by Mike Ryan
After dropping Darnell off, Recker went straight back to the office, immediately getting pestered by Jones the moment he walked in. Jones dropped everything he was working on, curious about what happened with the Gibson situation.
“Judging by the fact that I don’t see any blood, I take it everything went off smoothly,” Jones noted.
“Was there ever a doubt?” Recker asked.
“So am I going to see another news story shortly?”
“Uhh…I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Oh dear,” Jones said, walking back to his computer to analyze it. “How many bodies will I be looking for?”
Recker looked away, hesitating slightly before answering. “Four,” he whispered.
“Four dead bodies. I can’t see how that won’t be a lead story on any telecast.”
“Well…had to be done I suppose,” Recker said, not the slightest bit of worry in his voice. “They had Darnell cornered between two duplexes. I had to intervene in the way that I did. They were trying to give him a gun and partake in a robbery.”
“I’m not questioning your decision making. I’m just concerned that there’s a lot of dead bodies piling up lately. And high profile cases at that,” Jones explained.
“This won’t come back to us. Four gang members dead will just look like a normal gang killing.”
“That very well may be. But it doesn’t disguise the realities.”
“What exactly are you concerned about?” Recker wondered. “None of this is going to come back to us. Nobody even knows we exist.”
“For the moment nobody knows we exist.”
“You expect that to change?”
“When there are high profile events, such as mob murders, gang killings, dead bodies being dropped in the middle of the street, those are highly publicized situations that bring a lot of attention on an area. A lot of attention brings on more scrutiny. By everyone. Police, federal authorities, public, attention that we don’t need or want,” Jones explained.
“I think you’re over exaggerating a little bit.”
“Am I? Let’s take you for example.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’re a known quantity now. People are on the lookout for you,” Jones informed him.
“You mean the CIA?”
“No, I mean the regular public.”
“I don’t follow you,” Recker said.
“Well, while you are out hobnobbing with organized crime leaders and taking out rival competition and eliminating gang members without a care in the world as to who knows your identity, I’m here at my computer analyzing the ramifications of every action you take,” Jones said, a slightly noted aggravation in his voice.
“What do you want me to do? Work in a box? Put a bag over my head when I go out?” Recker sarcastically asked.
“I would just like you to be a little more careful as to when and where you do things, as well as who you interact with. I started this operation with the intention of you being as invisible as possible. And now you’re as known as anybody.”
“I’m not known,” Recker objected.
“Oh really?”
“Uhh, no,” Recker answered not very confidently. He got the feeling he was about to be proven wrong.
Jones instantly turned to his computer and started typing. Recker wasn’t sure if he was now ignoring him or what. Jones pulled up several websites that he had been monitoring lately and summoned his partner over to look at them with him.
“I want you to look at this,” Jones said.
“What’s all this?” Recker said, sitting down next to his employer, looking at the screen.
“These are all websites and blogs that have been started within the last year with the same purpose. Would you like to know what that purpose is?”
“Uhh, I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“These are all websites and blogs analyzing the moves and actions of one man. The Silencer. You,” Jones told him.
Recker put his hand over his mouth as he folded his arms and faked a cough, carefully looking at Jones.
“These few on the left here are basically harmless, they just find mentions about you in the paper when it’s suspected you had a hand in something,” Jones explained.
“And those?” Recker asked, pointing to the other sites.
“Oh. Those are bloggers who are obsessed with finding out who The Silencer actually is. Some of them have actually interviewed people who are believed to have been helped by you…all in the interest of finding out your true identity.”
“Any of them actually dig up anything of consequence?”
“Thankfully, no. They’ve got a general description of you but that’s basically it.”
“So what’s the problem?” Recker wondered.
“The problem is that their hobby is you. I’ve been monitoring all of them remotely and right now they’re not a danger. But that can, and probably at some point, will change. They’ve all got their theories about who you are or who you’ve been. Some think you’re a government agent, some think you’re former military, some think you’re just a modern day vigilante. The problem is that all of them are out to prove that their theories are true.”
“And they’re not likely to stop?”
“It doesn’t appear so at the moment. They’re going to keep digging. And eventually, they’ll talk to the wrong person who might actually know something and then they’ll know something.”
Recker grinned and shook his head. “Doesn’t really change anything, David. Can’t work in a box. If you want me to be out there helping people…I can’t always do it in the shadows.”
“I know that. I just would like you to be a little more careful as to how you work.”
“What’re you really concerned about?” Recker asked, sensing there was more to it than Jones was revealing.
“What do you mean?” Jones replied as he typed away on the computer. “I’ve already told you.”
“All this concern can’t just be about a few bloggers and websites speculating about me. You had to know things like this would pop up occasionally. A man with your background with the NSA, able to do the things that you can do with a computer, hacking government infrastructures, stealing money out of criminal bank accounts without it getting traced to you, alternating plane itineraries in a computer to make it seem like they stopped somewhere that it didn’t, changing identities without breaking a sweat.”
“What are you getting at?” Jones asked.
“That I highly doubt someone with your capabilities would really be worried about a few homemade websites and armchair bloggers and conspiracy theorists,” Recker stated. “We both know you can hack into their computers and see everything they’re working on any time you feel like it. I really doubt you feel threatened by them. And I’m sure someone as smart as you had already accounted for things like this to happen. So why don’t you tell me what you’re really worried about?”
As Jones thought about what Recker just said, he pushed his chair away from the desk and turned to face him. Wanting to be candid with his friend, he articulated in his mind what he wanted to say before it came out in a way that he didn’t intend. Recker was right in that he had other worries on his mind, much bigger concerns than he had let on.
“You are completely correct,” Jones admitted.
“About which part?”
“All of it.”
“Well that’s good to know,” Recker said.
“You’re right, the blogs and websites are things that I had accounted for when planning all this. They’re not really an issue, I can handle them from learning too much.”
“So what is it then?”
“The problem is that as your reputation grows, the more people that enquire as to who or what you are, the closer you are, we are, to having to close down operations and open up somewhere else.”
“You’re trying to tell me something without really trying to tell me something,” Recker said. “So why don’
t you stop beating around the bush and speaking gibberish and tell me what the real problem is?”
Jones sighed, trying to slow his mind down and speak calmly. “The real problem is that you’re no longer a myth or an urban legend or some kind of modern day Robin Hood who helps the weak against the powerful.”
“Still not seeing it,” Recker told him.
“I guess what I’m saying, in as plain of a language as I can say it, is that The Silencer is now on the radar of the federal government.”
Though Recker finally understood what Jones was trying to say, he didn’t seem as worried about it. It might’ve been because he truly didn’t care, or maybe it was because he knew that it would eventually happen. He really didn’t believe that a man who operated behind the scenes such as he did would just go unnoticed forever. A man who was as dangerous as he was, who did the things that he did, would eventually get the attention of higher authorities outside the local police department. Jones studied his face for a few seconds, unsure why he seemed as calm and unfettered as he was. It wasn’t quite the reaction he was expecting. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what reaction he’d get, silence and calm was at the bottom of his list.
“You’re taking this awfully well,” Jones stated.
“You haven’t really told me the extent of the problem yet. What exactly are we talking about?”
“Right now, the police have sent a rough sketch of you along with the file they have of you, which admittedly isn’t much, to the local FBI field office to see if they have any additional information they can provide.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Request went in yesterday. I’m monitoring the situation as we speak.”
“Anything with the CIA yet?” Recker asked.
“Not as far as I can tell.”
“Then we don’t have anything to worry about yet.”
“I don’t see how you can be so cavalier about this,” Jones replied. “Do you not understand that in the logical progression of things that the CIA is probably next in line to get your information. Surely someone there will recognize you.”
“Well, just slow down a minute. Take a step back and relax.”
“How can you be so calm and relaxed about your cover possibly being blown?”
“First of all, have you seen that sketch they have of me? Doesn’t look anything like me,” Recker remarked, making light of the situation. “Nobody’s gonna make me from that. Second, anything the local police or the FBI have on me makes no difference. Even if I walked into a precinct tomorrow and confessed to everything, once they type my name into their computer, nothing will come up.”
“You make the FBI sound like a bunch of bubbling idiots,” Jones said.
“My cover goes so deep that the only time you have to worry is if my fingerprints wind up in the CIA Director’s office.”
“I’m very aware of your status, Mike. But the CIA is only one step away from the FBI. Don’t you think that if the FBI comes up with nothing that they might bump it up the food chain?”
“No.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Cause I used to work for them. Believe me, the CIA and FBI don’t play well together. They might as well be two different countries. Them working together is like the United States and China becoming allies,” Recker told him. “If the FBI asks the CIA for information, they’ll get the runaround for months before they’re politely told to go away. The wall between those two agencies is so thick you couldn’t blast your way through it even if you had a million pounds of C-4. Trust me.”
“Well, I guess I’ll take your word for it but it doesn’t really make me feel better.”
“Wasn’t supposed to. Just telling you like it is.”
“And you’re sure that this really is nothing to worry about?”
“You don’t ask the CIA for information. They ask you. Besides, you’re able to hack into the servers and databases of both the FBI and CIA, can’t you?”
“Yes. But like I’ve told you before, to do so effectively and anonymously takes time. And by the time I’ve done that they could already be at our door step,” Jones answered.
“The FBI will come up with blanks. The only people you have to worry about coming to look for me is the CIA. And that’s not gonna happen just because the crime rate of this city goes up or someone starts to get famous for helping people. It’s also not gonna happen because of a nickname I’ve got in the newspaper or an online blog.”
“Then how do you suppose you would get back into their crosshairs?” Jones wondered.
“My fingerprint will turn up somewhere. Get entered into some database. My face will get recognized or it’ll turn up on a CIA facial rec software program somewhere. You’ve been in the CIA computers before, you know how it works.”
“While yes, I have gotten into certain areas of the CIA’s computers, I certainly am not foolish enough to think I’ve explored everything in their arsenal. The data that agency possesses, much like the NSA, is just massive. It’s so enormous that that amount of information I’ve gleaned from their servers is such an underwhelming low percentage. It’s probably in the low single digits to be more precise. And there are some things that can’t really be learned from a computer or a file. Any organization or business has a certain mindset to it that can only be fully understood by working within its walls.”
“I agree. So take it from me. The police sending a request to the FBI asking about me is nothing to worry about. Nothing will come of it. If you get word the CIA is involved…then it’s time to worry. And we don’t have to think about that now. At least…not yet.”
Chapter 10
A month had passed since Recker had learned that the police department sent feelers out to the FBI to see if they could assist in identifying who The Silencer was. Like he predicted, nothing had come from it so far. Jones kept close eyes on it, monitoring the situation remotely. The FBI analyzed the information they received but had no knowledge of who The Silencer was and relayed to the police department that they couldn’t help them yet. Though Recker wasn’t the slightest bit concerned, Jones had been sweating a little bit over it. A relief was lifted off his shoulders when he saw that the FBI was no longer involved in the case.
There was still the problem with the bloggers and websites devoted to finding The Silencer or his identity, but that wasn’t a big problem. Instead of trying to shut them down, or just hope they’d go away or not find anything, the professor instead started to intentionally feed them misinformation in order to throw them further off the tracks. None of them was even remotely close to finding anything out at that point, but Jones wanted to make sure they wouldn’t even be close for a long time. He sent everyone that was on his radar emails about The Silencer, giving them bad information about where he’d been or who he’d been with, and also giving them false theories about Recker’s back-story or who he might have been. Jones also created false documents and stories to further perpetuate the misinformation and create so many dead ends and bad leads that it would take months, maybe even a year to discern that all the information was leading nowhere.
For his part, Recker didn’t really concern himself with any of that. That was more Jones’ worry. Even if his identity was known, Recker was fully confident in his ability to slip into the shadows and disappear. He’d done it numerous times before. Besides, he didn’t really consider the public or a blogger or the police department, or even the FBI for that matter, much of a threat. The only thing that would concern him was if a CIA operative showed up in town.
Recker just continued what he’d been doing, helping people, closing out the cases that Jones assigned to him. With him being shot and going after the Italians, they had a backlog of cases that they had to catch up on as well as new assignments that popped up by the day. Recker was completely busy every day for the past month just clearing the cases they had without even taking a day off, which was fine by him since he liked to stay busy anyway. Downtime and relaxation w
asn’t his most preferred option.
After closing out the last assignment that was left on their agenda, a domestic abuse case, Recker wearily entered the office. Though he didn’t relish long periods of inactivity, he sure was ready for a breather. Not a long one. He didn’t want a one or two week vacation. Just a day or so to kind of recharge his batteries a little. He’d basically been running around non-stop all over the city over the past thirty days. Jones, typing away at the computer as he usually was, stopped for a few moments as he watched Recker drag himself over to the couch and plop down on it.
“I guess you’ll be happy to know that there’s nothing else pending as far as I can see right now,” Jones told him.
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You look tired, worn out. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Maybe later. Right now I just wanna sit here and do nothing for a few minutes,” Recker said, slumping further back on the couch.
“You’ve certainly earned it. If you’re hungry there’s a turkey sandwich in the fridge.”
“That sounds good.”
Recker didn’t have a thing to eat all day and was starving. He went to the refrigerator to grab the sandwich and almost devoured it in seconds once he sat back down to eat it.
“Hungry?” Jones asked, astonished at how little time he took to eat it.
“Just a little.”
“I told you to eat something this morning before you left but you didn’t listen.”
“Sorry, dad,” Recker cracked.
“I take it you didn’t eat anything else while you were out and about.”
“No. Was too busy. Nothing else on the agenda?”
“Are you bored already?”
“No. Just asking.”
“Well there’s a few things that I’m monitoring as we speak but nothing that’s materialized into anything we need to get involved with yet,” Jones said. “Just take a couple days to relax.”
