by Randall Wood
“Yeah, how will I know when it happens?”
“I don’t know, watch CNN. Listen to the news on your iPod. Keep a flag on your computer. You’re a smart guy.”
“All right. I’ll need some key words to put in. No more than ten.”
Jack pulled out a napkin and jotted a few down. The rest of his friend’s drink disappeared as he waited. A few more words, and Jack was done. He pushed it across.
Jack worked on his beer while the list was scrutinized.
“Should work, there’s only eight?”
“Add the victims name and the location when you hear the story.”
“Okay. Are we even after this, or are you gonna keep me hanging?”
“It’s not like that. I consider this a favor. Now I owe you one. You should save it for a rainy day.”
“Rainy day, aren’t you a funny guy. You know where to reach me.”
“Yeah, I do,” Jack replied. He watched the man leave the bar, looking over his shoulder. He pulled out his laptop and booted up the disc. He was amazed at the volume of information. This was homework he didn’t have time right now to digest. Perhaps he could pass it to someone, but who?
* * *
Eric stopped in the doorway of the room as his escort kept walking and talking. He was wearing a suit, and it was as new as he was nervous. He had been there all day being lectured to about policy and procedure. His file was gone over with him in a small room, and he was questioned thoroughly about every aspect of his past. He had followed his father’s advice. He kept his mouth shut when he wasn’t asked a question, and was honest and forward when he was. So far he had made it past all the people, signed a number of documents, been pictured and fingerprinted, and was now being led through a maze of corridors and gates. Each time he slid his card through a security checkpoint he braced for alarms and armed G-men bursting out of every doorway. So far it hadn’t happened. He now stood in the doorway fingering the new pass around his neck. The escort noticed he had lost his principal.
“It’s okay, son. You’re allowed here, too. Let’s find your new boss.”
Eric followed as ordered with a sheepish look to the stares he was getting. He was easily the youngest face in the room, and the hair was no help. He hadn’t had time to cut it before his father had loaded him on the plane. He was very relieved to see a familiar face approach.
“Eric! Good to have you here.” Larry crushed his hand in one of his famous handshakes. “You remember Dave, John, Susan, and of course, Sydney.”
Eric smiled as she waved him over to her table. She stuck out a hand which he awkwardly shook.
“I guess I have you to thank for this?” he asked.
“We all liked what you did with the computer rendition of the crime scene. So we had you checked out. We need a good computer guy. Most of the good ones go to the NSA, or make video games. But don’t thank me, you may grow to hate me for it later.”
“Okay. Well, what do I do?”
“We all have assigned duties per Jack. A lot of it is boring, I’m not gonna lie to you. But this is what catches the bad guys. See all this paper?” She gestured around the room to all the tables. “Somewhere in this pile is a clue to who this guy is. The trick is to know it when you see it. Thanks to technology, we can increase this pile ten-fold with a phone call. But sometimes you get too much information, and processing it all becomes the problem. I imagine Jack will have you helping to reduce the information pile down to what is deemed important, and organizing what we do have into one of your impressive presentations.”
Eric nodded as he surveyed the room.
“Do you always work in this big room together?”
“No, but with what we’re working on it helps to be able to ask a question to everybody at once. You’ll see what I mean after a while. That your bureau laptop?”
“Yeah, I just got it. It’s amazing.”
“Yeah, they are nice. Just don’t lose it.”
Jack walked in and Sydney waved him over. Eric jumped to his feet.
“Relax Eric, you do that every time you see me you’ll wear yourself out. I see you’re all processed in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just Jack is good. Wondering what you’ll be doing?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Come with me. I have something right up your alley.”
Eric smiled at Sydney as he was lead away. Larry shared a smile with Sydney, too.
“Think he’ll stay?” he asked.
“I imagine he’d be making video games if money was his thing. Maybe his dad was a good influence on him,” she replied. “All we can do is give him a taste and see what he does.”
Larry grunted and returned to the file he was reading. Sydney soon followed.
* * *
Eric sat with a look of pain on his face. Jack had just given him a disc which he had loaded into his new secure laptop. What Jack didn’t understand was the disc was merely an access code to the computer with the information. Eric was looking at thousands of voice recordings. Jack wanted him to listen to them all.
“Just where did you get this?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that and you can’t tell the team what exactly it is you’re working on either. I have an idea that one of those recordings is our shooter. Is there some way you can run a search program like the one they used and narrow it down further?”
“It would take a while to write a program like that.”
“How long is a long time?”
“Days, maybe a week just for the basics, a month to do it right.”
“That long?”
“Sorry, it’s not so much a talent thing, it’s a volume thing.”
Jack held up a hand. “Don’t bother trying to explain it. I’m sure I wouldn’t understand anyway. I need it done, Eric, can you do it?”
“I have some ideas. I think I can bastardize some voice recognition software to help me. Are you presuming the shooter is male?”
“Yes, but we can’t rule it out.”
“If I can eliminate the female voices it will cut it down substantially. I can start there.”
“Good. What do you need?”
“A quiet room, an internet connection with some serious bandwidth, some spending money and a set of headphones. Some caffeine.”
“That’s all easy.” Jack reached for the phone.
—THIRTY—
The state of New Jersey holds 27,246 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 18,254 are repeat offenders.
Sam was not pleased with what he saw. After a slow walk in the early morning sun around the downtown park where the rally was to take place, he had yet to see a good position for a shooter. The stage was a permanent park fixture and was usually used for outdoor concerts or plays. It was covered by an arched roof to protect it from the weather, as well as house the speakers aimed at the crowd. The podium already sat in the center. He snapped a couple of quick pictures before moving on. The buildings in the area were all occupied, and most were modern glass pillars with no windows that opened. He could shoot through the thick glass, but that would throw off the trajectory of the round. It was something that only worked in short range situations, and this was not one. After two laps around the area, he returned to his car.
“Come on, Sam, think,” he told himself.
His gaze fell on the stage again. No doubt Curtis would be decked out in his Klan costume. If he had the hood on, Sam would have to wait until he took it off. He didn’t want to get the wrong guy. Or did that really matter? Curtis would be surrounded by his cronies, all Klansmen or Skinhead leaders. If a few of them got taken out too, would that be so bad?
Movement caught his eye and he saw a white van had pulled up near the stage. A young man in a uniform jumpsuit emerged. He opened the back of the van and began unloading speakers and carrying them to the stage. Evidently the permanent ones were not enough to do the job. Sam watched as two units per side were mounted on the stag
e facing the crowd. When he aimed the last two smaller speakers at the podium Sam grabbed the camera and started taking pictures. He included the van, the man in the jumpsuit, and the speakers. After one long last look, Sam started the car and dropped it into gear.
He had an idea. But he would have to hurry.
* * *
Sam located the storage unit without any problems. After a quick inventory, he had a new list and was off to the Home Depot once again. As he was an experienced shopper now he was in and out in a few minutes.
Back on the road with his new purchases, Sam cruised until he saw a phone booth with the book still hanging in it. He pulled over and consulted the Yellow Pages. After a quick search, he determined that the majority of car dealerships were in the same area. He looked for one that specialized in commercial vehicles. Ripping the page from the book he was soon back on his way.
The second address turned out to have just what he needed. A used car lot containing the usual jumble of brands and models, but with an entire two rows of white commercial vans, all very plain and simple, no windows, minimal interior, diesel engines. Perfect.
Trying not to be in too much of a hurry, Sam told the dealer he had a roofing company starting out, and they were already short on transportation. The man was friendly and just happy to move one of the many vans off his lot. When Sam offered a credit card instead of cash, the sale was over quickly, and Sam was on his way. He even agreed to let Sam leave his rental car on the lot until he could pick it up later. As Sam sat in the van, waiting for traffic to clear, he caught sight of the salesman in his rearview mirror locking the door to the small dealership. Obviously he had reached his quota for the day. Good.
Sam backtracked until he saw the Wal-Mart he had passed on the way to the dealership. The rest of the list was quickly purchased. A large steel mixing bowl, a set of work boots, two pre-paid cell phones, and a roll of Saran Wrap. He also grabbed food items, as he knew he would be busy the rest of the day.
He only took one wrong turn on his way back to the storage unit. Pulling the van all the way inside, he had a decision to make. Unlike the Florida unit, this one was not air conditioned. Nor was it well lit or ventilated. He decided to do what he had to do back at the hotel. Gathering it all up and packing it was accomplished in under fifteen minutes, and he was once again on the road, now being very mindful of the speed limit. Getting stopped with his current cargo would not be a good thing. While he drove, he mentally reviewed the information he had downloaded off the internet only a few weeks ago.
* * *
Sam squinted at the laptop as he held the disassembled phone in his hand. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
After arriving at the hotel and unloading his packages, Sam had locked the door behind him and pulled the curtains shut. Using the duct tape he had even closed the small gap that wouldn’t stay covered. After that was accomplished, he removed the door to the bathroom as quietly as he could and placed it on the bed. His new makeshift workbench was now cluttered with materials.
After trying to fit the metal plates in the metal bowl he had given up. There was just no way to fit the device deeply enough in the bowl to do any good. Sam chose the medium-sized metal plate he had bought. It was just a little longer than the dynamite sticks and a quarter inch thick. He secured two sticks of the high explosive to the plate using the electrical tape. He used several wraps, leaving a gap in the middle of the sticks for the detonators. Next, he read the directions on the side of the fiberglass repair kit. Simple enough; Mix A and B together, smooth onto prepared surface and let dry. Using the bucket in the bathroom sink, he mixed the fiberglass with the fan on to fight the fumes. Sam’s recipe was a little different than the one on the box. He added the roofing nails to the mix and stirred until they were evenly distributed. Once he had the right consistency, he shaped the mess into a rectangular shape. It was probably too much, but Sam didn’t have the right information to tell him differently. He added the mixture to the metal plate and dynamite until the sticks could no longer be seen, shaping it as it hardened until he had an overall rectangular box shape, about the size of a shoe box. Once it would hold its shape without him, he carefully wrapped it in Saran Wrap and punched a few holes to allow it to dry further. He then placed the assembly on the counter, turned on the overhead heat lamp, and closed the door to escape the fumes.
While he waited, one of the phones was disassembled. Using the instructions on the screen, he located the wires to the speaker. Disconnecting them, he reconnected them to the meter. Using the other phone, he called the number. Instead of the loud ring he expected, he got repeated movement of the needle on the meter. The output was more than enough for the electrical detonators he had. Amazing. Sam found himself wishing he had known this before Las Vegas as it was much simpler to construct. There was always the chance of the damn telemarketer’s calling and getting things started early. A chance he had to take. Time was too short to construct another trigger. Sam turned both phones off and soldered the connections to ensure they wouldn’t come loose during transport.
Rising from his seat, he walked to the bathroom and tapped the fiberglass with a pen. Still pliable, but much harder than before. The smell was not as bad either. He carried the assembly to the table, and carefully inserted the detonators through the Saran Wrap and into the dynamite. He left plenty of wire exposed and trimmed the insulation off the end so it was ready for the wire nuts. By fusing it to blow from the middle out, Sam had constructed a home-made shaped charge. The nails made it an anti-personnel device. When the blast was triggered, it would meet the resistance of the metal plate in one direction and expend the majority of its energy in the opposite direction, sending the nails out in a cone shaped pattern. If aimed correctly, it would take out the person at the podium, and perhaps anyone standing close to him. Much like the claymore mines he had used in the military.
Sam pulled out the box his new boots had come in and placed the assembly inside. The lid closed with just enough room left for the cell phone. He had planned to tape the cell phone to the plate, but decided to wait. Space may be a problem. There was no way to know until he got there. He looked at the clock radio on the night stand. He had an hour until the police had shift change. He wanted to place the device during that time. The coveralls were pulled out for a test fit.
* * *
Jack looked up when he heard the knock. Eric stood in the doorway, still dressed in the suit he’d had on yesterday. He looked tired. The laptop was in one hand, and a Mountain Dew in the other. It was 8 a.m. Jack waved him in.
“Have you been here all night?” Jack asked.
“Well...yeah, I kinda got involved in that stuff you gave me,” Eric answered as he flopped down in a chair.
“You don’t have to kill yourself on the first day. You’re no good to me this tired, Eric. From now on you go home when everybody else does. Okay?”
“Okay. But I think I may have something for you. I ran the voice recognition software and changed it around to eliminate female voices. Well, most of them. You’d be surprised how many women out there sound kinda butch. I had that done after a few hours and then ran the calls through. It cut the list by 70%. Go figure. I was gonna pack it in for the night, but decided to listen to a few. You wouldn’t believe some of the conversations. Some people betting money on who killed him, some calling the police and confessing. Some saying it was about time and others saying he was a saint. I caught one of an ex-girlfriend talking about all the things they used to do in the bedroom. I tell ya that girl was a real freak...”
“Eric?”
“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, I lost track of time and kept listening. I flagged a few calls that sounded suspicious, but nothing definite until just a half hour ago. I have it here on the laptop. It’s from a pre-paid cell in the Port Charlotte area to somewhere in southwest Michigan. I came over as soon as I got the locations.”
Eric flipped open the laptop, and his fingers flew across the keyboard. Jack got
up and shut the door while he waited. Soon he was handed a set of headphones from around Eric’s neck.
He listened three times to the conversation. After stopping it the third time, he sat back in his seat to think.
Eric was tired and a little impatient. “What do we do now?”
Jack looked up at him. Eric looked ready to drop. Jet lag followed by an all night work session.
“You’re going to your hotel to shower and change. I want you back here as soon as possible. Bring enough clothes for a few days.”
“Where are we going?”
Jack was already on his way out the door.
“Memphis. You can sleep on the plane.”
* * *
Danny Drake was sitting in front of his laptop typing out the last chapter on TJ Olson. When the story was finished, he had plans for ditching his photographer and taking the car out to Sanibel Island for a tall cool drink and a nice sunset, something with a lot of rum in it. Let them call all they want. He could screen calls with the best of them.
With a final scroll for typos, he hit the button and sent the story on its way to his editor. It was not his best work, but then he’d been going non-stop for days. It contained more than the other writers had, thanks to Jack, so, despite the quality, his editor should be pleased. Ignoring the email box, he shut the computer off and rose from the chair. After a stretch, he left a trail of clothes to the shower. He was standing immobile under the hot water when his cell phone rang. He tried to remember which person he had assigned that ring-tone. Once it dawned on him who it was, he bolted from the shower and dove across the bed to snatch the phone from the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Danny? Thought I missed you.”
“Sorry. I was in the shower.”
“I’m heading for Memphis.”
“When?”
“Right now. I suggest you join me.”
“Okay, can I ask why?”
“All I can say is a rally in Memphis tomorrow.”
“All right, I’ll be there. Can we talk there?”
“We’ll see.”
The call ended. Danny rolled over on the wet bedspread.
“So much for the drink,” he told the ceiling fan.
He rose and walked back to the bathroom. He’d at least salvage his shower.
