Diablo

by James Kent

  ‘First of all, don’t worry about him,’ said Swann, nodding towards Eddie. ‘He’s a harmless vegan who eats nothing that casts a shadow. And he isn’t “Mordor”.’ Eddie raised his eyebrows at the vegan thing again, but still said nothing. ‘And secondly,’ continued Swann, ‘I will give you all your files and emails back, everything, plus a nice bonus, and I’ll tell you who “Mordor” is . . . in exchange for you dropping your investigation and telling me who you’re working for . . . as in, who’s running the show in the background. It has the sickly stench of politics and I’m getting the nasty feeling that I’m being specifically targeted for some reason. I want to know by whom, and I want to know why.’

  Pearman’s eyes went wide as saucers. His demand was like a confession. ‘So it IS you!’ she said with angry emphasis. She felt herself shaking. ‘All this time! I’ve been chasing non-existent bloody ghosts, getting nowhere. And yet there you were right under my nose. Literally!’ She started laughing at the absurdity of it. And the memory of their night together. She felt like she’d been made a huge fool of. ‘But you don’t even fit the bloody profile!’.

  He laughed. ‘I don’t fit any profile! Your “profiles” are shit! You need to stop relying on them.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ she said. ‘I should arrest you right now!’

  ‘Go ahead!’ said Swann, smiling at her. Challenging her. Yet he knew she wouldn’t. Well not yet at least. She’d want to know everything first. She’d want her files back. So she said nothing, looked away.

  Swann turned to Eddie and said, ‘Go get your computer gear. Or whatever all her files are stored on.’ Eddie nodded, opened the door and walked out to his bike. He unhitched two canvas bags and brought them back inside. Opened one of them and fetched out a laptop, two large hard drives, a few cords and data cables and other items. He set it all up on the table, plugged everything in and booted up the laptop. Pearman watched on with interest. And a growing frown.

  ‘I’m completely confused,’ she said. ‘I thought this “Mordor” character, whoever he is, had it all! How come you can access it, if you’re not him?’

  Eddie looked over at Swann for a signal. Swann nodded at him.

  ‘It was me who busted in!’ said Eddie. ‘Not Mordor. I did it twice . . . first, to find out who you were; and second to burn all your files. Well, I didn’t burn them completely. I hacked them, copied and downloaded everything onto these here drives,’ he said indicating the two black boxes sitting there with their tiny red and yellow eyes blinking away. ‘Nearly filled them both up with all your shit. Big drives too! Everything’s backed up elsewhere though, not just on these. And then I left the other guy’s fingerprints all over it so the Feds will go chasing the wrong guy . . . “Mordor”. Or Cricket as he’s also known. He’s big in the hacking world.’

  ‘Cricket?’ asked Pearman. ‘Is that his real name?’

  ‘To be honest, no one really knows. But that’s who he is,’ replied Eddie. ‘Or what he’s called at least. Everyone just knows him as “Cricket”, besides his online handle. I just left his smell behind after hacking into your servers again . . . It was too easy by the way,’ he added unhelpfully. ‘They need to do something about it.’

  ‘They just DID for Chrissakes!’ said Pearman.

  Eddie shrugged and pursed his lips as though to say, “It is what it is”. Then he said, ‘They need someone like me then!’

  ‘Then, who the hell are you?’ she asked, looking at him.

  ‘He’s called Eddie the Ferret,’ interrupted Swann. ‘I was on a classified mission, hunting someone you don’t need to know about. And Eddie here worked for the client, the target . . . but he had a change of heart. Long story. Shakespearean even. Love, and all that,’ he said with mocking humor, ‘But now he works for me. I told him to find out who you were because I heard rumors that you were looking for someone like me, so I told him to disrupt your program . . . It was getting in the way! Distracting me.’

  ‘So where were you located when you hacked all my files?’ Pearman asked Eddie. ‘I was told the server you were using was located in Nevada, near Las Vegas, not here.’

  ‘It was,’ he replied. ‘I was actually in a small town just north of there, place called Caliente, but I hooked into servers in Vegas.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! This is so illegal! I should arrest you BOTH!’ She sat there shaking her head. ‘So, how long have you known about me?’ she asked, now looking at Swann.

  ‘Since the beginning,’ he replied. I suspected who you were a day or two after we met. There were clues all over the place.’

  Pearman shook her head slightly. She looked out the window for some mental relief, gathering her thoughts. She looked like she was going to say something. Her lips were moving as though forming the words, but nothing came out. She looked like she was about to cry. ‘How the hell did I end up here?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Here, have a look!’ said Eddie as he swung the computer around for Pearman to see. On the screen was a copy of her latest DOJ report. Another window showed her last fifty emails. ‘It’s all safe. Nothing’s lost,’ he said reassuringly.

  ‘Satisfied?’ asked Swann.

  ‘Un-bloody-believable!’ she said quietly. ‘So what’s the bonus? You said you’d give me everything back, plus a bonus.’

  ‘The cherry on the top!’ said Swann with a grin. ‘In exchange for you dropping your investigation into me, and never ever looking my way again . . . at least in that regard,’ he added with a wink, ‘I’ll let you have six notebooks, plus a pile of other incriminating documents that I liberated from the dude I was hunting. There’s a list of names of some of his contacts . . . from wanted criminals to terrorists to foreign spies. You name it. The notebooks contain the names of powerful and influential people stateside that you need to investigate . . . judges, politicians, bankers, crooked cops, the whole nine yards! They’ve all got their sticky fingers in enough shit to keep you busy for the next three years. It’ll make your current project look like an Easter-bunny hunt by comparison . . . as in actual criminals,’ he said with a wink as he got up and reached for the notebook he’d been reading the night before. He dropped it on the table in front of Pearman. She picked it up and started flicking through it.

  ‘There are five others just like that one,’ said Swann sitting down again and crossing his ankles on the bed and his arms across his chest.

  ‘Good grief!’ replied Pearman, shaking her head in astonishment at the names listed inside. They all had bank account numbers and monetary figures beside their names, of large sums paid for various favors done - political, legal, financial and other favors. It also listed crimes they had committed, and dates and details that could be easily verified and followed up on. Hundreds of specific details linking them all personally to well known criminals, gangs and even terrorist groups who were contributing to their retirement plans. Backhanders galore. The book was a “get-out-of-jail-free” card for the owner. Targets for blackmail. A goldmine of sensitive political material. A bomb waiting to go off. Pearman realized that all she had to do was light the fuse. Eddie watched her thinking it all through. ‘That’s why you were hunting him isn’t it?’ she asked, looking at Swann. ‘Nothing would stick to this guy if he were ever dragged through the law courts like a normal person . . . he’d just play another ace and walk!’

  Swann ignored her comment and asked, ‘So, do you want it or not?’

  ‘Yes, of course I want it! It’s a freaking goldmine! But whose is it? Who was the guy?’ she asked.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ replied Swann, ignoring the question.

  Pearman studied him without saying anything for a few seconds. Then she answered, ‘Yes, we have a deal! But whose was it?’ she asked again. ‘Because it was clearly obtained illegally . . . and that could come back and bite me in the ass! I need to know how you got it.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s classified. But if its provenance becomes a problem for you later, you know who to turn to,’ he said cry
ptically with a grin. ‘Your turn!’ he finished.

  She thought about that for a while, staring at him. He stared back. Then she said, ‘Ok, but first, who do you work for? Why not just hand everything over to the Feds? I mean, this asshole you were hunting, who owned all this stuff, must be someone the Feds were after themselves, right? Which makes me wonder . . . is this part of “Reaper”?’

  The question caught Swann off guard. Came out of left-field. But he didn’t flinch. His gaze was rock steady. ‘I work for myself. End of story. And I have no idea what that is,’ he lied.

  Pearman studied his eyes, eyebrows, mouth, looking for the tell-tale twitches and micro-expressions. Didn’t see any. He’s either telling the truth or he’s really good at this! she thought. I’m guessing the latter. ‘So, what became of the guy you were hunting, the guy who owns all this?’ she asked waving her hand at the black notebook.

  ‘Let’s just say he’s getting in touch with his ancestors, way out in the desert.’ He answered cryptically, looking back at her. ‘Your turn!’ he said again. ‘Who’s behind it?’

  59

  Pearman looked intently at Swann. She was thinking about it, weighing up the possible consequences of giving him a name. Then she decided to take the plunge. After everything she’d just seen and heard, protecting the name of some flunky politician she didn’t even know suddenly felt less important. Maybe even his name is in one of the notebooks! she thought. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  ‘Millard Case,’ she said. ‘Some random Governor somewhere. Arkansas, I think. I don’t know him. But he seems to have the hots for chasing down rogue cops. Been his thing for some time apparently . . . at least according to my boss who passed on his request to investigate them. But he wanted me to find someone particular, someone he knew existed and who operated out of L.A., from the local federal offices there. He had some specific details to go on, but not enough, like no name or exact description. So, I was flying blind, but I also had my suspicions,’ she paused, then she added, ‘I don’t know anything else about this governor though. Just that he made stamping out “Dirty Harry” types one of his campaign goals. Must have been an issue for him for some reason. He drummed up support and put huge pressure on the Justice Department to look into it big time. And the rest is history.’

  For the first time, Pearman was surprised by Swann’s facial expression. She had been finding it almost impossible to read him, up until that point. But now, he had that deer-in-the-headlights look. Then it merged into a steely-eyed gaze. A fighter’s look. He suddenly looked extremely dangerous. It all told her something.

  ‘You know him, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘Yeah, we have a shared history,’ Swann said quietly, unhelpfully.

  ‘Is that all? Must be more to it than that! When I mentioned his name just now, you looked as though someone had just walked over your grave!’

  The room was quiet for a spell. Then Swann said, ‘I gave him a concussion and broke his fingers in a bar in Berlin a few years ago. He didn’t like it.’

  ‘Well that’s hardly bloody surprising Nick! If “Nick” is your real name.’ Then she suddenly shifted gear. ‘And by the way,’ she said, ‘since we’re discussing names, I’m at a distinct disadvantage here . . . I mean, I gave you my name already, plus my phone number on a library card, and you probably know everything else about me, thanks to mister Ferret here!’ she said waving her arm towards Eddie who grinned. ‘And yet I know absolutely nothing about you! I think if we’re making deals that border on the illegal, I’m at least entitled to know your damn name!’

  Swann said nothing for a while as he studied her, thinking about it. ‘Fair enough,’ he eventually replied. ‘Yes, “Nick” is my real name. Nick Swann. And I don’t want it going public. Ever! I get very twitchy about that. Only a handful of people know who I am, or what I do.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘“Nick Swann” . . . a good solid name for a crooked cop!’ she said laughing. She winked at him. ‘I like it!’

  ‘I’m not a cop.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘So why did you break his fingers?’

  ‘He was drunk and harassing some girl in a bar. She didn’t like it. He didn’t get the hint and kept on at her. So I stepped in on her behalf. Can’t help myself. “Damsels in distress” type thing. I’m old-school. But all that’s politically incorrect these days, isn’t it? But who gives a shit? Then I found out that he was a senior officer. We were both in the army at the time. He was an asshole desk jockey, but a colonel, I was a long-range sniper among other things you don’t need to know about. Long story short, we both left. He went into politics and continued being obnoxious and I became an odd-job kinda guy, putting out the trash, so to speak.’

  ‘Odd jobs! Understatement of the year! Yeah, we all know what you are, mister Swann!’ she said with a smile and another wink.

  ‘But since he already knew who I was, why the hell didn’t he just give you my name and description? Would have made your job a whole lot easier. All you’d have to do is go find me!’

  Pearman thought about that question for a few moments. The room was quiet again. Then she said, ‘My guess is that he deliberately kept your name out of it because he didn’t want any blowback; perhaps there were too many people in the military who knew him or something, and would guess what he was up to, and why. Right? Since you were both pretty well known, at least by the brass. So maybe it was vital for him to avoid the look of a personal vendetta. That wouldn’t work for him politically, would it? And maybe he was also afraid that if it failed, you’d track him down and break his fingers all over again, or worse, if you found out that he’d passed on too much specific information about your identity. So maybe he gave the DOJ just enough to steer me in the right general direction and then allow my impressive investigative skills do the rest,’ she said with a smile. ‘It was a safe bet for him. “A win, win” as they say. Maybe it was just an insurance policy.’ She paused, then added, ‘I’m very good at what I do, so maybe he asked around for someone like me and that’s how I got involved. That would be my guess at least. And it’s the only thing that makes sense.’

  Silence again as they all thought about it. Then Swann said, ‘Yeah, well he’s right about that, then isn’t he? I am going to bust his fingers again!’

  ‘No, you’re not going to do that, Nick!’ replied Pearman with determination in her voice. ‘I’m an officer of the law and if we’re going to do questionable deals here, I’m drawing the line at that! And I insist on it! We agree on that, or I’m leaving right here and now, and I will continue with my investigation into you and others like you, with or without my files back. You need to forget about that asshole. He’s a teeny blip on your rusted old radar. And besides, it kinda sounds like he’ll eventually slip over in his own shit anyway, without your help! Right?’

  He said nothing. Looked at her in a strange way. Pearman smiled. She found herself enjoying being around him again, despite all that had happened, despite who he was and his gnarly character. He had a rough-cut, crusty honesty about him. A rustic code of ethics that actually appealed to her, even if it offended her “letter-of-the-law” sensibilities. But there was also honor there. She liked that about him too.

  ‘So, what are you going to do now?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll write up a final report, saying there’s insufficient material to go on. Lack of evidence, blah blah. And then let the whole thing die in its sleep. Most of the rank and file at the department won’t care because, let’s face it, cops don’t like investigating other cops. It’s kind of like cannibalism. The top brass might be annoyed because of the time and money spent for no reward. But nothing new there, so they’ll get over it. Millard Case, of course, will want it to continue, but without anything concrete to go on, the Justice Department will have to let him down gently . . . “We don’t have sufficient resources to devote to an open-ended investigation that looks like it’s going nowhere,” etcetera, etcetera’ she replied
. ‘And then I’ll delve into this other crap!’ She had a gleam in her eye, like she couldn’t wait to get her teeth into it.

  ‘Good enough for me!’ said Swann. ‘Coffee?’ he asked her.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Not you as well!’ replied Pearman, raising her eyes. Swann looked confused by the reaction, but said nothing.

  Eddie shut down the computer and unplugged everything. Then he handed the two hard drives over to Pearman, catching Swann’s eye as he did so. Swann nodded for him to continue. ‘Everything’s on them,’ Eddie said, ‘but if you have any problems, let the boss here know ‘cos there ‘ain’t nothin’ I can’t fix!’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, I think!’ said Pearman. She wound the USB and power cords around the two units and forced them into her gaping handbag on the table. Its mouth yawned open like a voracious animal swallowing everything whole. She stood, slung the heavy, sagging bag over her shoulder, picked up the notebook and said, ‘Well, I guess I should get going then. Long way to go and a lot of work to do when I get there!’ Then she thought again and said, ‘I might need your number, or email . . . if I run into difficulties with all this, or if, you know . . .’ she said with a sly smile. Swann nodded, walked up to her and wrote his private cell on the back of her hand in blue pen. She looked up at him, smiled again then she opened the door and walked out to her car. She dropped her handbag and the notebook on the passenger seat. Swann and Eddie followed her out.

  Pearman stood there, leaning against the open car door as though she wanted to say something. She looked sad, like she didn’t really want to leave yet. She watched Swann grabbing something out of his Raptor. A large heavy-looking bag which he transferred to the back seat of her sedan. He made sure it was securely tied shut and secure. ‘The other guy’s notebooks, and other documents that you might find revealing,’ he said as he shut the door on it.