Protocol One_A Thriller

by Nathan Goodman

  “That’s right.”

  Stone paced the floor, not even realizing he was blocking the aisle of the coffee shop, preventing customers from placing their orders.

  “Let’s think about this for a minute,” Stone said. “Cameron said that everything he could tell about the heavy investing into the oil futures market were already red flags that Petrolsoft had some kind of insider information about the oil market that no one else knows. But as of yet, there was no evidence to indicate anything criminal. So if we play this forward and assume the Dima boys knew they were under the microscope, and they murdered him, these guys would stop at nothing. What if they found the source of their leak? Jana would have to be next. They’re going to kill her. I can’t endanger her life like this. I’m going to pull her out, and pull her out right now.”

  But no sooner had Stone removed his phone from his pocket to call Jana than Agent Fry put his hand on Stone’s arm.

  “The murder of Investigator John Cameron is not all the news I have.” He exhaled. “I just got off the phone with the director. He and Uncle Bill Tarleton at NSA were old college roommates. They talk all the time. The director is aware of everything you and I know, and they fear this is much worse than any of us believed. This is not just a financial scheme involving insider trading. This is going to be bigger, although they still do not know what.”

  Stone finally stepped aside to let other customers pass. He crossed his arms and leaned in to Fry. “No shit. None of us know exactly what is about to happen. What else is it that you aren’t telling me?”

  “The director says we have to go through with the operation tonight. If the witness is willing, he is ordering us to send her in there. We can’t pull her off the operation. I’m sorry, Chuck.”

  “What? I’m in charge of this field operation. The director never plays armchair quarterback with us. That girl is in danger, and she needs to be pulled out.”

  “Chuck, you are preaching to the choir. But remember something: Jana Baker was made well aware that she was in grave danger, and she forced the issue anyway. She insisted that she go through with tonight’s operation. To tell you the truth, I think she and the director are on the same page. They both know how much is at stake and are willing to risk it.”

  Stone sat at the tiny round table in front of the wall of glass. He looked up at the height of the Petrolsoft building across the street. “You’re an asshole, Fry. You know that?”

  Fry laughed. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of asshole. So now, since we know she’s going to Jeffrey Dima’s penthouse tonight, what is the plan?”

  Stone rubbed his eyes. “This girl is smart as hell. She came up with this entire thing on her own. It’s brilliant. Risky, but brilliant. And to have the guts to go in there, into the apartment of a thug who she knows is going to try and drug her with Rohypnol. This is like watching a firefighter bolt through a wall of flame to go in and save someone.”

  Stone went into detail and outlined the entire operation for Agent Fry—Jana’s plan on how she would avoid being drugged, how she would get her hands on the information they needed, and the fact that the apartment had electronic eavesdropping countermeasures in place.

  “It’s going to be like the first time a manned spacecraft orbited the far side of the moon, a complete blackout. I’m going to pull my hair out while she’s in that apartment.”

  To lighten the tension, Fry said, “Well that won’t take long,” referring to Stone’s receding hairline.

  “If she pulls this off,” Stone said, “we should have access to the entire terrorist plan without them knowing they have been compromised.”

  20

  To Lure a Killer

  Jana rubbed her eyes and squinted at the laptop monitor. Her finger traced from one side of the screen to the other in an effort to double-check herself before she executed this last trade. This was the largest investment Petrolsoft would be making into the volatile oil futures market. The thought that this might be the last trade she would make as a licensed stock broker sat heavy on her stomach. I might be acting on behalf of the federal government in a terrorism investigation, but the only thing other employers are going to see on my resume is the word Petrolsoft. After today, the name would become synonymous with global terrorism.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeffrey Dima lean against his office door, his arms crossed. The little grin that painted his face as he stared at her spoke volumes.

  “Want me to pick you up tonight? Say, seven o’clock?”

  Jana leveled sultry eyes at him and wondered if he could tell it was all an act. “Why wait?” Her thought was that if she allowed him to go back to his apartment without her, that might give him time to put his hands on his stash of Rohypnol. No, she was determined to keep him in her sight. She also thought that if she pretended to be interested in him, it might throw him off his perceived need to drug her in the first place. “It’s six already. Why don’t we go for a drink? Isn’t there a place at the bottom of your building?”

  “Now how do you know where I live?” Jeffrey said as his grin widened and he walked to her desk.

  “Oh, I know things,” Jana replied with a coy look on her face.

  “You know things, do you? Well what else do you know about me?”

  Jana’s expression flattened. “I know you have a certain reputation, with women, I mean. It’s said that you make the rounds, so to speak.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  Jana looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was nearby. “What makes you think I don’t make the rounds myself?”

  “My, my. We are going to have an interesting evening, aren’t we? And yes, there is a place to grab a drink at the bottom of my building. The Forty-Forty Club. I’m a member. I think you’ll like it.”

  Jana turned her attention to the laptop monitor and clicked her mouse on a button labeled “Execute Trade,” then looked back at Jeffrey. “I just made the last buy. That’s it, it’s all done.”

  “Well in that case, it’s happy hour. The club is just four blocks down.”

  21

  On the Move

  Across the street in the coffeehouse, Stone focused his attention on the front doors of the sprawling Petrolsoft building.

  “You know we’ve got eight pairs of eyes trained on that building right now?” Agent Fry said. “Every exit is covered. Don’t worry, we’re going to see her when she walks out.”

  “I know,” Stone said, “but our surveillance teams are not as familiar with her as I am. I could spot her a mile away.”

  “You taking a liking to young Miss Baker?”

  “It’s not like that. She’s a kid. Twenty-two years old. More like a daughter.”

  “Come on, Stone. You know better than to allow yourself to become attached to a material witness. It could be dangerous.”

  Stone’s eyes never left the doorway across the street as he scanned the throngs of humanity exiting the building at the close of Friday’s business day. “It’s not dangerous, it’s smart. And it isn’t something that I can control, at any rate. She’s a great young woman and I don’t want to see her get hurt. The fact that I’m so worried about her only increases her safety.” He straightened up in his chair. “That’s her. Navy blue skirt, double-breasted suit jacket.”

  Fry squinted in the direction of the doors. “Are you sure?”

  But Stone was unabated and raised a radio to speak. “Squad two, squad two, this is Stone. Subject on the move. North entrance. She’s accompanied by our target. Heading south on Madison Avenue.”

  “Roger that,” came the terse reply. “We’re on it. Mobile four, mobile five, keep your distance, but don’t lose eye contact.”

  Stone, Fry, and the members of surveillance squad two leapt into action and walked out into the stream of people flooding the sidewalks of Madison Avenue.

  Fry said, “Check the tracker. You picking up the ping?”

  Stone looked at his phone and opened the FBI’s secure t
racking application. “Yeah, I’ve got her. She’s about fifty yards ahead of us. Dammit, I’ve lost visual though. Do you see her?”

  “Relax,” Fry said, as the two walked as fast as they could without drawing suspicion. “We’ve got two mobile units right behind her, and two out in front guessing which way she’ll walk. She’s in good hands.”

  “I’m not going to relax until I get her away from that thug. I swear to God, Fry, if he puts one hand on her . . .”

  “I know, Chuck, I know. But like I said, she’s a big girl and can apparently handle herself.”

  Several minutes later, Jana and Jeffrey Dima turned on W. Twenty-Sixth Street.

  “Shit,” Stone said, “they turned. The two mobile units walking out in front of her are now out of position.”

  “Would you calm down?” Agent Fry said as he put a hand on Stone’s shoulder. “You know as well as I do that that’s what happens. Any surveillance units out in front will generally get out of position at one time or another because they can’t predict which way the subject is going to go.” Fry pushed against a hidden ear piece and spoke into the mic tucked inside his shirt collar. “Mobile one and three, you’re out of the lane. Subjects now headed west on Twenty-Sixth. Hightail it through Madison Square Park until you come out at the intersection of Fifth Avenue at Twenty-Sixth. If you hurry, you’ll be just ahead of them.”

  The two young surveillance specialists, one a male, the other a female, broke into a sprint, weaving in between people on the sidewalk, then turned into the park to try to run ahead of Jana.

  The radio cracked to life. “Six, six? This is mobile four. We’ve lost visual! I repeat, we’ve lost visual.”

  22

  Decrypting the Data

  “Well find them, dammit!” Stone barked into the radio. He broke into a run doing his best to weave in and out of people on the sidewalk in front of him, but then remembered that Jana was wearing the tiny tracker device. As long as she was outdoors, he could find her location. He pulled out his phone and opened the app. “We’re okay. I show her taking a left on Fifth. They’re headed right where they said they were, to Jeffrey Dima’s building. We need to put eyes on them immediately. And when you reacquire, don’t lose sight of them again.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the reply from one of the mobile surveillance specialists as he panted, trying to catch his breath. A few moments later, the specialist said, “Six, six, this is mobile three. We’ve got her in visual. Heading down Fifth. Hold on, six . . . looks like, yes, looks like they’re entering a nightclub. The Forty-Forty Club. It’s an upscale place at the bottom of the 10 Madison Square West building.”

  “Roger that, mobile three. Don’t make it obvious, but get in that club and observe. I don’t want her alone with that thug unless we can see what’s going on.”

  “Ah, sir?” mobile three replied, “that might be kind of a problem.”

  “And why is that?”

  “That’s an exclusive club, sir. Members only. I’ll never get inside there without drawing attention.”

  “Shit,” Stone said to Agent Fry. “I don’t want her alone.”

  “Stone,” Fry said, “this is part of the deal. She’s already committed to going to the guy’s penthouse, where she knows we can’t listen in. This nightclub isn’t as dangerous as when she goes upstairs. It might be a members-only club, but it’s a public place. He isn’t going to harm her in there.”

  “I hear you, but dammit, if anything happens to that girl . . .”

  “Jesus, to listen to you, you’d think it was your daughter we’re talking about.”

  Stone picked up his pace again. “My daughter? My daughter? No shit, Fry. I guess you didn’t notice what Jana’s birth date was. What am I talking about? You wouldn’t know the significance anyway.”

  “Her birth date? What about it?”

  “October nineteenth, 1986,” Stone replied as he sidestepped a woman pulling a rolling suitcase up the sidewalk.

  “What’s October nineteenth?”

  Stone paused a few moments. “It’s my daughter’s birthday, to the exact day and year.”

  Fry’s gaze trailed off into the distance. “Your daughter . . . I didn’t know you had kids.”

  “My son is twenty-four now. My Jennifer . . . we called her Jenna, was born on October nineteenth, 1986, same day as Jana Baker,” Stone swallowed a lump in his throat. “She was a preemie, though. Only one and a half pounds. She was a fighter. Toughest little thing I ever saw. She was only with us nine months before . . .”

  “God, I’m sorry,” Fry said. “You never told me. Listen, Stone, I know you’ve gotten close to Jana. But look at me, she’s going to be all right.”

  “Thanks, man, but I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if anything happens to her.”

  “There are twelve of us on-site here. That’s a lot of guns. We’re going to do everything we can to keep her safe.”

  “Mobile two, three, four, and five are all in position,” barked Stone’s radio.

  “Roger that,” Stone said into the mic. “I don’t care that we can’t laser-mic the penthouse. I want two sets of eyes in the building across the street. We still might be able to see through the glass.”

  “This is mobile two. Roger that, sir. And, sir? I’m familiar with Jeffrey Dima’s building. Be advised, the subjects won’t have to exit the club if they intend on going up to the penthouse. The club is enormous. It takes up much of the first floor of this building. There’s an entrance from inside the building lobby to the club, and an elevator right there.”

  Stone again spoke into the mic. “Mobile two, you seem awfully familiar with the layout of this building.”

  “Been here before, sir. Back when we were assigned to surveil the CEO, Rune Dima. He lives here too.”

  “Both cousins live in the same building? How convenient,” Stone said to Fry.

  Fry replied, “Right. Rune is a floor below Jeffrey. Sorry, never mentioned the fact that they live in the same place.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Stone said. “But it is kind of odd, isn’t it? I mean, the fact that the CEO of the company lives in a less expensive place than the CFO.” Then into his mic, he said, “Roger that, mobile two. Rune Dima is not our target. You just focus on Jeffrey. And put a unit inside the lobby. Tell him to talk his way past the doorman. I want to know when the subjects hit that elevator.” Stone lowered the mic then closed his eyes and thought about his next tactical decision. “Fry, is our Enhanced Special Weapons and Tactics team in position?”

  “It’s not an enhanced unit, just the standard SWAT team out of the Manhattan field office. But yes, they’re in place. We’ve got them split into two minivans, parked on opposite corners of Madison Square Park right now.”

  “Why the hell didn’t they send the enhanced unit? Dammit, I specifically said I wanted Enhanced SWAT.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. You know as well as I do that there are only nine enhanced units in the bureau, and one of them is deployed overseas at the moment. The director holds them and all hostage rescue teams in reserve for counter-terrorism operations, and you know it.”

  “And what the hell does he call this? Rune and Jeffrey Dima are known terrorists.”

  “Other than the communiqués with Al-Jawary, and the obvious fact that they’re almost certainly in possession of insider trading information, we have nothing on them. If the director thought they were about to attack the United States, he’d send us one of the enhanced teams, a team from FBI Hostage Rescue, a couple of Navy SEALs, and even my mother-in-law. But as it stands, we have squat to offer him.”

  “All right, all right. I just expected more firepower, that’s all.” Stone smirked. “Your mother-in-law? She’s a piece of work, huh?”

  “Don’t get me started,” Agent Fry replied.

  “So wait, the SWAT team is sitting in a couple of minivans?”

  “Yeah, you wanted us to blend in and not be seen, remember?”

  Stone looked through
a compact set of binoculars toward the entrance to The 40/40 Club. “So where did we get ahold of minivans? We don’t have anything like that in the motor pool.”

  “To be honest, I only know where one of them came from.”

  “Which was?” Stone said, still focusing through the binoculars.

  “It’s that guy the director talks to at NSA. It’s his wife’s.”

  “Bill Tarleton? You’re telling me that the guy known as Uncle Bill lent his wife’s minivan to us for this operation? Boy, the director is really calling in favors.”

  “Oh, it gets better. Uncle Bill is apparently driving it himself. He’s here, parked just behind the building.”

  “He’s here?” Stone pulled the binoculars away from his face and looked at Fry. “He’s a directory head, or a section chief, or some other such thing at the National Security Agency. What the hell is he doing here with my SWAT team?”

  “Remember, he and FBI Director Latent were roommates at Georgetown. They’ve known each other for years. And something else—Bill Tarleton has apparently been chewing Latent’s ear off about what he believes to be a pending attack. Uncle Bill insisted on being on-site here to decrypt the data as soon as Miss Baker gets her hands on it.”

  “How is it that I wasn’t told about this?”

  “You assigned me to relay info back and forth with Director Latent to keep him up to speed on the case. Guess it slipped my mind, Boss. Sorry.”

  Stone put the binoculars back to his face and again focused on the entrance to the club. “Slipped your mind? Hmmm, I wonder what might have slipped my mind recently. What was it that crossed my desk last week? Let me think. Oh yeah, that request you put in for transfer to the bureau’s Hazardous Material Response Unit. You know, I would approve it for you, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Very funny, Boss. Very funny.”