Wake Me When It's Over

by Cheryl A Head

  “Do these units have the GPS chip?”

  “Yes, they do. We’ll be able to locate each of you through your phone.”

  For the next half hour there was a discussion of logistics. Five two-person teams would patrol Cobo, keeping an eye on exhibitors, staff, vendors, visitors, construction teams, and deliverymen. Others were assigned to research and interviews. They would work in shifts: twelve hours on, four off, and start again. Judy had reserved rooms for the freelancers at hotels in proximity of Cobo, because Charlie wanted them to be able to respond to any situation within minutes.

  At 4 p.m., Geoff Heinrich, Cynthia Fitzgerald, and two Spectrum security guards who could have passed for Greek gods entered the conference room. Heinrich oozed European chic. The cost of his pocket square and socks was the equivalent of a week’s worth of groceries. Cynthia was the only one of the four who might blend into a drugstore without undue attention. Charlie asked Heinrich to join them at the presenter’s table. Cynthia took a seat with the freelancers, and Atlas and Helios flanked the table like pillars.

  “This is Geoff Heinrich, president of Spectrum Security and responsible for all security for the auto show,” Charlie said. “Mr. Heinrich is aware of our work and has offered his full cooperation. The badges you’ve received are Spectrum IDs, so we wanted him to meet all of you and share any words of advice he might have for us.”

  Charlie introduced each freelancer to Heinrich, while he looked bored. He pulled a speck of lint from his expensive jacket sleeve and examined his manicure. He only looked up from his grooming to take in the four women who were introduced. Then Charlie invited Heinrich to speak.

  “Spectrum is a world-class security agency with access to state-of-the-art surveillance and investigative tools. My employers have chosen to supplement our work by bringing in outsiders.” Heinrich glanced sideways at Charlie, Don, and Gil the way he might at a waiter who had delivered a tea service. “However, I doubt your efforts will be of any demonstrable help to our overall operations. I wanted to meet each of you, to issue a caution. The Spectrum credentials provided to you do not give you unbridled authority, nor license, to interfere in the day-to-day work of the auto show.”

  The room was silent for nearly thirty seconds. Charlie cleared her throat and was about to speak when Ty gave a cough behind his hand with a muffled message: “Asshole.” Charlie and Heinrich glared at him.

  “I have a question.” Mandy Porter raised her hand. As she did, auburn hair fell across the shoulder of her simple white collared shirt. Charlie noticed the reactions of the men in the room with a twinge of jealousy. Mandy was aware of the attention her looks garnered, and in business situations she tried to counter by dressing plainly. The ploy, as was the case now, rarely worked.

  “Yes?” Geoff Heinrich’s voice no longer had an edge, and he squinted his eyes seductively. “Ms. Porter, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. Given the critical nature of this threat, why wouldn’t you want to include us as full allies? If your employers, as you call them, believe this might be a serious threat, I’d think you’d want all the help you can get.”

  Charlie was still getting used to the fact that Mandy didn’t know the meaning of the word timid. As a rookie at the Grosse Pointe Park police department, she’d been shot three times when responding to an attempted bank robbery. She’d received a second commendation last year when she’d pulled a pregnant woman from a burning car. Heinrich was momentarily dumbstruck by Mandy’s question— and her green eyes.

  “Perhaps you’re right. I’d be happy to hear your ideas about how we can work more efficiently together.”

  “Well, for one thing . . .” Mandy began.

  Charlie stood, stopping the banter before it began. “Good. We’re making progress. We’ll be sure to follow up with you on Ms. Porter’s ideas, Mr. Heinrich. Thank you for coming. We’ve made a dossier of each of our freelancers for your review.”

  Heinrich was clearly annoyed by Charlie’s interruption, but he stood also, his slacks unfolding in a wave of soft wool. His guards moved closer to the table. Heinrich glanced at Cynthia who thumbed through the dossiers and nodded to him that all was in order. He fastened the caramel-colored leather buttons of his sports coat and moved to the door, aware of the myriad eyes giving him the once-over. He hesitated at Mandy’s chair, but she didn’t look up. She was busy punching the tiny keyboard of her new phone.

  “Heinrich is going to be trouble,” Gil said.

  The Mack partners were gathered in their borrowed office. Don had already swept the room for bugs, a precaution learned from the experience of a previous case. He intended to check every day for the ultra-tiny cameras and audio devices used in modern surveillance. Judy’s temporary desk was quickly becoming a clone of her desk in the Mack offices, piled high with folders and color-coded file labels.

  “He’s quite something, isn’t he? With his mannerisms, accent and elegance,” Judy said. “But there’s also something disturbing about him. I can’t quite put it into words.”

  “How about, ‘Demons’ll charm you with a smile for a while . . . ,’” Charlie offered from Sweeney Todd.

  “That’ll do it,” Judy said.

  Charlie looked toward Don. “Nothing to say on the subject?”

  “I’ve already said what I have to say about the guy. Is Fong in place yet?”

  When Charlie had reached out to her former martial arts student, he’d been very willing to help out. They’d met briefly, and she’d filled him in on the work. Lin had changed a lot. He was handsome, sure of himself, no longer the nerdy kid. In addition to speaking Mandarin and Cantonese dialects, Lin was an expert programmer with a degree in computer systems analysis. Gil had learned from Cynthia that Spectrum had an immediate need for a multilingual programmer, and it had been his brilliant idea to embed Lin Fong in Heinrich’s staff.

  “Lin met with Heinrich this morning. Spectrum called the fake references we set up, and he got an immediate job offer. He starts Monday. He’ll do some programming and be one of Spectrum’s liaisons to the Chinese auto delegation,” Charlie said.

  “Perfect,” Don said.

  “Did you tell him the work might be dangerous?” Judy asked.

  “No. I told him it was an undercover assignment, which he thought was thrilling. There’s very little chance of Lin being in danger; he’s just in place to have eyes and ears inside Spectrum.”

  “Maybe we can also use Heinrich’s interest in Mandy to our advantage,” Gil said, checking signatures on the confidentiality agreements.

  Judy looked at Gil. “That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t think Mandy would go along with that,” Charlie said.

  Don and Judy looked at Charlie and then away. Don had discovered Charlie’s romantic interest in Mandy Porter on their last case. Judy knew because of Mandy’s frequent calls to the office. The awkward silence got Gil’s attention.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Mandy and I have gone out a few times.”

  Gil had heard the rumors at their law school that Charlie swung both ways, but his attitude was live and let live. He dated a lot of women himself. From time to time, he considered settling down, but only yesterday he had received a florist’s delivery from Sonia with a card that read: “Thank you for a delightful evening.” Gil smiled at the memory of the voluptuous Puerto Rican beauty— a cross between Jennifer Lopez and Rosario Dawson. “That’s it? You’ve dated a few times, and that’s all there is to it?” Gil asked.

  “I’ll find out what her comfort level is for interacting with Heinrich,” Charlie said, clearing her throat, and changing the subject. “Okay, so let’s spend some time looking at the schedules and tomorrow’s assignments.”

  “Maybe Pressley should join us if we’re talking about the Cobo assignments. It’ll be helpful if he knows what everyone is doing,” Don said.

  “You really do like that kid,” Charlie remarked.

  “I do. He seems to have a good
head on his shoulders. He strikes me as someone who can be counted on.”

  “I agree,” Judy said in rare solidarity with Don. “He’s already been very helpful to me.”

  “Okay, let’s get him in here.”

  “I’ll message him,” Judy said using her thumbs to pound on the BlackBerry keyboard. “Don, you need to start practicing with yours.”

  “Get off my back, Novak.” Don held the phone in his palm as if it were an injured baby bird. “How do you turn this thing on?”

  “It’s already on,” Judy said. “At night just charge it up like you do your regular cell phone. The charger is in that bag I gave you. There’s also a cool belt holster in there.”

  The holster piqued Don’s interest. He pulled the various BlackBerry accessories from his bag, thumbed through the operating manual, and then clipped the holster to the left side of his belt. The right side was reserved for his 9 mm Ruger.

  Ty arrived out of breath. “Hi. I got here as soon as I could. Some of the network television crews arrived today, about fifty of them, and I had to make sure Spectrum had all their info.”

  “We’ll need all their names and credentials too,” Charlie said, “and we should make sure there haven’t been any recent substitutions to the TV crews. We’ll also need a list of their equipment.”

  Ty nodded. “I got it.”

  The group spent two hours discussing assignments. Judy had purchased a giant wall calendar that helped with the task. Don and Gil would interview auto show manufacturers, vendors, and Cobo staff. Charlie would be the primary liaison with Homeland Security, DADA, and Heinrich. Hoyt Timbermann would be team leader for the freelancers, who would form round-the-clock security patrols, starting tonight. Carter Bernstein would be in charge of research, and Judy would work the office.

  “We’ll need to work closely with the rent-a-cops at the information desks and the security personnel at the loading dock and parking areas,” Don said.

  “Ty, can you arrange a group meeting for us with all the managers at Cobo? How many people would that be?” Charlie asked.

  “Including Spectrum?”

  “No, excluding them, but every other department. Payroll, food services, engineering, maintenance, custodial staff, parking operations, even your sales and communications staff.”

  “That’s something like thirty people if you want directors and their managers,” Ty said. “Some of them work different shifts, so we may need two meetings.”

  “Look, I know it’s a lot of work, but let’s schedule the meetings for Monday.”

  “That’s gonna be tough. Monday is officially the New Year’s holiday,” Ty reminded the group. “My boss will have to call each of them into the office.”

  “Well, work with Judy on it, and get as many of them in here as you can. It’s very important. We don’t want to scare anybody, but we need managers aware that we have a heightened level of security for this year’s event. We’ll need everyone looking out for breaches in security, protocol, or routines. Nothing’s too small,” Charlie said.

  Ty appraised the serious faces of the Mack partners. His head was full of questions. “So, you mean even Cobo employees are under suspicion?”

  “Not necessarily, but we can’t rule anyone out. Most people are creatures of habit, if they change their routine, it’s usually innocent, but sometimes not,” Charlie said.

  “A manager may notice something that would be helpful to us, and not even realize it,” Don said.

  “Like if an employee has had a recent personal problem,” Gil picked up the lesson. “Or a vendor has made a big change in their standard setup, or one of the admin assistants has recently come into a lot of money, or the regular cleaning crew has new staff. Anything like that might be significant.”

  “Wow. I’d never even think of stuff like that,” Ty said, pausing to take in all the examples.

  Charlie, Don and Gil arrived at the regional headquarters of the Department of Homeland Security at six o’clock. The entrance was ordinary, with only a small square plaque announcing the building’s business. On the roofline, three cameras performed sentry duty as the evening visitors passed through the narrow alcove. The young woman at the information counter was also ordinary, except she was likely packing heat.

  “Hello, I’m Charlene Mack. This is Donald Rutkowski, and Gilbert Acosta. We have a meeting with Assistant Director Routledge and Agent Canterra.”

  “You’re expected.”

  Charlie searched for a name tag, but saw none. The woman pushed a sign-in sheet forward, and placed three visitor tags on the counter. She’d noticed Charlie’s stare. “I’m Estella Morales. I’m an agent-trainee. Once a week, we rotate through the various job assignments, and tonight I’m on the desk.”

  “I remember.” Charlie smiled.

  Morales reciprocated. She looked to be in her early twenties. Her full, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore the gray trousers and black jacket with the DHS insignia that were standard issue for trainees. “Of course you know all that,” she said.

  “I see our reputations precede us,” Don said.

  “Yes, we’ve heard all about you.”

  Don was suddenly taken aback, not sure if the woman was insulting him or not. Don and Charlie had been actors in an unfortunate training incident involving a firearm. No one had been hurt, but Don’s fellow trainers had teased him mercilessly about the mishap, and he was sure he’d never live it down.

  “We tried not to burn bridges when we left,” Charlie said.

  Agent Morales nodded graciously.

  They were escorted by the third-floor receptionist to the assistant director’s office. As they entered, Jim Routledge pointed in the direction of his small conference table, and continued a personal call. “I’ll only be away a few days. I know I promised to take him to the zoo tomorrow, but the director asked me to fill in for him.” Routledge turned his back for a modicum of privacy.

  Charlie studied the photos on the wall. Routledge had been a senior agent when Charlie and Gil trained at the DHS academy. In the five years since the inception of DHS, he had moved up the ranks quickly. Like Don, he was a former police officer, but he’d also been a U.S. Army intelligence officer. Charlie remembered Routledge as even-keeled, fair, and well liked throughout the agency.

  “How the hell are you three?” Routledge pulled his six-foot-five frame up from his desk chair, striding to the conference table in three steps. He shook hands all around and was immediately joined by Agent Anthony Canterra.

  “Look what the cat dragged in.” Canterra grinned, shaking hands with Don, giving Charlie a friendly hug, and engaging in a ten-second soul handshake with Gil. “Haven’t seen you on the court for a while, Acosta. You scared to come out and play?”

  Gil had been an All-City high school basketball star and was still known to dominate some of the pickup games on Detroit’s inner-city courts. Gil unbuttoned his suit jacket, sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Man, I could wear this suit and tie and still beat you in a fifteen-minute game.” The trash talk continued, while at the other end of the table, Don and Routledge compared photographs of their sons and talked about their Lions season tickets.

  Charlie poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and enjoyed the man banter. She actually had more male friends than women, and preferred this kind of conversation over discussions of shopping and manicures. She appraised Tony, who was animatedly making a point about the Pistons’ chances for a playoff slot. They had been a short-time item after she left ICE. He was handsome, squared-jawed with steel-gray eyes. She had dated men of all races, and Tony fit her cultural criteria for any man she’d dated: He had to know who John Coltrane was, have read at least one book written by a woman, and could sit through a Broadway musical. She’d reported to Mandy that Tony got a check mark on each criterion.

  Routledge looked at his watch. “Look, I have a family gathering at my house tonight, and I’m already in trouble with my wife, so we better get
going on this meeting so I can get home by seven-thirty.”

  “We have a case that involves the murder of a Chinese national you investigated. His name is Yu Chenglei, and the auto dealers seem to suspect his death may be tied to terrorism,” Charlie initiated.

  “Yes, we did investigate him. He’s not on our watch list, and has no ties to Al Qaeda or any other terrorist group, but he is associated with government-backed disruptions of information systems.”

  “Come again?” Don said.

  “You know, those widespread computer hacking attacks?”

  Don nodded. Pretending he understood.

  “We’ve been interested since before 9/11 in how the Net is being used to support terrorist activities— moving money, triggering campaigns and attacks, even recruiting new fighters. There’s a lot more emphasis in our work these days on the nexus between cyber threats and the activities of fringe groups.”

  “How was Chenglei involved?” Gil asked.

  “Our experts think he may have been focused on industrial espionage,” Routledge explained. “We know a Yu Chenglei was once employed by the People’s Republic of China to penetrate the computer firewalls of American companies.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, really,” Don said.

  Charlie had been listening and observing. Tony Canterra was unusually quiet, and as Routledge spoke, Tony stared down at the table.

  “What else is going on, Jim?” Charlie asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are you telling us everything?”

  “We don’t think there’s a threat to the auto show.” Routledge paused to look at Tony, who was now staring wide-eyed at his boss. “But we do have chatter around what could be a credible threat to the Super Bowl.”

  “What’s the nature of that threat?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t give you any details.”

  “But you will give us some help?” Don asked.

  “Well, of course. We’ll help all we can, but our chatter isn’t about the auto show. What kind of help do you think you’ll need?”