Table of Contents
Title Page
Also by Terrence McCauley from Polis Books
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright Notice
Prohibition
Slow Burn
James Hicks series
Sympathy for the Devil
A Murder of Crows
All available from Polis Books
To Melissa Gardella
For all the years of support and friendship
2:00 A.M.
JAMES HICKS was two hours south of Manhattan, driving to a meeting he didn’t want to attend in Washington, when his dashboard screen flashed red. It was a Proximity Alert from OMNI.
POSSIBLE SURVEILLANCE IN PROGRESS
“Goddamn it.” Hicks pounded the steering wheel. “Not this shit again.”
Surveillance was the whole reason he was driving to Washington, D.C. in the first place.
The Optimized Mechanical and Network Integration System (OMNI) was one of the most advanced computer networks in the world, giving the University one of the few advantages it enjoyed over the larger, federally-funded agencies. OMNI’s access to satellites, data systems, and communications networks collected more data in a millisecond than any human mind could ever comprehend, and saw more than any human eye could see.
Since being selected as Dean of the University weeks ago, the network now dedicated part of its impressive bandwidth to constantly scan his immediate area for patterns and signals that may constitute a threat to Hicks.
He had refused the security measures at first, finding it intrusive for a man who had spent most of his life in the shadows. He had managed to stay alive this long without babysitting. He had seen no reason to allow it now.
But the protection came with the job and could not be refused, not even by the Dean. Given the number of people who had tried to kill him in the past few months, Hicks decided an extra set of eyes watching his back might not be a bad idea.
The automatic alert he was reading now proved he had made the right choice.
He tapped the dashboard screen for more information.
TARGET CAR: BMW 750i
TAIL TIME: 30 minutes and counting
SPEED: Matching 70 miles per hour
ERROR: New Jersey license plates do not match VIN on black box
The fact that a car had been behind him for thirty minutes didn’t bother him. People often popped on the cruise control and let the car do the driving in light traffic like this.
It was the problem with the plates that bothered him. They didn’t match the Vehicle Identification Number OMNI detected from the signal on the BMW’s black box. That was unusual. Too unusual for it to be written off as a mistake.
Hicks had been checking his mirrors constantly during the drive south. He hadn’t detected anyone following him, but it was difficult to track a car in the middle of the night.
Hicks tapped a button on the Buick’s steering wheel, accessing the OMNI network. “Get me an Operator.”
“Contacting an Operator,” the female electronic voice answered as it connected him to one of the dozens of technicians located throughout the world who constantly monitored OMNI’s field operations.
A man’s voice, betraying a slight British inflection, came over the Buick’s speakers. OMNI may have been a secure closed network operating entirely on its own bandwidth, but University Operators still answered using a standard protocol script. “You’ve reached the switchboard. How may I help you?”
“This is Professor Warren.” It was the signal that he was not in any immediate danger and free to talk. If he had given them any other name, the Operator would have assumed he was in trouble and activated necessary security measures. Even with twenty-first-century technology, old tricks like code words still had a place. “Looks like I’ve become pretty popular. I need more information.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” Hicks heard the Operator’s fingers work a keyboard as he accessed OMNI to find his location and the alert that had flashed on the dashboard screen. “I see the nature of the problem now. The plates match the exact make, model, and year of the BMW following you, but the VIN is completely different.”
Hicks knew that ruled out any government agencies following him. They would not need to steal plates for a vehicle.
But someone did. “Who owns the car, according to the VIN?”
He heard the Operator typing. “Records show it was delivered to a BMW dealership in New Jersey late last week.” More clicks. “No record of sale. No stolen car reports with the police, either. It’s possible they stole the car tonight from the dealership after it closed.”
Convenient timing. “Who owns the plates?”
More clicks of the keyboard. “Michael Spatola of Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. Zooming in to get eyes on his address now.” More clicks on the keyboard. “Satellites show his BMW is still parked in his driveway, but the license plates have been removed from the vehicle.”
Hicks kept his eyes on the road. Someone had been smart enough to steal plates matching the same make, model, and year of the vehicle they had just stolen. Even if a cop decided to run the plates, they would be close enough to match and the cop would probably let them go. Both the car and the plates would be reported stolen eventually, but not for several hours.
That kind of pairing took planning and access. It took effort that common car thieves wouldn’t have gone through. And the odds that common car thieves just happened to be following him this long by accident were astronomical.
Everything about the car and the plates showed intent. It showed planning.
Hicks didn’t like it.
He needed answers and, under the circumstances, there was only one way to get them.
“Check traffic and toll cams based on my route. I’m looking for a visual of the driver. Send anything you get to my screen.”
Thirty seconds later, the Operator said, “Sending an image to you now.”
Hicks glanced at the screen while keeping his eyes on the road. A blurry image of two white males at a toll booth in the BMW appeared on his dashboard screen. Judging by the way they filled their seats, he guessed they were each over six feet tall and powerfully built.
The Operator explained, “That picture was taken as they blew through an EZ Pass station without an EZ Pass. I’ll keep looking for a clearer image, but that’s all I have for now.”
Hicks didn’t care about clearer pictures. He needed to find out who was driving that car.
“I’m in a generous mood tonight,” Hicks told the Operator, “so let’s do Mr. Spatola a favor. Enter the theft of the plates and the vehicle into the police network. Say the suspects should be consider
ed armed and dangerous and are believed to be heading for the D.C. area.”
More keyboard clicks. “Doing it now, sir.”
Another idea came to him. “Show me the closest patrol unit on my map.”
A few more clicks. “I’ve just posted the location of the closest unit to your position on your map, sir. The blue icon is the closest police car—a county sheriff’s deputy manning a speed trap approximately three miles and closing from your current position. The tail car is the red icon on your map, while your car is black.”
Hicks would have preferred a state trooper, but at least a county cop wasn’t some local Barney Fife looking to be a hero.
Hicks pulled the gloves tighter on his fingers. “Plot the nearest off-ramp between here and the speed trap. Something that gives me easy access back onto the highway.”
A blue line appeared on the map of his dashboard screen. “There’s an off-ramp approximately two miles ahead of you, sir, but be advised: you may not be able to outrun the BMW. It’s got a twin 445 horsepower V8 engine. With all due respect, sir, that’s a tough engine for an old Buick to beat.”
Hicks smiled. That’s why I’ve got an Aston Martin V12 engine under the hood. “Consider me advised. Since the alert is already on the system, send a message directly to the deputy’s onboard computer. Tell him the vehicle is heading his way. Let’s see what he does.”
“Doing it now,” the Operator replied. “And good luck, sir.”
Hicks killed the connection. He never believed in luck. Only in himself.
HICKS GLIDED into the left lane to pass the slower traffic and floored it. The V12 engine came to life, hurtling the old Buick south at a speed it hadn’t been meant to go when it left the factory all those years ago. But thanks to some alterations by the technicians in the University’s Varsity Squad, the vehicle was an older car only in appearance.
In addition to installing the new engine, the techs had also replaced all the windows with bulletproof glass, reinforced the frame, installed armor plating, and upgraded the electronics so the old La Crosse was tied in to the OMNI system.
He glanced at the map on his dashboard screen. The red icon of the BMW quickly disappeared at the bottom as Hicks sped out of range. He cut the wheel to the right and moved across two lanes of traffic to the exit lane, coasting up the off-ramp and stopping at a red light.
The on-ramp to take him back on the highway was well marked and straight ahead of him. Since no cars had followed him up the ramp, he decided to stay where he was when the light turned green. He wanted the BMW to pass him before he made a move. He wanted to wait for that cop to pull the car over and start asking questions. He could always find out what the cop found out by accessing the police records later. Anything to get that BMW off his back.
He watched the dashboard screen. The red icon of the BMW remained on the highway, continuing south without changing speed.
Hicks tapped the screen, expanding the map to show how close the BMW was to the speed trap. Only a mile out.
The traffic light turned green again and Hicks checked his rearview mirror. Still no cars behind him. He stayed where he was.
The red icon moved past the blue icon of the speed trap. The blue icon pulled out and fell in behind the red.
A good start.
He watched as both icons moved across the lanes of traffic to the highway shoulder. The tail car was in front, while the sheriff’s car remained several yards back.
Hicks tapped the screen to switch the view from a map to the green hue of the night vision lens from the satellite miles above the earth.
He zoomed in and saw the BMW had pulled over. The sheriff’s car was just behind it, high beams on and lights flashing.
Hicks liked what he was seeing. Follow your training, Ace. It’s an Armed and Dangerous call. Don’t be a cowboy. Stay in the car. Call for backup and wait for the cavalry to show up.
The sheriff’s car door opened and a large deputy stepped out from behind the wheel.
“Goddamn it!” Hicks punched the steering wheel. “Stay in the fucking car!”
That was when Hicks saw the BMW’s passenger door open as well.
He tapped back to the map view and widened the search area for additional police units. No other cars were in range.
Hicks hit the gas and bolted for the on-ramp.
The deputy might not have needed any help.
He was going to get it anyway.
A GUNFIGHT was already under way by the time Hicks reached the scene.
The deputy was on the ground between the BMW and his patrol car, firing at the passenger side. The rear window was shattered. The passenger was out of the car and firing down at the cop, while the driver gestured wildly at him to get back in the car.
Hicks cut the wheel to the right, screeching to a stop at an angle in front of the BMW. Horns blared at the new obstruction in the right lane of the highway.
The passenger glanced back at Hicks as he reloaded.
The driver began getting out of the car.
Time to move.
Hicks pulled his Ruger .454 from his shoulder holster as he opened his door.
Hicks aimed at the passenger as he stepped out of the car and fired. One round from the powerful pistol caught the passenger in the top of the forehead. Red mist appeared behind his head as he dropped to the asphalt.
From the cover of the BMW’s door the driver fired three times, all three shots hitting the bullet-proof glass of the Buick’s side windows.
Hicks fired twice, each round punching through the driver’s window, catching the shooter in the center of the chest. The man dropped his pistol as he fell.
Hicks kicked the driver’s pistol under the BMW as he rushed to the deputy. He found the cop on the ground, trying to keep blood from spurting out of a bullet wound in the left side of his neck while trying to cover the scene with the gun in his right hand. The slide was locked back, proving the gun was empty.
Hicks ignored the gun as he knelt beside the wounded deputy. “Relax, Ace. I’m one of the good guys.” He saw the cop’s mic was clipped to his bulletproof vest. So was a body camera. Hicks hit the squawk button and spoke into the radio. “Officer shot.” He read the name from the deputy’s name plate. “Deputy Hass needs assistance at the Armed and Dangerous stop on the highway.” He read off the license plate number of the car and ignored the dispatcher’s demands for him to identify himself.
Hicks holstered his Ruger and pulled the cop to his feet. He walked him to the backseat of his patrol car. He found a towel on the ledge of the rear window, balled it up, and stuck it over the wound. “You got hit in the shoulder, not the throat. It’s a bad wound, but if you keep pressure on it, you should be okay until the cavalry gets here. Stay sitting up straight; that will reduce the blood loss and you’ll stay alive.”
Hicks left the deputy in the backseat and pulled his OMNI handheld device from his pocket. Since he was wearing driving gloves he knew he hadn’t left any prints on the mic, not that prints would tell the police much, anyway. The cop’s body camera had probably caught images of his face, but OMNI could take care of that later. He had work to do first.
Horns blared and rubberneckers slowed, drawn by the flashing lights and awkward angle of the Buick off the shoulder. Hicks kept his face turned away from the traffic in case anyone was taking pictures.
Hicks raised his handheld and took a picture of the driver’s corpse so OMNI should get a good match on his identity. Then he placed four of the dead man’s fingers on the screen and scanned them.
The wail of sirens in the near distance began to grow louder as Hicks went to the passenger side of the BMW. The top of his head was completely gone, but he took his picture anyway and scanned his fingerprints. The approaching sirens were growing louder by the second.
Time to go.
Hicks slipped the handheld back into his pocket as he climbed into the Buick and pulled out into the slow flow of traffic. In his rearview mirror, he could see dozens of pairs o
f red-and-blue lights from several patrol cars race across the median to help their fallen comrade.
He eyed his mirrors for the next few miles, watching for a police car that might be chasing him.
He decided he was in the clear five miles later. He hit the call button on his steering wheel again and called Jason, his second in command at the University. The position had been dubbed the Dutchman because, like the boy in the story, he kept plugging leaks in the dam.
Despite the late hour, Jason picked up on the first ring. “I woke up when I heard you had received a proximity alert. I tracked the whole thing via OMNI. Are you hurt?”
“No, but we’ve got a problem. The deputy I helped was wearing a body camera. I know he got my face, maybe even a couple of shots of the car.”
“I know,” Jason said. “But fortunately, the county doesn’t have a live feed from their officers in the field. We’ll alter the dash and body cam footage as soon as they download it from the devices. OMNI is already running print analysis and facial recognition searches on the men you killed. No solid hits yet, but preliminary scans of their features say they’re of Slavic origin. Probably Russian, definitely not Farmhands.”
Farmhands was the University’s term for people who worked at the Barnyard, which was another University term for the Central Intelligence Agency. This didn’t feel like a government op gone wrong. If they had been feds, they would have called it in and had the deputy ordered to back off. They wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of stealing a car and license plates in the first place.
“Try tracing their movements from the time OMNI realized they were tracking me. Might help figure out how the hell they found me.”
“I’m already on it,” Jason said. “I should have something within an hour. But there’s something else.” He hesitated before saying, “I know how important tomorrow’s meeting is for the University, but after this incident I think you should consider postponing. Since those men weren’t agents, we should know who they were and how they found you before you meet with people like this.”
Hicks hadn’t always agreed with Jason, especially back when Jason had been his boss. But he agreed with him now and, unfortunately, it didn’t make a damned bit of difference. “The Trustee had to pull a lot of strings to get this meeting to happen. If we call it off now, we might not get this chance again. And if the clowns who were following me turn out to be Russian, then they’re probably with the Vanguard. That’s why we’re meeting with Langley in the first place.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 1
