Although it did not contain anything that she deemed pertinent to her case, and she felt a little guilty for invading the woman's privacy, Robin read over the file on Teresa Daubney with great interest. In some ways, it was not surprising. She had been through preparatory school, college, law school, and several promising Washington internships. She had also done various jobs for her father, dabbled in local politics, and eventually joined the Ohio state legislature. Tess was clean. Very clean.
Robin was surprised and pleased to find that Tess had set up an 'adoption' program between the patients at a local cancer ward and pets that were unlikely to find homes from local shelters. It was a nice idea. The animals could offer company and comfort while the people provided the animals with necessary socialization. Often, the temporary visits ended up resulting in real adoptions, either by family members or recovered patients.
"I wonder if she has any pets," she mused aloud before remembering that Tess was not really the subject of her investigation. Waking up her cell phone, she scrolled through her list of contacts until she settled on a familiar number.
After a few rings, the phone went directly to voicemail. "Louph," she sighed, "I know you don't like phones, but is it that hard to pick up when someone calls? Oh well, I need a favor. And no, I won't tell you on here, since I know you think several government agencies around the world are watching you." Actually, several government agencies from around the world probably were watching Louph, but she did not want to feed his paranoia. "Just check your inbox, okay? I'll send you what I need. And yes, I'll pay you, and yes, it will be encrypted. By the way, it wouldn't kill you to call me once in a while to let me know you're alive... and it doesn't have to be during a job. Say hi to Tortue for me."
With a quick "talk to you later," Robin ended the message and slipped her phone back in to her bag. One way or another, she would get the facts she wanted. Louph's methods weren't always legal, but no one could argue that they were incredibly effective. Once she knew what she was looking for, it would be easy enough for Robin to track down the information she needed through legal channels.
Chapter 9
Washington, DC: October 3rd
No one would ever accuse Louph Glaisyer of being a tidy person. His workroom was small, but crowded with various wires, computer monitors, fans, and surge protectors. There were a couple of used dishes lying around on available flat surfaces and a few dirty shirts crumpled on the floor, but the man sitting in the room's only comfortable leather chair did not notice. It was state of the art, built to minimize back problems resulting from long periods of sitting, and probably the most expensive thing in the room except for the computers. There were four working computers, not counting laptops, handheld devices, or the two hard drives being reconstructed under a hanging light bulb in the back.
Aside from the computers and their accessories, the dishes, the shirts, and the chair, the only other thing in the room was a large, clear glass tank sitting above the sleekest and newest of the four computers. The tank contained some rocks, a sun lamp, a few inches of water, a couple of plastic plants, gravel hills, and a small turtle with a colorful shell. He was currently sunning himself, soaking up Vitamin D to help keep away parasites, and looking very pleased with himself. The man in the chair worked very hard to make sure that his little friend was always clean, well fed, and happy.
Reluctantly looking away from his pet turtle, Louph tapped through the familiar keystrokes needed to unlock his computer. For a professional freelance hacker like him, no ordinary password would do. He had to enter a series of complicated numerical and alphabetical codes that changed based on the day. Fortunately, he had memorized them all years ago. So far, no one had discovered his system.
A few seconds later, several windows sprang to life on the screen of his computer, running regular antivirus software checks and automatically checking his stock portfolio. After glancing through his investments, Louph glanced up at Tortue. The turtle's eyes were closed, but Louph liked to imagine that he was listening. "My investments are up again today, little friend," he said, tapping his toes inside of his giant, brightly colored converses. His right shoe was a garish neon orange, but his left was a distinct shade of lime green. Louph preferred them that way. It helped him to remember his right from his left. The shoes, like the rest of the man, were large enough to be startling, but Louph was used to being different. Most of the world was uncomfortable with his presence in it, and so he kept to himself except when he was working on an assignment.
A small red icon popped up in the corner of his screen, notifying him that he had an encrypted message waiting for him in his private work inbox. There were only a few people that knew how to reach him at that particular e-mail address, and none of them would use it unless they needed him for a job. Clicking on the icon, Louph was asked to enter another series of codes into the computer. All of his work correspondences were encrypted, just like everything else saved on his hard drives. His eyebrows lifted when he noted the sender of the e-mail, but he did not comment to Tortue, who was probably not interested anyway.
Reading through the short, pointed message, Louph smiled and opened another program that took up a quarter of his screen. He typed a name into the empty text box: Cal Saunders. Then, he hit 'send' and waited. In a few minutes, he would have the man's birthdate, social security number, criminal record (if he had one), recent credit card purchases, and known IP addresses. It was truly amazing what one could find on the Internet these days if they knew where to look.
* * *
The first thing that Tess noticed about the envelope was that it did not have a stamp, not even one of the inked government stamps that the Post Office shipped for free. It was just a plain white envelope with no stamp, no return address, and her name printed on a label pasted on the front. Assuming that it was some kind of bogus credit card offer or personal information scam, she considered tearing it in half and tossing it in the blue recycling bin. She had been under the impression that most people used e-mail for that kind of thing nowadays, but these guys were obviously doing it old school.
Eventually, however, her curiosity won out. Unlike an e-mail, just opening the letter before she tore it up and reading what was inside would not give her a virus. Sliding a French nail under the envelope's fold, she tore open the slat and dumped out a small card. It only had three words on it, scrawled in penciled capital letters: WE ARE WATCHING.
Completely confused, she tossed the card and the empty envelope back onto the table. Irrational as it was, she wanted them far away from her hands. Numbly, Tess stared at her palms, wondering what on earth the sender of this strange letter had hoped to accomplish. If their mission was to confuse and frighten her, he or she had certainly succeeded. It reminded her a little of a bad television show.
"I should be used to this sort of thing," Tess sighed, not taking her eyes off of the letter. She had received letters from angry constituents before. Some called her a money-grubbing conservative nutcase, and the rest said she was a dirty liberal just pretending to be a conservative because of her position on social issues. However, she had never gotten anything like this before. Briefly, Tess wondered if she should call someone. The police? No, not for three words on a card. Even if she told them, what could they do? As far as she knew, she was not in any immediate danger.
Receiving the note had upset her equilibrium, and she suddenly wanted to talk to someone about it. Sadly, Tess realized that there were very few people in her life that she trusted enough to call. Maybe her father, but he was probably busy, and Tess did not want to monopolize his time for something that might turn out to be a practical joke. Samantha would insist on mothering her and staying over at her apartment, demanding that she call the authorities. Then it was sure to be all over the news: 'Republican Candidate for Congress Has Unidentified Stalker!' Not the kind of positive headlines Brian would approve of.
Strangely, Tess thought of Nina Stryswicki, the attractive reporter she had run into outside the
debate. She couldn't tell Nina about the strange message, but hearing a friendly voice might make her feel better. Before she had thought it through, Tess was pulling out her cell phone and reaching into her purse for the phone number that the handsome, striking woman had slipped her before they parted the night before. Completely uncomfortable with her decision, Tess fidgeted awkwardly as the phone rang against her ear, her eyes flicking towards the note card every few seconds.
Someone picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"
"Nina Stryswicki?"
"You've got her," said the voice on the other end.
"This is Tess Daubney. I know it's late, but I was wondering if you wanted to schedule that interview we discussed." The words were out of her mouth before she could swallow them back. Just taking comfort in another human voice made her feel more secure.
"Wow, I feel popular," said Nina, her joking tone carrying over the connection. "A hotshot political candidate asking me for an interview instead of the other way around."
Tess smiled despite the awkwardness and lingering fear that she felt. "My campaign manager wants me to do something for a local newspaper," she lied. "He keeps telling me that print media is old-fashioned, but he thinks all the older voters read it with their breakfast on Sundays."
"Hey, my grandma rides a motorcycle. Not all of those old dinosaur types are as boring as you make them sound. And you called me because..?"
"If I have to talk to a reporter, it might as well be a reporter that doesn't drive me crazy." That part was true, but Tess figured that she could be forgiven for the little white lie she was telling.
"Ooh, so I'm a special pick?"
"Don't get too cocky, although I'd like to hear more about your motorcycle-riding grandmother."
The sound of Robin's laugh made Tess's heart stutter. "Well, maybe we can set up a date and I'll tell you all about it."
Chapter 10
Cincinnati, Ohio: October 4th
"So, are you having fun with your stint in the news business, Jane Reporter?" Harkiss asked, coughing as he crushed the cherry of his cigar against the ashtray on his desk. Robin blinked, her eyes stinging slightly from the smoke that filled his room, but tried not to show any outward signs of discomfort.
"You could say that," she said, breathing in as little of the toxic air as possible. Oh well, it was his office and a free country. He could smoke if he wanted. Back in her Counterterrorism days, her ADIC had smoked foul-smelling imported cigars, and this was far more tolerable.
"Then why are you back here? I don't suppose you want to give me that story you promised..." he trailed off hopefully, fingertips drumming impatiently on the keys of his laptop.
"Not yet," Robin said, "but I do have a few questions about interview decorum. I've got one scheduled, and before you ask, I'll give it to one of your reporters or copyeditors to turn into something workable once I clear it with my bosses. You should put me on the payroll," she added dryly. "Showing up in this cramped building – with no elevator, too! – and doing all your work for you."
The editor's jowls quivered as the muscles in his face twitched. "Hm. You're the big bad FBI Agent, Hart. Don't you know how to conduct an interview?"
Robin grinned. "If it involves smashing a perp's head into a wall," she said, her tone much more cheerful. At the slightly hungry look on the Editor's face, she hurried to retract her statement. "I was kidding! Tough crowd. Anyway, what equipment do your reporters use for personal interviews? What should I wear? This cover isn't deep, but I don't want to come across as inept. I was hoping I could ask you some questions."
Harkiss looked interested and willing to help, which made Robin's life a lot easier. In her opinion, the less time needed to convince somebody to help her, the better. "You can take a look at some of the unedited camera interviews we've got in the archives. If you can find them, you can watch them."
"Any of them have politicians?" she asked. This might work to her advantage. If she could find any backdated interviews of Cal Saunders, that would kill two birds with one stone.
"Sure, lots." He picked up the phone on his desk. "Remember how helpful I'm being when it comes time for that story, Hart," he said, dialing an interoffice number and speaking into the receiver. "Harkiss... yeah... yeah, I'm letting a friend go through some of the stuff in our archives as a favor," he lied smoothly. "Have someone take her through."
Several minutes later, Robin found herself with several VHS tapes and a small television screen. Some of the more recent interviews were on DVD, but only about half of the Sun's video backlog had been converted. One thing Robin had learned about the News business so far was that they kept everything. It reminded her a little of the Bureau. They were pack rats, holding on to every scrap of information they came across just in case they needed it in the distant future.
To her surprise and good fortune, one of the early tapes she pulled out from 1999 was of Representative Cal Saunders, an interview from his earlier political years. His name was marked on the peeling label, along with several others. Sighing as the ancient twelve inch screen jumped, she fast-forwarded through an interview with an older, balding gentleman until she saw her target's familiar face.
"The American people need legislation protecting them from sudden interest rates," said Saunders in his smooth, coaxing voice. "Imagine you're a small business owner that has to balance some debt in order to push a new product, a minimum-wage worker barely making enough to pay rent, or a homeowner that just bought a new sun roof for the back patio. You open the mailbox and find a statement from your credit card company saying they've jacked your interest rates up to 30%! What can you do? Consumers can't protect themselves..."
Thinking back, Robin sorted through the information she had already collected on Saunders, his voting records, and his statements to constituents. From what she remembered, he was not in favor of stringent credit card legislation, drawing the ire of his more liberally inclined colleagues while moderate Democrats hailed him as the voice of a 'sensible, independent' generation of politician, not afraid to veer from the party course. Perhaps that was why Schope had little to no chance in the election, Robin thought. Most of the moderates were comfortable with Saunders.
Nowadays, it was common knowledge that Saunders favored legislation helpful to the credit card companies. Tess had even cited the relationship in their debate a few nights ago, pointing out that she had no corporate masters financing her campaign.
Thinking about Tess made Robin's face feel warm, but she ignored the physical reaction and honed in on one question: "Why did he change his mind?" If she could answer that question, she might catch a break in her case. As morally reprehensible as it was, simply taking campaign donations from corporations was now legal according to the Supreme Court. However, taking bribes for specific pieces of legislation was not.
"Well," Robin mumbled to herself, not overly worried that she was working through her thoughts aloud since there was no one else in the room, "I guess that gives me some questions for my interview with Tess." No one would know more about his possible political indiscretions, even unproven ones, than his opposite-party opponent.
* * *
Cincinnati, Ohio: October 5th
Robin narrowed her eyes, scrolling through the Cincinnati Library's online database of newspaper articles. Special Agent Slade had been kind enough to loan her his library card, giving her access to their entire collection. Running a search for the name Cal Saunders, the website loaded several pages of results. A few were straightforward biographies, but most were political analyses and a couple of op-ed pieces. Robin decided to start with those. Maybe there would be a sliver of truth somewhere in the crossfire.
Taking another sip of her apple juice, she moved her scrambled eggs around her plate with her fork, not really hungry for anything substantial. In fact, Robin rarely ate breakfast. She was usually too wrapped up in her latest case. This trip to Cincinnati was almost like a vacation, and so far, the natives had treated her fairly well. As
peaceful as moments like these were, she still missed the good old days when she had been a counterterrorism agent in the field. White-collar stuff was interesting, but not nearly as exciting. Had it really only been two years since she left?
She wiped her fingers on a napkin before she touched the keys of her laptop and continued scrolling through the articles. "Hmmm." Most of the articles were scathing political reviews (were politicians ever written about favorably?), but one article caught her eye.
Opening a second browser window, she typed in the URL of the Federal Election Commission's website and scanned a graph of his campaign donors. "If only people knew what they could find on the Internet," Robin said to herself. Most people were under the impression that FBI agents spent most of their time in shoot-outs and hacking in to secret databases. There was some of that, too, of course, but a lot of their work was just good old fashioned research. Slogging through pages and pages of data to find relevant information was the really time-consuming part of the job.
Finally, she found what she was looking for. "Here we go..." Not everyone knew that all candidates for federal office were required to submit a complete list of the people and organizations that contributed to their campaigns. It mattered less than it had a few years ago, before Citizens United v. The Federal Election Commission changed the rules. Now, corporations could donate to political candidates or causes directly from their treasuries without any legal finagling or straw bundling.
Noticing the large brown segment of the pie chart, Robin clicked through. The Political Action Committees loved this guy, despite the op-ed pieces that called him a fascist Nazi or a liberal tree-hugger. That last inaccurate description amused Robin, because his Blue Dog voting record clearly indicated a strong lean towards United States oil drilling despite his party's stance and the message he gave to voters. Cal Saunders certainly seemed to be an oxymoron.
All The Pretty Things Page 5
