Operation: Beach Angel

by Margaret Kay

  “I’ll see you at sixteen hundred back upstairs,” Madison told Lambchop and then left.

  Lambchop entered data into a spreadsheet as Garcia called it off. “What does this data mean?”

  “It’s from the network’s back up logs. I’m looking for the date stamp that will show me when those status emails were deleted. The problem they have that will allow me to chase this down is that their network records counts. All status emails go to an alias that disseminates them to the people in that alias. These emails go to four people. By looking at the total number of emails to the alias as well as each person’s inbox, I should be able to see what date they were wiped.”

  “How does that help?” Lambchop asked.

  “I’m willing to bet that at least one person forwarded at least one status email to someone else or to a personal email account of theirs. That’s where we’ll get them. Their forwarded email probably wasn’t wiped.”

  They spent several hours going through it before Ruth Arnold entered the room. Lambchop recognized her from her photo in the biography. After introductions and pleasantries, Ruth excused herself again, asking Garcia to notify her when he was done, and she could have her office back.

  “She does not like you,” Lambchop said to Garcia after she had returned to the server room.

  Garcia smirked. “She stopped pretending yesterday when I pulled rank and got access to her desktop computer. And I’m sure she doesn’t even know that I installed a key stroke tracker program to see what she does on company time. I don’t know a single network manager who isn’t accessing all kinds of personal shit at the office. After all, who’s going to know?”

  “Remind me never to piss you off,” Lambchop said. Then he noticed the time. “Hey, I’m going to head back upstairs and get ready for Dalton’s visit.”

  “Okay, we’ll be taking off after. We’ll grab dinner and bring it back to the hotel.”

  “Sounds good,” Lambchop agreed. He knew that at the hotel or at the proctology office they would be able to talk openly and plan their next day’s mission.

  He left and took the stairs up to the first floor. He exited the stairwell and poked around the offices and rooms that were in the back area of the first floor. Then he made his way to the lobby. He smiled at the receptionist as he approached. “Hi, I’m with the audit team,” he said.

  “I know who you are,” she replied. “I’m sorry. That sounded cold. I didn’t mean it to.”

  Lambchop smiled and laughed. “No worries.” He presented his hand. “Don Reeves, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Brandie Hunter,” she replied, shaking his hand.

  “Brandie,” he repeated, flashing her his best, friendliest smile. “I hate to admit this, but I’m lost. I was down in the IT area but need to return to the conference room where they have us set up.”

  “That room is in our executive area up on the second floor. You need to go up another flight,” she said with a smile, pointing up.

  “Oh, okay,” he said. “Hey, while I’m here, can you recommend any restaurants in the area? I didn’t see much on the drive over from the hotel.

  “If you hop on the interstate and go east and get off at the first exit, you will find a bunch of restaurants. There is a microbrewery there with an excellent menu.” She scratched out a note on a pad of paper, tore it off and handed it to him. She’d written directions and the names of a few places.

  “Great, thank you,” he said as Wally Dalton and a suit, who Lambchop assumed was his attorney, entered. He stepped over to the elevator and pressed the up button. He heard Brandie greet them, and then they stepped over beside him. “Hi,” he said greeting them as he activated the recording function on his phone.

  Both men nodded.

  “We’ll be in and out of here in five minutes,” the attorney told Dalton.

  “You’re Dalton. You are a lucky man that you were off rotation when that platform went up,” Lambchop said.

  “Yeah,” Dalton replied.

  “Earthquakes and volcanoes scare the shit out of me,” Lambchop added. “I don’t like anything I can’t control or there are no early warning indicators for. I was in Alaska during those quakes. I’d just checked in up there and met with Mikey a few days before the incident.”

  “You did?” Dalton asked.

  “Yeah, he’s a good dude. There’s no change in his condition, fucking shame.”

  “Yeah, I think I’d rather be dead than have burns over sixty percent of my body,” his twangy voice said.

  The elevator door opened and Lambchop followed them out. They checked in with Iris after they’d entered the executive suite, as did he. He proceeded to the conference room where Madison and Cooper were. Then the three of them went to the room Dalton and his attorney were in.

  “What the fuck is this? You’re one of the auditors?” The attorney demanded. “You should have disclosed that as soon as we stepped onto the elevator.”

  “I didn’t ask your client any questions,” Lambchop said. “I didn’t lie. I was in Alaska during the quakes and the explosion.” He took his seat across the table from Dalton and his attorney. “And I mean it, you were very lucky not to be on. I know you have a daughter. She should never have to see you lying in a hospital bed burned, because of an accident at work.” He waited. Dalton said nothing. “That’s why we are here, to figure out why it happened so regs can be amended if need be, so this kind of thing never happens again.”

  Dalton frowned and shook his head. “The work is dangerous. You’re never going to eliminate the possibility.”

  “You started out on the crew that ran the drill,” Cooper said. “Your employee record is clean of any disciplinary issues, no drug problems,” he said as he flipped through the paper file. “You received a promotion that elevated you to the control room, a platform assistant manager shortly thereafter. It looks like rig C-Three was your first platform manager position, another promotion.”

  “Is there a question for my client in there?”

  “Do I have your record right?” Cooper asked.

  “Yeah,” Dalton said.

  “And you claim the leak was fixed and there were no pollutant levels in the water samples you pulled for weeks before the incident,” Cooper asked.

  “At the advice of my counsel I invoke my fifth amendment right,” Dalton said.

  “I was on that rig a week before it blew,” Lambchop said. “I talked to Mikey O’Conner. He confirmed there was still a leak, and he reported it in the status emails. He showed me the logbook. I saw his and your entries.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” the attorney said. “Show us your proof.” He waited a beat. “Or it’s your word against my client’s and as you said he has a clean record. There is no reason to doubt him.”

  Lambchop felt his irritation increase. He saw Cooper’s jaw set and a small tick develop. “So, right now your hoping Mikey O’Conner doesn’t regain consciousness. He’ll blow your story right out of the water,” Cooper said.

  Dalton said nothing.

  “It’s too bad your assistant platform manager died in that car accident, what was it, a day after the rig blew?” Cooper asked.

  “Would he plead the fifth like you? Or would he have had the guts to tell the truth and back up whatever O’Conner will say?” Lambchop asked. Dalton didn’t answer. “It was a DUI accident, I understand. Was Aaron Pence normally a drinking man?”

  “At the advice of my counsel, I invoke my fifth amendment right,” Dalton said.

  “You will have to review his file,” the attorney said.

  “Oh, we have,” Cooper said.

  “Are we done here?” The attorney asked. “Either charge my client with something or release him.”

  “There is one more thing,” Cooper said, setting his cell phone onto the table. He handed a slip of paper to Dalton. “Can you please read this sentence?”

  Dalton and his attorney glanced at it. He looked to his lawyer. Lambchop watched as they whispered with
each other.

  “What is the purpose?” The attorney asked.

  “A voice sample to compare against a recording of the coconspirator to the Christmas Eve kidnapping of the researcher from the Anchor Point Research Center,” Cooper answered.

  “Oh, and we do have a warrant to obtain the voice sample,” Madison said, presenting the court order.

  The two men consulted again in whispers, and then the attorney nodded. They made Dalton read it three times and recorded all three. Then they watched the two men leave. Cooper sent a text message to Mother, advising that Dalton was on his way out of the building. While he was inside, Mother planted a tracker on his pickup truck. He also planted one on Denise Paulo’s car, Ruth Arnold’s, and Dennis Napolitano’s.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mother text messaged the team. He would meet them back at the proctology office. The four of them at the Carstairs office left shortly thereafter. When they reached their onsite HQ, they found Mother and Jackson. Sloan and Sherman were sleeping at the hotel. They would monitor the four targets overnight.

  “When Dalton and his lawyer left the office building, they had words,” Mother said. “I was too far away to hear, but I will tell you it did not look friendly.”

  “Who looked more pissed?” Cooper asked.

  “Dalton, but the attorney didn’t back down. He got in his face, finger pointed, yelling, and red faced.”

  “Did Dalton back down?” Lambchop asked.

  “Not at all,” Mother reported. “And as soon as the attorney was in his car, he was dialing his phone. He had it pressed to his ear when he drove out of the lot. He didn’t look happy.”

  “Interesting,” Madison said. “You two obviously pushed the right buttons.”

  “Or having to give the voice sample did,” Lambchop said. “I also captured his voice in the elevator when he didn’t know he was being recorded. We’ll see if there are any differences.”

  “And you got Napolitano’s voice when we met him too?” Cooper smiled. “I saw you mess with your phone.”

  Lambchop shrugged. “Not admissible in court, but it will at least tell us if we are barking up the right tree.”

  “We’ll send all three samples to the digital team at HQ. They’ll coordinate with the FBI,” Cooper said. He and Lambchop both tapped a few keys on their phones and sent the audio files. “Okay, let’s do some recon of our four suspects. Madison, you are probably the most likely to be recognized. You will stay here and coordinate. I haven’t been seen by Ruth Arnold. I’ll take her. Mother, Wally Dalton is yours as he hasn’t seen you either. Garcia, I know you can blend in anywhere, Denise Paulo is yours, and that leaves Dennis Napolitano for you two,” he concluded pointing at Jackson and Lambchop. “But all of us need to be prepared to switch things up and back each other up if needed. We only have trackers on their cars so stay on comms.”

  “We’ll observe their movements until Sloan and Sherman report in for the overnight. I would think all four of our targets will be in for the night by eleven, but you never know,” Madison said. “Someone needs to swing back by here and pick me up after the boys get on shift.” She clicked a few keys. “All the targets except for Dalton are still at the office. We’ve noticed over the past few days that Napolitano and Arnold stay at the office much later than Paulo and of course, Dalton is on administrative leave. He is currently at his ex-wife’s residence. I think he is staying there. I don’t find another address for him.”

  “I’m on him,” Mother said. “Before I forget, here are your room keys.”” He handed Jackson and Lambchop the portfolios with their keys. Then he left.

  “Jackson, go stake out the Carstairs parking lot and see if you can observe our three targets leaving the building,” Cooper ordered. “Confirm their departure so we can each trail our assigned targets.”

  “Will do.” Jackson took another set of car keys and left.

  Just then, Denise Paulo’s tracker showed movement. She was leaving the office a bit early. “I’m on her,” Garcia said.

  He followed her signal and wound up at a city park. Remaining in his car in the parking lot, he had a clear view of her. She sat on a bench that overlooked a small manmade lake. A playground was to the right of the bench, another parking lot beyond it. He observed the familiar male figure get out of his car in that far parking lot. The suited man crossed through the playground and approached Paulo. He took a seat beside her.

  “I’ve got Dalton’s attorney meeting with Paulo in a park. They parked off different entrances into the park, not suspicious at all,” Garcia reported. He watched the animated conversation they had. Hands gestured, and heads shook. “I’d love to have a mic on them,” Garcia broadcast after describing what he saw to the rest of the team. “The question is, is she here on Napolitano’s behest or is she running this show?”

  “My guess is that this is all hers,” Madison’s voice cut in. “I’m telling you, there is something about her I don’t trust.”

  “Agreed. I gave her plenty of opportunities to tell me she’d worked in the control room on rigs when I talked to her earlier and she never did,” Lambchop said.

  “Napolitano is leaving the office,” Jackson cut in. “He’s getting into his shiny new BMW. He’s all yours for now, Lambchop. I’ll touch bases back when Arnold leaves.”

  “Roger that, Jax. I’ll give him a second to see what direction he is heading.” He waited, viewing the tracker signal on his tablet, which he’d take with him.

  “Hold on, what do we have here,” Jackson broadcast a few minutes later. “Napolitano pulled up to the side door. Ruth Arnold just got into his car and they are pulling away from the curb. Her car is still in the lot.”

  Cooper brought the tracker signal up on his tablet as well. “I’m going to intercept. If he leaves Ruth Arnold off someplace, I’ll take over surveillance.”

  “I’ll follow at a distance,” Lambchop added. “We’ll be in touch, Madison.”

  Darkness crept in before Lambchop converged on the bar and grill in an adjacent industrial section of the city. Both Cooper and Jackson were parked in various locations in the lot. By this time, he heard the report through his comms that Denise Paulo and the attorney had parted company in the park. Garcia tailed her to her residence, an apartment building in a better-than-most neighborhood. He was keeping watch on her place from the window of a diner that faced her building’s front entrance. Her car was parked in the side lot. He could clearly see it and the exit from his location.

  Mother too reported in that Dalton was still at his ex’s trailer. Through the window, he saw Dalton pounding beers. “Hopefully, he won’t be venturing out to drive anywhere this evening. I’m sure he’s well over the legal limit already.”

  Jackson, who had not been seen by either Napolitano or Arnold, entered the establishment they were in. They were seated at a back booth. He managed to get seated at a nearby table and was able to pick up a few words that were spoken above a whisper. “That fucking auditor,” was heard several times spoken by Ruth Arnold. Napolitano appeared to be trying to calm her down. They were both drinking martinis, had three each before they separated, Napolitano leaving the bar first.

  “I’ll stay here on her,” Jackson transmitted. “I want to see how she gets back to her car at the office.”

  “I’ve got Napolitano,” Lambchop replied, shifting to drive to follow Napolitano’s black BMW out of the lot. “Did they look like just coworkers or closer, Jax?”

  “It wasn’t a cozy conversation. The more she drank, the louder she was, and the softer his voice became. There was nothing affectionate about the encounter if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Lambchop remained a good half-mile back as Napolitano drove. He was heading in the direction of his home in an expensive community. As they neared his residence, Lambchop closed the gap to only a few hundred yards. He pulled around the corner and watched the Global Operations Manager pull into his garage and then retrieve his trash bins from the curb. Today had been trash day. Go
od to know.

  Through his comms, Lambchop heard the updates on the three others they were surveilling. By twenty-one hundred, Wally Dalton passed out on the couch in his ex’s trailer. Ruth Arnold took an Uber home, and Denise Paulo didn’t leave her apartment the rest of the evening that Garcia saw.

  “Napolitano just turned all the lights in his mansion off. I think he’s tucked in for the night too,” Lambchop reported.

  “The boys just came in to take over,” Madison responded. “Give me five minutes for a turnover and then everyone can call it a night. Coop, swing back by and pick me up, will you?”

  “I’ll meet you there so we can leave the vehicle I have with them too,” Jackson volunteered.

  A few minutes later the transmission came from Sloan, ordering everyone off their surveillance. Lambchop yawned as he turned the car over and then shifted to drive. “What time are we reconvening tomorrow?”