by Mark Nolan
Jake holstered his pistol and took out his phone to call Terrell. He was surprised to find that he had four bars, then noticed a cell phone amplifier next to a conduit pipe, among the high-tech equipment that filled up one wall.
When Terrell answered the call, Jake said, “I’ve got bad news, Grinds. Look at the pics I’m sending to your phone.”
Jake took several photos of the room and sent them to Terrell. A moment later, he heard Terrell cursing. Jake knew that his friend was like many cops, considering the city he protected to be “his city.” He represented the thin blue line. Nobody could commit a crime like this in his city and get away with it because he would move heaven and earth to hunt them down and put them in a cage where they belonged.
“Give me the address. I’m on my way,” Terrell said.
Jake texted him the address. Next he sent the photos to Levi and wrote: Confidential. This is a crime scene. Nobody can enter. The evidence has to be preserved for the police.
He took some video with his phone, and then he and Cody left the room, pulling the door closed behind them. They quickly climbed up the stairs to the study, where they drank in deep breaths of clean air.
Lauren asked, “What did you find down there?”
Jake shook his head, refusing to describe what he’d seen. “The police are on their way.”
Lauren appeared close to having a nervous breakdown. “Why did you call the police?”
“Because it’s the scene of a crime.”
“I insist on seeing what’s down there, right now!”
“No, I’m sorry Lauren, but I can’t let you do that,” Jake said. “It’s not safe, the police won’t allow it, and if you see this—there is no unseeing it.”
Her face flushed with rage. “I’m the head of a multimillion-dollar company. Nobody says no to me. When I say jump, people ask how high.”
He stood firm. “I respect you, but I don’t care about any of that. Please stay out of there. You’ll thank me later.”
She pointed her finger at Jake. “You work for me, and you will do exactly what I tell you to do. Otherwise you’re fired, and you can leave right now.”
Jake nodded. “No problem, I’m fired. But I still won’t let you go down there.”
“Get out of my house, at once.”
Jake just stood there. Cody did too.
“Can’t you make him listen and obey?” Lauren said to Levi. “He’s your employee, isn’t he?”
“He’s an independent contractor, with the key word being independent,” Levi said. “And, you just fired him. Now he’s only an unpaid trespasser who is stubbornly trying to protect you from … something.”
Lauren glared at Jake for several more seconds, but when it became obvious he wasn’t giving in, she said, “You have to understand that I’m under incredible stress here and I need some answers. Move away from the doorway. Please.”
Levi held out his phone. “See this form you signed? You agreed that Jake was in charge and you’d give him your full cooperation for one hour.”
“That is null and void now that I’ve fired him,” Lauren said. She clenched her fists and cursed.
“I apologize, Lauren,” Jake said. “Please trust me. I’ll explain everything once the police get here. Until then I’m taking control of the situation for your own safety.”
Lauren stared into Jake’s eyes and saw understanding there. She took a deep breath and let it out. “As soon as the police get here, I insist on going down those stairs.”
Jake held her gaze and shook his head. “I’d strongly advise against it, Lauren. If you do that, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Lauren heard the sound of police sirens coming closer to her home. She had so many unanswered questions. Where had her husband gone? Why did her house have a secret underground room? What was Gene hiding from her? Why wouldn’t Jake let her see what was down there? And what in the world was causing that strange smell?
Shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself, wondering if she’d ever really known her husband. Maybe he was a complete stranger, a talented actor, and liar. Maybe he’d only been using her—but for what?
The police sirens arrived at her front gate, and then, in another area of the house, somebody screamed.
Chapter 10
Sophie, the maid, was collecting laundry in the master bedroom when a flying drone crashed against the screen of the open window. Sophie screamed and stood there in shock as the flying machine hit the screen again and again, like a giant buzzing insect that wanted her blood.
The drone had four quadcopter blades spinning above it, protected by round blade guards. A camera was mounted underneath, along with what looked like a short, double-barreled weapon. It pointed a red targeting laser into the room and swept it across the wall toward Sophie.
Jake ran down the hall with Cody following him. They went into the master bedroom and saw the drone trying to enter the house.
Jake drew his pistol and gave a combat command for Cody to take cover and protect the civilian.
Cody leapt toward the panicking maid and bit down on her leather belt, pulling her onto the floor next to the bed. They hit the carpet, keeping the bed in between them and the window.
The drone then swept the red targeting laser toward Jake, who ducked down next to the bed just a moment before two explosions rang out. Twin shotgun blasts shredded the window screen, hit the bed and the wall, and destroyed a large mirror.
The moment after the mirror glass exploded, Jake rose to a crouch and fired his pistol at the incoming drone. He shot a tight grouping of rounds, and one found its moving target. The drone spun in circles as it fell from the sky. Jake ran to the window in time to see that the drone was still flying, but at an awkward downward angle. It was listing to its side, on a crooked course toward the front of the house.
Jake cursed and gave Cody a command to stand still. He grabbed Sophie’s arm and pushed her toward the door. “Come with us. We’ll protect you.”
It wasn’t a question, and Sophie instinctively obeyed the person who had saved her life. Jake steered her into the hall, and then turned back and picked up Cody and carried him over the carpet littered with razor-sharp pieces of broken mirror glass. He set his dog down in the hallway and then pulled out his phone and called Levi. “The house is under attack by at least one armed drone. Lock it down, close the front door and secure every window.”
“Roger,” Levi said. He yelled orders and sent texts, and his people charged through the house to do his bidding.
Jake heard police sirens as several SFPD vehicles sped down the driveway and parked out front. He ran to the window again and saw one of the cars drive right onto the large lawn and head straight for the house, not stopping until it was near the front door.
Terrell Hayes jumped out of his SUV and looked around, assessing the situation with a frown on his face. He was a tall, rugged-looking black man with a body like a professional athlete and was wearing the same clothes he always wore: a dark suit, a white shirt, a plain tie, and perfectly shined shoes.
He received a call from Jake. “Watch the sky for an armed drone. I shot it, but it’s still airborne and heading toward the front door.”
Terrell growled some creative profanity in reply and grabbed his police shotgun out of the vehicle. He scanned the perimeter and saw that somebody had left the front door wide open.
The drone appeared in the air from a corner of the house. It was listing to the side as it flew toward the front door. At the same moment, inside the house, a frightened woman was running toward the door.
Terrell ran across the lawn with the pump shotgun held at shoulder height. He shot the drone out of the sky, like a duck hunter shooting his dinner. Fire—pump—fire—pump—fire. The drone crashed onto the lawn, and moments later, it exploded.
Terrell reloaded the shotgun and then scanned the skyline and the airspace around the house for any additional threats.
Inside the house, the woman reached t
he front door and slammed it, nodding at Terrell in thanks as she did.
Jake walked down the main hallway and spoke in a low voice to Levi. “If the house is under attack, we have to assume that the kids might be in danger. What’s the status of your driver? I want to borrow one of your cars, rendezvous with her and give her backup.”
Levi called Kim. “Report your current status.”
“We’re almost to the school.”
“Negative, don’t go there.”
“Should I return to the house?”
“No, the house is under attack and the family is in danger. Code Red, take the kids to our secure location and protect them until we sort this out.”
“Roger that. Code Red. Protect the children at all costs.”
Kim pressed down on the gas pedal and made some evasive maneuvers to lose anybody that might be a threat. She took four right turns to see if she was being followed. Sure enough, she spotted a vehicle that had tailed her all the way around the block.
She drove the car like she’d stolen it. “Hang on tight kids. We’re going to go really fast now.”
Chapter 11
In a penthouse apartment on the top floor of a tall skyscraper—one of San Francisco’s most luxurious buildings—an exotic-looking brunette woman named Elena sat at her desk studying a laptop computer and working a drone controller. She watched a spy camera video from her drone as it fired its weapon through the window screen of a mansion, and then a man in the room returned fire. The picture tilted and wobbled while she tried to fly the drone toward the front of the house. Then there was a bright flash and video feed stopped.
She ran facial recognition software on the image of the man’s face, identified him as Jake Wolfe, and then cursed in Russian.
She made a call, and a mobile phone buzzed in Las Vegas.
The call was answered by a deep male voice, raspy from a lifetime of smoking unfiltered Russian cigarettes.
“Da.”
“Dmitry? It’s me.”
“Elena, my dear girl. How are you? You should visit here. I’ll take you to some of our world-class restaurants run by celebrity chefs.”
“I’m troubled. I need you here in San Francisco to exterminate a pest.”
“Hmm, how much do you need me?”
“The usual amount.”
“I’ve raised my rates. People here are willing to pay top dollar.”
“Maybe I’ll hire half a dozen local amateurs for a fraction of your usual fee. One of them will get lucky.”
“Wait a minute, Elena. Humor me; what pest are we talking about?”
“A man who has disrespected the russkaya mafiya.”
Dmitry’s warm tone of voice went cold. “What is the name of this disrespectful person?”
“Jake Wolfe.”
“I’ve heard that name recently, and not in a good way. I’ll be on the next plane to San Francisco. No extra charge. It will be my pleasure.”
“Good man.” Elena ended the call.
Her mentor and benefactor had not survived his rivalry with Jake Wolfe. But she’d hacked into some of her mentor’s offshore bank accounts, and was hell-bent on revenge and becoming the crime queen of San Francisco.
She left her penthouse apartment and drove through the city, listening to the police frequency on a tablet computer.
Her plan required an attractive accomplice, so she called a friend who was as beautiful as she was dishonest. “This will be easy money for you, Trish. I’ll pick you up on the corner in front of your apartment.”
Minutes later, Elena stopped the car and Trish got in. Elena continued crisscrossing the city streets as she explained the con to Trish. They drove on, listening to the police frequency, until they heard a male voice say, “Ten-seven, for coffee at ten thirty-five Fillmore Street.”
“Male cop coffee break,” Elena said. She drove to the address, stopped and found her target as he was parking his unmarked police SUV a block away.
“What if he won’t talk to me?” Trish said.
“He will. If he’s straight, show him the girls. If he’s gay, talk about your wife.”
“What if he’s an old grouch having a bad day?”
“Ask his advice, get him to mansplain something to you.”
Trish got out of Elena’s car, and walked quickly down the sidewalk toward the plainclothes policeman.
She got to Ray Kirby just as he was about to enter the Ethiopian coffee shop, and she bumped into him. “Oh! Sorry about that,” she said.
“No worries.” Smiling, Kirby opened and held the door for her.
She gave him a big smile in return, her eyes innocent. “Thank you.”
When they approached the counter, a kindly Ethiopian man took their orders. Trish turned to Kirby. “I’ve never been here before. What do you recommend?”
“I called in my order for some coffee,” Kirby said. “It’s enough for two—would you care to join me? I’m on a fifteen-minute break.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal either way, but his eyes said he wanted to talk.
“I’d be happy to. I’m on vacation, and I was just walking around Alamo Square.”
“If you’d like something to eat, they have bagels and sandwiches.”
“Just coffee will do. I had a big breakfast,” Trish said.
“Okay then,” he said, then motioned for her to follow him. “Let’s grab that table, over there.”
They walked over toward the tall windows and sat down at a small table for two. Trish quickly sat in the seat facing the window, so Kirby had to sit with his back to it.
An Ethiopian woman with a cheerful smile brought them a wooden platter that held a tall clay pot full of coffee along with a bowl of brown sugar, a small pitcher of cream, and a woven basket filled with popcorn.
Kirby poured two of the small cups. “Try the popcorn, and then take a sip of this coffee. It’s amazing.”
Trish followed his suggestion, and her eyes lit up. “What spice is that?”
“It’s cardamom-spiced popcorn, and the coffee is house-roasted in small batches.”
“It’s delicious,” she said, looking around. They play some good music here too, and I like the artwork.”
Kirby smiled. “I stop here every day around this time. I’m glad we could share the experience.”
“You seem like a very confident man, if you don’t mind me saying so. What do you do for a living?”
Kirby straightened his back, and said, “I’m a Sergeant with the SFPD homicide division.”
“Oh, I’ve never talked with an undercover policeman before. I’ll bet you have some interesting stories about your work.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She asked to see his badge. He held it out to her and she touched his hand and stared at it in reverence as she leaned forward and displayed her cleavage.
Kirby was mesmerized.
Elena waited until Kirby was distracted by her accomplice and then got out of her car and walked up to the police SUV. She used an electronic handheld device to hack into the car, unlock the door, and turn off the alarm. She sat in the driver’s seat, closed the door and glanced around. No one paid any attention to the woman sitting in the plain black vehicle.
She inserted a thumb drive into the car’s dashboard computer, tapped out a string of code, and uploaded her virus. It was surprisingly easy, and she felt somewhat unsettled about her crime. With that done, she exited the SUV, walked back around the corner and got into her car, where she sent a text to Trish: Time to go.
Trish felt her phone buzzing and checked the display. “I’m sorry, but I have to run. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you here tomorrow? Same time?”
“Sure. Let’s trade phone numbers. I’ll give you a call,” Kirby said.
She wrote down a fake name and phone number on a napkin, then gave him a wink and walked away.
Kirby sat there and enjoyed the rest of his coffee, and the smile on his face seemed to say, Once in a while, l
ife is good—why can’t more days be like this?
Elena picked up Trish on the corner and drove several miles away. She stopped at a random busy street intersection so she could be sure nobody was waiting for her in ambush, and handed Trish an envelope full of cash.
Trish thumbed through the cash and smiled. “Let’s do this again soon.”
Elena nodded in agreement, but she didn’t say what she was thinking: Never cross me, or I’ll kill you just as easily as I’d swat a fly.
Trish got out of the car, and Elena drove back to her building. Once she made it back to her penthouse, she tapped on her keyboard. Now she had access to the police computer system and she could see the SFPD activity, as well as data trails she could follow from other law enforcement agencies such as the FBI and Homeland Security. She ran a search and noted some activity that mentioned the name Jake Wolfe. She gritted her teeth, and her blood pressure began to rise.
She sent a string of unusual, vicious malware code to Wolfe’s phone. Hopefully the nasty, violent high-tech surprise might remove him from the chessboard, or at least make him rethink his participation in the game.
Chapter 12
At the mansion, Jake was walking down the hallway when his phone vibrated with an incoming text. There was an image of a strange-looking symbol displayed on his screen. It appeared to be an ornate tattoo. His phone vibrated again, this time with a call from an unknown number—the kind you shouldn’t answer. He was worried about Lauren’s kids, though, so against his better judgment, he thumbed the answer icon and said, “This is Jake.”
The phone went on speaker, the volume went up to maximum, and a shockingly high-pitched squealing tone blasted into his ear. It disrupted his equilibrium, his heartbeat began to flutter, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Seconds later, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor.
