The Silencer (The Silencer Series Book 1)

by Mike Ryan

  “So what do you have a problem with, then?”

  “That they have access to millions of documents, emails, etcetera that they do nothing with. Normal, everyday people, that have real issues, that their lives may be in danger, and the NSA does nothing to help them.”

  “And if the NSA were to act on that information, or forward it to local authorities, that information couldn’t be used in court or else it would be learned where that information came from,” Smith stated.

  “And there’d be a public outcry, more than there already is about the use of the NSA’s methods in acquiring such information.”

  “And how do you propose on helping these so-called normal people?”

  “I’ve devised a program where I have access to some of that information,” Jones answered.

  “You’re hacking the NSA?”

  Jones struggled in how to answer. “Uhh, well, I guess you could put it that way. I prefer to think of it as piggybacking to get the proper information that I need.”

  “Do they know this yet?”

  “Not that I can tell. It’s only a matter of time, however, that they do. But by that time, by the time they’ve located the source, the signal will be bounced around all over the country. I’m not particularly worried about them finding me. At least not yet. What I’m more concerned with, is acting upon the information that we acquire.”

  “Just what information is that? What kind of help do these people need? And how are you finding people who need it?” Smith wondered.

  “The NSA has software programs that scan every email sent, every phone call made, every voice mail, every post on Facebook, every tweet on Twitter, that looks for certain words and phrases to indicate potential problems. Now, what they currently do, is if it’s related to terrorism or foreign intelligence, they act upon it. If it’s just Mary Sue, afraid for her life from an abusive boyfriend, they ignore that information and file it away. They don’t care whether this normal, everyday woman who’s just trying to get by lives or dies. I do. I want to make a difference.”

  “You can’t save the world, Jones. Trying to is a futile effort. Take it from me. I’ve been all over it.”

  “I know that. I’m not trying to save the world. I have no illusions about trying to change the planet or how its people look at each other. I just want to make a difference on my end of it.”

  “So what do you need me for?” Smith asked.

  “Because I can’t do the things you can do. You have a particular set of skills that I can’t duplicate. I am good at certain things…computers, finding information, things of that sort. I’ve always been in the background doing what needs to be done. What I need…is a partner who is good in the field, who can do the things you do.”

  “What makes you think I’m your guy?”

  “I’ve read your file. I know everything about you. You went into the military straight out of high school, became a member of Delta Force, spent eight years in the military, then when your enlistment ended, wound up at the CIA. I know you’ve been there the last six years, the last four of which you were in a top secret project called Centurion in which you were a foreign assassin. I also know that Centurion knew you were growing tired of your role in the agency and were seeking to get out, but with all you know about the organization, couldn’t just let you leave and sought to terminate you in London six months ago.”

  “Well then you also know that most of the people that come across my desk have a tendency of ending up dead,” Smith said.

  Jones shifted his eyes back and forth, “that is something we would have to work on.”

  “It sounds like you have a noble cause, and I’m all for it, but I’m not sure I’m your guy.”

  “On the contrary, I believe you’re the perfect guy,” Jones objected.

  “I’m a little set in my ways. Violence tends to follow me around. I’m not a wallflower who believes in turning the other cheek.”

  “That’s where we could benefit each other. I’ve read your files and reports. You certainly don’t run from a fight, and at times seem to embrace it, but it seems like you do it for the right reasons. You don’t especially like killing but you will if you have to.”

  “What are you looking to do? Save people? Send them to the authorities? Jail? What?”

  “Whatever the situation calls for, Mr. Smith,” Jones replied. “Whatever the situation calls for.”

  “I have a feeling you’re looking for someone who’s gonna swoop in and save the day, get the girl, and leave the bad guy tied up and waiting for the police to arrive to take him to the slammer. That ain’t me. It’s not how I operate.”

  “I’m fully aware of that. And I’m not naïve enough to think everything we work on will be simple and easy with no grey moral boundaries to cross. I would prefer to do things as quietly and non-violently as possible. In saying that, there will be times when I’ll probably disagree with your methods. And I’m sure there’ll be times when I think you’re being too violent for the task at hand and I’ll be right and you’ll be wrong. Just like I’m equally sure they’ll be times when I think that…and you’ll be right and I’ll be wrong and that’s exactly what the situation calls for and I just can’t see it. But I believe that together we’ll complement each other. We won’t agree on everything, no. But I think we could be an effective team. If you’re of the mind to be one.”

  Jones stood up, putting on his hat and coat. He motioned to his two bodyguards that he was done and they walked over to him.

  “Where are you going?” Smith asked, surprised he was leaving.

  “I have other business to attend to.”

  “I thought we were going over your business.”

  “It’s a lot to take in, I know. I really wasn’t expecting to go into so many details with you on our first encounter. I had merely planned to make this an introductory meeting. But things rarely go as planned, don’t they?” Jones said.

  “How will I contact you if I agree to this venture of yours?”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Smith, I’ll contact you.”

  Jones reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper, putting it down on the table in front of Smith.

  “What’s this?” Smith asked.

  “I took the liberty of arranging for accommodations for you at a nearby hotel. That’s your check-in information and room number.”

  “What makes you think I’ll go there?”

  “Curiosity. If you’re interested in this operation, I assume you’ll be there when I check in with you tomorrow. If you’re not, then you’re not, and I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

  Smith continued to sit there for a few minutes, watching the stranger walk away, followed by his two bodyguards. Once they were out of sight, he glanced down at the piece of paper given to him and thought about the offer. Though he still wasn’t sold on the idea, he was intrigued. It would interrupt his plans in Orlando, but Smith knew what he was planning down there wasn’t likely to go over well. Jones wanted Smith to help with whatever little crusade he was planning, but if he was as good with computers as he said, and as he appeared, maybe Jones could help Smith as well.

  Chapter 2

  Smith was sitting on the bed watching TV when he heard a knock on the door. He went over to the peephole and saw that it was Jones, standing there with a briefcase in his hand. Smith opened the door and popped his head out, wondering where Jones’ guards were.

  “Where’s the muscle?” Smith asked.

  “I didn’t feel I had a need for them today,” Jones replied.

  “You mean, you no longer feel I might be dangerous to you.”

  Jones shrugged. “You never know how a first meeting will turn out. If it doesn’t go as predicted or planned, precautions must be taken.”

  “And now you’re satisfied that I’m not a sociopathic killer who doesn’t care about anything?”

  “You’re here.”

  Smith allowed Jones to come in and they sat down at the small table n
ear the window to continue talking about Jones’ business proposition.

  “One of the first things we have to do is get you a new identity,” Jones stated. “Even if one person inside the CIA knows your Smith alias, it’s one too many. Luckily I’ve brought along several new identities for you to pick from and you can take whichever one you’d like.”

  “Not necessary. I already have one,” Smith replied.

  “A new one?”

  “One of the things my mentor taught me when I just started out was to create a new identity that nobody else would know, even him, in the event that things went bad.”

  “So nobody else knows it?” Jones asked.

  “Only me. And now you.”

  “What is it?”

  Smith went over to his bed and picked up some papers off it and placed them in front of Jones for him to look at. “Michael Recker,” Jones read. “Looks like you have the bases covered. Passports, drivers license, credit cards. Very impressive.”

  “We’re taught to be resourceful.”

  “So I see.”

  “I was wondering, how’d you know what plane I was flying in on?” Recker asked.

  “Flight manifests are rather easy to hack into. The bigger question is why you used one of your known aliases? You must’ve known the CIA would’ve been waiting for you down in Florida once your plane arrived.”

  “I did.”

  Jones gulped, not knowing how he’d receive his next statement. “The only thing I can deduce is that you were expecting a welcoming committee and weren’t actually planning on ever leaving that airport.”

  Recker smiled. “So how do you plan on financing this operation of yours?” Recker wondered.

  “I’ve already taken care of the finances. Money will not be an issue.”

  “Detective work, security work, vehicles, guns, supplies…all that can add up.”

  “Believe me, the amount of funds we have at our disposal will not be an issue. I’ve secured enough money to operate for several years I suspect,” Jones said.

  “How? Your own money? Or do you have a financial backer in this enterprise of yours?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “If you want me to join this operation, I need to know who all the players are. As you can imagine, I don’t like surprises.”

  “There is no one else.”

  “How much money are we talking? How bout my salary?” Recker asked.

  “Our starting capital is in excess of five million dollars. Is that enough?”

  “To start with. You’ll be surprised at how fast that goes. Supplies get expensive. Guns, cars, equipment, payoffs, it adds up quickly.”

  “I understand your point, Mr. Recker. If the situation arises that we need more capital, I’m quite confident in my ability to acquire it.”

  “Are you that wealthy that you have nothing else to do with your money?”

  “Why are you so interested in the money?”

  “Like I said, I need to know all the players. You want me involved in this operation, then you need to let me know all the details. I’m not just gonna be some hired muscle to do your dirty work and get left out to dry when things go bad,” Recker explained.

  Jones sighed and nodded, realizing he needed to be more forthcoming with the former assassin. “The money has been acquired from some, shall we say, less than reputable citizens.”

  “You’re in bed with criminals?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

  “Then how would you put it?”

  “The money’s stolen,” Jones said.

  “It’s what?”

  “I identified some individuals known for criminal activity, mostly drug players, and hacked into their bank accounts. I took around a million from five different people.”

  “And you think they won’t come looking for you?”

  “It’s not likely,” Jones explained. “I engineered it to look like the money went into accounts by their rivals, and sent anonymous messages stating that fact. Meanwhile, the money was transferred into several other accounts before finding its final resting spot in mine. I used some hacking skills to conceal the actual whereabouts of where the money went to. I then went into the rivals’ accounts and made it look like they had additional money that they didn’t really have.”

  “So you’re sure they can’t trace it back to you?”

  “Yes. Each account has a different name on it, in four different countries, so I’m reasonably sure they’d be unable to trace it back to me. As for your salary, I’ve taken the liberty of establishing a bank account for you with an initial amount of one hundred thousand dollars. In addition, on the first of every month, you’ll draw a monthly salary of twenty thousand dollars that will automatically go into your account. So, you see Mr. Recker, your salary is also not an issue.”

  “Sounds reasonable enough,” Recker said. “How are you going about picking out people that you deem of needing our help? Gonna grab an office building and put up a neon sign?”

  Jones grinned. “Not quite what I had in mind. I get the same information the NSA is getting. It’s up to me to decipher it. Some people that we’ll look in to might not actually need the help. But some will.”

  “I have one condition if I hire on to this thing,” Recker said.

  “OK?”

  “I don’t help criminals. I won’t protect them. I won’t save them. If you get something on your computer about one criminal intending to kill another…I won’t help them. And I won’t get in the way.”

  “Is that a blanket statement about every person who has a criminal record, Mr. Recker?” Jones wondered.

  “I’m not talking about the twenty year old college kid who just got busted for smoking a joint. I’m not talking about someone who got busted for shoplifting once ten years ago. I’m talking seasoned criminals who’ve got bad rap sheets. Assault, rape, murder. If one gangbanger’s trying to kill another one…I’m staying out of it. If you decipher that someone’s trying to kill them…let ‘em.”

  Jones quickly nodded his head, agreeing to Recker’s conditions. “Agreed. So I take it this means you’re on board, then?”

  “Let’s just say I’m willing to give it a shot and we’ll see how it works out.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “How many more people do you plan on recruiting on this endeavor?”

  “No one. As far as I’m concerned, the less people we have the better. Too many people involved and we risk exposing ourselves. I wish to remain as low key and inconspicuous as possible.”

  “Probably won’t be possible for very long.”

  “Regardless, let’s try to keep it that way.”

  “When do you anticipate starting this little gig?” Recker wondered.

  “Oh, we’ve already started, Mr. Recker,” Jones answered, reaching down to the briefcase on the floor and putting it on the table.

  Jones unsnapped it and removed a bunch of papers and laid them on the table, looking at them briefly. He then moved the briefcase aside and handed one of the sheets to Recker.

  “What’s this?” Recker asked, looking the paper over.

  “I believe that would be what you call our first…,” Jones attempted to say, struggling to find the proper wording. “What would you call it exactly?”

  “Our first person in need?”

  Jones smiled, “it’ll do for now, I suppose. But yes, that’s our first victim…target…none of those sound quite right. Anyway, that’s who I’d like to help first.”

  “Why her?”

  “Seems like a rather straightforward case. What appears to be a rather decent woman who’s being abused and threatened by an ex-boyfriend. I intercepted several e-mails, texts, and phone calls indicating he was quite unhappy with the termination of their relationship. Well, as you can see, it’s all there for you.”

  “Why hasn’t she just gone to the police?”

  “It’s a little further down there,” Jones said, pointing to it. “But, any
way, she has. She has a protection order out on him.”

  “They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on. All it takes is one time for him to violate it and she could be dead by the time the police get there.”

  “Exactly. She appears to be a good person, no criminal record, works as a nurse at a major hospital, volunteers for a dog adoption organization. She’s in fear for her life from this man and she needs our help.”

  Recker continued reading the paper on her. On subsequent pages, Jones had included some of the e-mails and texts the boyfriend had sent. Mia Hendricks was twenty eight years old and worked at St. Mary’s Hospital as a pediatric nurse. Three months prior, she’d broken up with her boyfriend of six months over his physical and abusive nature. He had a propensity for drinking too much and caused several bruises on Hendricks’ arms, as well as couple on her face, including a black eye. It was after the black eye that Hendricks’ co-workers, fearing for her life, convinced her to get away from him. In the three months they’d been apart, her ex, Stephen Eldridge, hadn’t quite gotten the message. He told her that he’d change and not drink anymore, but he was still verbally abusive and threatened to kill her if she didn’t get back with him.

  “What got her on your radar?” Recker asked.

  “Well, anything the software deems a physical threat is noted. Words like kill are an automatic red flag. There are other words and phrases that start sounding alarms, but that’s the gist of it. And as you can see, he used that word several times, both in e-mails and texts.”

  “Seems like he’s not getting the message.”

  “No, he’s not. She keeps rebuffing him, but with each subsequent contact, Eldridge’s replies are getting more dangerous and indicating he won’t stop no matter what.”

  “So what do you want me to do? Throw him off a rooftop?”

  “Uhh…while I have no doubt in the effectiveness of such a strategy, I was hoping for something a little less…noticeable,” Jones told him.

  “Would you rather me whisper sweet little nothings in his ear?”

  Jones opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again as his eyes danced around, thinking of a proper reply. “I was hoping you could get him to realize the error of his ways and divert his attention on a different path.”