Chasing the Captain

by Terry Shepherd

  El Asaltante was short, barely five feet tall. He had the muscle tone of a convict for whom weight training was the one nonviolent lesson learned in prison. Tattoos covered both arms, with more in evidence beneath a Chicago Bears muscle shirt. A tuft of greased hair topped closely shaved temples. A joint burned in an ashtray within Antonio Rojas’s reach.

  The gang leader lifted a finger, and a guard closed the office door. The second stood against it. Jess could see the print of a handgun beneath his shirt as he crossed his arms to draw attention to it.

  Jess nodded toward the weed. “Put that thing out, Tony. If you want me to respect you, don’t disrespect me.”

  Antonio Rojas smiled. He picked up the joint and took a long pull off it before crushing the tiny remains of the roach in the ashtray. “Jessi Ramirez. How’s your sister?”

  “Smart enough to know to steer clear of elementary school bullies who make poor decisions.”

  Antonio licked his lips. “The girl could kiss; I’ll give her that.” He pointed to Ali. “Why bring the bollo. Do you feel unsafe in your old neighborhood?”

  Jess knew that Ali’s command of Spanish included the common slang for lesbians. But her partner kept her mouth shut.

  “What do you want, Tony?”

  Antonio held his hands out in a gesture of innocence. “Just to return a favor. You saved my brother’s life. Perhaps I can save yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The word on the street is that there is a sicario out there looking for you. And the assassin is not local. He may have offered the contract to one of the inferior Paloma pandillas.”

  Jess crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me how you know this?”

  Antonio slowly shook his head. “No, hermanita. What good would my networks be if I told the police how they work? You’re one of the few mujer cops and the only Latina.” Antonio rubbed his forearm. “We’re easy to spot. Just watch your back.”

  Jess chuckled. “So, you’re warning me that someone out there is going to kill me, but you won’t tell me who it might be or how you know?”

  El Asaltante stood, leaning forward as his fingers pressed against the desktop. “Forewarned is forearmed. Abraham Tucker in The Light of Nature Pursued. 1768. See, hermanita? I paid some attention in class.”

  Jess turned toward the door while Ali monitored the gang leader. Antonio must have sent a sign because the guard slid aside and held it open for them.

  “Jessi?” Antonio called after her. “This makes us even.”

  Jess turned to face the young man she had known since childhood. Despite the tats and his hands on his hips, he still looked like a kid. “No, we’re not, pendejo. I’m betting there’s enough weed on the premises right now to send you and your two mentees back to the joint for a nice long visit. I’m overlooking that. You still owe me.”

  “You were a badass in there, partner,” Ali said as the two cops drove away from the bar.

  “Do you think Tony is just trying to assert a little male dominance or is someone out there who means to do you harm?”

  Jess could feel the fight coming back into her constitution. Perhaps the horrors of Nashville were going into the box where she kept all the other things she wanted to forget. “Who knows? These past few weeks have been full of surprises.”

  “Well, intel is intel. I think we should nose around and see if we can sniff out some facts.”

  Jess frowned and patted the pocket where she kept her cell phone. She noticed Ali feeling the soft tremor of the vibration alert in her pocket, too. A red light afforded the opportunity for the women to read the message.

  Jess’s eyes widened. Ali’s mouth dropped open.

  The two turned their screens so the other could read the single sentence, screaming at them both in capital letters.

  MARIE CULPADO IS ALIVE.

  17

  Metropolitan Police Headquarters—London

  While the city itself is under the City of London Police jurisdiction, the Metropolitan Police Services, informally known as The Met serves 32 London boroughs, co-coordinates counter-terrorism activities, and protects the royal family and certain members of the government.

  Chasing down an American who was supposedly dead for over a decade was arguably not part of the job for the 40,000 plus men and women who took home a Met paycheck.

  For Liyanna Evans’s boss, it was now more than a minor annoyance. Desmond Maddox glared at Lee and Zoe from behind his desk in a small office that didn’t come close to reflecting his responsibilities. The man was north of six feet tall with a boxer's build and a bearing that betrayed his service as a Royal Marine.

  “Tell me everything,” he commanded in the terse style that could terrify his officers.

  Lee produced a scan of the newspaper story that had triggered her recognition of the woman she thought might be Marie Culpado, handing it over to her boss.

  “Ten years ago, I thought I saw the woman pictured in this press story. I noted the reporter’s name who covered the trial in the States and called him to see if there were a possibility she might still be alive. That was how my contact information got to an American detective who arrested the woman’s alleged killer. She contacted me four days ago and told me that the suspect in her murder was convicted and executed. Something didn’t sit right with her about the whole thing, and I admit it bothered my conscience that an innocent man might have been killed because I didn’t press hard enough on a lead.”

  Maddox closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his temples. “So you visited Harry Duggan. What did he tell you?”

  “Duggan thinks…” Lee took a breath. It was still hard to imagine Harry in the past tense. “Duggan thought that this Marie Culpado came to London with a companion. He claimed to have provided them with false documents.”

  Maddox finished the story for her. “And now Duggan is dead. Two men assaulted you and PC Doyle outside of a pub, and you think there’s a connection.”

  “Yes, sir. It doesn’t feel like the two events are coincidental.”

  Maddox pulled a well-worn folder with “Harold Duggan” written on the front from his center drawer, tossing it onto his desk. “Harry Duggan had many enemies. So do you, DI Evans. Perhaps the timing is coincidental.”

  Zoe tried to come to her partner’s aid. “Our attackers specifically mentioned Harry’s name when they jumped us.”

  Maddox shot icicles at her. “There are a dozen explanations for that, PC Doyle. We live in a two-thousand-year-old city. Hatred that crosses a dozen generations simmers everywhere. The more important issue is this: You both have very full plates without chasing an ice-cold lead from ten years ago that has nothing to do with our mission.” Maddox turned his glare to Lee. “I want you to drop this.”

  Lee wasn’t sure she could.

  “And no investigations on your own time. Is that clear?”

  Lee tried to make her response sound more acquiescent than it felt. “Yes, sir.”

  Maddox turned his attention to Zoe. “Doyle, I’m reassigning you to the Royal Detail. The palace has asked for extra security for Prince William’s kids. Report to Buckingham division in the morning.”

  Focusing on Lee, Maddox continued, “Evans, you’re off the street. Sixty day’s temporary assignment to research.”

  Lee and Zoe fell silent, too stunned to respond.

  Lee saw the boss react to the discolored bruises that pockmarked the two cops’ faces. “You both look like hell.”

  Zoe finally found her voice. “You should see our assailants.”

  Maddox waved a hand, a signal dismissing his charges. “I have. They were found an hour ago, floating face down in the Thames.”

  18

  Computer Science Lab—Paloma University

  “Okay, Andy. What the hell is going on?”

  Alexandra Clark and her partner stood amid the technological chaos of the computer science lab at Paloma University. A dozen desktop CPUs were in various states of disassembly on the
lab’s benches. Monitors flickered with the output of a hundred different programs scrolling and blinking. Six large flat screens hung in two rows on one wall displaying Internet traffic in real-time. Five disheveled students surrounded Andy Milluzzi, the lab’s student supervisor.

  Andy held Ali’s and Jessica’s cellphones in his hands, studying the identical messages on the two screens.

  “The SMS system is pretty much untraceable if the caller ID data is blocked. Someone would have to know both your phone numbers. Got any friends at work who might be pranking you?”

  “Jessica has her share of enemies.” Ali turned to Jess. “Who knows about the Culpado stuff besides the chief?”

  “Not even the chief is aware of my encounter with Jack Crawford. He would know Marie’s name from the case records. Anybody could look up the details of the trial on the web. But why would a person target both Ali and me at the same time?”

  Andy shrugged. “Can’t help you figure out that one. My guess is this is somebody you know. The carriers keep info about cell accounts close to the vest. They keep their customer databases behind some mongo firewalls with world-class encryption. It’s not something your average cop with a weird sense of humor could access without a warrant.”

  Ali gave Andy a dirty look. “Come on, Andy, you can do better than that. What if this were the tip of a deeper iceberg? Just for grins. What if somebody cracked those databases? How would those text messages get from there to here?”

  “It would probably happen under the auspices of the Chinese, the North Koreans, or the Russians. It could also be our own National Security Agency or the CIA. They have the tech and the brains to do something like this. You guys would have to figure out the ‘why.’ What would an entity like that do if they had that kind of access?”

  “You tell me, kiddo,” Ali prodded. “What’s the dystopian scenario. These days, anything is possible. Give me the worst case.”

  Andy looked to a fellow student. “Gina is our dystopian genius. Share your favorite conspiracy theory.”

  Gina ran her fingers through the dreadlocks that framed her mahogany facial features. “Not theories, Andrew. I base my analysis on what we know to be percolating out there. Our adversaries would love to break into the power grid. That system is notoriously unsafe. The holy grail is a multi-level hack, where they can control our devices. That’s harder because there are so many operating system flavors. But it’s public knowledge that the Chinese have a bunch of people working on just that scenario.”

  Ali touched Jessica’s arm as Gina pulled a marker out of her pocket and rubbed a section of the lab’s whiteboard clear with the arm of her sweatshirt. “I am woman, hear me roar,” she whispered.

  Gina drew a group of different devices on the white background. “Cell phones, computers, even your lightbulbs are smart devices these days.” She drew lines from the icons to a drawing of a cloud. “If they are connected to the web, a hacker who knows how the operating system worked could control them. They could read the GPS data on your phone, Officer Clark, and know exactly where you are. They could listen in on your phone calls and read your texts. With the right psychology, they could do what social media does, direct your thoughts and actions toward what they want you to believe and do. It’s pretty dark stuff, but we learned just how gullible people could be during the last election cycle. Plant the right ideas in someone’s brain and they march toward the cliff like a lemming.”

  The information was enough for Ali to come up with an assignment. “Okay, guys. Here’s what I need. Let’s solve for Gina’s scenario. How would we figure out if someone had done exactly what she is implying? How would it show up in operating system code? Could we see it in the way the packets flow across the web? I’m talking about the most elegant and frightening hack you can imagine, something nobody can see unless they are looking for it. Draw me a picture of how that would work. And then I want you to tell me how to stop it. Sound like fun?”

  Andy Milluzzi grinned. “Absolutely, Officer Clark. I know a guy at Apple. We can start there since that’s the OS you both use. Do you mind if I download your operating system and the contents of your phones to a desktop? We can compare it to what should come from the manufacturer and see if anything is different.”

  Jess shot her partner a concerned glance. “These are department phones, Ali. I’m not sure O’Brien would approve.”

  “O’Brien wouldn’t understand half of the picture Gina just painted, Jess. If there’s even a modicum of a chance that what she describes is true, this will be a lot bigger issue than whether two college town cops gave some computer geeks the contents of their smart phones.”

  “That makes it worse, Alexandra. We’d have the FBI, CIA, NSA, an alphabet soup of shit on our shoulders pretty quickly.”

  Ali held out her hand. “So you’re in?”

  Jess acquiesced. “Of course, I am. Just know that if the chief comes after me for this, I’ll tell him you took my phone without my permission.”

  She handed her device to Andy. Their favorite nerd dropped the two phones into charging USB holsters and tapped a command into a keyboard.

  Gina chimed in. “If it’s a big enough hack, you won’t see it that way. The bad peeps would have inserted their code at the source.”

  “The Phoenix Code,” Jess murmured.

  Ali nodded. “Y’all helped us last year with that little adventure in Arizona and New York, and you saved a lot of lives. It may well be that we’re overreacting. But let’s pretend that Gina’s vision is on the money. If you find anything weird, ping me right away. Jessica has contacts at the FBI who will be very interested if someone has broken into our communications systems.”

  Andy Milluzzi regarded his team. “Some stuff we might have to do to help you will be illegal, Officer Clark.”

  Ali chuckled. “As in, Jess and me giving you access to every bit of data on our company cell phones? When has anything outside of the envelope stopped you before. You’ve still got the SHTF code?” Jessica’s face expressed confusion. “SHTF… Shit hits the fan. It’s a cell code that pings an attorney I know and me.”

  Andy flipped open his Android device. “Got it. One punch or a voice command.” He turned to his team. “We all sleep better at night knowing that we don’t have to call 9-1-1 for help.”

  The computer that was downloading the contents of Jessica’s and Ali’s phones spoke. “Over here.”

  “Geordi La Forge,” Ali said, recognizing the sound byte voiced by actor LeVar Burton. “Why are all digit heads also Star Trek nerds?”

  “You guys be careful,” Jess said. “We’ve just asked you to go ‘where angels fear to tread.’”

  “And yay, though I may walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” Andy recited, “I shall fear no evil. For my friends are more dangerous than my enemies.”

  Jessica shook Gina’s hand. “Glad you’re keeping these boys in line, Gina.”

  Gina grinned. “You sometimes have to be patient with men. Boys take a while to comprehend stuff.”

  “Seriously, team,” Ali added, “Thanks so much for doing this for us. If you feel at all uncomfortable, unplug and call us. Safety first.”

  Andy handed Jessica and Ali their phones. “What’s life without a little excitement now and then. You two be careful. You’re taking bigger risks than we ever will.”

  The afternoon sun was dancing over the Mississippi as the two cops left the Paloma University Physics Building. “You know what’s depressing?” Jess asked. “Those kids will make a thousand times what we’ll earn during their lifetimes. I should have paid more attention in calculus class.”

  “If you love what you do, the money is secondary,” Ali answered.

  “Tell that to my financial analyst,” Jess quipped. “At this rate, I’ll retire owing money.”

  The cop radar that was hard-wired into her brain pinged. “Check it out. A regular customer.”

  Jess saw Ali make the ID, too. “Jimmy. What’s a three-time loser doing
hanging around campus?”

  “Let’s find out.” Jess yelled at the retreating figure, “Hey, Jimmy. Turning over a new leaf?”

  She saw Jimmy’s recognition. He broke into a run. “Catch me if you can, motherfuckers.”

  “No respect,” Jess said. “He’s overtly challenging us to chase him.”

  “This isn’t Jimmy’s neighborhood, partner,” Ali said, jogging toward the Tahoe. “Out of place means something is going down.”

  As Jess was about to buckle her seatbelt, she froze. “Ali, look.”

  Jess pointed to the bottom of the dashboard. A wire slipped away from its concealment and swung free above the gas pedal. “Speaking of ‘out of place.’”

  The two exchanged a wordless glance and bolted from the vehicle, seconds before it exploded into a mushroom cloud of smoke and fire. Jess felt the blast concussion as the force threw the two cops onto the lawn next to the parking lot.

  She watched the conflagration that had once been their service vehicle. The heat ignited the gas tanks of a pair of illegally parked student vehicles on either side.

  “You okay, partner?” Ali asked.

  Jess nodded, mesmerized by the flames and the curling black tendrils that rose into the afternoon sky.

  “I guess we owe El Asaltante a favor, after all.”

  19

  The Met—London

  Zoe Doyle found the breaking news story on the Guardian website.

  Two Bodies Pulled from the Thames. Cops Hint at an Organized Crime Hit.

  “Here they are. No names, but there’s cell phone video of a couple of floaters who share bodies that look an awful lot like the two sods we danced with last night… What are you doing, Lee?”

  Zoe watched her partner typing a message into her cell phone as the two left Scotland Yard at the end of their shifts.