Surveillance (Ghost Targets Book 1)

by Aaron Pogue

  She ran time backward and rode down to the ground floor with the killer. She slipped off the elevator and waited. The big plate glass doors swung open, and she knew her killer had just walked backward out through them, but still there was no one. How far back in time had they cleaned? She moved the camera outside, scanned the curbside. Every car with a license was registered and tracked in the system, but a car could be erased as easily as a body. There were none curbside. She paused the scenario, a moment before the murderer entered the building, and zoomed to the parking lots outside. One sad little Hyundai stood beneath a light post in the very middle of the lot, but a quick search showed it to be the victim's.

  Even in the sterilized environment, Katie could still clearly imagine the real world it depicted. Already well past sunset, the car would be huddled in a silvery pool of streetlight, a hundred yards from the door of the nearly-empty building. The girl had picked that spot for a reason. Katie sighed and hit a quick key to take her back to the office where Ms. Linson had died. She switched to source video, paused in time with the rendered world, and saw the timid little girl who would rather walk two extra rows in the parking lot than have to fumble for her keys in the shadows at night.

  She looked small. She looked afraid. And Katie knew that forty-four minutes later, probably half that, she would look like a bit of discarded meat. For the first time in years, Katie felt as helpless as the college girl staring back at the camera. She took a deep breath and closed the program.

  3. Rookie

  She spent the rest of the afternoon pushing paper. Unfortunately, the database reports she'd pulled didn't tell her anything new. When she found herself checking her watch more often than she was turning pages, she knew she'd reached her limit for the day. Her dad had taught her one of the old laws: "never leave work for the day before your boss does, especially when you're new." Rick seemed determined to work the sun down and back up again, though, and she still didn't really know what she was supposed to do.

  Finally she saved off her desktop and cleared it out. She pushed away from the desk, one step back, and it looked just as it had before she'd even shown up. That thought resonated with her frustration. All she'd really done today was get to know a dead girl.

  She stuck her head in Conference Room One and Rick cut off whatever he was saying to Reed mid-sentence. He blinked at her. "Good lord, Pratt!" He checked his watch. "Are you still here?"

  "No, sir," she said. "On my way out." She stepped into the room so she could lower her voice. "Mind if I push the case file to my handheld? Or do you guys have some weird security rules I don't know about?"

  He barked a laugh. "God, I wish everyone worked as hard as the rookies. Take a night off, Pratt."

  She shrugged. "I just like to have it handy, in case inspiration strikes."

  "Whatever you say. Sure. I mean, we have all kinds of crazy security rules, but Craig handles all that. If he'll push the case file to you, I don't have any objections. And if not, there's nothing I can do about it."

  "Thank you, sir," she said, and stole out of the office.

  Behind her, Rick barked, "Hey, knock that off!" but she ignored him. She asked Craig to push her case file to her handheld, and almost immediately she saw the screen light up from her front pocket. She also had Craig order a car for her. She'd meant to ask permission for that, too, but she could cover the price of a cab if Rick objected. She didn't think he would.

  The building was surprisingly active for the late hour. As soon as she stepped onto the elevator, her remote personal assistant whispered the name of one of her colleagues in her ear, Bud Stanton, Finance, but she didn't need the favor this time. Bud introduced himself with a big warm smile as soon as he spotted her, and then he beat her personal assistant to the ID at every floor on the way down, as coworkers squeezed into the elevator car.

  One floor below her, it was, "Mark! Mayer!" as the duo from Licensure joined them, and the three men immediately fell into an animated conversation that only broke for a moment when the doors opened on nine to admit Bill from Decency. He jumped right into the discussion, and Katie could have been a ghost herself for all the attention they paid her.

  Bud bowed her direction when the doors opened on the lobby, but then she was forgotten again. She rushed out of the elevator, quickly separating from the rest of the crowd which came strolling along behind her in friendly conversation. As she crossed the cavernous lobby, an eerie double vision washed over her, bringing back her time in HaRRE that afternoon. The floor plan wasn't the same as the building in Little Rock, but it was close enough that she felt, for just a moment, like she was the disembodied HaRRE camera gliding across the marble floor toward the plate glass windows, a hostile, starless night waiting outside.

  In her imagination, the killer was paused just outside the double doors, poised, invisible. Her heart thundered as she reached the door, and fear gripped her as she pushed them open, not knowing what monster she might find waiting in the night.

  An explosive burst of laughter from Bud made her jump, and as the blush rose in her cheeks she found herself on the same busy sidewalk she'd used to come in this morning—packed with pedestrian traffic and glowing noonday bright from all the streetlights and storefronts. No one was waiting for her.

  A black compact car at the curb immediately amended that thought by flashing its lights, and a recording of her voice called out, "Katie Pratt." She darted to it and dove in, slamming the door behind her. A monitor in the dash glowed in the dim interior, awaiting a destination.

  First day in town, and she'd been late to work this morning, so she didn't have a place yet. She almost said, "Take me home," but that would be too much like running away. Even just for a night, it would be a sort of failure. She sank back in the seat and spoke into her headset. "Hathor, connect me to Hearth. I need a two-bedroom apartment. Tonight. Details to my handheld." As she said it, she pulled her handheld from her pocket and dismissed the "Transfer Complete" notification from Craig. A moment later a list of available apartments crawled onto the screen, each labeled by age, cost, distance from the office, and personal compatibility. She sorted the list by each of the criteria, and one apartment made top five on all of them. She tapped the "Lease" button, waited a heartbeat for a confirmation, then told the driver, "Take me home." Ten minutes ago that had been Brooklyn, but now it was Washington, D. C.

  Then she settled back, eyes closed, while the car maneuvered itself into the dense flow of traffic. After a moment her stomach rumbled, and she said, "Hathor, order me some Chinese, to home. First match." She opened one eye to peek at the driver monitor. It was a twenty-minute drive, almost exactly, and that was fine by her. She had plenty of business to take care of anyway.

  She opened the message center on her handheld and started scrolling through missed messages while she said, almost absently, "Hathor, connect me to Hearth. Apply my favorite color scheme to the apartment. Thanks. Hathor, connect me to Brooklyn MiniStore." She took care of the little chores that went along with setting up a new home. She checked in on a couple pending cases from her old job, then, just as the car was leaving the highway near her new apartments, she finished up with her mail and said, "Hathor, connect me...." She hesitated, just for a moment, but that was enough to mess up the voice command. She bit back a curse, and silently counted the seconds for the instruction to time out. Then she put away her handheld and said, "Hathor, connect me to Dad."

  He didn't answer, but she had never imagined he would. She always tried anyway. It only took a few seconds for Hathor to give up on the connection, and ask if she wanted to leave a voice message. She said yes, and a moment later, "Hey, Dad. Just wanted to fill you in on my first day with the FBI." She made a story of it, interrupting herself mid-sentence when the car pulled up at her new apartment. The driver monitor lit up to show that payment had been approved on the Bureau's Midas account, and she saw Rick's signature right below it. She shook her head. Frustrating as her day had been, her boss was certainly trying to take
care of her. She climbed out of the car and closed the door with a thud.

  The apartment complex was a nice one, two-story white buildings with generous patios or balconies. She didn't need much in the way of luxury, but she had learned a long time ago that a separate room for a home office was a must. There was lots of covered parking near the street, with what looked like a stable of community cars. She'd have to check into that. It would be worth a few bucks a week to avoid the subway.

  Hathor prompted her with a beep and played back the last few words of her message. Then in its simulated voice, Hathor asked, "Is this recording complete?"

  "No," she said, her attention snapping back to the message. But as the cab pulled away from the curb, a car emblazoned "Chen's Chicken" replaced it immediately, so she said, "Just a sec, Hathor. Pause the recording. Thanks."

  The window nearest her rolled down to reveal a small dispensary compartment, instead of a passenger interior. Her voice stamp announced her name, and the total for her dinner. She said, "Put it on my tab," and a payment light blinked from red to green a moment later. Her dinner dropped into view, a greasy bag almost too hot to touch, but the smell of her chow mein made her sigh contentedly. She grabbed it and turned back to the apartments as the delivery car disappeared into the night.

  "Okay," she said as she turned. "Hathor, resume recording. Wait, no. Damn." The complex had a receptionist out front, no more than a couple years old. It was a pedestal waist-high, with a bright touch-screen that illuminated as soon as Katie approached it.

  The screen said, "Welcome, Katie. Moving in?" She touched the yes button, and then skipped quickly past the confirmation screen listing all the complex's amenities. She trusted Hearth better than her own judgment, really. Two more button presses approved everything the apartment owner needed to know, and she chose "Map" instead of "Rendered Environment" to find her way to her door. Hers was the second building on the left of the courtyard, upstairs, third door past the stairs. Easy enough. She closed out the screen with a swipe of her hand, and headed across the courtyard. Her stomach rumbled again.

  "Hathor, resume recording." She caught her breath, and shook her head. "Sorry, Dad. Anyway. My boss's name is Rick. Rick Goodall, and he's larger than life. Sweet enough to make you sick." And, because she knew her dad would worry, she added, "Too old for my taste, though."

  As she approached her door, she heard the locks click open in response to her proximity. She made a mental note to activate the physical key requirement, out of paranoia more than anything else, and kicked the door closed behind her. "Anyway, Rick gave me the ten cent tour, showed me just enough of what they do to get me feeling really overwhelmed, then dropped a homicide on me."

  She paused, imagining her dad's reaction to that. He would be grinning ear-to-ear, so proud of her. She could almost hear him say, "You're big time now, Katie."

  "I won't forget the little people," she said. "Hey, I'm going to call you back. Ten minutes. I've got to get some food in me."

  He wouldn't be able to take that call either, but she liked to pretend. She took a deep breath and let it out in a puff. "Later, Dad. Goodbye." Hathor killed the connection on the keyword, and Katie dropped her dinner sack on the little kitchen table before looking around the apartment.

  Hearth did a good job. She'd only enrolled with them a couple years ago, but she'd liked the place they found her back in Brooklyn, and she liked this place, too. On her own, she would have picked something spartan, and this space wasn't luxurious, but it was a lot more comfortable than she would have chosen. Midas wouldn't have approved anything she couldn't afford, so that wasn't a concern. It was furnished, too, with a bed set in one of the rooms and an office set in the other. Perfect. The walls were a mute brown, almost gray, with just a touch of purple on the trim. Quiet, but appealing.

  The living room was a small space that opened directly into the kitchen, with a three-place dining table tucked in a back corner. She had never done a lot of entertaining, so that was more than enough. She had eight small boxes of belongings in a storage unit in Brooklyn, and she could get those delivered while she was at work tomorrow, but she'd need a change of clothes and some toiletries. The complex would probably have a welcome service capable of setting her up, but she decided on a whim to run into town later and pick up some necessities. It would be fun.

  First things first. She set upon her chow mein like a man starving, and finished her entire meal without stopping to take a drink. Hathor had ordered a Coke for her, so she took it over to the plush love seat in the living room and crashed in front of a dark television, taking occasional sips and enjoying a moment of deep silence.

  After a while, her lips quirked into a smile, and she said, "Hathor, connect me to Dad."

  She waited for the timeout, and started a new message. Then she discovered she had no words. She sat there in silence, staring at the wall as her smile faded. Once again, Hathor snapped her out of it with a buzzed warning.

  She shook her head and said simply, "I'm scared." Her dad wouldn't like that, but it was the plain truth she'd been hiding from all day. "Dad, in Brooklyn I was the big dog. Out here, I don't even know where to start."

  She took a calming breath and spread her hands before her. She thought about it for a moment and smiled. "But you know," she said, "after what I saw today, I don't think I could go back."

  She told him all about it, forgetting her decision to go shopping. She told him about the Cincinnati kids and then went on to describe the doctored Hathor report from the Secret Service case. Even though she recognized the subtle buzz of Hathor censoring some of the more sensitive details, she laid it all out. In town for a day, and already she was caught up in plots she could barely imagine.

  Again, she knew all too well how her dad would react if he were on the line. Even with thirty years on the force, he wouldn't have a clue how to investigate this stuff. In her imagination she could hear his low whistle, and the words that had been plaguing her all day long. "How do you even deal with somebody so far outside the law?"

  And once again, she had absolutely nothing to say. After a long moment, she sighed. "I don't know. I know it's only my first day and all, but I've got my case and I've spent hours battering at it, and it just kills me because I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to be doing."

  She frowned. "I know what you would say. 'Give it time.' That's what Rick says, and he's my boss, but...it's just...." Her breath caught, and she made sure it didn't come out a sob. She wanted to admit that she was only getting frustrated to hide from the fact that she was lonely. Or homesick. Whatever. She wanted to tell him she missed him. But, as she reminded herself for probably the tenth time that day, she knew how a cop behaved, and it wasn't like a scared little girl. Her dad didn't need to hear about all her little problems.

  She glanced at her watch, just for something to do, and said, "Oh, holy cow. It's late, Dad, and I've got work to do tomorrow." She smiled. "Thanks for keeping me company." She wished for an answer, one real word of encouragement, but it was a voicemail after all. Her smile turned sad, but didn't go away. "Goodnight, Dad," she said. "Goodbye."

  The click from Hathor let her know the line was dead. She glanced at her watch again, and thought about going shopping anyway. Someplace would be open. She didn't really want to anymore, though. She contacted the front desk to request a welcome basket, and the system told her one was waiting in her mailbox. She grabbed her handheld, pulled up her apartment details, and found a map to the mailboxes, right down on the other side of the courtyard.

  The welcome basket was a cardboard box with a handful of necessities. She dumped it in a pile on the kitchen table, grabbed the soap and shampoo, and headed back to her room. She stripped down and threw her clothes in the wash, then settled in for a long, hot shower. Afterward, she had just time to whisper a word of thanks to Hearth for picking an apartment with a luxuriously soft bed before sleep wrapped her up and carried her away.

  The next morning she learned that the comp
lex's community cars weren't available for round trips over half an hour, inside business hours, but the nearest subway station was less than a quarter of a mile away. She caught a train downtown, and stepped through the doors into Ghost Targets ten minutes to eight. The other part of her dad's old law, "Always beat the boss to work," and she'd certainly managed it, but before the morning was over she found herself wondering why she'd bothered.

  She spent two hours digging for dirt on the victim, anything to suggest a motive. She crawled backward through time, listening in on every conversation Ms. Linson had had on the day of her death (at least, she thought bitterly, every conversation that Hathor cared to remember). Rick stopped by her desk a little after noon to invite her to lunch, but she saw the rest of his team waiting for him—and Reed glaring at her—so she politely declined. As he was turning to go, though, she spoke up.

  "Rick."

  "Yeah?"

  "I, uh...I have a case going before the bench tomorrow. Back home, I mean. Would it be too much to ask—"

  "Not at all." He pulled out his handheld and glanced at it, probably checking the calendar. "No, that's perfect, actually. I know you've been chomping at the bit, but we're just swamped here."

  "About that," she said, and he must have seen the frustration in her eyes. He threw a glance at Reed and the other three headed for the elevator. Rick finally turned his full attention to Katie.

  "Look, kid," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. Probably shouldn't have dropped a homicide on your first day on the force, but it would have been gathering dust otherwise."

  "No," she said. "It's not that. It's just—"

  "It wasn't fair of me," he said. "You should be watching over somebody's shoulder, not running blind. I can get you on—"