Battle Road

by Gerry, Frank

  “No, we have to assume all the taxi drivers have seen our face by now. Our best chance is blending into the crowds.”

  “You're the boss,” he said.

  They got out of the car and walked down a dimly lit side street. “Wear your hat down low like this,” Tien said, pushing her hat low over her forehead. He followed her lead. They walked quietly, looking around carefully with each step they took. Reaching the end of the street, just as they turned the corner onto the busier main street of Davis Square, a hover drone on routine patrol flew directly over head. It startled Dylan. He looked up at the machine instinctively. “No, no, look down,” Tien said frantically. It was too late. She spoke in a more calm tone. “They're going to identity our location. Hopefully, with any luck, it'll take them a few hours before computer analysis will identify your face. We have to move faster now.”

  At the end of the block they reached their destination. A blue sign with white lettering hung above the front windows, THE ELM STREET INTERNET CAFE. Underneath, in smaller print, 'Established 1996'. The cafe catered to Tuft University students that wanted to get away from their dorm rooms or libraries for a change of scenery. A cool place to hang out, grab a cup of coffee, and surf the internet.

  Dylan opened the heavy glass front door for Tien. The sign on the door listed the hours of operation: open weekdays till eleven. They'd have to work fast. They adjusted their eyes to the brightly lit cafe. There were only a few customers, mostly 20 something's sitting around the various tables and couches with laptops or tablets. The cafe was decorated with the retro look of the early 2010's. Posters of Lady Gaga, Justin Beiber, and the like adorned the walls. A Beyonce tune played on the sound system.

  Tien approached the young woman with bright red hair sitting behind the counter. She was reading a book on her tablet, hardly paying attention to her customers. A sign on the wall behind the woman stated the rates: '$85 dollars an hour, $45 a half hour without quarterly pass'. Tien pulled out the crumpled bills Dylan had given her. “We need a laptop for half an hour,” she said, handing the woman a couple of twenties and a ten. The woman took the bills, a quizzical expression on her face, as if to say 'what do I do with these'. The woman fished around in the draw below the desk, pulling out a five dollar bill. “Take computer sixteen over there.” She pointer her finger to a table against the far wall. “We close in thirty minutes.”

  Tien moved hastily to the table. Dylan followed, taking his time. A laptop computer with the screen folded down sat atop the table. Tien sat down and lifted the display. The computer was is sleep mode. Tien looked around the room while putting on the headset with a microphone, making sure she was safe from prying ears and eyes. She spoke quietly into the microphone, issuing commands to open the web browser. Checking if there was encryption software installed on the system, she discovered there wasn't any. She would have to download and install an open source version herself. Time was going to be tight.

  At quarter to eleven, Tien had finished installing the encryption software. She went to work making the secure connection to her secret network. Most of the other patrons of the cafe had cleared out. The woman behind the desk looked up at Tien and Dylan, eying them for a moment before returning to her book. Tien entered her memorized identification and a series of passwords, moving through layer after layer of security firewalls. She got though the final layer, entered the security challenge, and was presented with the web page interface she was seeking.

  The young woman got up from her chair behind the desk and called out to the few remaining patrons, “It's ten fifty five people. Please finish up your work.” Tien spoke to Dylan without moving her eyes from the screen, “I just need two more minutes.” Tien entered her identification then clicked on an icon of a house to initiate the final process of being assigned her safe house. She waited, nothing happened at first. Another few seconds passed, still nothing. Finally, the information appeared on the screen. “Yes!” she said out loud though still under her breath. She wrote the information onto a small paper scratch pad next to the computer. Then put the entire scratch pad in her jacket pocket. The information provided was the address and key codes for the doors. She recognized the address as one of the newer mid rise condominium buildings in Downtown Crossing, Boston.

  With her remaining time, Tien left an encrypted voice message on the web site. Informing her superiors of Joanne's betrayal and Dylan's defection. Once she was done, she deleted all the computers' tracking information, then issued a command for a program she had downloaded to delete everything on the computer before corrupting the operating system. Dylan, looking over her shoulder, was impressed with her work. “Very clever. Unfortunately DHS engineers can put most of the data back together in a matter of hours. They won't get the information on your communications. But they could pick up enough tidbits to put pieces of the puzzle together,” he said.

  Tien frowned, “It'll have be good enough. At least it buys us more time.”

  “Yeah, but here's an old trick us software engineers like to do.” Dylan winked at her while he unplugged the laptop. Being careful not to be seen by the woman at the desk, he scrapped off the white plastic label and swapped the computer with the identical laptop from the adjacent desk. Tien couldn't help but smile at his boyish charm.

  They walked out of the cafe saying good night to the young woman. Once outside they made a beeline for the Davis Square train station.

  TWENTY SIX

  At 10:35pm, the female police officer approached the abandoned vehicle partially hidden in the bushes of the empty lot. An elderly neighbor had called the police as soon as he saw the lights in the field earlier that evening. Teenagers were always partying there, breaking beer bottles, and making too much noise. The neighbor wasn't putting up with their crap any longer.

  The officer pushed a branch off the rear of the car and shined her flashlight on the license plate. They were Massachusetts plates. At first she thought this was just another routine call. Probably delinquent punks dumping another stolen automobile. She moved another branch away from the side of the car, instantly recognizing the outline of the classic Jaguar.

  In the command center at Homeland Security an agent monitoring the police communication channels stood up from his console and rushed over to the front of Senior Agent Goodman's desk. “Sir, we've found the car. It's been abandoned in a residential neighborhood in Arlington.” Goodman stopped what he was doing on his computer and slapped the top of his desk with an open palm, “Yes! This is our start. I want DHS Agents to the get to the scene as soon as possible. I want tire impressions taken of any nearby tracks. Are their any nearby surveillance cameras?”

  Goodman got up from his seat and walked over to the group of agents responsible for communicating to the various local law enforcement organizations. “Find out if the Arlington police have any reported cars stolen from the area. I want an answer in under five minutes. Also, get me the Arlington Police Chief on the line.”

  The five minutes Goodman set as an arbitrary deadline came and passed. “Have we got a response? And where's that God damned police chief?” Goodman asked. He continuously checked his digital wristwatch. An agent called out, “We're being told to wait. Arlington police have a call coming in now that may be of interest.”

  At the eight minute mark, Arlington Police Chief James Fitzgerald called the Homeland Security command center and was routed over to Goodman. Fitzgerald spoke first, “We just got a report a few minutes ago regarding a stolen automobile on Claremont Ave. That's about a half a mile away from the location of the Jaguar we discovered. My officers are transferring the details to your agents now. The stolen vehicle was an older model Ford Vista 2024. Body color, maroon. The owner believes the theft occurred between eight thirty and ten o'clock tonight.”

  “Great, send the information out Chief.” Agent Goodman said. “One more question. If you had stolen that car, then dumped the Jaguar in that field, what direction would you head in?” The video display on the Goodman's monitor
showed Chief Fitzgerald looking off in the distance, motioning with his finger to someone he'd be right with them. The Chief looked into the camera, responding, “Traveling in the direction from where the theft occurred to where the Jaguar was recovered, ah, that takes you out to Mass Ave. If it were me trying to get away, I'd stay on Mass Ave and drive east into Cambridge. It's easier to hide in the city.” “Good to know. Thanks Chief.” Confirming exactly what Agent Goodman thought.

  Agent Carmen, a senior level officer, working the late shift reported to the command center as ordered. She walked up to Goodman. “What can I do, Sir?” Goodman tapped his pen on the top of the desk absentmindedly while issuing his orders. “You'll be taking over at midnight. See Agent Smith to get caught up with the details of the case. Then report back to me.” As soon as he was finished with Agent Carmen, Goodman got up from his chair and began issuing orders to the various agents, “I want all the digital recordings from every fixed surveillance camera in Harvard Square, Porter Square, and Davis Square analyzed. And I want the all data analyzed from every hover drone on patrol in Cambridge.”

  Agent Goodman knew he had to think like his prey. They would ditch the stolen vehicle in Cambridge and either walk or take public transportation. No, he thought, they wouldn't try to cross military checkpoints or risk being caught out in the open by surveillance drones. The fugitives, he reasoned, would escape via public transportation. “I want all the video from the Cambridge mass transit stations. Get those face recognition computers running overtime. And I want every available agent here reviewing the video. It's going to be a late night,” Goodman ordered. He knew it was already too late to shut down the transit system. Tracking them was his only option.

  By midnight, Goodman was exhausted. He'd been up for nearly twenty hours. He handed the command over to Agent Carmen. “If anything of importance comes up, I want to be notified immediately,” Goodman ordered before heading off to one of the residences in Building 2. The computer analysis of all the surveillance recordings would take hours, if not the rest of the night.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  Tien and Dylan took the elevator up to the forth floor of the mid rise condominium. They leaned against the wall of the elevator and against one another. It was a little past twelve in the morning. The adrenaline that kept them moving all day and night had been exhausted. “I could sleep for a week,” Dylan said. Tien looked up at him. Her eyes were as red as his. “It's to be expected. Our bodies have been under heavy stress for over sixteen hours.”

  Getting off the elevator, they searched for unit 414. The condominium number that Tien was given. The condo was at the end of the hallway. “Here goes nothing,” she said, punching in the code for the keypad on the door. The locking mechanism beeped twice, a green LED flashed, and the door opened with a clicking sound. “Lights on,” Tien said, entering the apartment first.

  The condominium was cold and had an odd smell, a brand new smell, as if no one had ever lived in the place. Dylan and Tien walked around, inspecting the place the way people often do when they enter a hotel room for the first time. “Set temp to seventy degree's,” Tien said. The synthesized male voice of the home computer responded, “Setting heating system to seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”

  The condominium was clean, a spotless clean. It was a one bedroom, sparsely furnished, and plainly decorated. It didn't have a lot of space, but it was more than they needed.

  Dylan checked the kitchen. There were lots of cans and boxes of food in the pantry. There wasn't much in the refrigerator, mostly food in sealed jars, a twelve pack of soda, and unopened condiments. Items that would last a long time. The freezer, however, was packed with frozen dinners. He took a couple of the frozen meals out and tossed them into an empty self of the refrigerator. With a yawn, he grabbed a can of soda. Though before opening it, he took a second look at the soda, realizing it had caffeine, and put it back.

  Walking into the living room with a glass of water, Dylan was surprised to see Tien holding a handgun. She was standing in front of what looked to be a hidden panel containing a small armory of weapons. She didn't pay attention to Dylan entering the room while she inspected a 9mm automatic. Pulling the ammunition clip out, she checked that it was full. Then made sure the firing mechanism was well oiled and functioning. She slid the clip back in and placed the gun down on an end table next to the hidden panel. “Do you know to how to handle a firearm?” Tien asked. Without waiting for his answer, she reached for one of the machine pistols hung on the rack inside the panel and pulled it down. She inspected the gun, pulling out the ammo clip as she had done for the handgun.

  Dylan didn't respond at first. Not until she put the machine pistol back in it's spot on the rack and turned to face him did he answer. “No, not really. I was going to say how I use to shoot 22 rifles in camp when I was like twelve years old. But somehow I didn't think you'd appreciate that story.” He smiled and took sip of water.

  Tien closed the door to the panel. “Well, you're gonna have a crash course starting in the morning.” She picked up the handgun on the table and verified the safety was on. “But right now, it's time for bed,” she said, carrying the gun with her into the bedroom. “I'll second that,” he said, putting the glass of water down on the coffee table and following her.

  The DHS command center grew quiet after midnight. Every available agent in the room studied video surveillance on their computer screens. Facial recognition computers were running full throttle. However, human observation and intuition were still the most important aspect in these kinds of manhunts.

  At five minutes past two in the morning, Agent McGowan, sitting in the fifth row of the command center stood up and walked over to Agent Carmen. “We've found something, Ma'am. A maroon 2024 Ford Vista was discovered near Davis Square by one of our patrol cars. We ran the plates. The registration doesn't match the vehicles' make and model. This is probably the car. We're checking the vehicle identification number now. We should have those results in a couple of minutes. I'll route that data to your computer.”

  A smile crossed Agent Carmen's face. “Good work. Yes, we'll assume this is our car until we know otherwise. Have that car gone over with a fine tooth comb. They may have left clues. Everyone, let's focus our video surveillance on Davis Square.” She walked over to the far end of the room. “Agent Epstein, pull up the data for all of the drones patrolling in Davis Square. Focus on the time period of eight thirty to eleven.” She picked up her v-phone to make a call to Goodman.

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Dylan awoke at nine thirty the next day. He stretched and rolled over to his side to see that Tien was no longer in bed. He rolled again onto his back. Noticing the smell coffee brewing in the kitchen, his senses started to return.

  He waddled into the kitchen still half asleep. His hair was a mess, his clothes wrinkled. He found Tien sitting on the stool at the kitchen island made of white engineered stone, intently reading the news on an older model tablet computer. A mug of coffee by her side. “Good morning. Coffee is right over there. I took out a mug for you too. It's right there.” She made a pointing gesture towards the coffee machine while keeping her eyes fixed on the computer screen. She was engrossed in the news reports she was reading. “Good morning,” he said while pouring himself a cup of brew and rubbing his eyes.

  Once Dylan took his first sip of coffee, Tien put the tablet down to speak with him. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a baby. I would have slept all day if I didn't force myself out of bed. You look up and at 'em. How did you sleep?” He took another sip of the coffee.

  “Fine. I would have slept all day myself if I could have. I got up at seven. How are you feeling?”

  Dylan shrugged his shoulders, “OK.”

  “Good, because I have a lot to talk to you about. I wanted to give you the chance to wake up first. I got online this morning with my commanding officer. Unfortunately, I have some bad news. Homeland Security arrested Brooksie late last night.”

  Dylan woke ri
ght up. He put his coffee cup down, then slammed the palm of his hand against a kitchen cabinet, “Fuck. What are we going to do?”

  Tien shook her head, “Dylan, I'm sorry but there's nothing we can do.”

  Dylan was pissed. “What will they do to him?” She took a sip of her coffee before responding. “He'll tell them everything he knows. Then they'll torture him some more. But I don't think it will be too bad for him. I'm certain Joanne will collaborate the fact that he doesn't know anything.” Dylan calmed down, accepting the situation. He slowly realized Brooksie's fate was sealed the minute he helped them escape. I shouldn't have involved him, he thought.

  “We've been ordered to stay low. Make like Anne Frank and stay here in this place for the next week. We'll have some fresh food delivered tomorrow,” Tien said.

  “Just sit here and do nothing!”

  “We're the top news story this morning. Apparently we've committed a series of grisly murders across the State. We've even killed a couple of children. Our faces are pictured everywhere, on every media device there is.”

  Dylan sat down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. He starred off with a blank expression.

  Tien became worried about him, but thought it best to just let everything sink in. She continued, “It was clever of Homeland Security to add the part about the children. I'll give them that much. Everyone hates child murderers. People are going to remember our pictures. And of course Homeland will blast the story on all of their media outlets until we're caught.”

  “That's just fucking great,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You need to say calm. Keep your head together. We'll be alright as long as we stay focused. Speaking of, after we work on your firearms training this morning, we'll prepare our makeup and disguises.”