Olympus Device 1: The Olympus Device

by Joe Nobody

  No one offered any such support.

  “I didn’t think so. I’m tempted to haul Maria Weathers in, regardless of what our surveillance says. I think she’s waist deep in this.”

  Agent Shultz, now on temporary assignment to the Houston office, finally spoke up. “I wouldn’t recommend that, sir. She’s a known public figure and very well connected. Besides, given how most divorced people feel about each other, you might actually be doing Weathers a favor.”

  Shultz’s logic broke the tension in the room, a few chuckles here and there.

  Monroe saw no humor in the response. “This bureau doesn’t avoid making arrests because of wealth or fame. The only reason I’m not bringing her in is because if she is helping Weathers, she’ll mess up, and we’ll catch them both. If she’s sitting in a detention cell, he can’t contact her.”

  Shultz didn’t like being scolded, but let it pass. “Sir, we’re now tied into the NSA’s facial recognition systems with a dedicated fiber optic pipe. Every police cruiser’s dash cam, every traffic camera, every tollbooth… hell, every camera in the city is being fed into the system. We’re scanning over 10 million faces an hour. If he’s walking or driving around Houston, we’ll find him eventually.”

  Another agent chimed in, “We also have two Mark IV Predator drones on constant orbit above the city. They are feeding into the spook’s system as well. We’re scanning everyone from the homeless under overpasses to the parking lots of grocery stores. He’ll look up eventually.”

  Satisfied with the scale of the dragnet, Monroe dismissed the meeting.

  Maria heard the car’s engine outside, a signal Eva and her lawyer had arrived. Checking herself in the hallway mirror, she was at the door before her guests could ring the bell.

  “Eva!” Maria greeted, hugging her old friend straight away. After the embrace, she held the older woman by the shoulders at arm’s length and stated, “You haven’t aged a day!”

  The host’s attention then turned to Grace, a sweeping glance informing the ex-wife that the new girlfriend was indeed an attractive woman, smartly dressed with engaging eyes. Maria was sure she had just been assessed as well.

  The two guests pulled small suitcases, the wheels rolling noisily along the marble entrance to Maria’s grand foyer. The visitors entered wide-eyed and inhaling sharply, compliments like, “Oh this is beautiful,” and “Isn’t this just gorgeous,” filling the air.

  After being shown to their guest rooms and given a chance to freshen up, the three women reassembled in the kitchen. Maria and Grace deciding on wine, Eva opting for decaf coffee.

  The granite countertops, room-dividing bar, and plush stools always seemed to be the natural place for social clustering in the home. Despite the huge sectional sofa in the nearby family room and a formal living room with dimensions just slightly smaller than a high school gymnasium, people always gravitated toward the kitchen. This evening was no exception, and Maria had already prepared a tray of cheese, crackers, and various finger breads for her visitors.

  Both Maria and Grace were extremely curious about each other, both determined not to let it show. Despite Dusty being a shared point of reference for both women, each understood that Eva was the one in need, her husband in peril.

  “The police kept asking Hank about his last visit to Dusty’s workshop. Over and over again, they kept repeating the same questions. It was like Hank and Dusty were drug dealers… or worse,” Eva fretted.

  “I heard on the radio that the police suspected Dusty was in Houston. I assume they’ve been by to speak with you, Maria.” Grace probed.

  “Yes, the FBI sent two men here to question me. I found their way of thinking just plain silly. What man on the run goes to his ex-wife for help?”

  Eva started to protest, “Now, Maria, we both know that you and Dusty…” but Maria held up a finger to her lips. Quickly snatching up a piece of paper, she wrote, “The FBI has my house bugged, I’m sure. Please don’t say anything.”

  Both visitors nodded as their host spun the paper around so they could see her note.

  “Anyway,” Maria continued, winking at her guests, “They’ve been following me everywhere. What a waste of the taxpayers’ money.”

  Grace nodded, “This entire endeavor is a waste of money. You should have seen the number of government men in Fort Davis. It was as if the town were invaded. And for what? Hank? No offense, Eva, but Hank’s not exactly a dangerous man.”

  Snorting, Maria added, “I bet that entire berg is up in arms over this. The scandal of it all,” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “That’s one of the reasons why I had to leave. I just couldn’t handle everyone knowing everyone else’s business.”

  Grace countered, “I’m just the opposite. I had to get out of Dallas and find a simpler place – a slower pace.”

  “I bet you stirred the rumor pot when you first arrived in Fort Davis,” Maria ventured.

  The lawyer nodded, her eyes focused on nothing as she recalled her first few months in a new town. “It was difficult at first, but I’m glad I did. You know, Dusty, Hank, and Eva were all so kind to me – helped smooth the transition.”

  Maria studied Grace, deciding she actually liked the woman. There was nothing competitive about her, despite her education and financial success. She actually found herself visualizing her guest and her ex-husband as a couple. They would be good for each other.

  Eva excused herself, heading off to the powder room. After she was gone, Maria grabbed the notepad and scribbled, “Dusty is okay. He’s safe for the moment.”

  The smile that flashed across Grace’s face said it all. She does feel for Dusty… beyond any attorney-client bullshit, concluded Maria. I wonder what Dusty thinks of her?

  It occurred to Maria that Grace might not have seen the day’s newspaper article. Eva was just returning when, holding a finger to her lips, Maria slid the paper in front of her two guests. Both women read in silence with Grace finishing first, her mannerisms mimicking someone who had just figured out a complex puzzle.

  Eva’s reaction was completely different, sitting quietly with a far off gaze. Taking the nearby notepad, she scribbled, “Can this be true?”

  Both Grace and Maria nodded, neither woman realizing the effect on Hank’s wife. “I’m scared for Hank,” she whispered. “I had no idea he was involved in anything. I don’t think he had any concept of what was going on.”

  Grace chose her words carefully, always conscious of someone listening in. Taking Eva’s hand, she soothed, “Your husband didn’t do anything wrong, Eva. I’m sure of that. I think the government is making a mountain out of a molehill because of paranoia over terrorism. Besides, all these cops have to justify their existence somehow. We’ll get it straightened out at the hearing.”

  That compassion was genuine, observed Maria. She honestly does care, and in the end, that’s all that really matters.

  With Dusty resting just over a mile away, he had no idea how lucky a man he was. There was no way he could know or understand that his ex-wife had just given her seal of approval to the new woman in his life.

  Four blocks away, an FBI agent yawned and adjusted his earpiece. He’d been watching and listening to Maria’s home for nine straight hours, virtually trapped in the small, unmarked sedan. His relief had a sick kid and would be a few hours late.

  Stretching stiffly, he cursed the men who had ordered him to spend such a lengthy period sitting in a seat that wasn’t designed for extended stints of stationary work.

  He wondered if the “good old days,” when surveillance was conducted from the back of a panel van, wasn’t a better idea. At least you could stretch your legs, he reasoned. The few men left at the bureau who had actually worked with such equipment claimed otherwise, telling stories of constant sweating due to the heat generated by the radios and electronic equipment.

  Long gone were the days of entry teams burglarizing a suspect’s home, planting electronic eavesdropping devices at key locations while others disguised as uti
lity repairmen twisted wires on utility poles and switch boxes. Now, entering a residence was completely unnecessary.

  The agent looked down at his pad computer, switching microphones with a simple tap on the screen. The listening devices were actually outside Maria’s home. Four tiny, fly-sized buttons were in place on strategic windows, fired from over 50 feet away by a special air-powered pistol. Coated with a layer of super-sticky gelatin, the devices could send both video and audio data and would remain in place for 40 hours. After that, they would fall harmlessly to the ground, eventually dissolving into nothingness.

  The sticky bugs weren’t the only technology keeping an eye on Dusty’s ex-wife. With a mere tap on the screen, the agent could turn on the microphone of any smart phone inside the residence, listening and recording conversations without the phone’s owner having the slightest hint. This particular suspect kept her cell phone inside her purse, he noted. Despite the high-end model, he couldn’t hear anything but muffled tones through that channel.

  The webcam of any laptop computer could be switched on remotely as well. He’d briefly enjoyed the view of Maria checking her email this morning, her sheer nightgown enhancing the experience. He had already browsed her messages before she had even switched on the coffeepot and knew she didn’t have anything worthy of scrutiny. Now, that window into her world provided nothing via that channel but a darkened view of Maria’s office, a high-back desk chair and bookshelf filling the screen.

  The images generated by any home security system could be hijacked and stored on the FBI’s computers as well. Despite its size and affluence, the owner of this home hadn’t installed a video system. While the agent could also easily tap into baby monitors, there were no infants at the residence.

  Even the bureau’s vehicle was radically advanced compared to the heavy, obvious vans of just a few years ago. The FBI realized bad guys weren’t completely stupid, often searching a neighborhood’s streets before conducting their nefarious activities.

  The sedan was equipped with what the tech called “curtains,” or thin vinyl window coverings that were printed with an image that mimicked the interior of the car – an empty, harmless car that couldn’t possibly contain law enforcement personnel or equipment. The agent could see out just fine, but anyone driving or walking past his unit would notice an empty, non-descript Ford. Even the extra antenna, required by the high-powered transceiver in the trunk, was embedded in the glass of the rear window, disguised as a defroster.

  This stakeout had its issues, unique little quirks that degraded what could be ascertained. The placement of the sticky bugs had been imperfect, the scouts believing the primary social areas of Maria’s home would be the den or formal living room. This evening’s gathering had proven the kitchen was the hot spot, and they didn’t have video focused there – a situation that would require another two bugs being deployed to different windows of the residence.

  The video wasn’t the only issue. One sticky bug, at the rear of the home, wasn’t transmitting properly due to interference from the pool pump. The agent snorted at the thought, wondering if he shouldn’t give the owner a heads up that her pump was about to go bad.

  Not my problem, he decided, and returned his attention to the conversation in Maria’s kitchen, which unfortunately for the bored agent, had progressed to the latest gossip from Fort Davis, Texas.

  Day 8

  The rain actually cheered Maria, the cooler weather providing both a wardrobe opportunity and a fair chance at visiting Dusty unobserved.

  Following her normal morning routine, the first order of business, after coffee and email, was to check in with Paula. Normally, the two co-workers would exchange a brief phone call or text message, but today Maria called her assistant via Skype and used the video option, all but sure the FBI would be listening.

  Somewhat surprised, Paula answered, her image appearing on Maria’s display.

  “Well good morning, boss. Why are you using Skype?”

  “I don’t know,” Maria lied. “I’ve been fooling with this for a while and wanted to test my skills.”

  “Ahhhh… well, no messages this morning. I think it’s going to be a slow day with the weather.”

  “Okay… I’ll be in shortly. Bye.”

  After disconnecting the call, Maria sat back in her chair and sighed. Paula was wearing a dark blue blouse and white khaki slacks. She had a very similar outfit in her closet.

  Paula was a strawberry blonde, Maria raven haired with a longer cut. A hat was the answer, and Maria had plenty of those.

  Forty-five minutes later, Maria backed her car from the garage, making a point to stop at the end of the driveway. Sporting a fire red umbrella, she pretended to check her tires, walking around and kicking all four as if the vehicle were handling funny.

  After faking the imaginary flat, she proceeded to the office as normal, a slight tingly feeling surging through her body at the excitement of her secret mission. She spent the time in traffic recalling every spy novel she’d ever read.

  Paula, as usual, had also run from the parking lot to the office under the protection of a blue bumbershoot. Maria smiled as she shook the raindrops from her canopy and placed it beside Paula’s at the door. Her grin widened when she saw her assistant’s jacket was made from the same navy linen as her own.

  “I see you got the memo on the dress code today,” Paula observed, nodding at her boss’s outfit.

  Maria cringed at the comment, hoping the cops didn’t have the office bugged. She responded with a smile and spread arms, the gesture meant to say, “Oh, well, what can you do.”

  An hour passed, the real estate office slower than usual, just as Paula had predicted. Taking a deep breath, Maria initiated her plan.

  Her first step was to borrow Paula’s car, but how to ask using a method that wouldn’t be recognized by the cops? She decided on a trip to the ladies room, and after fiddling around for the appropriate amount of time, reached up and unscrewed two of the light bulbs above the vanity.

  “Paula, could you come here for a second?” she called.

  Frowning, her assistant rolled back her chair and walked back to the private facility. As soon as Paula was inside the small space, Maria reached down and flushed the head, acting as if she’d forgotten to do so. With the sound of the running water in the background, the boss asked, “Do we have any spare bulbs? These keep burning out all the time.”

  “No, I used the last one in the supply closet two weeks ago. Do you want me to run and get some?”

  “Naw, I’ve got to run a few errands anyway. I want to pick up some extra groceries for my houseguests. Can I borrow your car? I think mine has a low tire, and your SUV holds more than my Mercedes.”

  “Sure, you know I love driving your car anyway.”

  The toilet stopped running at the same time as the conversation ended. Maria hoped it was enough. After all, radios and running water always defeated bugs in the spy novels.

  Maria pretended to be busy until the phone rang. Knowing Paula would be on this call for a while, Maria went to the reception area and dropped her keys on the busy girl’s desk. Flashing a thumbs up, the assistant dug in her purse and produced her own key ring.

  Maria pulled a hat from her jacket pocket, a plain skullcap that she’d worn once for a Halloween costume. Grabbing Paula’s blue umbrella, she opened the unit and dashed for the parking lot.

  Unlocking the SUV, she was proud of how little she’d exposed of her face while entering the driver’s seat, and was pulling out of the lot a few moments later.

  Leaving her cell and purse back at the office, Maria had nothing more than her billfold stuffed inside one of the jacket’s pockets. Again, thankful for the weather, she began to drive around north Houston, trying desperately to see if anyone were following her.

  Twenty minutes later and having seen no clues of pursuit, she pulled into a grocery store and hurried through the aisles buying basic foodstuffs for her injured ex-husband. She paid cash, not wanting any
records showing on her normally well-used debit card.

  The home where she had Dusty tucked away was at the end of a single-street, gated subdivision. The neighborhood was very affluent, homeowners using massive 4 and 5-car garages fronted with estate-style driveways. It was rare to see any car on the street, and today Maria was relieved to see empty curbs all the way back to the hideout.

  She found Dusty asleep, the beaker of orange juice empty.

  “Wakie, Wakie, eggs and bakie,” she said softly.

  “I don’t smell any bacon,” he mumbled back.

  The covers rustled, his head appearing from under a fold, one eye open. “What day is it?”

  “You’ve been here a little less than 48 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

  Yawning, he had to agree. “You’re right, I’m starving.”

  Maria moved her hands to her hips, jutting out her jaw. “Of course I’m right. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that I’m always right. Has it been that long?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he pretended, sarcasm thick in his tone.

  Maria laughed, happy with her false victory. “Let’s get your lazy ass out of bed, cowboy. While you take a shower, I’ll fix you something to eat.”

  Nodding, Dusty pulled back the covers and managed to perch on the edge of the mattress with only one moan and two grimaces. After helping him stand, Maria unwrapped the first layer of bandages, anxious to see the results of her doctoring.

  The wound looked healthy and pink, four butterfly bandages holding the folds of skin together. “I didn’t think you wanted my taking you to the emergency room for staples, so I used these bandages. Do you remember using them the time Anthony fell off those rocks? We were on vacation, and there wasn’t a hospital for 80 miles? That guy that helped us… the army medic… he showed me how to do this.”