At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  She clutched the tiny thing in her hand and waited patiently.

  There was a large group of men gathered around the glow of the laptop emanating from the trunk of the sedan SAC Anderson had arrived in. The group was large in number and in size of the individuals. Hirsch wasn’t a small man with 200 pounds on a frame that reached 6 feet on a good posture day but these men made him feel tiny - and claustrophobic.

  Hirsch wished it was permissible to order these men away from the planning area long enough for him to take a deep breath but realized that order would be futile as well as silly. No one could find the blueprints for the old resort building they were about to take down. The only information the Hostage Rescue Team could use to plan the event was on the laptop sitting before him.

  He concentrated on breathing smoothly until the feeling passed. As he returned to the conversation at hand he realized they had formalized their plan. Now they were all looking at him. Uh-oh. Had someone asked him a question? He racked his brain quickly.

  “I do not have anything further at this time.” Did that formal voice come from him? Thank goodness. “I had hoped my informant would have found a way to get more intel to me before the Team arrived but so far he’s been dark.” Meaning Hirsch hadn’t heard a peep from the man. How could he? He was sure Witson was still unconscious from the electrical zap he’d taken to his side.

  An unfamiliar trill interrupted the chatter of the Hostage Rescue Team. Everyone looked at Hirsch. He looked behind himself and didn’t see what was making that noise. “Sir, I think that’s coming from you,” Swanson, a member of the entry team, told him politely.

  Hirsch fumbled at his pocket and removed the satellite phone Wit had given to him earlier. It vibrated in his hand when it rang again and he flipped the top open. The screen lit up and it showed a connected sign. THIS PHONE HAS NO MICROPHONE SPEAKER OPTION ONLY scrolled across the screen repeatedly. Hirsch pushed the button for the speaker and couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Gentlemen, please come in.” That was Wit’s voice.

  Hirsch waved his arm wildly in the air. “Everyone shut up! We have a link into the compound. Sh! I need to hear this!” Silence descended over the crowded area a half mile from the driveway leading into the old resort.

  SAC Anderson gestured and Hirsch quickly turned the volume to the maximum setting. Everyone gathered around and began to listen, hoping the informant would be able to give them more information before they breached doors and windows.

  “With how well equipped you are,” Wit said to Ingerhoffe, “I’m surprised you didn’t have a guard with Marie earlier. I have to wonder how well planned out this really is.”

  Ingerhoffe shook his head slowly. “I hadn’t thought she’d try to leave. We’d been very polite. My resources are a little thin at the moment and we have some operations going on that required us to split our attention.”

  “And are the women and children aware of this night’s activities?” Wit laced his tone with disbelief, worry and hope. It wasn’t easy.

  “They’d all followed curfew and were safely in their rooms in the East Wing. We’ll be moving you two into the North Wing unless and until you’re ready to join our group. Temporarily or permanently, it’s up to you. I’d like you to choose to stay with us until after the trial but I’m prepared either way.” Ingerhoffe’s voice faded in and out on the tinny speaker in Hirsch’s hand. The man must be pacing about the room.

  “This is a gold mine of information,” Swanson whispered. They had all been whispering even though Hirsch had assured them there was no microphone on the phone.

  Hirsch nodded and whispered back, “He’ll be giving us a lot more. Pay attention, take notes if you have to but stop talking.” He silenced the man with a look. Swanson understood one of Hirsch’s informants was in that building and he took the chastising as he should.

  “You can’t honestly think I would join your merry band of murderers,” Wit growled at Ingerhoffe. It took all he had not to leap at the man’s throat and put an end to this in a permanent manner. He’d never killed another human being and he had never been sure if he could. Now he knew and he wanted his opportunity.

  “You killed my friends,” Wit said slowly, deliberately. “They hadn’t done anything to you. No one in that building had done anything to you. But you killed them. And now you think I’ll join you? Convince me, go ahead and try.” Wit challenged the man.

  Ingerhoffe pulled the wooden chair out from the desk and sat in it. “Is this what you used to block the door?” he asked Wit.

  “She did.” Wit jerked his head to Marie.

  “I knew you were smart but it’s more and more apparent that I underestimated you. I’m sorry for that,” Ingerhoffe told her. “Will you please sit down, Mr Witson? I’d prefer not to strain my neck while we’re conversing.”

  His hands clenched into fists but Wit complied. He was trying to come up with a plan on the fly but it was difficult to concentrate on anything except the mental image he had of Ingerhoffe’s head growing larger and larger until it popped like a human balloon. He schooled his features and waited.

  Ingerhoffe began to speak and something happened to his voice. Passion filled the words and somehow Wit could feel a thickening in the air. He shot a glance to Marie and noted she looked uncomfortable as well.

  “Our government has worked for years to undermine the working class man. They’re working in tandem with those bastards at OPEC.”

  Of all the things Wit had expected the man to say, this had not been one of them. It practically seemed like a statement meant to test him. He stayed silent.

  “Have you ever noticed that when our government needs a distraction something happens to unsettle those brownies in the Middle East? You turn on the news one day and all you see are car bombings and protests. Then the cost of oil goes up and people stop talking about welfare and immigration and the important things that affect the common man.”

  “Okay,” Wit started, “I don’t know what to say here.”

  “You don’t need to say anything. That’s the point! My group of Christian soldiers, my Brotherhood, is saying it for you! If they want to blow up their own things to cause mischief, why, we’ll do the same! Our protests are as valid as theirs but regular speech isn’t getting the job done, is it? IS IT?” Ingerhoffe’s voice had been rising until he was screaming at Wit and Marie. Spittle flew and landed on Ingerhoffe’s hand. He stared at it.

  “I think I’ve said enough for now.” Ingerhoffe rose from his chair mechanically. “We need rest. We all need rest. We will talk tomorrow.” He turned to the door. “One of my men, Marcus Harris, knows you. He’d like to speak with you later. In the meantime get some sleep. It’s going to be a long couple of weeks.”

  “Wait,” Wit rose from his seat on the edge of the bed. “I still have no idea what is going on. I’m starting to wonder if you do.”

  “Tomorrow, Mr Witson, we will speak more tomorrow. Ms Merrily, prettily sitting in a pose without a rose. We must attend to that immediately. Henry? To the garden.” Henry’s eyes were boggling and he stared at Ingerhoffe. Wit got the feeling this wasn’t normal and wondered what was happening in this crazy place.

  “In twenty minutes,” Wit stated loudly, “I feel like we’ll have all the lights out in twenty minutes. They’re just too distracting.”

  Ingerhoffe looked at him oddly. “If you’d like to turn off the lights, by all means do so. The switch is right there.”

  Ingerhoffe swept out of the room with Henry on his tail and looking extremely worried. They were not surprised to hear the turn of the lock. Wit picked up the transmitter from behind the curtain. “I think we’re dealing with a Looney Tune, gentlemen.”

  “To put it mildly,” Marie said. They shared a small smile. “I suppose I get to push that little button you gave me in twenty minutes?”

  “Nineteen now but yes, please. It’s going to kill all power to this building and anything on the grid.”

  “You weren’t very
smooth putting that into conversation.”

  “I was starting to worry about what was happening. Besides, it gives the crazy guy something to think about for the next little bit. He seems like he might be obsessive and paranoid.” Wit looked around the room. “I forgot to ask if we could switch to something a little cleaner.”

  “You heard Ingerhoffe, they plan on moving us in a little while.”

  “I’m not so sure. That Henry guy looked pretty confused about everything that was happening.”

  Marie agreed. “I saw that. I think that scares me all the more. I hope you’re right and that Hirsch is out there with the cavalry.”

  “You can count on it.” Wit lay back on the bed with his arms underneath his head. “There’s nothing to do now but wait. Would you like to snuggle some more?”

  “I’m not sure who is crazier, you or Ingerhoffe.”

  “I suppose we’ll know in seventeen minutes.”

  Hirsch circled his arm over his head and drew everyone’s attention. “You heard the man! We have less than twenty minutes to get into position. Thanks to our informant we now know they’re being kept in the East Wing. From surveillance we know there is some activity in the centre of the building where it looks like there are several occupied desks. Does anyone have any questions at this time? No? Let’s get moving.”

  The Hostage Rescue Team disappeared into the woods. Each grouping was to make their way to their assigned breach point. The signal would be lights in the building going out. Hirsch had no idea how Wit would accomplish this goal but he had faith.

  As the last seconds ticked down Marie pushed the button. At first nothing happened and then it went dark – completely dark. Every piece of electronic equipment in the building had been blasted with a small Electromagnetic Pulse. Wit had been working on a miniaturized version almost as long as he’d been working on IGGY. He was pleased to see it worked exactly as advertised.

  Wit looked at the transmitter in his hand. The shielding he had installed had worked. He couldn’t believe it. He’d found a way to block EMP bursts from frying his phone. He couldn’t wait to brag about this on the message boards.

  The Hostage Rescue Team lost the use of their radios, Night Vision Goggles and everything else except their guns. No electronic parts in firearms – or not until the new biometrics came out in a few years but for now their guns would work just fine. As did their flash bang grenades.

  Wit and Marie sat on the bed, arms around each other and waited. The first bang made Marie jump. So did the second and third. Wit was fine until he heard the first gunshot.

  Chapter 12

  Henry followed Ingerhoffe closely until they had reached his office. It had been a true testament to Henry’s willpower that he managed not to strangle his long-time friend in front of everyone.

  The two men had been friends for most of their lives but it hadn’t been until a decade ago they had figured out the true purpose of their friendship. Ingerhoffe’s charisma combined with Henry’s ruthless planning created a juggernaut that had the capability to change the country at a minimum and ideally the world.

  They had started out small with the two of them working together. Small cons and robberies of stores owned by Middle Easterners had begun their funding of the Brotherhood. As they’d travelled the country dispensing racial justice after the tragedy of 9/11 their methods had become more violent and the plans were extremely elaborate.

  Nine years before they had begun an operation that was so delicate any misstep could cause its failure. Even then Henry had wondered at his friend’s mental stability. It was but one of the reasons he didn’t let the man know everything. Ingerhoffe had made the perfect figurehead until now and Henry had to quickly decide what to do with him.

  Ingerhoffe’s office was empty and Henry briefly wondered where Marcus had gone off to. Thankful the man was fiddling with something somewhere else he grabbed Roger’s shoulder and spun him around.

  “What is wrong with you?” Henry scanned the man’s face and realized he was back with him 100%.

  “What are you talking about? Get your hands off me.” He shrugged his shoulder and Henry removed his hand.

  “You’ve been acting weird, Roger. Singing nursery rhymes and acting like an idiot. We don’t have a garden at the compound. We decided against it, remember?”

  Ingerhoffe’s face went blank with confusion as Henry spoke. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m doing no such thing. You’re becoming a threat to our mission.”

  Ingerhoffe began backing away from his old friend. “No, Henry, I’m not. I promise I’m okay. I’m feeling the stress a little, that’s all.” He edged around the desk and his eyes shot to the screen door that would lead him outside and away from the man with such coldness in his expression.

  “If this is breaking you what will happen when Reds is initiated?” Henry snarled. “This stress is like choosing a brand of peanut butter compared to that. If I can’t trust you at this juncture-“Henry let his voice trail off. The threat was laid bare when his hand drifted to the gun he wore on a thigh holster.

  “Just wait. Let’s calm down for a minute. We can have a drink and figure this out.” Ingerhoffe was doing that thing with his voice. It filled the room and made Henry feel oddly agreeable. He thought about the offer and couldn’t see the harm.

  “We have some time yet. Is there a history of mental illness in your family you may have forgotten to tell me about?” Henry asked. Ingerhoffe’s mental state was turning into a puzzle Henry wanted to solve. If the man was full moon bat crap crazy he may have to dispose of him. If he was run of the mill borderline personality Henry would have several options. The thought neither depressed nor cheered him; it was what it was.

  The lights went out completely. Henry muttered a curse and figured the generator had gone out again. The first loud pop had Henry leaping to his feet. He knew that sound. That was the sound a flash bang grenade made right before the cops came leaping in through doors and windows.

  With a muttered curse he smoothly pulled the revolver from its holster and fired two shots where Ingerhoffe had been sitting. He waited until the man’s body had stopped shifting from the fall to the floor. When no one came barging in to this office immediately after the shot he stepped over his friend and made his way to the second exit of the room – the one Roger had been desperately shooting glances at that would open to the outdoors and his escape plan.

  He sprinted into the woods and began heading west and to a four wheel drive truck he’d stashed on a logging trail more than a month ago. Henry had had a feeling his old friend was finally falling off of his rocker and had taken plans to save his own ass if something happened.

  This was all Bradley Witson’s fault. If he had stayed in the bar and died with his friends the Brotherhood would have had no use for him. Everything came back to the timing of that night and sheer coincidence. Who would have guessed that a hacker version of Batman existed? And that he would set his sights on the Brotherhood with such laser like precision?

  Henry stopped running down the game trail. He half-turned back toward the compound. He knew Witson. He’d been following the man for months, or reading the reports from men who had been following him. He knew Witson would never stop looking for him. The man would never stop trying to make his life into a living Hell. Marcus had told them stories about the young hacktivist’s early years and had gleefully shared any rumours he ran across on the internet.

  He picked his way through the pitch black of the forest and moved back toward the compound. He’d felt it from the first time he had seen him outside that cursed night club: Witson would have to die so that Henry – and the Brotherhood - could live.

  “What’s this shit, Hirschenbaum?” SAC Anderson was upset to put it mildly. “You said the lights would go out, not that all our equipment would malfunction.”

  Hirsch knew he’d never get away with saying he wasn’t responsible for his Confidential Informant’s choices. That wouldn’t float. Beside
s, Hirsch was well aware of the unpredictable nature of Bradley Witson so technically this did land on Hirsch. He couldn’t have told them about whatever this was but he could have warned his supervisor that things never turned out quite how one expected when this particular CI was a part of things.

  He scrambled for something to say. “Sir, I take full responsibility however you had the exact same information that I did when we began this operation.” That wasn’t going to go over well either but it was the least offensive thing Hirsch could come up with at the moment.

  The Hostage Recuse Team had handled the malfunction of their equipment with aplomb. They had shielded their eyes from the flash bang grenades and so weren’t blinded. They’d made their entry and had secured the compound before hustling the women, children and few men into the central hub of the building where they were watched over. Candles and lanterns were located so they weren’t in complete darkness. Two agents were assigned to work as runners between SAC Anderson and the head of the Team and updates were as close to real time as they could get.

  Hirsch slapped his hand to the pocket that held the half of a phone that Witson had given him. When no one was looking he had searched the small device for some way to activate it so that Witson would know he needed to talk to him. There had been no such option. Hirsch would request that on the next generation Witson made. He desperately wished the thing would ring.

  God must have had a sense of humour as the phone began its distinctive trill at that exact moment. His nerves were shot and in his mind he leaped three feet in the air. In reality he smoothly plucked the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. Hirsch immediately hit the speaker option and began walking toward SAC Anderson. “Sir, I have a line open with the informant. Once again we can’t talk to him.”

  The older man nodded stiffly. He jerked his thumb up so Hirsch would increase the volume. It said something about a man, Hirsch thought, that he wore a dress shirt and tie to a raid in the woods. It was becoming more and more apparent to Hirsch that this man wouldn’t last long in a cyber-crimes unit and was merely using it as a step up the hierarchy of the FBI. He would not be sad to see him go.