by Rick Mofina
Grace was safe.
“To bring you up to speed,” Chuck began, “everyone’s seen both emails, and everyone’s been briefed. Now they have questions and thoughts to share. Nick, if you want to start.”
“Right. There are multiple aspects to today’s email—the implicit threat to take action against the airline industry, the demand for publication and the personal threat against you, Kate.”
Kate nodded.
“Our first question,” Varner said, “is have you experienced anything unusual that you might consider a result of your stories, or connected to the emails in question?”
“Nothing other than being followed, and I’ve reported that to the NYPD.”
“That’s right, and that’s with us,” Steiger said. “Kate informed us that a woman had followed her, and she managed to get the woman’s license plate. We’ve determined the woman was a private investigator working for Infinite Guardian Shield, an international private firm.”
“Any idea who hired her and why?” Lincoln asked.
“We’ve spoken with the firm. They’re not required to give us that information. What they did was legal, but in light of this latest development, we’ll continue to pursue the matter.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have an ax to grind?” Varner asked. “Either with the airline, with your news agency, or with you?”
“One person comes to mind.” Kate looked at Chuck and Lincoln.
“Who?”
“Sloane F. Parkman,” Chuck said. “A reporter we recently terminated for violating company policy in relation to this story.”
“A caution,” Swayne said. “You don’t have to volunteer this information.”
“Given the circumstances,” Lincoln said, “we will. Continue, Chuck.”
The investigators took notes as Chuck recounted Sloane’s history with Newslead, his relationship with Richlon-Titan and his behavior.
“We’ll talk to him,” Varner said, more to Swayne. “As you know, with the first email, it was your preference that we use a search warrant for our Computer Analysis and Response Team to gain access to all your servers and networks in order to identify the source of the email.”
“Yes,” Swayne said. “That’s what we prefer, so we’re not perceived as being police informants or an extension of a police agency.”
“Expect us to issue another warrant for us to search everything related to Sloane Parkman.”
“What’s the status of your investigation into the source of the threats?” Chuck asked.
“Our work continues. We’ve yet to deem the threat either credible or a hoax by someone seeking attention in relation to the London and New York air incidents. We know that the sender is skilled, intelligent and is using sophisticated means to keep themselves anonymous. But this new email, with more content, may prove to be helpful and work to our advantage.”
“Let’s hope so,” Lincoln said.
“With these threats, this person has committed a felony, and they will be charged and prosecuted,” Varner said. “Are you going to publish this email as demanded, or any part of it?”
Chuck and Kate looked at Lincoln to answer.
“As was the case with the first email,” Lincoln said, “our position is unchanged. We have no plans to publish this demand.”
“Good. That will give us time to assess and analyze the new content,” Varner said.
“And it will give us time to pursue the private investigation launched against you, Kate,” Steiger said.
“Sounds like we can wrap this up,” Chuck said.
“One last matter.” Varner looked at Kate. “We don’t take the threat lightly. Let us know if you don’t feel safe and the FBI can arrange for someone to stay with you and your family.”
Images streaked through Kate’s mind, memories of her being followed, of a sense of being watched in New York and London. And that time I felt someone was in our building.
She looked at Grace.
Then she looked at Varner.
“Yes, maybe for tonight.”
* * *
Over lunch in the food court downstairs, Kate tried to explain the situation to Grace.
“You know how sometimes a bully will say ‘I’m going to follow you and get you’?”
Grace nodded as she chewed.
“They say it but they never do it,” Grace said. “They just want you to be afraid.”
“That’s right. Well, a bully said that to me because they didn’t like my story, so the FBI is going to have an agent stay with us for tonight, just to be safe, okay? That’s what this is all about today, okay?”
“I guess so. Maybe we should get a pizza, then?”
“That’s a good idea.” Kate smiled.
Kate called Vanessa to update her.
“You really think we need it, Kate?”
“Just for tonight. I need the peace of mind.”
What Vanessa had said before was true, Kate thought. Because of all they’d endured, especially Vanessa, they weren’t easily frightened. But Kate wasn’t thinking about herself. She was thinking of Grace and Vanessa, and she needed to do something to ease her anxiety.
That afternoon, the FBI’s Office for Victim Assistance called to make arrangements. A couple of hours later, Hank Bradley, an FBI agent, arrived in an SUV with two other agents to pick up Kate and Grace. Then they picked up Vanessa and drove to their building in Morningside Heights.
Bradley, a gentle giant of a man, along with the other two agents, inspected Kate’s apartment before allowing Kate and her family inside. Satisfied it was secure, the two agents left and Bradley, who had an overnight bag, stayed. They had pizza and ice cream, then Kate set him up in Grace’s room. Grace would spend the night with her.
Kate collected extra blankets for Bradley and knocked on his door. He opened it, wearing sweatpants and an FBI T-shirt. She saw his gun on Grace’s nightstand, but also noticed scars on his arms. He noticed her looking at them.
“Sorry for staring.”
“Don’t apologize. I was wounded when I was on the SWAT team.”
Bradley was in his fifties. He had a kind face, and Kate liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He reminded her of her dad.
“Thanks for being here,” she said.
Despite Bradley’s presence, Kate still had trouble sleeping.
She got up several times in the night, stood at her window and looked out at the darkened street and a sliver of the city’s skyline.
Who are you, Zarathustra, and what are you planning?
Forty-Two
Manhattan, New York
Sloane F. Parkman gazed at the Brooklyn Bridge from the 28th floor of FBI’s New York office in Lower Manhattan, where he sat at a table in a small room.
A file folder, thick with printed copies of emails, texts and cell phone records, was dropped before him.
“You’ve been busy,” NYPD Detective Karl Steiger said.
Steiger and FBI Special Agent Nick Varner faced Sloane and Myron Gold, his attorney, across the polished table. It had been forty-eight hours since the FBI and NYPD had met with Newslead editors.
“Why did you ask me down here?” Sloane asked. “What’s this about?”
“You know what this is about,” Varner said.
“No, to be quite frank with you, I don’t.”
Sloane jumped when Steiger smacked the table with his hand.
“Don’t play dumb with us! You know we’ve been serving warrants. You know we’ve been talking to a lot of people. You’re in a world of trouble.”
Sloane’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he adjusted the tie of his shirt. He’d tried to project cool confidence but the emergence of tiny beads of sweat on his upper lip had betrayed him.
“Are you Zarathustra?” Varner asked.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Gold said.
“I’ll answer. The answer is no.”
“We went through all of your emails at Newslead, at your home, all of your phone records,” Varner said. “This is not the time to mislead us.”
“I’m not misleading you.”
“You threatened the air industry,” Steiger said. “That’s a criminal offence. You threatened Kate Page and her family, and that’s a criminal offence.”
“Hold on,” Gold said. “I object to this line of questioning.”
“Your client agreed to cooperate. He agreed to be interviewed.” Varner turned to Sloane. “Your response?”
“I didn’t threaten anybody.”
“You knew about the Zarathustra communication,” Varner said.
“You’re talking about the email sent to Kate Page?”
“Yes.”
“A lot of people knew about Zarathustra. Word got around the newsroom.”
“You were working with Kate Page on stories concerning the plane that crashed in London and the plane that had problems before landing at LaGuardia,” Steiger said.
“Yeah, so?”
“You were at odds with Kate Page and your editor about the stories. You tried to dissuade her from pursuing them. You tried to downplay them. Why’s that?” Varner asked.
Silence.
“Did it have anything to do with your family connection to Richlon-Titan?”
Sloane licked his lips but said nothing.
“You were fired for violating Newslead’s rules, weren’t you?”
“So what?”
“Agent Varner,” Gold said, “we are contesting Newslead’s dismissal of my client.”
“You’re not being very cooperative, Sloane,” Steiger said. “You’d better rethink your strategy, pal.”
“I’m answering questions.”
“Do you know who Connie Lopilla is?” Varner asked.
“No.”
“Are you familiar with Infinite Guardian Shield?”
Sloane didn’t answer.
“Infinite Guardian Shield is a private investigation agency and Connie Lopilla is a private investigator who was hired to conduct surveillance on Kate Page. Tell us, who wanted Kate Page followed?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Steiger reached into the folder and plucked out pages bearing text underlined in red. “See this?” Steiger jabbed his finger on the pages. “You sent Infinite Guardian Shield Kate Page’s address, information about her daughter, her sister and other private data you took from Newslead’s employee contact list, which you had access to. Now, why would you do that?”
Sloane didn’t answer.
“You can’t keep pretending not to know,” Varner said. “The evidence is sitting in front of you. We’ve studied these emails, especially those between you and your uncle, Hub Wolfeson, who sits on Richlon-Titan’s board. Your uncle wanted you to do anything possible to prevent RT from looking bad. Isn’t that right?”
Sloane said nothing.
“And, as luck would have it, you were in a perfect position to take care of it, weren’t you?”
Sloane remained silent.
“You went to Harvard, didn’t you?” Varner said. “We obtained your school records. Seems you took a philosophy course that included the study of Friedrich Nietzsche’s work.”
Varner slid him a page showing a photo of one of Nietzsche’s most famous works, Thus Spake Zarathustra. “We found this on a shelf in your apartment.”
“Agent Varner,” Gold said, “I’d say many college graduates across the country have that book.”
“I’m asking Sloane. Now, I’ll ask you again. Did you make the communication to Kate Page as Zarathustra?”
Sloane said nothing.
“Threatening harm to an airliner is a felony,” Varner said. “Now’s the time to come clean, because in about five minutes we’ll be talking to the US Attorney, and what you tell us will have an impact on what we tell her.” Varner looked hard into Sloane’s eyes. “And I gotta tell you, she lost people in 9/11, so she won’t be taking any of this lightly.”
Sloane cupped his hands in his face, then looked to Gold, telegraphing that the interview had not gone as he had been told it would go.
A moment passed before Gold nodded for his client to answer.
Sloane exhaled.
“All right. Not long after the EastCloud thing happened, my uncle contacted me. I don’t hear from him for months and suddenly Hub Wolfeson is talking to me.”
“What did he want?” Varner asked.
“He wanted me to see if I could influence Newslead’s coverage of the incident by ensuring that anything reported about Richlon-Titan was not damaging. The stock was shaky. He promised me a position with the corporation if I succeeded. So yes, I tried to downplay the story and deflect attention from RT, to get a different story out there, another version.”
“Was it your idea to follow Kate Page?”
“No. It was requested through Richlon-Titan’s corporate security, at my uncle’s insistence. He wanted to know who Kate was talking to. I just passed on information.”
“Why go to these lengths?”
“Several deals with airlines in India, Saudi Arabia, Brazil and Japan, amounting to two hundred new RT jetliners, or jets with RT systems, were pending. A lot was at stake.”
“So you created Zarathustra in a further effort to draw attention from the company after the crash in London and the incident with the EastCloud plane?”
“No. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Don’t start lying now.”
“I admit to what I’ve just told you, but I swear I’m not Zarathustra.”
“Would you agree to submit to a polygraph examination as soon as possible?”
“I would.”
Forty-Three
Linthicum, Maryland
“Damn. So close,” Keith Dorling whispered to himself, his chair creaking as he leaned back to think in the subdued light of his workstation.
He’d shifted his focus from his three monitors to the faces of his wife, Eve, and their little girls, Hayley and Ariel, smiling back from the framed photo beside his keyboard, taken during last summer’s trip to Cape Cod.
What I do here keeps them safe.
Dorling worked at the Defense Cyber Crime Center. Known as DC3, it operated under the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. He was a civilian analyst, an expert in cyber crime, and he held top secret security clearance with DC3’s Analytical Group.
The group was a member agency of the National Cyber Investigative Joint Task Force and was helping the FBI. Dorling, regarded as one of the center’s best investigators, had been tasked to help investigate the Zarathustra emails.
For the past several days, he’d been attempting to track the source of the potential threat arising from emails sent to Newslead, a news agency in New York, and the Kuwaiti Embassy in London. This case was unlike any he’d pursued. The subject was remarkably skilled. Dorling had marveled at the beauty of the encryption work that the sender, Zarathustra, had employed. It reflected a level of sophistication and understanding that Dorling had rarely encountered in his work. His target had used rented servers in Thailand and Romania. Dorling had been tight on the trail, discovering that Zarathustra’s path then went to Sweden, and then to servers in Estonia.
With the Kuwaiti email, he’d found a glimmer of something that took the trail to the United States, suggesting that the end point—or source—was here.
But it had vanished.
That’s where I lost it. I can’t find the source. Not yet.
Dorling exhale
d, reviewed the logs and dates, then rechecked all the notes supplied by analysts in the UK who were also pursuing Zarathustra.
I must’ve missed something. Okay, back to square one.
He shook his head and resumed working.
Forty-Four
Manhattan, New York
Sloane F. Parkman’s polygraph results were consistent with the truth.
“It’s unlikely he’s responsible for creating and sending the Zarathustra emails,” Nick Varner wrote at his desk.
Varner was updating his case notes with everything he, Special Agent Leonard Brock, Karl Steiger and Ted Malone of the NYPD had so far.
The United States Attorney was reviewing their evidence against Sloane concerning the passing of information to a private investigation agency for the purpose of surveilling Kate Page. Probably not much of a case there, Varner thought.
Then he consulted status reports from Scotland Yard in London.
Little news had emerged.
No progress had been made by British investigators on the origin of the emails. To date, authorities in the United States, the UK and Kuwait had failed to uncover any evidence suggesting the Shikra crash was a criminal action, or linked to the EastCloud flight.
Varner turned to the latest from Ron Sanchez with Cyber Crimes and the National Cyber Investigative Joint Task Force. While Ron and the task force had reported that they’d gotten close to the source of the email, their investigation was ongoing.
Still untraceable.
Varner shook his head.
The task force had experts from something like twenty intelligence and law enforcement agencies, including the best from the industry, yet Zarathustra had thwarted them all so far. If this person was that good, then was it possible that their claims that they could remotely control aircraft were true?
We need a break here.
A knock sounded at his workstation.
“Ready for the call, Nick?” Leonard Brock asked.
“Yup.” Varner gathered his notes.
* * *
Varner and Brock were joined by Trent Hollis, their supervisory agent, Steiger, Malone, Sanchez and a few others in a boardroom for a short teleconference call on the case with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.
