Timelines

by Bob Blink

  “Then we regroup the bits that are left into ASCII characters,” I guessed, stating my conclusion out loud.

  John nodded. “Oh there may be minor manipulation required beyond that, and we will have to try various lower/upper case variations, but that is what I assume is meant by the directions that were passed to Dave.” He thought for a minute. “I’ll bet some of the coloring in the pictures is a bit odd, but they probably paid no attention.”

  It made sense. And it was clever. Kurt had created a means of hiding the data, yet even someone looking would have to know the information was really there to avoid being put off by the apparent red herring resulting from the first step of the decode. There were massive amounts of data, but only a select region hid the secrets.

  John looked at us expectantly. “So where’s the data file so I can get started,” he asked eagerly.

  He was met with silence. That was another problem. We didn’t have the file. It was only available one or two places. We knew the federal labs had it. Wherever those labs were. Agent Williams had forced the processing of the data through on a priority basis only to have it blow up on him. The data might also still exist on the computers in the basement of Kurt residence. Those would still be the encrypted version, but we had already decided that if the Feds could break them, they would be a minor problem for our advanced capabilities.

  I thought for a minute. It seemed for a long time we had been in a passive and reactive mode. I was damn tired of it. I knew of one person who knew where the files were and might be able to get us access. It was time to go on the offensive. First I needed to permanently get rid of the tail that Mike warned was still following me around. Agent Jeff had told him that neither he nor Williams had called the tail off when they were told to stand down by their bosses at the NSG. Williams had been fixated on watching me. That represented another violation of their orders. I had an idea. I looked around the room and explained what I wanted to do.

  Chapter 19

  Monday afternoon, 29 May 2006

  Seattle, Washington

  For the past week and a half Sam had nearly lived in his car. The time to break free of this job may have arrived. The inside smelled of old grease from the many hamburgers and tacos he had eaten waiting through long boring hours on watch. The floor was littered with empty coke cups and an assortment of food wrappers. His stomach had begun to complain almost non-stop the last couple of days. Sometimes he thought this Crampton fellow was deliberately making his life miserable.

  Oh, he knew the job. Long hours doing nothing came with the territory. Just the same, there was something odd about this case. What did he have to show for his efforts so far? Nothing. Just a lot of abuse from that disagreeable agent that hired him. Especially after Crampton gave him the slip last week. Sam had decided that wasn’t his fault. At least not entirely. After all, there was only so much one man could do. The man was an engineer for Christ’s sake. No one expected him to slip away like that. They told him he probably wouldn’t even think about a tail. Just how was he supposed to keep him under surveillance continuously when the man worked in a secure facility that Sam couldn’t get access to? At least not without totally blowing his cover. So the bastard had given him the slip. Big deal. He took another sip of the lukewarm coffee and grimaced.

  Another thing. His employers weren’t keeping him very well informed these days. Before, every day they would check in and give him directions on how they wanted him to proceed. As though he needed their guidance. But lately, nothing. It was as if they had lost interest. But they had told him to keep on the job until they told him otherwise, so here he still was. Just like a little bit ago, for instance. That dark haired wife of Crampton’s had ridden out with someone else. The BMW was still there. He had checked. Should he follow the wife where at least he would be doing something besides sitting, or stay put and track the husband, who he knew wasn’t going to come out until quitting time? He tried to call Jeff, but no answer. That was unusual too. He’d be damned if he’d call Agent Williams for instructions. That S.O.B. would just find something to rant about. He probably wasn’t going to reimburse him for the bugs that he had lost, all to no avail. The failure of his equipment still perplexed him. He would have to deal with that later when he had time. Crampton was still inside, so he stayed put chewing on a candy bar.

  It was almost an hour later when surprisingly Crampton came hurrying out to his BMW. This was the first time he had seen any indication of anxiety or haste on the part of his quarry in the many days he had watched him. Sure enough, he made a beeline for the vehicle. He didn’t even give it time to warm up like he usually did, but instead backed out of his slot, and started down the ramp towards the exit fast enough to generate a bit of a squeal from the wide tires.

  Sam was waiting for him when he exited and turned onto the main thoroughfare in front of the office building. At the speed they were both going they were likely to get a ticket, although this far out of town the frequency of patrol cars was low enough to that may not be a real concern. Staying half a block back, Sam hid behind a couple of cars. As traffic had picked up, Crampton had slowed to avoid bringing attention to himself by the multiple lane changes that would have been required to maintain his previous speed. As the light turned, Crampton made a sudden right turn rather than continuing straight as it had seemed he would do.

  He’s trying to lose me, Sam thought. Well, not again. I don’t think he has seen me as yet. He’s just going through the motions assuming he has a tail. Crampton was laughable really. So the man had gotten lucky early on and had ditched him. It wasn’t happening a second time. Not in the car. Oh, it was possible to shake a tail, Sam admitted. Especially running single string like this. A real car tail required a couple of operatives in different cars, handing off the lead. But this time Sam had an advantage. He didn’t give a damn if he was spotted. Orders were to watch him. They didn’t care if he knew that he was being followed. That changed everything. The man was an amateur. He wasn’t getting away.

  Sam’s estimation of the man was verified in the next couple of minutes. Crampton made a couple of childish attempts to loop around and double back. Several times he tried to sneak through lights as they changed, or make cross lane turns just as he came to an intersection. Sam stayed back and expertly followed through it all. He may have been made, but he didn’t think so. It was even money that Crampton still hadn’t spotted him. This was much more like it he thought to himself, enjoying the game of chase after days of sitting around.

  A few more minutes of the gyrations, and Crampton suddenly seemed satisfied. He turned onto one of the main roads leading out of town, and picked up his pace. Straight as an arrow he blasted through the suburbs and headed into the countryside.

  As the number of cars diminished along with the number of houses, Crampton began to pick up speed again. Sam stayed with him, but kept at least a half-mile between them. It was straight here and there was no concern of his turning off unseen. The few cars still headed their way gave him cover. He really wanted to remain unseen, if at all possible. Soon the flat gave way to rolling hills. The BMW would dip out of sight, then reappear on the far side of each of the successive valleys. Sam was forced to move a bit closer just to minimize the times Crampton slipped out of sight in the dips. Rolling hills gave way to an increasing incline, and pretty soon they were making their way into some real mountains.

  The BMW was really moving now. Sam was a bit surprised at the power in the X5. It hadn’t thought of the BMW as a muscle car, but this one was having no problem charging up the slopes. He wished he could say the same for the older Chevy he was driving. Keeping up was becoming a problem now. The BMW was at least a mile ahead, and gradually pulling away. He might lose him after all, simply on the basis of horsepower. Frustrated, he watched as Crampton vanished over the far peak knowing it would be at least a minute before he would clear the same spot allowing him to catch another glimpse. How many opportunities would the man have to slip off the road by then
?

  The minute lasted forever. Sam wondered where the man was going and what caused him to step out of character so. Something must have happened. Up to now he had been thinking they had been wasting time watching Crampton. Whatever his employers were looking for, they must have had the wrong man. Now he was thinking maybe they were right after all. Finally he crested the hill, only to find himself in a series of twisty turns that he had to slow for. The trees were thick here and had partially overgrown the road. He couldn’t see beyond the current turn. He had no idea where the BMW was by this time.

  Finally the road straightened, and then breaking free of the concealing vegetation he spotted the BMW halfway up the next hill, almost two miles ahead of him now. Crampon was hindered for the moment by a couple of trucks making their way slowly up the incline. For whatever reason, there were a number of cars coming the other direction, spread out just enough to prevent Crampton from powering by the slow moving vehicles. It would give Sam a chance to close the distance. He pushed the throttle to the floor and was doing eighty by the time he started up the incline. Crampton disappeared over the peak just as Sam began his ascent.

  Rocketing over the top, Sam was dismayed to find that Crampton had gotten his opportunity, and had blasted by the offending traffic. Either that or he had snuck off the road while Sam couldn’t see him. Sam watched for places that the BMW could have left the road. One or two possibilities flashed by the car. They had dirt roads and no dust seemed to have been churned up, so he passed them by. Finally, there, in the distance he caught a glimpse of the BMW as it slipped out of sight in another turn.

  Determined, Sam sped on. Luck was with him and he flashed by the two trucks on a flat, no cars coming the opposite way to hinder his high-speed swing around them. Still, Crampton was miles ahead, and probably increasing the lead. All he could do was continue, hoping that somehow he would get a break that would allow him to catch up. He didn’t see any sign of the BMW for the next five minutes. It looked like Crampton had ditched him again. Damn the bastard! A bluish flash off to the right side of the road caught his eye as he flashed past. Instinct forced him to brake hard, earning him a blast of horn from the semi that had been following close behind on the downhill stretch of road.

  He waited until it was clear, then turned back the way he had come. It was only a quarter of a mile when he spotted the BMW where he was half hidden under the trees in the small turnout. He crossed over and pulled in beside it. Why here he thought? It was clear that others parked here frequently. There was room for maybe half a dozen cars, and a wide trail heading away from the road into the mountains. Hiking trail he realized.

  Before starting down the trail he checked his Detective Special. He didn’t need to check the loads. That was something he did every morning before putting the gun on. It was only in the movies that one didn’t know if he had loaded it or not. But he wanted to make sure it was secure and accessible. Maybe it was simple nervous tension. There was something about all of this that didn’t ring true.

  The trail worked its way through a stand of trees and then out into a meadow beyond. No one was in sight, but Sam could see that the trail worked its way up the side of the hill ahead of him. Great, he thought. I’m really dressed for a jaunt through the woods. While there was no sign of Crampton, he was certain he had followed the trail, so he made his way across the flat and started working his way up hill. When he crested the peak, he could see Crampton making his way across a flat a couple hundred yards ahead. Encouraged, he picked up his pace, following after his prey.

  It took longer than expected to reach the point where he had spotted Crampton from on top of the hill. The trail appeared to continue another twenty yards, then turn into the trees ahead. Sam assumed he had gone that way, and proceeded after him. As he walked toward the trees, Sam noted a half dozen plastic bottles along the trail, filled with colored water. While he was trying to guess what they might be for, Crampton stepped out of a niche in the rock, about fifteen feet in front of him.

  Surprised and uneasy, Sam started to reach for his gun. He knew from research that Crampton had a CCW, so he was probably armed. And it dawned on Sam that he was a long way out in the country. He would bet the sound of a gunshot would go completely unnoticed here. Before he could complete the move, Crampton clenched his left fist. A half second later the plastic bottle half way between them disintegrated, pieces of plastic flying in all directions propelled by the vaporized water that had moments before filled the jug. A sharp crack from a high power rifle off to his left followed close upon the explosion. Sam froze. He had walked into a trap.

  Crampton walked a bit closer to him then. Sam let his hand fall away from the gun he had been reaching for. From the force of the explosion and the sharp crack, he knew he was dealing with some serious firepower. It made him very nervous to think the cross hairs from a rifle must be centered on his chest at this moment. He had under estimated the man for the second time. It had all been a ruse, pretending to lose him in the car. Crampton had wanted him to follow him here all along.

  “I suggest you don’t make any hostile moves,” Crampton said as he approached. Sam noticed he stayed far enough away to not be in any danger if the hidden sniper had to take a shot. “We need to talk,” he continued. “I’m tired of having you follow me around.”

  So Crampton had known all along. What had given him away? He was dismayed that his skills were failing him so drastically. “What do you want to talk about?” Sam asked.

  “To start with, do you understand that you have a rifle pointed at you at this moment? And our little demonstration should have convinced you that the rifleman can shoot. Or do you think it was a lucky shot?”

  “Maybe it was,” Sam responded, but not really believing it.

  “Do you want to bet your life on it? Crampton asked him, watching with cold blue-gray eyes and an expression he couldn’t read. After a moment he continued. “She isn’t lucky,” he said. “She is damn good. This is nothing for her. This is a mere 300 yards. You should see what kind of groups she shoots at a thousand yards.”

  She, Sam thought. His wife. He remembered her leaving earlier. It was part of the setup. Then he remembered the background sheet on her. A competitive shooter. Long range. High power rifle. One of the best shots in the country. But for all that, a paper puncher. He wondered if she could actually shoot a person. Crampton’s eyes caught his. There is no doubt there he realized. Suddenly he didn’t have any desire to contest the situation. “You win,” he croaked. “I understand.”

  “Have you been paid lately?” Crampton asked him suddenly. What a strange question Sam thought. But it was something he had been thinking about. The way this job had been going he had been considering sending them an invoice and opting out. But the answer was no, he hadn’t seen a dime. Not for his time or not for his equipment. “Why . . . . ?”

  “Well Sam, I just thought you ought to know that you have been working outside normal channels. Your employer has no official sanction for your efforts. If anything, he would be paying you out of his own pocket since he won’t be able to get authorization from his superiors.”

  The bastard knew his name! So his cover was completely blown. How long had they known about him? And he had wondered why they wouldn’t authorize additional people for the surveillance. It would make sense if there were no official funding. Shit! If this guy were telling the truth he probably wouldn’t get paid at all.

  “Have you talked with them lately?” Crampton continued, not waiting for an answer to the first question. He didn’t really want one. It seemed he knew already. “I’ll bet you have run into difficulty getting in touch with them. And they haven’t contacted you either, have they?”

  Exactly what he had been wondering about. “What makes you think. . . . .”

  Crampton interrupted him again. “You haven’t heard from them because they were ordered to drop this whole case. The information they had was faulty, and both agents were given official direction to terminate a
ll activity. Why didn’t they inform you? Because they chose to disobey their orders and continued to pursue an illegal investigation. Both are now cooling their heels in jail. They can’t contact you because they have no access to a telephone.”

  This was going too fast for Sam. He didn’t know how much, if any were true. Something in Crampton’s manner made him suspect he was being told at least a partial truth. “How would you know this, and why should I believe you?” he asked finally.

  “Oh, I don’t care if you do or not,” was the quick reply. “But thought you might want to check on your own. Especially when you continue to find them unavailable. It might solve both of our problems. But now, I have to go. There is something I need to do, and I simply didn’t need you following me.”

  “So that’s it?” Sam asked.

  “That’s it. A bit of information I thought you should know. By the way, I’m going to leave, and I want you to stay put for at least thirty minutes before you follow. Failure to do so might have dire consequences,” and he looked pointedly at the shattered jug that had been blasted apart short minutes ago. Then he turned and started back up the trail.

  Sam knew there was nothing he could do to stop him. Any action would most likely result in his getting shot. Whether that meant killed he didn’t know. After ten minutes he figured it was probably safe to start down the trail to his car. He knew he had lost Crampton for now. It didn’t matter. Maybe he had been told the truth, maybe not. He was going to do a little checking before spending any more time on this job. Even if it was all a lie, something to divert him, he was already thinking he was finished with the job anyway. He had taken two steps when another of the plastic bottles exploded at his feet.

  Backing up, he raised his hand over his head in submission. “Damn it,” he muttered. “That was close.” He found a flat rock and sat down. Checking his watch, he waited a full thirty minutes before getting up and trying again. This time he was allowed to proceed down the trail.