by Joe Nobody
Before she could answer, Griffin’s throw-down phone jingled. “What the hell?” he questioned, peering at the caller-ID on the tiny screen.
“Must be a salesman,” she shrugged.
“Only the office knows this number,” he replied, pushing the talk button and lifting the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Marshal Storm?”
“Yes,” Griffin replied, trying to associate a face with the familiar female voice on the other end of the phone.
“This is Sharon Peterson… Judge Blackburn’s administrative assistant.”
“Hello, Ms. Peterson. How can I help you?” Griffin replied, throwing Kit a look that said, “What now?”
“Judge Blackburn would like for you to come by his office as soon as possible, Inspector. It is somewhat urgent.”
“If there is a threat, Ms. Peterson, please call the duty officer immediately. You can reach him by dialing zero on your phone.”
“No, Inspector, it’s nothing like that. The building and all of the jurists are safe and secure as far as I know.”
“I can be at the courthouse in 15 minutes, ma’am. Would that work?” Griffin responded, already moving toward his bedroom closet and the work clothes hanging there.
“Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you, Inspector.”
Kit was on the balls of her feet with curiosity. “What? What’s going on?”
“I have no idea, but Blackburn wants to see me, personally, and that’s damned odd. Normally, he only works with my boss.”
“Do you think you’re in trouble?”
“I doubt it. If Blackburn gets pissy about something, he typically calls my superiors. I won’t know until I get there,” Griffin responded, heading to his bedroom to change into work attire.
“I want to go,” she blurted. Then, after considering for a minute, continued, “but I know that wouldn’t be appropriate. Please, promise me you’ll call just as soon as you can.”
“Will do. And, I would be packing a small bag for California. It’s the only shot we’ve got left,” Griffin nodded, pulling on a clean shirt and sniffing his pits just to make sure.
“I’m not convinced about that, but we can discuss our next move later. You have to get going. We wouldn’t want to keep the high and mighty Blackburn waiting,” she replied, only half in jest.
“We can make plans when I get back,” he conceded as he walked her out. “It would still be a good idea to pack your personals just in case. Talk to you in a bit,” he said, hustling for the door.
The short drive to downtown El Paso gave Griffin time to run through a handful of reasons why he was being summoned. None of them held water.
After a curt nod to the men working security at the facility, he stepped in the elevator and swiped his card. The ride to the penthouse seemed to take forever.
Five minutes later, he was being shown into Judge Blackburn’s office by Ms. Peterson. She must have been practicing for Saturday night’s poker game, her face providing no clues.
Judge Harold Wilson Blackburn sat behind a massive desk of some dark wood. Griffin guessed it was walnut but couldn’t be sure. Opposite the office’s wall of windows, a collection of framed photographs catalogued the jurist’s career, all of them containing images of the district’s chief justice alongside the powerful elite, including every President of the United States for the last 30 years. The marshal also recognized a wide array of foreign leaders, British Royalty, and even a couple of Saudi Princes. The pictorial collage was meant to intimidate and impress, and as far as the marshal was concerned, both missions were accomplished.
Tall and slender, topped with thinning, grey hair, His Honor had earned a reputation as being one tough customer. While Griffin’s role in the judicial system had never allowed him to work directly with the man, the common wisdom on the street was that Blackburn was a throwback to an earlier time. “He should have presided in the Old West,” Kit had once spouted. “He would have been the poster child for ‘hanging judges.’”
In fact, the chief justice’s nickname was “Roy,” after Judge Roy Bean, a famous, frontier jurist who was known as being the only law west of the Pecos.
“Please have a seat, Marshal,” Blackburn directed, his eyes never leaving the brief he was reading. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
Griffin did exactly as instructed, taking one of the heavy, burgundy-leather chairs facing the judge’s desk.
Ms. Peterson provided the first surprise of the visit, promptly perching in the other visitor’s chair and then smoothing her skirt to a respectable position. Why is she staying? Griffin pondered. That’s weird.
A full two minutes passed before Blackburn sighed and then gently placed his reading material on the desk. “I’ll come right to the point, Inspector Storm,” he began, cold, green eyes making it clear Griffin and the matter at hand were the focus of his being. “Ms. Peterson is convinced that someone is manipulating this circuit’s case assignment, a duty she has handled for the last 12 years.”
Unable to mask the surprise on his face, Griffin stared at the woman next to him, but she refused to make eye contact.
“Normally,” Blackburn continued, “I would consult with your superiors on this matter, but these are troubling times. I wanted to speak directly with you.”
Griffin hadn’t been asked a question, so he remained quiet, a reaction that seemed to bother Blackburn. “You have no comment, Marshal?” he asked, obviously disappointed in the lawman’s silence.
Instantly confused, Griffin shrugged, “No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“I told you this was a waste of time,” Sharon spouted at her boss, her contemptuous tone impossible to conceal. “They’re all the same, covering each other’s backsides no matter what!”
One look from Blackburn quieted the clearly angry woman, the judge’s attention quickly returning to Griffin. “I was hoping your integrity and sense of duty would pick today to rise to the surface, Marshal Storm. Your record indicates you are a man who strongly believes in this country’s judicial system and the Constitution. I was counting on those values to outweigh all others, but perhaps I’ve overestimated your character.”
Now Griffin was really baffled. “Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have I done something to offend Ms. Peterson? Is there an issue of which I’m unaware?”
“Please, stop with the charade, Marshal Storm,” Peterson pleaded. “I caught you red-handed in the scheduling room. Your story about an open door is thin at best. We are well-aware that the USMS isn’t happy with several of the decisions being handed down by this district, but never in a million years did we believe you would go so far as to interfere with our processes and assignments.”
Griffin got it, a look of horror sweeping across his face as the realization set in. Blackburn and Peterson thought he and his department were to blame for the recent abnormalities. He said as much, “Ma’am, Your Honor, I don’t know how else to say this, but that’s not true. In fact, I’ve been investigating a series of unusual events personally – probably the same occurrences that you both have noted. Honestly, to the best of my knowledge, the marshals have nothing to do any of this.”
Blackburn exchanged, “I told you so,” looks with Ms. Peterson, but the woman seated next to the marshal wasn’t convinced. “What events are you speaking of, Inspector Storm?” she asked with a cold, skeptical voice.
“The warrants that were issued for the roundup of illegal immigrant felons… at least a dozen of those were leaked to the culprits before we could arrive. Judge Kendall’s decision regarding those same people added fuel to the fire. We’ve experienced criminal records disappearing, internal manipulation of computer systems, and two rather bizarre attempts on my own life,” Griffin explained. “For the last few weeks, I’ve been working with Assistant US Attorney Carson to figure out exactly what is going on.”
“And?” Blackburn asked, his eyebrows sliding higher.
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br /> “We are making progress, but it is slow, Your Honor. We are miles away from making an arrest, or even considering an indictment,” Griffin answered honestly.
The chief justice was skeptical, “I was going to call in the FBI but then reconsidered. The Department of Justice and the federal court system have been bumping heads recently… on numerous issues. In fact, when Ms. Peterson brought the initial evidence of tampering to me, my first instinct was to call Washington and get the attorney general on the phone. I was positive that it was the DOJ who was interfering… manipulating our systems. Despite your words to the contrary, sir, I’m still not convinced that isn’t the case.”
“What evidence, sir?” Griffin questioned. “Perhaps what you’ve experienced might help further my investigation?”
Blackburn threw a curt nod of approval at Peterson, giving her permission to share.
“We’ve seen judges be reassigned,” she blurted out. “Judge Kendall was never supposed to have been involved with that case you just spoke of. He was scheduled to have been off that week for a series of medical tests and a short vacation. I personally overrode the scheduling software’s assignment... twice, but the software kept putting that case back on his docket. We’ve had numerous other occurrences in the last two months. Lost emails, missing records, recordings of testimony that disappear.”
The discussion continued for another hour, Griffin reviewing several examples, delving into their observations, and even examining several documents. For the most part, Blackburn just observed, the marshal feeling the senior jurist’s eyes closely scrutinizing him and his responses.
Then it was time for the busy judge to move on to other, pressing matters.
“I’m going to give you and the USMS the benefit of the doubt, Inspector Storm,” the hanging judge concluded. “At least for the time being. If you are pulling the wool over my eyes, then you’re damned good at it. If these incidents continue, and you can’t report considerable progress to me within a week, I’m going to have to take drastic action, sir.”
Nodding his understanding, Griffin offered one final question. “Just curious, Your Honor. What exactly would that action be?”
Grunting, Blackburn smiled for the first time since the meeting had begun. “You caught me bluffing, Inspector, and that’s the crux of the problem. As you well know, the USMS is the enforcement arm of the justice system. Given the current political environment with President Turner, it’s unlikely we would get much traction from the White House, which leaves us with your department. Without the marshals, we are basically a toothless, old tiger. We can roar but don’t have much of a bite. I have no idea what I, or any other federal judge would do if the marshals turned against us. Going to the press would be my only option, and I am sure that would result in a constitutional crisis – the likes of which our great nation has never seen and might not survive.”
Chapter 11
Griffin called Kit as soon as he was in the parking garage and out of any known microphone’s range. The federal prosecutor listened quietly as he recounted the highlights of the meeting. As expected, she was stunned, only replying with one-word comments like, “Amazing,” “Unbelievable,” and “Scary.”
“This is getting out of hand,” Kit finally expanded. “Are you coming back here?”
“Not straight away,” Griff replied. “I’m heading over to the FBI’s office to talk with Sal. Are you packed and ready to head to the West Coast?”
“Yes. I went ahead and bought the tickets because that seems to be where the trail leads. I thought it best if we land in San Fran first, just to throw the hackers off our trail.”
“Good idea. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Stepping into the El Paso FBI office, Griffin immediately detected a heightened sense of urgency. While most everyone was out in the field, those that were there rushed about, hustling to their destinations at a much faster clip than normal.
“What’s going on?” the marshal asked Agent Sands as he whipped by.
“We’re trying to track down how the press got their hands on that police file,” the agent grunted.
“Any luck catching those guys who tried to give me a black powder enema?”
Sands managed a sly grin, “Not a priority at the moment.”
“Thanks,” Griffin responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
He continued, wandering through the halls until he arrived in Sal’s domain. He discovered the tech with his desk phone cradled against one ear, his cell in the other, and both hands trying to work the keyboard at the same time.
Griffin started to turn, realizing his timing wasn’t good given the breaking news and gathering thunder clouds. Before he could completely pivot, Sal snapped, “I want to talk to you, Storm. Hang on.”
It was another five minutes before the overworked FBI man completed his calls. “Lord in Heaven above, you’d think the North Koreans had just launched a nuke. We have a couple of hackers breaking into weak-ass police firewalls, and the entire planet is in jeopardy, at least according to Washington.”
“Should I come back?”
“No, I need a distraction. What did you find out about our man in Indianapolis?”
Griffin started from the beginning, leaving out the gory details.
Sal whistled after hearing Griffin’s report. “They deleted the arrest records? Wow, that’s some pretty impressive skills.”
The marshal continued, saving the recent attempts on his life as his coup de grâce. “Oh, there’s more, my friend,” he declared. “Somehow, my name was dropped to the Diablos… You know that gang is meaner than hell, but I doubt they could rub two brain cells together among them all. Yet, somehow, they manipulated the stoplights to execute a traffic light ambush on me? To add insult to injury, local LEOs almost took me out at an established, federal marshal safehouse in Indy. I was nearly filled with holes – on my own turf, mind you – by the white hats!”
“Dang, dude, whose wife did you sleep with? Sounds like somebody is after your ass for sure.”
Grunting, Griffin leaned in closer to the computer guru, his voice barely over a whisper, “Who, as in what sort of organization, would have the capability to do such things, Sal?”
Spreading his arms to indicate the list was long, the FBI cyber expert said, “There are probably three or four dozen government agencies that have that kind of firepower. Most of them not in the United States. Other than that, unless one of the big software companies has gone rogue, there’s really not anyone I can think of.”
“You’re saying this might be an attack from a foreign government?”
The FBI tech was quick to shake his head, “Unlikely. First of all, that would be an act of war. All the sanctioned cyber-spooks watch each other like hawks. After all that crap about the Russians interfering with our election, everyone’s eyes are wide open now. Secondly, the Chinese or any other cyber superpower aren’t going to bother calling a biker gang. They might steal the latest bomber plans, but no foreign agency has ever put out a contract hit on a low-level government employee. It’s just not done.”
“Thanks,” Griffin frowned. “And here I thought you liked me,” he continued, feigning injury.
“I do like you,” Sal grinned before continuing. “As far as private organizations like Anonymous and Core, they are politically active and very capable, but nothing on the scale of what you’re describing. Besides, the NSA figured out their methods over a year ago, and they know it. They’ve been tiptoeing around for the last few months.”
“Is there any way that another group of hackers might have organized, and no one would know yet?”
Sighing, Sal shook his head, “That’s the exact same conversation I just had with Washington. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it is very, very unlikely. Hackers are lone wolfs most often. Even Anonymous suffered from internal strife and infighting. Unless there is some polarizing social or political cause, it is difficult to get everyone on the same
page. Hell, look at the bickering and backstabbing within the US Congress – and only about half the stuff they do is illegal.”
Laughing, Griffin signaled his understanding. After letting Sal’s humor ride for a second, the marshal got serious again, “Any ideas? Any help you can give me to determine what the hell I’m up against?”
“To be honest, Griffin, I don’t think it’s all related. President Turner’s surprise election ignited an internet war of sorts. The web is just like society, deeply divided and unwilling to concede anything to the other point of view. That conflict has degraded to the point where they both hate each other more than Turner or any other politician. There are a few fringe groups that share the same goals that might have banded together for an operation or two, but other than that, I think you and Carson have just had a string of bad luck. The Chicago police video was extracted from a cloud storage account with a password of 12345678. How’s that for security? It didn’t take some mystical backroom platoon of mad engineers to figure that out. The break-in here in El Paso is a far more complex situation, but still could have been managed by just about any high school kid with a bad attitude. When I visited the homicide offices earlier this morning, I asked a detective to log in. His password was on a yellow sticky note hanging from his monitor. Once inside, I could have created havoc and loosed the dogs of digital war on their computers.”
“How do we catch these guys?”
That question seemed to strike a nerve with Sal. After considering his answer carefully, he responded, “Legalize weed and a handful of other recreational drugs. Take the money we spend on hunting dopers and hire the best and brightest technical minds. Give them five years of serious funding, and then we’ll have a police force capable of catching cyber criminals.”
“Seriously? That’s the only way?”
Nodding, Sal continued his rant, “Identity theft, bogus tax returns, credit card fraud, even stealing titles to people’s homes is on the rise, and we aren’t doing squat. There are 45 employees in this little office. I’m the only one working cybercrimes, yet they now account for nearly 20% of the theft in the United States. Catching hackers isn’t manly, or sexy, or heroic, and nobody in law enforcement wants to make the investment required.”
