by G. K. Parks
Two
Branded Telecom didn’t have any satellites, cell towers, or undersea lines. Hell, it didn’t provide phone, internet, or cable to anyone, and for the record, I couldn’t find anything to contradict that fact. The company’s website was vague. FBI forensic accountant Kate Hartley was running through their tax records and financial reports, but I didn’t need her to tell me what I already knew. This was the only office building; although, they supposedly had satellite branches. Aside from general expenditures for the building and staff, the company had purchased a fleet of utility vans. Several had been parked near the building, but at least a dozen were unaccounted for. I didn’t believe they were out on service calls. Narrowing my eyes, I ran through the list of board members, pulling up information on the COO. After finding a phone number, I dialed and waited.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Dutch of Branded Telecom?” I asked.
“It is.”
“This is Special Agent Alexis Parker of the Office of International Operations. I need to speak to you regarding the bombing that occurred this morning.” Normally, it was best to ask these questions in person, but I knew Det. Jacobs would be on top of things.
“Agent Parker, the police are here now. As I told them, the legal team of Branded Telecom will handle any questions. I was not in the building at the time and was notified about the explosion a few hours ago. I can’t help you.” Without giving me a chance to ask anything else, he hung up.
“Asshole.”
Putting the phone down, I picked another executive from the list and dialed. This time, I didn’t bother to identify myself. Instead, I asked about their phone service and rate plans.
“Who are you? How did you get this number?” Ian Voight asked.
“You work for Branded Telecom, right? Your company has a bunch of utility vans, so I thought I’d let you put one of them to good use by setting me up with some phone service. If you have a great rate, maybe I can convince the entire building to switch over.”
“Who are you?” Voight repeated.
“That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end, and I wondered why he hadn’t hung up. I would have. Then he cleared his throat. “What does the FBI want with Branded Telecom?”
“We want those fancy caller IDs that you just used to figure out where this call originated, and we also want to know everything about your company, including why an IED went off inside your empty office building this morning.”
He snorted. “You really ought to leave this alone.” The line went dead.
Apparently, this would require some actual legwork. The simple solution would be to phone Det. Jacobs, figure out who he had questioned, and tag along, but Jablonsky didn’t want us following the police department too closely. He was afraid it would track back to matters of national security. So instead of phoning Jacobs, I took one of the government issued cars from the motor pool and drove to Ian Voight’s home address. He threatened me, so it was best to pay him a visit in person. However, the address listed on his driver’s license corresponded with an out of business diner.
Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I didn’t like this. An explosion inside an office building was supposed to be straightforward, at least in terms of determining information about the targeted company. The difficult part was supposed to be identifying the bomber. Something wasn’t right, and I keyed in the address for Kevin Dutch. At least he said the police were with him. That meant his address should be legitimate.
I parked in front of the brownstone and looked around the neighborhood. Oddly enough, I spotted one of the Branded Telecom vans idling half a block away. Stepping out of the car, I left my jacket unbuttoned to allow easier access to my weapon and moved down the sidewalk toward the van. Several people were on the street, and I did my best to blend in with the dogwalkers and foot traffic.
As I approached the van from the passenger’s side, I noticed two men inside. They watched the surrounding area through the reflections in the side mirrors. If that wasn’t suspicious, the fact that they were wearing dark jumpsuits with baseball caps didn’t help matters. I was fifteen feet from the rear fender when the driver gunned the engine. A horn blared from the white sedan he cut off, but the van kept going.
“Dammit.” Eyeing the area, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. The crowded café across the street had a few outdoor tables, and it seemed like the men in suits were watching everything. I didn’t spot the telltale curlicue wires running down the backs of their collars, but that didn’t mean they weren’t staking out the area. Continuing toward Dutch’s home address, I phoned the OIO, making sure we didn’t have any stings in place.
“It’s not us,” Agent Davis assured. “We didn’t receive notification of an ongoing op from any other agency, but you know how that goes. Someone could be working in the area.”
I glanced toward the café, but the men I’d seen had vanished. “Thanks for checking. I just want to touch base with Branded Telecom’s chief operating officer before heading back.”
“Okay,” Davis replied, confused why I was bothering to disclose my intentions.
It wasn’t like we were partners. At the moment, I was unattached, which was why Jablonsky had been venturing into the field with me. It was also why most of my time was spent conducting research and analysis from behind a desk. Frankly, it was nice to get out and stretch my legs. However, my instincts said this wasn’t the ideal scenario.
At the front door, a security camera was aimed at my face. Looking up, I rang the doorbell and waited. When there was no answer, I knocked, giving the occupant the benefit of the doubt that perhaps the bell was on the fritz. Noticing the lack of police cars, I wondered just how truthful Mr. Dutch had been when I phoned earlier. I could call Jacobs and check, but that would be a little premature.
I leaned over the railing, hoping to catch a glimpse of the interior of the home. The blinds were closed, and the drapes were drawn. This entire morning was turning into a bust, and the worst part was I had tipped off the men in charge of Branded Telecom that the federal government was on to their little cover-up. Jablonsky would not be pleased, but with any luck, the police would perform their due diligence. At least that way, I could say they screwed the pooch too.
I got back into the car, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. I kept my eyes on the mirrors, but I never spotted a follow car on my way back to the federal building. Once I parked in the garage, the tension melted away. At least the hairs at the back of my neck weren’t standing at attention any longer. Making my way to Mark’s office, I knocked on the door. For once, I was going to admit my mistake from the get-go. It was about time I learned that lesson.
He slammed the phone down, grunting at the runaround he’d just been given. I took a seat in front of his desk, waiting for him to acknowledge me. When he looked up, he shook his head.
“You didn’t find anything,” he said.
“No, and whoever these people are, they know we’re looking into them. I’m guessing they’ll scramble.” I tapped my fingers against my thighs. “Why do you think Branded Telecom was targeted? And why the hell aren’t they willing to cooperate?”
Jablonsky snorted, swiveling the computer monitor to face me. “Do you see this?” He pointed to the six separate video feeds on the screen. “This is the security footage from nearby cams.”
“None of them cover the building. How is that even possible? It’s like the front door and parking lot are in surveillance blind spots.”
“Not just those entry points. Every entry point. I gave Moretti a call to see what they had from the interior footage, but apparently, there isn’t any.” He turned the computer screen back around. “With all those security measures in place, the company decided that they didn’t need cameras, or so they say.”
“Right.”
“The 911 call isn’t helpful either. It came in after the blast, s
upposedly someone in a neighboring building felt a tremor. They thought it was an earthquake and called to report it.” Mark’s expression soured further. “The number links back to the adjacent office building, but it wasn’t a personal line. It was the building’s main line, so that doesn’t help us identify the caller. The police are working on determining that also.”
“When I spoke to Kevin Dutch, the COO of Branded Telecom, he said the police were with him, but when I drove by his house, no one was there. Should I check with Jacobs?”
“Might as well.” He jerked his head toward the door, dismissing me. “Just be straight to the point, and don’t share with your cop friends what we’re doing.”
I chuckled. “That won’t be hard since I don’t even know what we’re doing. When are you planning on filling me in?”
He met my eyes. “You’ll know what you need to know when you need to know it. After you check with Jacobs, see what kind of progress Hartley’s made. Sometimes the easiest play is following the money.”
“Yes, sir.”
I didn’t like being kept in the dark, so after a short conversation with Jacobs who vouched for Dutch’s story, saying that their interview abruptly ended when the man insisted he had an appointment and left his house, I checked with our resident forensic accountant. Even the financial reports indicated that this was a telecom company. They had all the necessary paperwork and reports filed. Too bad I didn’t believe any of it would hold up in the real world.
Deciding to follow the only thing that actually linked this morning’s explosion to the OIO, I dug through our records on the recent overseas bombing. The OIO had several active agents and operations abroad, especially in contested regions of the Middle East. When I was first assigned to this post, I feared that I would be sent to some war-torn country and have to coordinate with military intelligence, our spy network, and the state department to monitor the area for potential international and domestic threats. Luckily, my lack of military training and inability to speak any Middle Eastern language kept the bulk of my duties stateside with the occasional European excursion. However, I had a feeling that was about to change.
Two weeks ago, one of our outposts had been attacked. It was a military installation, but several FBI and OIO agents were permanently posted there to work on deciphering potential domestic threats from our international enemies. A device had made its way onto the base and detonated inside a building. Amazingly, there were no casualties, just like today, but the blast caused several of the generators and power systems to go offline. For several hours, communication to and from the base ceased. The implications could have been catastrophic, which was why our agents abroad were determined to find out who was behind it and prevent it from happening again. Based on the reports and intel I’d seen concerning the matter, they were afraid that first attempt had been a practice run.
Very little intel had been provided on what remained of the IED, but from the photographs and reports, the situation sounded similar to what happened inside Branded Telecom this morning. Leaning back, I picked up the phone and dialed Hartley’s extension. With any luck, the telecommunication company didn’t have any ties to the Middle East or any military contracts. However, I had never been particularly lucky.
“They aren’t military contractors,” Kate said. “Based on what I’m seeing, they’ve never been government contractors either.”
“That’s great.”
“Don’t celebrate yet,” she warned. “I’ve seen shipments to several of our international bases.” She clicked a few keys. “The shipping info lists communication equipment on the manifest. That’s not particularly helpful.”
“Why the hell would they send anything if they aren’t government contractors?” I asked.
“You’d probably need to ask them that, unless you have some friends overseas. Ooh, maybe they were doing some kind of donation thing.”
“Wouldn’t there be a record of that?”
She searched through more of their information. “They didn’t file it on their tax forms, so it probably wasn’t a donation.”
Typically, business transactions would require a warrant, but since the U.S. government was the receiving party, I didn’t think it’d be necessary, especially if we found a record of the shipment on our end. “See what else you can dig up and give me a call when you know something.”
“Alex, I don’t think there’s much to find.”
“There has to be.”
I stared at the computer screen. We were missing something. Clicking through photos of the explosion on the military base, I noted the similarities. The blast was directional. There were no casualties reported, and it blew out the glass from nearby windows.
Picking up the phone, I dialed Jacobs. “I have a million questions for you.”
“Likewise,” he replied. “Tit for tat?”
I knew Jablonsky wouldn’t like this, but we didn’t have much of a choice. “Deal. I’ll go first. Did the explosion disrupt the electrical system?”
Jacobs didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I don’t know. The responding officer said the lights were out, but by the time I arrived, power was back. I assumed the lights were off because the building was shut down for the night. It could have been an outage. But the locks on the doors were jammed, so make of that what you will. Why is that important?”
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, Parker, tell me something.”
“Ian Voight’s home address is bogus.”
“Voight’s the VP of marketing,” Jacobs said. “I spoke to him on the phone, but he was cagey. Now I know why. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” I glanced back toward Jablonsky’s office, but my boss was occupied, “the IED was planted on the fourth floor. Who was the target?”
“Hell if I know. The names weren’t on the doors, and there was no directory in the lobby. I asked Dutch about it, but he said that no one works on the fourth floor.”
“Convenient.”
“And utter bullshit,” Jacobs added. “For no one to work there, they sure have a lot of empty office space.”
Another thought crossed my mind. “Did you get a list of employees?”
“Not yet. Dutch wanted to confer with counsel before providing that information.”
“He’s stonewalling. Shouldn’t he want this solved?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. What the hell is going on?”
“I wish I knew.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G.K. Parks is the author of the Alexis Parker series. The first novel, Likely Suspects, tells the story of Alexis’ first foray into the private sector.
G.K. Parks received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and History. After spending some time in law school, G.K. changed paths and earned a Master of Arts in Criminology/Criminal Justice. Now all that education is being put to use creating a fictional world based upon years of study and research.
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Julian Mercer Novels
Condemned
Betrayal
Subversion
Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:
Likely Suspects
The Warhol Incident
Mimicry of Banshees
Suspicion of Murder
Racing Through Darkness
Camels and Corpses
Lack of Jurisdiction<
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Dying for a Fix
Intended Target
Muffled Echoes
Crisis of Conscience
Misplaced Trust
Whitewashed Lies
On Tilt
Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:
Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series
Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)
Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)
The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)
