404: A John Decker Thriller

by J. G. Sandom

  “Business,” said Decker. He climbed to his feet. He pointed the gun down at the assassin’s blood-splattered face. “Just business!”

  But the man didn’t say anything. He simply stared up at him with a blank look in his eyes.

  Decker peered down the gun site. It was a four-inch Model 500. A big gun. With a magnum fifty caliber cartridge.

  Still, the man didn’t stir.

  Decker kicked him with the tip of his shoe. The assassin’s head lolled to the side.

  “Fuck you,” Decker spat. “I didn’t say you could die on me.” Without warning, he emptied each chamber directly into his face, until there was nothing left but a hot pool of goo and pink skull fragments spilling out of his neck.

  In the distance, police sirens wailed.

  Decker reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet, knelt down, and stuffed it into the dead man’s jacket. Then he did the same thing with his cell phone and car keys. The assassin had a pair of Safariland Comp II Speed Loaders in his jacket which Decker stuffed into his pants as he climbed back to his feet.

  They were about the same size and height, Decker estimated, looking down. The assassin and he. The same build. A matched pair.

  They want you to just go away. Isn’t that what Hellard had told him? Of course, it wouldn’t give him much time. A day, perhaps. But by exchanging his ID with the blond man, everyone would believe Decker was dead, at least for a little while, and he could move about without scrutiny.

  As Decker slipped his house keys into the assassin’s jacket, something caught his attention. Something was glowing on the headless man’s wrist. At first, Decker thought that it might be a watch. But when he rolled up his sleeve, he saw that it was no ordinary machine. At least, not on the outside.

  “What the...” Decker said under his breath.

  The glow was coming directly out of his skin. It was as if he had some kind of monitor about three inches long buried directly under the flesh, mounted on the inside of his forearm between the elbow and wrist. The screen was displaying what appeared to be a satellite image of the area, although most of Georgetown was obscured by the clouds.

  Decker knelt down by the dead man to get a better view of the strange electronic device buried just under his skin. He pressed it. The material was soft, just like skin. Then the image started to flicker. Seconds later, the picture faded from sight. The image was gone, and the skin appeared normal again.

  The police sirens wailed closer. They were only a few blocks away now.

  Decker climbed to his feet. There was no time to lose. He would need to find a new car. He was tired and it was a long drive to Boston.

  CHAPTER 23

  Wednesday, December 11

  I remember when it all started. It was at Tommy and Mary-Lou’s Christmas party. Susan was flying somewhere over the weekend so they’d decided to hold the party mid-week. My neighbors and friends were all milling about, chatting and laughing, and nibbling on salsa and chips. My wife sat beside me, dressed in a bold floral print, like a walking Georgia O’Keefe, with splashes of violet and pink. This was two days before I put two holes in her chest.

  We were sitting in Tommy’s sunken living room on one of his overstuffed ottomans, enjoying some eggnog. Bing Crosby was crooning “White Christmas” when Susan’s friend Derek mentioned another neighbor named Teddy who hadn’t been able to make it. Out of sorts, Derek said, and depressed. Unable to get out of bed. Susan insisted it must be some sort of virus. She’d heard of others not feeling well too.

  When Derek suggested it was something in the water, some chemical agent intentionally put there by a secret government agency, everyone laughed. Derek was a notorious conspiracy theorist.

  Everyone looked over at me then. They’d often wondered what I did for a living. They knew that I worked for the government, a researcher/analyst type. Some kind of egghead.

  Just then, a young boy in pajamas appeared in the hallway. Tommy’s six year old son. He was crying and rubbing his eyes.

  Mary-Lou jumped up to console him. “A monster,” the boy said to his mother. “He came through the wall. It just kinda...opened up,” he explained, “and this strange man appeared.”

  “A monster or a man?” asked his father.

  “A monster who looked like a man.”

  Mary-Lou ushered the boy from the living room.

  “Third nightmare this week,” said his father, re-filling his glass at the punch bowl. “We don’t know what to do with him.”

  Soon, the party broke up. My wife and I walked back to our house. It had grown chilly and I slipped my arm around her waist, drawing her close. The neighborhood was sparkling with Christmas lights. Blues, greens and reds. The saguaro on fire. It was a magical sight.

  When we got near our lot, I turned toward my wife without warning, swept up by the eggnog, I guess, and the evening. I just leaned down and kissed her.

  At first, she recoiled, without thinking. Then, she kissed me right back, all too passionately, with that little moan at the base of her throat. The way that she did when she was really excited. Like the purr of a cat.

  I should have known then, I suppose, when I kissed her, that something was wrong. She’d been distant for weeks, withdrawn and depressed. Was she sick, just like Teddy, out of sorts? Was she having a sordid affair? I should have known then but I didn’t. How could I?

  “Don’t, honey,” she told me, finally pulling away. “The sitter may see us.”

  She paused and stared up at me with that look in her eyes. Her eyes. They were dead.

  Like the eyes of a doll.

  CHAPTER 24

  Wednesday, December 11

  Lulu whipped around the corner of the parking garage and squealed to a stop in her spot. Slipping out of her Ford Fusion Hybrid, a silver coffee mug in one hand, she reached into the back seat with the other and pulled out a green Whole Foods shopping bag full of papers and folders and books. It was heavy, and she struggled for a moment before kicking the door closed and making her way toward the elevator.

  One of the lights by the exit door had burned out. Lulu stopped for a moment to tap it with the top of her mug. The bulb flickered and blinked, popping on as the elevator finally arrived. She was about to step in when she noticed a movement beside her and a man materialized at her side.

  It was Decker. He pushed her without warning directly into the elevator, crowding roughly behind her.

  “What the fuck,” Lulu began, when she noticed the gun in his hand poking out from the windbreaker draped over his arm. It was the assassin’s Smith & Wesson 500, bright silver, with that black Sorbothane grip.

  Lulu glanced up at the camera mounted in the roof of the elevator. Someone had covered the lens with a thick wad of chewing gum. “That’s a big gun, Special Agent Decker,” she said. “Someone might think you were, you know...overcompensating.”

  Decker laughed but he didn’t reply. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was watching the lights on the panel as the elevator climbed to her floor. When it was almost there, he said, “And I don’t want to use it, so, please—let’s take a nice quiet walk to your loft without raising a fuss.”

  With a ping, the elevator ground to a halt and the doors opened. The hallway was empty. A moment later, they were standing by the door to her condo.

  “I’m glad to see you’re alive,” Lulu said as they entered. She locked the door behind them and turned on the lights. “I heard you’d been shot. Some kind of car-jacking or robbery in Georgetown. At least that’s what they said on the news. I thought—”

  “You were meant to.” Decker moved through the loft, looking for signs of activity. “We’re alone?” he inquired. He stopped at the foot of the black spiral staircase, peering up at the landing above.

  “Except for my Brazilian lover, the one I keep chained in my closet.”

  Lulu set the Whole Foods bag to one side. She turned just in time to see Decker loom over her. He pushed her hard to the wall, jamming his forearm up under he
r chin.

  She struggled for a moment, then finally relaxed. He could have crushed her windpipe and larynx if he’d wanted to. He still could.

  “This isn’t a joke,” he said, his mouth next to her ear. “I want to know who you’re working for. Why did you tell me it was Unit 110 who set up the Crimson Scimitar cell? Jamal and the rest? Why?”

  Lulu tried to swivel away but he held her tight in his grasp.

  “I told you,” she answered, trying to squeeze out the words. “I traced the signal to China.”

  “Then why didn’t anyone else at NSA confirm your analysis?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t have an answer.”

  “They’re not idiots,” Decker said.

  Lulu laughed. “Exactly. And yet they chose not to see what I saw. What does that tell you? I’m good but not that good.”

  For a moment he hesitated. “And why didn’t you tell them about the IP address you discovered, the one at the Center?”

  “Because you asked me to keep it a secret.”

  “That’s it? For no other reason? You don’t even know me.”

  “It wasn’t like I was hiding it from them. They had the same hard drive I did. Besides, you were obviously surprised when you saw it. That told me something about you.”

  “What?”

  “That you’re in deep shit, Special Agent Decker. Why would you be so surprised to see your own address compromised unless someone else besides you was responsible?”

  “You knew it was mine?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “Why should I? Either you were surprised because the truth had been discovered and you were busted, or because you were being set up. Either way, it made no sense for me to admit it was yours.”

  “You think I’m a spy? A traitor! If that’s the case, why didn’t you alert someone at the NCTC, or one of your NSA friends?”

  “Because if you’re a traitor,” she said, “you’re a pretty incompetent one. And if they’re not onto you already, they soon will be.”

  Decker smiled. After a moment, he released her and took a step back.

  Lulu stood there for a moment rubbing her neck. “You could have just called, you know,” she began. “No need for this rough stuff. Not that rough isn’t bad, once in a while. It depends.”

  Decker smiled his crooked smile. She had quite the ovaries, Decker thought, for a woman her size. Five foot something of nothing but trouble.

  Lulu moved into the kitchen area and began to wash out her coffee mug in the sink.

  Decker followed her, checking to see that there were no knives in the dish drain. He still held the gun in his hand. When he got to the sink, he pulled off the windbreaker which covered his arm and set it aside on the island beside him.

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Bleed all over my floor.”

  It was true. His left sleeve was soaked. “It isn’t all mine,” he responded. “Though I appreciate the concern.”

  With casual indifference, he reached into the windbreaker and pulled out what appeared to be a mass of dried blood, hair and skin which he threw into the stainless steel sink. It looked like a freshly cleaved scalp.

  Lulu visibly blanched. She took a step forward and leaned over the sink. “What is that?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. I carved it out of the forearm of the man who tried to kill me this morning in Georgetown”

  “Kill you? I...I see.” Lulu poked at the bloody red flap, and then—very delicately—picked it up with the tips of her fingers. On each end, it looked like plain skin, with hair and hair follicles, and beauty marks too. But, in between, it appeared like a three-by-four-inch clear plastic sheet. Underneath, on the opposite side, the entire flap was imprinted with micro-components.

  “I’ve seen this before,” Lulu said. “In some trade journal. Well, not exactly like this, but similar. It’s a digital tattoo, made of ultra-thin silicone, designed to monitor glucose levels in diabetics. But they’re highly experimental. Not ready for prime time and...” She turned on the water in the sink and washed off the flap like an animal skin.

  “And what?” Decker asked.

  “They usually don’t come with a matching pixel display.” Lulu shook off the skin and began to dry it with a paper towel. “The ones I’ve read about are designed to link with an iPhone or some other G4. This one seems to have its own modem. Again, probably tied to an earpiece or implant, like some Bluetooth-enabled cochlear device. Was your assassin wearing an earpiece?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Decker. “But as far as an implant’s concerned, well...the last time I saw him, there wasn’t much left of his head.”

  Lulu looked over at him. “I’m going into my workroom now, Special Agent Decker. Just to let you know. Don’t get nervous. I’d like to look this up on the Net. Maybe get a fix on the source.”

  Lulu put the flap of skin on a plate and together they moved toward the rear of the loft. As before, the workroom was an absolute mess, with half-built PCs and other devices scattered all over the tables. Lulu parked herself down beside her Alienware M17x laptop and began typing away. Decker sat on a chair right beside her, looking over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, here it is at physorg,” she said. “Each circuit is inserted through a tiny incision as a tightly rolled tube which unfurls automatically to align between the muscle and skin. Through the same incision, two small tubes are attached to an artery and a vein on the patient allowing blood to flow to a fuel cell converting glucose and oxygen directly to electricity. Talk about wearable tech. The top surface features touch-screen control through the skin. Instead of ink, the display uses tiny microscopic spheres, field-sensitive, designed to change from transparent to black.”

  “This one was in color,” said Decker. “And it delivered a satellite feed, a live video image of Georgetown.”

  “That’s quite an advancement. The system’s designed to be perpetually active—as long as the blood´s flowing, that is—although the display can be turned on and off by pushing a small dot on the skin. Like a mole or a beauty mark. When your blood sugar levels are off, the system issues a warning. When the phone rings, you just press your forearm and presto—a video of the caller appears. It’s your doctor or nurse telling you to lay off those donuts. Same tech would support video feeds and...” Lulu looked over at Decker. He was looking down at his shirtsleeve. It was soaked through with blood. “Oh, my God,” she continued. “I’m sorry, I guess I...Here, let me help you.” She leapt to her feet, began to peel back his sleeve.

  The cut ran the length of his forearm. Decker had bandaged it off with a piece of torn shirt but the wound had seeped through.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “Wait here.” She started moving away but he held her back by the elbow. “I have a First Aid kit in the kitchen,” she insisted.

  “Why don’t we fetch it together?”

  A few minutes later, they were back in her workroom. They sat side by side on the sofa as Lulu re-bandaged his wound. Her movements were precise, economical. It was obvious she had done this before.

  “Is it hot in here,” Decker asked, “or am I getting a fever?” Beads of sweat dotted his brow. It felt like a hundred degrees.

  “No, you’re right. It is hot. I’ll turn down the thermostat.” With a flourish, Lulu finished tying off his new bandage. “There you are. Good as new.” She paused. “Special Agent Decker? John?”

  He was staring behind her.

  “What is it?” she asked him, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why is your webcam light on?”

  CHAPTER 25

  Wednesday, December 11

  The camera light on Lulu’s Alienware laptop was glowing bright red, like a cigarette tip in the dark.

  “Who did you call?” Decker said, p
ushing himself to his feet. He moved toward the laptop.

  “I didn’t call anyone. How could I? You’ve been with me the whole...”

  Lulu watched helplessly as Decker picked up the laptop, lifted it high in the air, and then threw it down to the ground with a frightening crash.

  The hard casing shattered. Pieces of plastic flew off like shrapnel.

  “...time,” Lulu concluded.

  She walked over to the cracked shell of her laptop, knelt down and peeled open the lid. The screen was dark, a spider web of shattered plastic.

  “You could have just turned it off, you know. There’s a little switch. Right here. On the side. See?” Lulu flipped the machine over and there was a metallic clink as pieces inside moved about. “Seven thousand dollars.” She looked up at Decker. “You’re lucky I’m insured.”

  “Who was watching us through your webcam? Who did you call?” he repeated.

  “I didn’t call anyone.” Lulu stood up and faced him. “Perhaps, if you hadn’t destroyed it, I might have uncovered the remote-access Trojan and figured out who was watching us.”

  Decker grabbed her by the arms. He started to shake her. “Who are you working for? Answer me! Is it the same person who’s behind the man with the scar, the assassin from Dandong? Is that why you sent me to China?”

  “What are you talking about? I never sent you anywhere. You’re the one who FTPd me that Crimson Scimitar hard drive and asked me to look into it. I thought it linked bank to Dandong. But I never told you to go there. Or to blow up the Shanghai hotel.”

  “I didn’t blow up the goddam hotel. I keep telling everyone. The assassin did. The man who tried to kill me this morning. The guy who shot H2O2.”

  “You mean the same guy who took out Unit 110 in Dandong also killed H2O2, and then tried to kill you?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”