by L. M. Vila
Shelly looked down on Meryl with sympathy and sadness filling her expression. That couldn’t be good. Meryl could feel her heart sinking deeper and deeper into a regret-filled abyss. This couldn’t be good at all.
March 25th, 2013 5:06PM
Los Angeles, CA
This was wrong. It had to be. Adrian did not want to believe it. The address that Mark printed was quickly found in the address book thanks to that added search feature. What the S.A.C. ended up finding was not something he expected.
What kind of name is D0c70R pHr34K?
The Special Agent in Charge shook his head, dumbfounded at the kind of people that would not only hid behind the anonymity of a net handle but choose one that sounded so ridiculous. How this guy, or girl, ever got into contact with a business mogul like Charles Logan was beyond Adrian’s comprehension. Nevertheless, this was their only lead and Adrian was determined to follow it all the way to the end. Even if it’s a dead one at that.
There was only one person that could make sense of all this. He quickly dialed Mark’s desk and prayed he answered quickly. The phone rang for a few painstaking seconds before being picked up the constantly chipper and portly analytics team leader.
“What’s up boss?”
“Mark, you’re still here?”
“Yes sir. Was going to take off but the data transfer is almost complete. I sent everyone else home already though if that’s okay.”
“Yea, that’s fine. Could you come into my office for a minute?”
“Sure thing. Need me to bring anything?”
“Some aspirin maybe.”
“What was that boss?”
Mark wasn’t exactly sure if he heard that right.
“Nothing, just come on in here.”
Joking around wasn’t on Adrian’s resume. He was only half serious. They may be diving into a world that the S.A.C. has little knowledge of and even less of an attention span for. The Internet has caused enough hell for the FBI since its inception and the list of things continue to evolve. For every one problem they solve, at least a thousand more come in to take its place. There was even a whole division created in Washington solely dedicated to handling these problems and it still seemed like it was only getting worse.
The door to Adrian’s office opened as Mark stepped through.
“What seems to be the problem? You lock yourself out of the system again?”
“Nothing like that Mark,” Adrian immediately shot his eyes up and gave the lead analyst a death stare for even suggesting such a thing. “Just come over here and look at this.”
The analyst obliged the request of his superior and walked around behind the S.A.C.
“What do you make of this?”
Mark started at it for a second. Then his gaze turned to Adrian who was still glaring at the screen. Finally, Mark returned his eyes back to the screen and said, “Is this a joke?”
“I wish,” Adrian sighed. “What could this possibly mean?”
“It’s a hacker handle for sure given its make up but that doesn’t match up with what I’ve found.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well given the nature of the situation in general, Logan would have to be crazy to hire a hacker manage his finances. Despite the media coverage on the subject, hackers are usually inquisitive by nature and take pride in finding a new challenge, whether it be cracking into a major bank’s website and changing the font, or hacking a celebrity’s Twitter account and calling everybody assholes. Having one shuffle around your finances just doesn’t make sense.”
“So why hire a hacker in the first place?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Isn’t that usually you’re department anyways?”
He was blunt but Mark did have a point. Adrian thought about it for a few brief moments. Trying to come up with a solid connection to link Charles Logan to a hacker would be tougher than a two dollar steak. Then it hit him.
“What if Logan didn’t hire this hacker to manage his finances? What if he just hired him to write that worm? And maybe, just maybe that guy snuck in a line a code that would ping back to him that would obviously fly under the radar. Would that be plausible?”
“Plausible? I think you just figured it out boss.”
For a guy with little to no computer savvy beyond the basics, Adrian was pleased with the new turn of events. Now all they had to do was tie everything together in a neat little package.
“See what you can find on this freak. If he’s even so much as downloaded a song without paying for it I want to know about it. All we have to do is show the judge a link between this hacker and any illegal activity and he’ll come down on Logan hard. With his kind of cash, he could pay off everyone’s bail in a five hundred mile radius. That’s why we need to establish a connection between this guy and Logan. Pinning him to cross state illegal activity will continue to mount the pressure on his defense team and hopefully keep him behind bars for as long as possible.”
“I’ll jump right on it. Anything else I can help with?”
“As of this moment, no,” Adrian replied. “Once I get confirmation from you, I’m going to call the Tampa field office and see if they can’t get a team to raid this guy’s house. If we catch him off guard we should be able to procure any evidence without giving him a chance to tamper with it. After that’s done I’m going to need you to take that worm apart and see what other nasty things it could do. If that hacker was the one who wrote it, I’m sure we can coerce him to help you if need be.”
“Screw that. I’d rather let that bastard rot in hell before he even thinks he can create a program that I can’t break.”
“That’s good to hear,” Adrian replied. “But first focus on getting the dirt on that freak. I’ll buy you dinner if you can get it done in the next hour.”
“Alright but you know I’m a picky eater. I’m allergic to anything other than steak and lobster after five.”
Adrian quickly regretted that offer but would see it through nonetheless. The more information they collected on this issue the worse it stank. At least they had found something promising within the deadline. Things could be worse. They could always be worse.
That’s when the phone rang. The caller ID didn’t need to show what Adrian already knew. Things were definitely about to get worse.
March 26th, 2013 8:41AM (local time)
Tokyo, Japan
Shinjuku was a horribly noisy part of town. As one of the key industrial wards in Tokyo, any time spent walking around here during business hours would wear on one’s sense of hearing to those unaccustomed to it. Michael stood watch with a newspaper in hand looking past the daily headlines with his eyes locked on Shin-Okubo. This was the considered the Korean district of Tokyo. It was a haven for crime and prostitution which many of the locals steer clear. This place catered to a specific crowd which is just what Michael was looking for.
The first day of stakeouts and interrogations bore no results. Michael was hoping for better luck in what was considered the heart of the Korean empire in Japan. At over six feet tall, he already had enough problems blending in but it was Davis that caused more of a disturbance. People would walk by gawking and taunting him for being some sort of crazed costumed loser but the young Paladin took it in stride. Throughout all of the hate a few people actually came by and asked for guidance, even blessings, all of which Davis happily obliged to.
Michael had to keep his distance. They already stuck out worse than a pair of sore thumbs. That could easily dissuade any shady characters from walking in their direction. Michael picked this spot specifically to tag any drunken fools stumbling out of a bar from a late night of drinking. If any of them lived further than a few blocks, they were going to have to take this station to get where they wanted to go.
The only issue with this entire plan was that Michael was unsure about exactly what he was looking for. Sure there were gang tattoos and markings he could go on but if he made a mistake and picked the wrong one, word would quickly
spread and everyone would steer clear of the giant gaijin and his cosplaying companion.
Inside of the station was packed with traffic. People seemed to filter in and out it so much it was almost as if the entire structure was organic. Michael kept his focus on the streets outside, paying particular attention to a bar between two alleys. He’d seen odd characters go in and out since he started over an hour ago. Kicking down the door might scare of potential clientele. Patience would be the key to victory. It is unfortunate that out of all of the other factors bogging him down, time was the biggest and worst offender.
Michael’s eyes sharpened as he witnessed the bar door being violently flung open. A young individual that appeared to have seen better days stumbled and collapsed on the street just beyond the building entrance. He was a skinny little runt, probably no more than nineteen or twenty with only a ragged t-shirt and tattered jeans to call his own. Almost every inch of his visible skin was covered in tattoos, some distorted by a couple of fresh bruises on his face. Someone inside was continually yelling at him. Most people wouldn’t be able to make it out from this distance but Michael had his genetics to thank for that. He focused his senses and tried to decipher what was going on.
“Some big gangster, huh?” Yelled one from within.
Another walked outside and kicked the scrawny kid in the gut.
“Go peddle your drugs elsewhere bastard,” he said delivering his vicious boot across the side his adversary’s head.
It wasn’t enough to knock him out but the kid found some renewed energy in being attacked and sprinted away as best as he could. The opportunity to strike was now.
The FBI agent dumped the newspaper in the trash and proceeded to make his way towards the bar. The kid had stopped running after getting a noticeable distance apart and offered up a few casual curse words towards the business that didn’t appreciate his services. Michael picked up his pace a bit as soon as the crowd began to dwindle. A couple of uniformed police officers stood taking some statements nearby but they shouldn’t be any trouble. Michael was posed to make this quick. Only a dozen or so yards separated the two now. The kid spit in the bars direction one more time. His growing angry demanded to be heard even though no other passerby even gave him a single glance. This was almost too easy.
A hand reached out and snatched the kid by the collar, sealing the remaining air in his lungs in an instant. He wheezed in defiance that sounded like a cat coughing. Michael dragged the kid back to a nearby alley and with one swift motion chucked his entire body a good fifteen feet down the street. The kid’s scrawny frame slammed into a metal dumpster with a colossal thud that seemed to echo into the streets and left a fairly impressive dent. All of the oxygen he was able to inhale during his flight quickly vacated his lungs as he desperately tried to absorb a few new delicious breaths back into his body.
Michael approached him slowly. During an interrogation, there was no greater weapon than intimidation. The kid continued to cough and pant. He probably had never experienced something that relentless of physically dominating before. He truly had no idea what he was in for. His battered brown eyes were still bright red from the previous night’s activities but as long as they functioned, Michael had everything he needed.
Like a demon dressed in black, Michael took careful and calculated steps. The so-called gangster was tiny, easily a foot shorter than him. The kid desperately trembled before this sight. It was as if his body would not listen to his mind’s frantic requests. As he frantically pulled himself off the ground, Michael’s hand clasped around his throat and slammed him back into the dumpster that had violently welcomed him just moments before. His eyes widened. The FBI agent dug his claw deep into the fragile and inked skin of the fallen gang member. He tried to plead, tried to beg but not so much as a molecule of air could escape. Death was staring him in the face and he couldn’t even raise a single hand in defiance.
“I’m looking for someone,” Michael spoke in Korean.
His words were coarse and rasp, like they had just risen from the bowels of hell.
“Ryoo Myung-Dae.”
The kid’s eyes shot wide. He frantically fought against the vice-like grip of this monster but to no avail. Michael pressed him down hard against the steel. That look the kid gave him was a clear indication that he knew something. This was a lucky break. Now all he had to do was squeeze the information out of him.
Michael lifted the kid into the air by the throat. He struggled for a bit. The FBI agent knew he had a few more seconds left before the gang member would pass out. Just before the blackness consumed his vision, the kid felt instant relief as he fell to the ground free from the monster’s grasp. He landed on his hands and knees coughing like a patient with chronic bronchitis. It took a few good moments for him to finally catch his breath. His eyes stared up at the giant in black once again.
“Ryoo Myung-Dae.”
“Go to hell!” The gang member shouted jumping up sending a flying haymaker into Michael’s unmoving jaw.
The clapping sound of bone and sinew erupted upon contact. They were immediately followed by tormenting and horribly painful cries. The kid fell to his knees clasping his newly damaged hand. It was starting to swell rapidly. He couldn’t move any of his fingers. The demon’s jaw was like punching a brick wall. Tears began to fill the wells of his eyes. He’d never felt such a horrible pain in all of his life. The physical trauma will eventually heal. The mental ones that last a lifetime.
The agony that was currently plaguing the gang member forced him to accept his current position. There was no use fighting it now. He was out of options. All he could do was bargain and pray.
“If you’re looking to score Longini I can get it for you, I swear!”
Longini?
Perhaps this kid was trying to pull a ruse. The cracking in his voice and desperation locked in his eyes told Michael he was telling the truth. Or, at the very least, he thought he was.
“What does that have to do with Ryoo Myung-Dae?”
“I can get you that stuff, I swear!” Replied the agitated kid.
The FBI agent’s words were lost in his desperate plea to stay alive.
“Answer me!” Michael shouted back through the cracks of his teeth.
“I don’t know the guys personally,” he pleaded holding back tears. “But I know of them. Ryoo used to run with the gang peddling this shit I was telling you about but no one’s seen him in months.”
Michael delivered a stiff kick to the kid’s ribs that sent him straight to his back. A heel dug into his exposed chest.
“I’m not looking for drugs. I’m looking for Ryoo –”
“They’ve gotta know!” He cried hoping his words would be begot sympathy from the demon. “He was the one who helped build up the gang over there.”
“Where?!” Michael hissed.
The kid screamed in agony once more as Michael applied more pressure to his fragile sternum. He coughed between syllables, desperately trying to formulate the one word that may perhaps save his life.
“Kyoto!”
This kid had some nerve promising his wares to a couple of established gang members in this part of town. He looked like he didn’t even have a roof over his head yet he was selling a drug that would essentially take over five hours by car to get to. This whole thing began to stink something foul. He may very well be sending this FBI agent on a wild goose chase. After all, the twelve or so hour round trip it would take for Michael to go to Kyoto would give this kid plenty of time to find himself a nifty place to hide. Michael couldn’t be bothered to search for one drugged out gang member just to settle a score. Besides, Kyoto was on his list of places to search so this tip did have some merit to it.
Michael slowly pulled his foot off of the kid’s chest. Just when he thought he finally found some relief, the same vicious hand found itself back around the gang member’s throat. Michael lifted him back onto his feet and dragged him out of the alleyway. He flexed his arm tight and launched the kid into the
air towards the street. The gang member skidded and bounced against the asphalt as he rolled towards the large building next door. Michael briskly jogged over to where he finally came to a complete stop only a couple of feet away from the police officers.
“Hey!” One of the officers shouted. “What’s going on here?”
In order to pull this off, Michael had to ham it up a bit. He lifted his arms to show he had no ill intentions and then spoke in a calm manner, switching his speech to Japanese.
“My name is Michael Madison. I’m an American with the Federal Bureau of investigation. This man stole my wallet.”
The kid pulled himself up still wrecked with pain all over. He only caught the last bit of Michael’s words. Even though he wasn’t fluent in this language, he knew he was in trouble. The gang member desperately tried to form a sentence in his defense.
“That man lying. He me hurt!”
With his hands still raised, Michael motioned at the fallen gang member.
“Check his pockets. My ID badge should be in there.”
The officers complied with the suited man’s request. After all, they valued the words of a well-dressed man over those of a street punk. They kneeled down slowly and used hand gestures to tell the kid to empty his pockets. He nodded in compliance. As soon as his hand dug into one, his fingers graced something odd. Pulling it out revealed a thin, black leather wallet. The kid’s eyes blasted wide once more. He began yelling in his defense as the police officer snatched the wallet from his grasp. They opened it slowly and compared the image with the man in the black suit.
“Here you go sir,” said the officer handing him back his property.
They picked up the kid and placed him in handcuffs. He continued to cry foul but they couldn’t understand a word he was saying.
The plan went off without a hitch. Michael was able to sneak his wallet into the kid’s pants while he was dragging him across the street. The pain and mental trauma of the situation made it all that much easier. Being charged with theft would usually warrant about twenty-four hours of jail time. Stealing from a foreign federal agent was a much serious offense. This would guarantee the kid would be locked up without a phone call for at least a few days. Michael didn’t need this kid spreading the word that he hunting down his associates. Surprise was still a weapon he kept tucked into his arsenal. At least they’ll be able to make it to Kyoto before nightfall. If this new piece of information did not help him, at least he knew where to find the punk to exact his revenge should this entire trip be all for naught.
