by J. C. Fields
Zimmerman took a quick breath, then calmed himself before he spoke. “Stephen, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. She has over twenty years of experience.”
“She’s a charlatan, a fraud. I know what your plans are, Thomas. I’m way ahead of you. I’ve agreed to sell my shares to a private equity company. You’ll be out of a job soon.”
Zimmerman stared at the screen. Stephen’s image was in shadows, but he could almost see the manic expression on the man’s face.
“Stephen, the board of directors has to agree to any stock transfer, you know that.”
“Not so, Thomas, I own fifty one percent of the outstanding shares. I can sell them without approval from anyone. It’s a cash deal, and I’m not going to tell you when it will be finalized. For all you know, it might be tomorrow. What do you think about that?”
“I wish you would have consulted us. We might have found a way to buy your shares. You never mentioned an interest in selling.”
Zimmerman heard a laugh that curled the hair on the back of his neck.
“No, Thomas, you would not have bought them. You were going to have me declared incompetent and stolen them. Your plan backfired.”
The screen went blank as the connection ended. Sitting back in his chair, Thomas stared at the blank screen and put his hand on his forehead. Slowly, he pushed his hair back.
***
Bishop slammed the laptop closed. He stood and started pacing the mansion’s library. His path took him from the desk to the picture window overlooking the circle drive and back. His breathing was rapid and uncontrolled. After several minutes, he stopped, placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward. After closing his eyes, the breathing slowed. It took several more minutes, but a calmness spread over him as he stood up straight.
He went back around the desk and opened the laptop. It was time to finalize his transition to Stephen Blair and move on with his plan. Stephen would pay for his sin of forgetting to tell Bishop about the therapist.
***
“By the way, Stephen, I have some news for you.”
Blair stared at the ceiling, and Bishop could not tell if he was cognizant or just ignoring him. The room smelled of unwashed male body, sour urine, and garbage. Plates with uneaten food lay strewn about
“Kind of stinks in here, Stephen. You should take better care of yourself.” Bishop paused. No reaction from Blair. He continued, “It’s amazing what one can do on the internet. Did you know with the right amount of money you can buy a car, have it delivered, and never leave the house? Amazing. Oh, by the way, you bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee this morning. They delivered it an hour ago.”
Blair continued to stare at the ceiling.
“I have a few loose ends to tie up before I successfully take over your life, Stephen. Which means I need to be in and out for the next few days. Since there won’t be anyone to take care of you...”
Blair turned his head slightly, his blank stare focused on Bishop.
“That got your attention, didn’t it? You see, the lovely Ms. Camila isn’t here anymore. She’s at the bottom of Lake Lanier. Her car missed a turn and, well, she didn’t make it.
A tear formed in Blair’s eye and rolled down his face.
“I haven’t decided what to do with your body yet. Would you rather be buried in the woods somewhere or join Camila in the lake?”
Blair returned to staring at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to make the decision yet. We have a few days.” He laughed, closed the door, and walked up the stairs.
***
Bishop parked the new Jeep Grand Cherokee in the Park Ride Lot A at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. A shuttle bus delivered him, with his empty carry-on bag, to the north terminal. Without hesitation, he walked past the ticketing gates and headed toward the Sky Train. Ten minutes later he was showing his Everett Stewart passport and Australian driver’s license to a young black female with mid-length tightly curled hair.
“How long will you be needing the rental car,” she paused and looked at his passport, “Mr. Stewart?”
“At least two days, maybe three. Let’s say three to be safe.”
“Very well, I have a Toyota Camry available. Will that work?”
“Very nicely, thank you.”
Twenty minutes later, Bishop left the airport property and headed north on I-85 toward the Buckhead district in northeast Atlanta.
Chapter 13
Springfield, MO
The nondescript three-story building near the resurgent downtown area was, at one time, an apartment building. Now, after being purchased by JR Diminski, it was a multi-purpose building, housing his business and his residence. The first floor was utilized as reception, office space and storage. It was seldom used except for a receptionist who was only there during normal work hours Monday through Friday. She was JR’s right hand and took care of everything business-wise, scheduling, billing, collections, and on the rare occasion when JR left town, his travel arrangements. Her name was Jodi Roberson. She was in her late-forties, round-faced, with nicely styled short brownish hair transitioning to gray, intense green eyes that missed nothing, and a perpetual smile.
The second story held the guts of JR’s business; computers. The third floor was JR and Mia’s home.
Kruger walked into the reception area from the parking lot. “Good morning, Jodi. How’s the family?”
Jodi liked Kruger, and her smile intensified. “They’re doing great, Sean. Grandson number one turns three this Saturday. How’s that darling little angel of yours?”
“Growing and getting cuter by the day. Thanks for asking. Where’s JR?”
She pointed up. “Second floor conference room. Joseph arrived a few minutes ago.”
Kruger nodded and headed for the stairs. The second floor of the building was an open cubicle farm arranged around the numerous structural support posts for the building. On the opposite wall from the stairwell was a glass enclosed conference room. He could see Joseph with a coffee cup in his hand sitting across from JR. Stopping at one of the Keurig brewers JR kept outside the room, he chose a coffee pod and a mug. When the coffee was done, he stepped into the room.
JR was hunched over a paper file. Normally he would be hunched over a laptop or high-end computer keyboard, but not today. His laptop sat closed next to him. Kruger shook Joseph’s hand and asked, “Is that the directive?”
Joseph nodded. “This is JR’s first time to read it. He fussed about it being on paper.” He grinned. “JR doesn’t like real paper.”
Without looking up, JR said, “Why kill a tree just so I can read something? That was the original concept for the computer. No paper.”
“Who perpetuated that lie?” Kruger sat down next to Joseph.
JR looked up. “Do you see any paper scattered around the cubicles?” His hand swept the air toward the cubicle farm.
Kruger shook his head. “No.” He took a sip of coffee as JR returned to his reading. Hearing a slight humming sound, Kruger looked around the room. “What’s that noise?”
Joseph pointed toward several tiny speakers on the window ledges around the outside wall of the conference room. “Noise cancellation system. JR is using the same technology some luxury cars use to cancel outside noise. He claims it also prevents anyone from eavesdropping on conversations in this room.”
Chuckling, Kruger said, “JR, no one is looking for you anymore.”
Looking up again from his reading, JR removed his glasses. “So you say.”
Shaking his head and turning to Joseph, Kruger took another sip of coffee. “How do we start this new endeavor you’ve gotten us into?”
“Good question.”
JR closed the file he was reading and slid it over to Joseph. “As I told you before, I’m not comfortable using the porthole they’re providing.”
“I understand that.” Joseph nodded. “Sean and I believe you should use the compromise you suggested. The only ones to know will be the three of us.”
“Okay, then I’m good. I have an idea of how to start, if you’re interested.”
Both Kruger and Joseph nodded.
“I’ve been thinking we could start by canvasing Facebook and other social media sites.”
“Won’t that take a lot of resources, JR?” Kruger’s expression was grim.
“No, not as much as you think. Since Joseph first approached me about this exercise, I’ve been thinking about writing a program to troll those sites. It’s more complicated than it sounds, but that’s basically what it does; troll.”
“Troll for what?” Joseph asked.
“Keywords, pictures, hate speech, you name it. I would need guidance from Sean on the nuances for the program routine, but it could do it without monitoring.”
Kruger pursed his lips. “I’d have to think about that for a while, but I can provide a start. What about the NSA data? It could be more beneficial.”
“No problem there. I already have a computer sifting through it with a routine I wrote a couple of years ago.”
The meeting lasted another hour as the three men finalized how to move forward. When it was over, JR said, “I know both of you think I’m too paranoid sometimes, but I just don’t trust the motives of politicians. Are they setting both of you up for a fall?”
Joseph didn’t reply. Kruger grinned slightly. “Maybe. But we have an ace up our sleeve.”
Both JR and Joseph looked at Kruger. Joseph smiled and returned his gaze to JR. “You, JR. You’re our hidden ace.”
***
Joseph excused himself an hour later and left. Kruger made another cup of coffee and sat down next to JR at one of the cubicles. “Have you had a chance to look for Randolph Bishop?”
“Yeah, I haven’t found anything since Everett Stewart went through customs at the San Francisco airport. He hasn’t used a credit card or checked into a hotel. He just vanished.”
“I was afraid he would. Bishop’s smart and probably has plenty of funds available to him. He must have driven to Brenda Parker’s house. Unless he has another alias, how did he get a car?”
“Fairly simple. When you buy a car from an individual, all you need from them is a bill-of-sale and the title. If there isn’t a lien on the car, the title would be in the possession of the owner. It’s the buyer’s responsibility to register the car. In some states, the car’s license plate stays with the car and other states with the owner. At this point, no one would know Bishop bought the car. He could have used Stewart’s ID or another ID we don’t know about. If he’s paid cash for the car, gas, meals, and hotels, he’ll be impossible to track. There are thousands of family owned motels across this country that love cash. They don’t have to report it as income, so there is no record the individual renting the room was ever there. Very neat. I’ve done it myself.”
Kruger furrowed his brow. “I know how it works. We know he was in Rockford at one time. I doubt he’s still hanging around.”
“I would agree. But from there he could have driven anywhere.”
Standing, Kruger started pacing. “Can you do the same thing on newspaper websites with this trolling routine as on Facebook?”
JR frowned. “Hmmm... Hadn’t thought of that. What would we be looking for?”
“When Bishop kills, he does it viciously. He leaves a signature. In St. Louis, the four women were strangled and left nude in the same rock quarry. Brenda Parker’s was a ritual killing. Bishop left biblical references written on the wall in Brenda’s blood. I would think if you started the routine looking for vicious unsolved murders that occurred since his arrival, it might be a starting place.”
“Hmmm…” JR stared at his computer screen for several moments. “Yeah, it’s a start, Sean. I can set the routine to monitor all of the major news services and all of the newsprint groups.”
Kruger was quiet for several minutes. “JR, he’s back for a reason. I don’t think it was to kill Brenda Parker, either. He has something else planned.”
“Yeah, but what?”
Shaking his head slightly, Kruger sighed. “I wish I knew.”
Chapter 14
Chicago, IL
Bassel Safar knelt on his prayer rug facing the east. An app on his cell phone reminded him of Fajr, morning prayers. Bassel was new to Islam, having been drawn to the faith while serving as a supply sergeant in Bagdad before the American withdrawal in 2011. He was 21 at the time.
His father, Ahmad Safar, and mother, Nona, were Coptic Orthodox Christians living in Egypt. Ahmad was a professor of religious studies at the American University in Cairo and Nona a legal secretary at a large legal office specializing in business consulting for importers. When Ahmad was offered a tenured position at the University of Chicago, they left their beloved Egypt in 1985 to escape the increasing violence toward Christians by Islamic fundamentalists.
Their dream of becoming naturalized citizens was realized in November of 1989. Bassel was born the following January. Growing up, he was known as Barry. Despite the cultural diversity surrounding his father’s occupation, Barry felt isolated as he grew into his teenage years. Shy and withdrawn, he had few friends and made little effort to make new ones. During his freshman year at the University of Chicago, his parents were killed by a drunk driver one night on their way home from a reception for a new professor at the university.
His world collapsed. Without a family support system and resources, he withdrew from school and joined the Army.
On his return to the states, he started using the name Bassel again, finding it better suited his new-found pride in being from Egypt. The Army allowed him to understand who he was without the influence of his parents constantly reminding him he was an American citizen and to embrace their adopted country. He refused to ignore his heritage. He wanted to understand its culture and religion. Since Egypt was mostly Sunnis Muslims, he embraced their interpretation of Islam.
His experience in Iraq also gave him another gift: a seething hatred of American society.
On July 20, 2012 James Holmes, wearing a Blackhawk Urban Assault Vest and carrying a Smith & Wesson M&P 15 rifle, a Remington 870 Express Tactical shotgun and a Glock 22, entered a Century 16 movie theater. When he was done, twelve movie-goers were dead, and seventy others were wounded. Bassel absorbed every word he could find about James Holmes, studied where he made mistakes and followed his trial in detail.
On the day James Holmes was sentenced to twelve life sentences, plus 3,300 years, in prison, Bassel started making plans.
***
“The file you need to see is on this thumb drive.”
JR handed the small storage unit to Kruger. He slipped it into a USB port on his laptop and clicked on the file when it appeared on his screen.
After fifteen minutes of study, Kruger looked at JR. “How did you find him?”
“YouTube. The trolling program works better than I anticipated. I got a bunch of hits, but this guy’s rants are getting more aggressive. He’s also an admirer of James Holmes.”
Kruger nodded. “Has he bought any firearms yet?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Not the exact models, but similar to the types Holmes purchased. He doesn’t have a criminal record, so all of his weapons were purchased legally.”
“His military training suggests he might not be too familiar with assault weapons.”
“Trust me, Sean, he’ll know how to use them.”
Staring at the driver’s license picture of Bassel Safar on his laptop, Kruger remained quiet. After several minutes he asked, “Does he have an email account?”
“Several.” JR nodded. “One he uses for his job, very benign. Boring, actually. He has a Gmail account he uses for personal business; it too is boring. But he has one well hidden from prying eyes that he uses to contact overseas jihadist. It—is not boring. He knows his way around computers, Sean.”
Kruger looked away from the laptop and stared at JR. “Better than you?”
With a slight grin, JR shook his head.
“How did you find
the hidden email account?”
“Well, let’s say he clicked on a link in his personal email account he shouldn’t have.” JR gave Kruger a half smile.
Frowning, Kruger returned to staring at the picture of Sahar. “I probably shouldn’t ask for more details, should I?”
“Probably best.”
“How deep are you in his computer?”
“He can’t sneeze without me knowing it.”
Pointing to several items purchased by Safar, Kruger frowned. “Looks like he’s getting ready for an urban assault with all of this tactical gear.”
JR shrugged. “Not a crime to buy any of it. But the fact he’s spread his purchases around to various suppliers denotes forethought and planning. Buying any one of these items by itself tells us nothing. Together they paint a dark picture.”
Kruger withdrew the thumb drive from the USB port and put it in his jeans pocket. He closed his laptop and stood. “Keep monitoring him. We may have to send Sandy and his team to keep an eye on this guy.”
JR nodded.
***
The opening of the new Star Wars movie was two weeks away. Bassel smiled when he discovered the number of screens on which the latest installment of the popular movie franchise would be showing. The internet was a wonderful place. Over the past six months, while Bassel was accumulating his arsenal, he also was acquiring a wardrobe for an appearance in the pre-movie parade at the movie theater.
He would attend as a Storm Trooper Commando.
He was confirmed after sending a picture of himself dressed in his outfit. All he would need to do was sign in at the movie theater three hours before the first showing, and he would be told where to assemble with the rest of the parade participants. His plan was simple: participate in the parade and once inside the theater, well, he would not make the mistakes James Holmes made.
