by J. C. Fields
She pressed the mouse again. The scene jumped to another view of a residential area. “This is a view from a doorbell camera on a home two blocks from the park. Note the Explorer is following closer in this view.”
Everyone in the room watched as the bicycle moved from the left to right of the screen, the Explorer now only twenty or thirty feet behind the rider. When the short video finished, Teri pressed the mouse. “The next shot is disturbing, but necessary to watch. Our technicians have cropped the shot and enhanced it as much as possible.”
She clicked the mouse again. There was not a sound in the room as the events unfolded in front of them. From the right side of the screen, the Explorer passed the bicycle and suddenly stopped, blocking the road. The rider slowed the bike and attempted to turn around. At that moment, the door to the SUV opened and a figure emerged.
She stopped the video. “We apologize for the poor quality of the video, but beyond this, enlargement pixel count is compromised.” She started video again.
A figure emerged from the SUV and pointed an elongated pistol at the bike rider. The cyclist collapsed to the pavement and the gunman walked slowly toward the fallen man. Once he stood over the body, he pointed the pistol at the prone figure’s head. An audible gasp sounded throughout the room. At this point the gunman turned and walked back to the Ford and drove away.
Teri ended the video and faced the group. “Preliminary autopsy indicated Alan was already dead before the fifth bullet was fired at pointblank range.” She sat next to the laptop.
A hushed silence fell over the room as Stumpf let the effects captured on video sink in. After several moments of silence, he continued, “This was not a random act of violence. This was an execution of a senior member of the FBI. We all knew Alan. We all respected Alan and considered him a friend. He was also a valued member of this organization and I will not allow whoever did this to go unpunished.”
Heads nodded around the table.
Stumpf stood. “I want to see Agent Kruger, Agent Diminski, and Joseph Kincaid in my office. The rest of you know what needs to be done. Dismissed.”
Chapter 3
Arlington, VA
Stumpf held out his hand to JR. “I am really glad we finally have a chance to meet, Mr. Diminski. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I do, too.”
“I also wanted to thank you for the assistance you have provided this agency over the past several years.”
JR tilted his head as he shook the director’s hand. “I’ve never been called, Agent before.”
“Technically, you aren’t. But I wanted to make sure the individuals in that room gave you the respect you deserve. You’ve helped solve more investigations than the majority of the men and women in that room ever have.”
“Thank you, Director.”
Stumpf turned to Joseph. “Thank you for being here this morning. I’m sorry about your nephew. I hope the video was not too hard to watch.”
Without responding, Joseph gave the director a grim smile.
As he shook Kruger’s hand, Stumpf said, “Where do you want to start?”
“JR’s going to dig into Alan’s home laptop and I want to look through his personal and bureau files. I realize some of them may be classified, but there could be answers within them.”
“What about his office computer?”
“If he was uncertain about his assumptions, I don’t believe he’d put any information there.”
“That makes sense.”
JR said, “There are ways to hide files on a networked computer. Do you think Alan possessed the knowledge?”
Joseph nodded. “I would look at it. Alan’s abilities with a computer were one of his strengths.”
Stumpf replied, “No objections on my part.” He turned to Kruger. “Do you have a theory?”
“Not really, but I agree with something you said in the conference room—he was targeted. Why becomes the first question we have to answer.” He looked at Joseph.
After clearing his throat, Joseph said, “Paul, Alan and I had a conversation several weeks ago. He suggested there were similarities between a number of FBI investigations around the country. When I asked for more details, he told me he wasn’t ready to discuss it yet.”
“No details?”
“None. He did indicate he would bring them to your attention in the next few weeks. Apparently, he didn’t feel he had enough evidence yet.”
After turning to Kruger, Stumpf asked, “Were you aware of Alan’s concerns?”
“No, sir.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I—uh—I haven’t spoken to Alan for several months and then it was only to talk about taking our wives on another cruise.” His voice trailed off as he muttered, “Guess I should have called him…”
“Okay, gentlemen.” Stumpf crossed his arms. “You have a starting place. Where do you want to headquarter, Sean?”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Too many distractions. Too many well-meaning individuals stopping by to offer their suggestions and assistance every five seconds. We’ll get nowhere.”
“I agree. Where?”
“I’d like somewhere close to Quantico, if possible.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Several, but the main one is the accessibility to the lab.”
“Consider it done. I want to be kept up-to-date—”
“Paul, that’s the problem. Everybody who thinks they are the least bit important will want to be kept up-to-date. If I’m constantly updating everybody, well…”
Stumpf frowned and started to say something but stopped. Joseph covered a smile with his hand and JR looked at the ceiling.
Kruger continued. “But I agree, Paul. You need to be kept up-to-date, but not hourly.”
The director placed his hands on his hips and glared at Kruger. He, again, started to say something, but his expression softened. “Me, only, and it needs to be twice daily.”
Kruger crossed his arms and tilted his head.
With a sigh, Stumpf nodded. “Daily.”
“That I will do, thank you.”
The meeting lasted another five minutes as they discussed the location for the team. As JR and Joseph left the room, Paul Stumpf said, “Sean, can I see you in private?”
“Sure.”
As the door closed, Kruger looked at Stumpf. “Is this about the updates?”
With a smile, the director shook his head. “No, this is about a personnel problem.”
Kruger gave the director a sly smile. But remained quiet.
“You have a birthday coming up.”
“Oh, that. Yes, I’m very much aware of it.”
“According to FBI mandates, a field agent’s fifty-seventh birthday is their designated retirement date.”
“I’m aware of that as well.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I really don’t have much of a choice.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Oh?”
“You can take a well-deserved promotion into management.”
“I’d have to move. No, thank you. Stephanie loves teaching at the university, the kids are comfortable in their school and my oldest son, Brian, and his family are there. It’s not about me anymore. I have to think of them first.”
Stumpf gave him a thoughtful nod and said, “Will you at least consider it?”
With a sigh, Kruger nodded.
***
Their assigned space at Quantico turned out to be an old conference room in an out-of-the-way corner of the facility. The space contained a long table with sixteen chairs. At Kruger’s instructions, the table was removed and the chairs stayed in place. His second act was to commandeer five eight-foot folding tables from the commissary and place them against the walls. JR discovered a large chalkboard in a storage area and brought it to the room. By five p.m., two desktop computers and four telephone landlines were in place.
JR frowned as the technic
ians left the room. “Sean, what the hell are we going to do with landlines?”
“The FBI still has the mentality of a twentieth century bureaucracy and those types of phones were the hallmark of that era. We can use them to order pizza.”
With a chuckle, JR nodded and started setting up the desktop computers.
At 5:23 p.m. an FBI agent by the name of Robert Shaw delivered Alan Seltzer’s bureau files and laptop, plus his personal records and computer. As Kruger signed the transfer of evidence receipt, the agent said, “Agent Kruger, may I ask you a question?”
Handing the paperwork back, Kruger said, “Sure.”
“Alan Seltzer was the reason I joined the FBI. Do you believe this was a random act of violence against a black man?”
Kruger gave the agent, who was African American, a grim smile. “No, I don’t.”
“Did you know him?”
“Very well. He and I graduated from the Academy together and I considered him a personal friend.”
The young agent nodded. “Three years ago, he gave the commencement address to my graduating class at Rutgers. His words inspired me to join the FBI.” He paused and stared at Kruger. “Please find who did this.” With those words, the young man strode out of the room and closed the door.
JR walked up to Kruger. “No pressure there.”
As he kept his gaze on the recently closed door, Kruger nodded. “Alan had an impact on a lot of young men and women during his career.” He turned to JR. “I know for a fact that young man is only one of dozens of agents who were persuaded to join the bureau because of Alan. I do not plan to let that legacy die.”
Thirty minutes later, JR looked up from Alan’s laptop. “I’m making progress here. Why don’t you use one of those landlines and order some pizza?”
“What kind?”
“Don’t care as long as it’s not pepperoni.”
Kruger chuckled. “Why no pepperoni?”
“I lived on it in college and now it’s the only pizza Joey will eat. So, anything with veggies and a protein that’s not pepperoni will work for me.”
“Got it. How about a veggie with Italian sausage?”
“Yummy.”
***
After eating in silence, Kruger left the conference room. Knowing their new workspace would be bustling with activity the next day, he drove to a local Costco. There he purchased a Keurig coffee unit, multiple gallon jugs of water, a variety of coffee pods and multiple packs of disposable coffee cups. He anticipated several days of brainstorming with his team and the consumption of coffee by the gallons.
JR watched Kruger set up the coffee service. He said, “I thought you hated Keurig machines.”
“I do, but it will be easier for everyone to make coffee if they want it.”
“You fussed at me for years about the Keurig on my credenza.”
“It worked, didn’t it? You have good coffee now.” He pointed at the new machine. “That is temporary—we aren’t going to be here forever.”
JR rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer. He pointed to an Excel spreadsheet displayed on the screen. “Look at this.”
After putting on his half-readers, Kruger leaned over and said, “Looks like a column of dates followed by numbers, a city and a state.”
“The dates, city and states I get, what I can’t figure out is the pattern of the numbers. I’m guessing they reference something. What that reference is?” He shook his head.
Kruger straightened and took his glasses off. “Huh.”
“I found it on his bureau-issued laptop in a partitioned segment of the hard drive. From what I can tell, this particular partition is not visible to the bureau server. Also, note the file name.”
“Book 1. So?”
“Excel assigns that name to any newly created file until it is saved under a different one.”
“Even I know that, JR.”
“Think about it for a second. We find a partition on his bureau-issued laptop that’s invisible to the LAN. Located in this partition is a file, with a generic name, with dates, numbers and locations.”
Kruger leaned over again. “Do you think this might be what Joseph was talking about?”
JR nodded. “That would be my guess.”
Kruger glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s almost eleven—let’s call it a night and get back here early. Charlie will be here tomorrow. Maybe he’ll know what the numbers mean.”
“Good idea. I’m fried.”
Chapter 4
Quantico, VA
The Next Day
Charlie Craft, a pencil-thin thirty-something with slightly stooped shoulders, smiled at his former mentor. His rimless glasses and now-thinning hair made him look older than his true age. As he shook Kruger’s hand, he said, “I’m really looking forward to working with you and JR again. I wish the circumstances were better.”
“I know, Charlie. Really glad to have you on board. JR can use the help.” He paused. “How’s the family?”
“Michelle is great and the boys are growing fast.”
“Boys, like in plural?”
Charlie nodded. “Boys like in three.”
Kruger smiled. Charlie Craft had been a young, shy forensic technician when they’d first met. A serial murder investigation in St. Louis, more years ago than Kruger cared to think about, was the reason. After that case, he’d taken Charlie under his wing and shown him, by example, what kind of evidence an investigator really needed. Afterward, Charlie flourished within the agency and was now a senior technician at Quantico. During one particular investigation of a series of high-profile assassinations, Charlie traveled to Springfield and worked directly with JR. The knowledge he obtained during those two weeks cemented his status within the bureau and a series of promotions followed.
JR shook his old friend’s hand and the two wandered off toward the area now designated as the computer lab.
Standing next to the Keurig, Kruger watched the two men discuss the file JR found the previous evening. The two computer experts used a language as foreign and incomprehensible to him as Mandarin. As his coffee cup filled, his thoughts turned to his upcoming birthday. He would miss the thrill of discovering the first important clues, fitting the disjointed puzzle pieces together, the chase and the suspect’s apprehension. But more importantly he would miss the people he worked with.
He also realized he would not miss the travel, the incredibly boring and lonely nights in a motel room, the constant quest to find healthy food on the road, or the long hours.
As his thoughts wandered, he realized something else. Apprehension about the future. A feeling he seldom experienced. The unknown of what lay beyond retirement gave him pause. For two and a half decades, his status as an FBI agent provided a purpose and a sense of pride. And now, a simple inevitable birthday would strip him of his personal mission.
Well-meaning individuals kept offering advice every time the subject came up. While he listened, none offered a solution. The only person who understood his dilemma was Stephanie. Several years ago, after Kruger was seriously wounded in a confrontation with a serial killer, she’d begged him to retire and teach. He did and grew bored almost immediately. After his return to the agency, she’d told him she would support any decision he made about his future with the FBI. Now with his fifty-seventh birthday rapidly approaching, the decision to retire was being made for him.
Realizing his cup of coffee was cold, he made another and got to work.
***
By mid-morning Kruger finished sorting Alan’s personal files from his home office. Tax and household files were separated, boxed and considered unimportant for now. This left a complete bank box of work-related files he would need to carefully go through.
JR interrupted his concentration. “Hey, Sean. You need to see this.”
As he approached the two computer specialists, he saw Charlie pounding away on one of the desktop units while JR pointed to a laptop. Kruger asked, “What’d you find?”
�
�The list I found last night was the Rosetta Stone. Charlie recognized the numbers as case files and he’s downloading them right now. We are probably going to need a couple more desktops so Sandy and Jimmie can help review them.”
“Okay. What’s special about the files?”
JR stared at Kruger with eyebrows drawn together. “Each file is of an unsolved investigation.”
“There are more than a few of those, JR.”
“I know, but Charlie has a theory.”
“Which is?”
Charlie turned in his chair and looked at Kruger. “Each of the files are an unsolved murder case of a prominent or high-profile person. Some are men and some are women.”
“Got it, so?”
“All of the victims are either African American, Asian, or Jewish, no Caucasians.”
Kruger stared at the younger man for what seemed like a minute. “You’re telling me Alan was investigating hate crimes?”
“Not sure I would characterize his involvement as investigating. He was more or less looking at abnormalities within the investigations.”
“FBI investigations?”
JR shook his head. “No, all of these files are in the National Crime Information Center. A few are FBI, most are municipal or state investigations. Alan was doing a search and recording the case numbers.”
“Did you find anything about his assumptions?”
Both JR and Charlie shook their heads. JR said, “All we found were the files he was checking on. If he made any assumptions, they aren’t on his computers.”
“Hmmm….” Kruger looked back at the bank box of Alan’s files. “Let me look through his personal files. Maybe he made handwritten notes instead of putting them on a computer.”
JR grinned. “Want some help?”
Kruger kept his attention on the bank box. “Yeah, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
***
The box yielded the answer to their question by mid-afternoon. With his feet propped up on one of the tables, Kruger leaned back in a chair studying the contents of a thick file. Halfway through it, he found several handwritten pages stapled together. After reading the first three sentences, he put his feet on the floor and sat straighter.
