TV show?”
“So far, pet insurance, pet medications, vet-clinic chains are very interested. Of course, pet food makers like IAMS, Purina, Wellness, and others are interested, but our client wants to keep all pet food commercials exclusively for PetHealth.”
“Understandable. So PetHealth remains the major overall program sponsor, right?”
“Eighty percent.”
“Terrific. I’ll call you after my meeting.”
“Good luck,” Chensen said.
She hung up as the driver pulled over to the curb.
The passenger door opened and a large shaved-head man in a black jogging suit jumped in.
“I’m in a hurry, Driver,” Madison said. “No time for any more pickups.”
“My cousin here just needs a drop off. It’s important. It’s right on our way.”
“Just so I’m not late.”
“You’ll be early!”
Madison called Pete Naismith and learned that the engineers were gathering more data that proved the surge was caused by a person. Most probably, Robert Bruner, the man who had worked beside Brooke Daniels. But no one could find Bruner.
The engineers were also working on developing a new kind of protective shield – a specially engineered Wi-Fi guard, something like a Faraday Box, that might somehow protect the car’s computer-based electronics from outside interference through the OBD II portal. She felt a little more hopeful.
She checked her watch. She’d be on time. But she had to be back in her office in three hours to conduct another press conference with Pete Naismith.
Suddenly, the taxi made a sharp turn left.
The driver had just driven onto the Brooklyn Bridge, heading over the East River into Brooklyn. She couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Where are you going?” she asked in disbelief.
“Over the river . . .” the driver sang.
“- and through the woods to gramma’s house we go . . .” Shaved Head added, laughing.
Madison leaned forward, “Stop screwing around! I can’t be late! Go back!”
The driver smiled.
She pounded her fist on the Plexiglas partition. “Turn around now or I’ll report you!”
The driver and Shaved Head laughed.
She took out her cell phone, started to dial 911.
“Put your phone in the pay slot now!” Shaved Head said.
“Why?”
“This!”
He pointed a large black handgun at her.
THIRTY EIGHT
Driving back from Frenchman’s Lake toward Chippewa International Airport, Special Agent Neal Shaw checked the status of his nationwide BOLO for Robert Bruner.
The status was the same.
Nothing.
Bruner had vanished.
Shaw still couldn’t believe they’d survived the cabin explosion. After he, Hayden, the sheriff, and local police had walked about one hundred yards away from the cabin, it exploded, obviously triggered remotely by Bruner.
Shaw assumed the explosion was probably meant to kill them in the cabin, but had somehow malfunctioned, causing it to be delayed. Unfortunately, the explosion blew up any surge evidence in the cabin. Clearly, Bruner knew how to attack people from a long distance.
Shaw called FBI headquarters in Washington DC.
“Put me through to WebWhiz,” Shaw said.
WebWhiz, aka Marcus Kincaid, maybe the FBI’s best cyber-sleuth, answered on the second ring.
“What’s up, Neal?”
“A very bad guy. A brilliant engineer. A guy who should be using lots of trackable electronic devices, but we’re getting zip.”
“He’s probably surrounded himself with high tech protection. Tough to crack. What stuff you think he’s using?”
“I’m guessing smartphone, burner, iPad, laptop, Blackberry. The usual stuff. Or more sophisticated new stuff I know nothing about.”
“Name?”
“Robert K. Bruner. Automotive electronics engineer. Head of engineering for a company called AutoSystemics Corp. They supply component systems to GV and other car companies.”
“Last known location?”
“Cabin near a small place called Frenchman’s Lake in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.”
“The UP? Neal, we’re really jammed with serious NYC and Washington DC high risk priorities here. How hot is this?”
“Very hot!”
“Threatening-the-President’s-life hot?”
“Threatening-thousands-of-the-President’s-citizens’-lives hot.”
“That is hot! Who’s the bad boy?”
“The man behind all these XCar surges.”
Kincaid paused. “I’ve been worrying about my wife’s Carmel SUV.”
“Maybe you should. But so far the problem’s confined to the new XCar.”
“Give me this guy’s address and phone number? He on Facebook? Twitter? Anything else I can track?”
“Not sure. Hayden just emailed you all the information we have on Robert K. Bruner. We need to locate him fast, Marcus. The guy’s gone dark.”
“Sooner or later, we’ll light him up!”
“Thanks, Marcus.”
They hung up.
Shaw saw that Madison had tried to call him, but his message box was full. He dialed Madison, but was bounced into her voice mail. He tried Kevin, but his voice message said he was en route to Brussels to work there for the week. Shaw left them messages saying he’d returned their calls.
He dialed Madison’s office and Christine picked up on the first ring. “Hi, Christine, is Madison there?”
“No, and I’m very worried about her, Agent Shaw.”
Shaw snapped to full alert. “What’s wrong?”
“She left for a client meeting down on Pearl Street, a twenty minute taxi ride. The client called and said she’d never showed up. That was two hours ago. The client hasn’t heard from her. And she was supposed to hold another press conference back here with Pete Naismith in thirty minutes.”
“When did you last phone her?”
“Seconds ago. Still no answer. She always answers me!”
THIRTY NINE
After landing at LaGuardia, Agents Shaw and Hayden were met by a tall young muscular man, Special Agent Larry Schiff, who briefed them as they drove into Manhattan.
Schiff hung up his phone. “The GV engineers and NTHSA engineers just confirmed the surge signals were sent by Robert K. Bruner. He’s somehow developed the impossible - a system of entering the XCar Wi-Fi system from a remote location.”
“But how?” Shaw asked, remembering how engineers told him it was impossible.
“They’re not sure. But the experts think Bruner’s signals are probably relayed off an unknown satellite. The signals then enter the cars’ OBDII portals and Wi-Fi system. Once through the car’s portal, Bruner can drive them.”
“Off a satellite?”
“Yeah! They think he might have hidden his surge program somewhere in a large private satellite.”
“How many communication satellites up there?”
“Over one thousand private and government satellites now orbit the earth.” Schiff said. “Private ones are expensive, from fifty million to four hundred million dollars. So maybe he’s piggybacking on one, or using a rogue nation satellite, like North Korea’s or Iran’s. Or maybe his own.”
Shaw’s phone rang. Madison’s assistant, Christine. Maybe she’d heard from Madison. Or wondered if he had.
He hadn’t, despite ordering several FBI New York bureau
agents and police to comb Manhattan for her.
“Hi Christine. Any news on Madison?”
“Nothing!” She sounded more panicked than earlier.
“Police are dragnetting Manhattan and the boroughs for her.”
Long pause. “Did you read her earlier text message?”
“Yes. Madison said Brooke Daniels mentioned a connection between Robert Bruner and a man named Nester Van Horn. That’s very helpful.”
“Yes, but I’m extremely worried about Madison. She always calls if she’ll be late or changes her agenda. Something is terribly wrong, Agent Shaw! She’s in trouble. Serious trouble, I know it!”
“Did she take a taxi to the meeting?”
“Yes. We ordered her a Yellow cab.”
“Do you know if she actually got in the taxi?”
“Well no, but hang on. William, the lobby guard, might know.”
Shaw heard some clicks, then ...
“William, it’s Christine. We’re on the line with Agent Shaw of the FBI. Did you see Madison leave the building in the taxi I ordered for her a couple hours ago?”
“Yep. She got in a taxi right out front. Driver had waited for her. Madison came out, she talked to him, got in and they drove off.”
“Good.”
“But – “
“But what?
“A couple minutes later a Yellow Cab showed up. Driver asked me if Madison was ready to leave.”
“I told him she just got in another cab.”
She’s taken! Shaw knew.
“Which way did the cab take her?” Shaw asked.
“North. One way street.”
“A Yellow Cab?”
“No. A gray taxi. Mighta been an Uber.”
“I ordered a Yellow Cab!” Christine said.
“How could the gray cab driver know you ordered a taxi for her?” Shaw asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Was anyone else standing nearby when you ordered her taxi?”
“A mailroom guy delivering stuff. And Chase Chensen in the hall talking on his phone. That’s all.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Any phone technicians in your offices today?” Shaw asked.
“No. But late yesterday afternoon, a phone guy showed up in my office and Madison’s. He said there were some weak-signal areas in this area of the building. He checked our office phones out.”
