Tainted Robes

by Joe Nobody

  Someone fired three shots, the lead sizzling past Griff’s head as he lunged for the floor. Another voice nearby cursed in Spanish.

  Two more shots originated from the area where the bookkeeper had been sitting. The marshal realized he’d underestimated the skinny bean counter.

  Kit’s pistol erupted, her muzzle flashes brightening the interior like distant lightning bolts on the horizon. The prosecutor was moving and shooting, which made Griff smile. “Shrewd move,” he thought.

  He spied a shape… movement… and fired again, sending three lead pills tearing through the air. Before the ejected brass casings had hit the ground, the marshal tumbled to the left.

  Griffin wanted to end the firefight as quickly as possible. Mahajan could be hit. The building was stuffed full of hay and other combustibles. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got Kit killed. He crawled toward the far wall.

  Some sixth sense told the marshal that the cartel shooters were retreating, trying to escape at the front of the structure. He didn’t care if they evaded him, his objectives being to free the hostage and keep his partner safe.

  More shots rang out, flashes from a gun barrel strobing on Kit’s side of the building. The duo had to be careful now; it would be easy for the two feds to shoot each other. The marshal heard a male voice hiss, “Over here.” He snapped two rounds in the voice’s direction.

  Kit must have heard it as well, her pistol barking again. Griff could identify the outline of her blond hair in the white flashes.

  A string of rapid fire tore through the interior. “Somebody has an automatic weapon,” Griff swore, again rolling hard across the floor. Bullets smacked and thwacked into the wooden walls and door, punching through the thin, pine planks and spewing a blizzard of splinters into the air.

  Again, Carson’s pistol fired, this time answered by a loud yelp of pain. “Pay dirt!” Griff grunted.

  The marshal slinked along the floor again, traveling only a few feet before his head smacked into a hard obstacle. Reaching out, he fingered a thick post, then feeling higher, rope. He had located the supporting beam that held Mr. Mahajan.

  Griff pulled his knife, opening the small folder quickly. He began sawing at the cord that bound the hostage.

  Kit was still engaged, two shots whizzing from the back of the barn toward her last hiding place. In his peripheral vision, Griffin spotted her return the favor, launching a string of four rounds at the shooter.

  It took almost two minutes to cut Mahajan free, the tech guru’s body slumping to the straw beside the marshal. Griff’s first thought was to get the innocent man outside and out of harm’s way. But that would mean leaving Kit alone inside. He couldn’t do that, no matter what the stakes.

  With his hands running up and down the hostage’s body feeling for wounds, Griff’s eyes remained fixed on the rear of the building. Kit was pushing them back. He cursed himself for not checking for another door.

  Not finding any gushing wounds on Mahajan, Griff moved off, making his way along the wall opposite his partner.

  Another burst of automatic fire raked the interior. Griff watched the shooter’s sweep, heard the buzzing rounds fly over his head. As the arch of the barrel passed by him, the marshal rose to a knee, took careful aim, and loosed four shots.

  The last few rounds from the criminal’s machine gun climbed into the air, a sure sign Griff had hit his target. Another couple of seconds later, a weak voice moaned, “I’m hit! I’m hit! Help me.”

  Still, the marshal couldn’t be sure. How many times had he seen someone faking it on the battlefield? He wasn’t about to be suckered in.

  Stealing a few feet from Mahajan’s prone form to gain some separation, Griff shouted, “Kit? You okay?”

  He spun hard before the sound of his voice finished filling the barn, anticipating someone taking a shot at his position. No one fired.

  “I’m all right,” she answered from somewhere to his right. “I think they’re all down.”

  He clenched, expecting shots to follow her voice. None came.

  “Meet me by the crack in the wall,” he answered, hoping she could orientate without light, praying any surviving foe wouldn’t realize where they were rallying.

  As he headed toward the east side of the building, Griff bumped into one of the dead shooters. Groping for the man’s weapon, his hand encountered the camping lantern. He dragged it along as he crawled.

  Now close to where he thought their peephole had been, Griff took another chance. “Kit?” he whispered.

  “Here,” a soft voice responded, just a few feet away.

  He scampered beside her, a rush of relief flowing through the marshal’s veins. “Our Mr. Mahajan is still alive, but unconscious. He’s on the ground by the beam.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “Now, how do we confirm all of the cartel shooters are out of the fight?”

  He felt her hand and then placed it on the lantern. “Get low and ready,” he instructed. “I’ll turn this on and throw it to the middle of the barn. If they’re still breathing, we’ll know.”

  “Got it,” she confirmed, and then he heard a wisp of cloth as she slipped away.

  The battery-powered lamp was one of those models where you pulled the top to turn on the light. Holding his breath, Griff tugged, threw the lantern, and hugged the ground.

  The lamp bounced once and tumbled across the barn floor, the sudden illumination causing the marshal to squint. No shots rang out.

  He could see Kit now, her body partially concealed behind a small stack of straw. Feeling better about her cover, Griff decided to conduct one more test.

  “Going to the back,” he whispered as he rose from the floor and ran hard toward the other side of the barn.

  He spotted the cartel honcho’s body before he’d taken two steps, half of the man’s intestines unraveled on the dirt floor. The accountant laid nearby, the right side of his skull a grey and crimson mush. Griff pulled up, shouting over his shoulder, “All clear!”

  As the marshal collected weapons, Kit checked on Mahajan. She found the techie’s eyes open but unresponsive. “He’s in shock,” she announced as Griff returned with an armload of guns.

  It took another few minutes before Griff found the BMW’s keys inside one of the dead men’s pocket. “Let’s get him out of here. You take the sexy ride; I’ll retrieve the rental.”

  “Do you want to take him to the ER?” she asked.

  “No. Let’s get him home. I can’t see any terminal injuries. Being in familiar surroundings will be the best medicine. We need him talking as soon as possible.”

  Kit wasn’t sure about that but didn’t have the energy to argue. “When do we call the cops?”

  “We don’t… at least not yet. I want Mr. Mahajan answering our questions, not some detective’s.”

  Lifting the still-unresponsive man, Griff lumbered toward the BMW and shoved him into the backseat. “I’ll meet you at the gas station,” he confirmed before jogging off toward the rental.

  Chapter 14

  Nearly an hour passed before Griffin followed the black BMW into Ven Mahajan’s driveway. During the drive, the software expert had recovered significantly, babbling constantly to Kit.

  The feds helped him into his back door, met there by a very anxious spouse and two teenage boys. Everyone seemed to relax when Griffin flashed his badge.

  After emptying a glass of water and a bourbon on the rocks, Mr. Mahajan shooed his wife and sons away. Wrapped in a heavy blanket while recuperating on the couch, he was finally in a stable, mental state, able to talk with his rescuers.

  “You were set you up,” Griffin began. “They knew we came to your office and arranged the trap. You’re lucky we were there.”

  “Who?” Mahajan asked. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Kit was instantly disappointed. “We thought you would tell us.”

  “My financial officer immediately noticed the money appear in our
account. We initially believed it was funding from one of our investors, but a quick phone conversation squashed that notion. Then we thought it was just an error.”

  “Investors?” Kit asked.

  “Yes, we raised venture capital money to start Cyber Ace. It’s the way things are done in Silicon Valley. We had just applied for a second round of funding in order to take the company to the next level.”

  “Who are these investors?” the federal prosecutor probed.

  “A consortium of wealthy backers who formed a venture capital firm named Techvestors. When they informed us that they hadn’t even evaluated our newest request, our accountant contacted the bank and explained the strange deposit. The manager of the financial institution agreed they would investigate it. That’s all I know. That’s the truth,” the shaky executive pleaded.

  “What was the real reason Sutherland visited your office?” Griffin interrupted.

  “When we first started Cyber Ace, our dream was to produce the best internet security software in the world. I had done a lot of research and had developed a technology that was far ahead of anything out there. Sutherland asked a lot of questions about that first product that never quite made it to market.”

  “Why didn’t you continue down that path?” Kit inquired.

  Mahajan shrugged, “When we approached Techvestors, they didn’t seem interested in our security application. In fact, it was their board of directors who suggested we change course and develop a scheduling package. We were broke, desperate, and about to give up, so I agreed.”

  “Why didn’t you give Sutherland the information he was after?” Griff asked.

  The software guru had to think about his response. During the pause, Kit reminded the man that he had almost lost his life. “Look, Mr. Mahajan, the people we’re after aren’t playing games. You just experienced that reality firsthand. We’re chasing one or more hackers who appear to be tied into just about every computer system in the civilized world. They almost seem to be able to predict what people are going to do, and they seem intent on spreading chaos and anarchy all around the globe. Please, sir, before more people die, please tell us the truth.”

  Her words seemed to resonate with the former hostage, the man’s eyes opening wide as he relived the horror of last few hours. “There is a rumor,” he mumbled. “Apparently, the dark web has an even murkier shadow... a more mysterious place. I called it the black web.”

  “That’s the second time I’ve heard that phrase,” Griff spat. “Would someone please explain to this primitive what the hell the ‘dark, shadowy web,’ is?”

  “The amount of data being transmitted over the internet is inexplicably high,” Mahajan explained. “As I worked to develop my security protocols, I started seeing patterns. At first, just like everyone else, I believed it was simply inefficient programming and substandard hardware. However, at one point, I was certain that this excess baggage was intentionally created.”

  “And?” Kit urged, prompting him to continue.

  “The problem with my theory was the motive. There was so much extra information being sent over the web, it didn’t make any sense that someone would do such a thing on purpose. What possible benefit could it provide? There is no technology or entity that could ever consume that much digital material, let alone digest it in some meaningful way.”

  “What about the rumor you just mentioned?” Griff asked.

  “Gossip around the Valley circulated about a new artificial intelligence engine being developed out of Seattle. We had noticed a shortage of available computer servers at that time, and a few people whispered that all the accessible hardware was earmarked for this new project.”

  Kit got it immediately, “A server farm of that size would be large enough to process all of this extra data you’re talking about. Am I right?”

  Mr. Mahajan nodded, his eyes brightening with a realization. “Yes. Of course. It all makes sense now, in theory anyway.”

  “What?” Griff barked, his tone more aggressive than intended.

  The software executive didn’t seem to mind. “If my black web theory is accurate, they would receive a copy of every email account, business transaction, web page interaction, government system, and personal computer purchase. Everything containing a chip from Polynesia to the Himalayas to the Arctic Circle and all points in between would be within their grasp. Basically, they would be the digital version of God, all-knowing, all-seeing. They would be able to manipulate practically every aspect of modern life.” Ven’s eyes glazed over as his mind processed the ramifications of such a cyber beast.

  “Including transferring $50 million from one bank account to another?” Kit suggested, trying to bring Mahajan back to the current issue.

  Waving a hand through the air, he dismissed her question. “That would be child’s play. With an AI engine of that magnitude, the neural network would be able to analyze the minutia of every citizen’s life, predict social and political trends, and even manipulate Capitol Hill.”

  Griff still didn’t get it, but Kit was in sync with Mahajan’s words. “Why? We’re revisiting the same question that has had us stumped since the beginning. Why would anyone do that? Marshal Storm and I are convinced that someone is wreaking havoc with the government. Yet, to what end?”

  “I’m not sure,” the techie contemplated, answering in a soft voice. “The main reason a lot of huge companies invest in artificial intelligence is to predict what consumers will want to buy, what purchasing decisions six billion people will make. If you think about it, having that knowledge would provide an unbeatable advantage over any competitor. As for your cyber criminals, I can’t speak to their ultimate motivation.”

  Griff stood in frustration, his mind exhausted from both the rescue at the barn and the virtual walls they kept slamming their heads into. “Why go after you?” he blurted out. “I know why Kit and I have been targeted; we are a threat to them. But what is it about you that is endangering their grand scheme?”

  Mahajan’s eyes darted between Kit and the marshal as he tried to reason an answer. Finally, in a eureka moment, he offered, “Because I can tell you where the data is going. I developed a sniffer program that can track the throw-away packets of data as they travel around the web. I can lead you to the source.”

  For the first time since the failed raid, Griff could see light at the end of the tunnel. “Do it,” he directed.

  “Not here,” replied Mahajan. “The software I need is at the office. Besides, if someone is going to make another attempt on my life, I want my family in the clear.”

  They decided to take both cars to Cyber Ace’s headquarters, Griff dividing up the weapons and ammunition seized from the criminals at the barn between the two vehicles. He had collected quite the arsenal.

  With the Assistant US Attorney chauffeuring a still-shaky Mr. Mahajan in the BMW and the marshal following in the rental, they passed through the busy streets of San Jose without incident. The trip was so uneventful, Griffin even took the time to turn on the radio, thinking it would be good to catch up on the news.

  The reports streaming over the airwaves were disconcerting to say the least. Violent protests had now spread to every major city, most of the civil unrest fueled by social media rumors surrounding Mr. McCann’s untimely demise. For the first time Griff could recall, anger was being directed at the authorities from the Right. Silas hadn’t been a black teen or an undocumented border crosser. He’d been white, middle-American, law-abiding, and even a card-carrying Republican.

  Still, anyone with an ax to grind against law enforcement showed up in strength, supported by an assortment of fringe elements. It was odd, seeing Black Lives Matter joined by white conservatives, both with the American justice system in their crosshairs.

  The immigration debate was like the wind whipping up a forest fire, spreading the destructive rage across the land. Kendall’s order to release the detainees was just one example of what many felt was a system of pu
ppet courts having their strings pulled by political masters.

  The president was said to be considering widespread martial law, blasting the media for propagating fake news, and calling for the resignations of several federal judges, many congressmen, and an extensive list of senators. The US Army was canceling leaves at domestic bases. Three governors had called up their national guards, another handful considering a similar strategy.

  Washington was in turmoil, the political divide deepening with every passing minute. The Left blamed the Right, conservatives pointing fingers of blame at progressives.

  Wall Street had lost nearly a third of its value in the last week. During the same time, regulators shut down trading twice – a new record that no one in the financial markets wanted to set.

  One news anchor summed it up in his report, “Not since the Vietnam War has the United States endured such civil strife and internal division. Now, however, the internet, 24-hour news cycle, and smartphone technology are fueling the fires of unrest at an unprecedented rate. Rumors are confused with facts, exaggerations mixed with truths, and accuracy discarded for sensationalism. For the first time in my life, I truly fear for my country’s future.”

  Griffin shared the newsman’s sentiments. He no longer trusted the courts and was beginning to have his doubts about the justice system. Leaked warrants, seemingly rigged judge assignments, and a clear will to give politics preference over the law were enough to breed doubt in the most patriotic American.

  His negative paranoia ran even deeper than that. Was it possible that the El Paso PD really did kill Silas McCann in that hospital? Would a disgruntled cop seek payback for the death of a brother in blue? Could a police chief silence the poster boy for law enforcement overreach in hopes of sweeping an ‘unfortunate misunderstanding’ under the rug? McCann wouldn’t be heard now… couldn’t garner public sympathy for his son and him. Plus, there were no civilian eyewitnesses to the event who could tell his story. Very convenient, Griff mused. And what about the Federal Bureau of Investigation? Just who is setting the priorities there? Griffin remembered a day when the Diablos’ attempt on his life would have resulted in massive manhunts and unprecedented pressure on the Mexican government. Then again, in all his years as a US marshal, he’d never had another federal agency question his motives like the border patrol captain in the coffee shop. Distrust and cynicism among all levels of law enforcement seemed to be at an all-time high.