“Where’ve you been?” Michael Chan asked, nearly giving Muranaka a heart attack.
She turned to find Chan standing in her office doorway. “Jesus, don’t you knock?”
“Tom Miller’s been looking for you.”
“I was in CEO Glen Turner’s office.”
“Yeah, I heard you went in to see him. I think that’s why Miller’s been looking for you. He thinks you went over his head with something, and he’s none too happy about it.”
“I don’t give a shit what he’s happy about. And Mr. Turner and I have begun a dialogue. If Miller doesn’t like it, he can take it up with Mr. Turner.”
“I’m sure he will. I just thought I’d give you the heads up that he’s coming your way. So what are you working on?” Chan stepped closer.
“Look, I have a lot work to do, Michael,” Muranaka snapped.
“Okay fine. Jeez, what’s with you, did you forget your coffee this morning?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, everyone’s on edge right now, with this PHOEBE problem. But I’m working on something I may need your help with later. Let me settle in, and I’ll let you know. Cool?”
“Sure. Sounds great.” Chan made for the door.
“One more thing,” Muranaka said.
“What’s that?”
“Can you keep Miller at bay for me?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks.”
Chan gave Muranaka a nod before exiting her office and closing the door behind him.
Muranaka got up from her desk and locked the door to prevent more unwanted intrusions. She returned to her seat and powered up her workstation.
While she was waiting for her systems to boot, she pulled the thumb drive from her purse and placed it on her desk.
When the Coalition system login screen popped up on her computer screen, she logged on and slipped the thumb drive in the USB port on the side of her screen.
She waited several seconds for her machine to recognize the device but was surprised when her screen went black.
Muranaka hit several keys on her keyboard, but the screen remained dark.
“Shit.”
Muranaka hit more keys. Still nothing.
Then an alphanumeric stream of characters abruptly filled the screen and began to scroll at a rapid rate, too fast to read, right before the lights in her office and throughout the building flickered for several seconds.
Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over.
The lights were normal, and her screen went back to the Coalition Properties home page.
Muranaka hit several keys, but the Coalition home page stood unmoved.
She was effectively locked out of the system.
Muranaka’s heart sank as she realized that it was PHOEBE that had done it, and she had been duped. Muranaka frantically tried to reboot her system but it remained inaccessible. Even unplugging it didn’t help.
She swore at herself. Nicole Ellis had lied to her, used her, and now the entire digital infrastructure of Coalition Properties was at risk. Ellis had played to her emotions, and she had fallen for it. How could she have been so naïve? How could she have been so fooled by a romanticized notion of her actions making a difference? How could she have been so flat out stupid?
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s me,” Michael Chan said. “I need to talk to you.”
Muranaka got up from her desk, walked over to her office door, unlocked and opened it.
“What is it?”
“What the hell just happened?”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?”
“The whole floor lost the lights for a second, then I just got shut out of my system. I checked around and everyone’s been shut out. Reports are coming in from every building in the Fortress that their systems are down. It’s complete chaos.”
Muranaka peeked out her office door. Coalition employees were wandering about the hallways confused and angry.
“Did you do this? Is this what you were working on?” Chan asked Muranaka.
“No, I…”
An alarm klaxon sounded, the lights went out, this time long enough for the building’s emergency lighting system to activate.
“Great. Now we have to evacuate,” Chan said.
The number of people in the hallways grew, and the rumble of confusion got louder as Coalition employees began lining up and heading through the exit doors.
“Jesus, it’s a complete system-wide hack,” Chan said.
“Everyone else can go, but we have to stay,” Muranaka replied. “We have to try and stop it.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s PHOEBE. She’s infected the security system.”
“What? How?”
Muranaka wasn’t paying attention to Chan. She was watching Tom Miller, head of Coalition Properties cyber-security division and board member, visibly angry, moving through her coworkers and headed her way.
Officer Dino Rodriguez sat behind the wheel of his patrol car with his partner, Ellen Levy, sitting next to him.
“Are we really going to do this? Are we really going to fabricate a disturbance?” Levy asked.
“Yes we are,” Rodriguez responded. “Our part in this is simple. Some of the old guys are going to look like they’re causing a scuffle, and we’re going to step in to break it up. It will escalate, requiring the Fortress gate guards to get involved, and that moment will create the opening for the others to get inside and do their thing. We make sure no one gets hurt, we make a couple gentle arrests, cut the old guys loose down the street, and we’re done.”
“And this is a revolution?”
“Everyone’s got their role, big or small.”
“You know this could cost us our badges.”
Rodriguez shrugged, before he turned to Levy. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. If we lose our badges then we can finally go ahead…join those folks on the front line. I’d do it if it came down to that. Shit’s gotta change, Ellen, and it starts with this. It’s been rumbling for a while now. It’s why you’re here, why I’m here. To make a difference.”
“I hear you. But I’d like to keep my badge in the process, hell I just got it.”
Rodriguez checked his watch. It was 5:01 p.m. He looked out the driver’s side window of his squad car and examined the buildings that made up the Coalition Fortress. It was dusk, and the sun was beginning to set behind the six structures.
He watched as the array of office lights that outlined the Fortress, along with the street lamps and signage, flickered several times, with half of them staying off.
He turned to Levy and smiled. “Showtime.”
Malcolm Combine was fifty-eight years old. A black man, born and raised in Compton, CA, he ran with the Crips gang in his early teens, following in the footsteps of his older brother. He left the gang life when the crack epidemic took over South Central Los Angeles in the 80s and his brother was killed in a drive by shooting. He’d done his best to stay straight ever since.
When Combine was a young man he was long and lean, but now he was heavy set, with gray stubble on his chin and little in the way of hair on his head. Combine walked with a limp from a gunshot to the left leg when he was only sixteen, on the same night of the drive by shooting that killed his brother. But Combine considered himself one of the lucky ones. He was alive.
Along with his brother, many of the friends he grew up with had died from gun violence or drug overdoses. The ones who had survived that dark period, guys like Malcolm Combine and his late friend Winn Germaine, did their best to school the next generation on the perils of gang life.
The old timers had both the street cred and the respect to spread their message, but in the end, not much had changed. That was until Winn set up Safe Block.
Safe Block was a place where refugees, the poor, the outcasts, and those fleeing slavery could live and breathe in safety. It was a place where pe
ople could get their feet under them and get away from the slave traders hoping to break the cycle and start along a new path.
The original gangsters like Combine saw the value the Block created and got behind the project right away. Even the newer cats like Rooker understood the Block’s importance, but understanding didn’t guarantee escaping the cycle, as his death had shown.
But the story of the Block was growing louder, and others that were still in the rough trades were beginning to understand the importance of the concept, not the real estate.
They all knew on some level that violence only led to more violence, and if they stayed in the game too long it would take their lives with others profiting from the cycle. But cynicism remained high if the destructive pattern of behavior was all you’d ever known.
The success of Safe Block was beginning to change that. It was known to be a safe haven for slaves of any kind. It provided the communities with hope, and if the local gangs didn’t outright provide support, at the very least, they steered clear.
At Winn’s funeral, where several dozen of the old street survivors came to pay respects, it was clear that Winn’s top student in martial arts, a skinny white kid by the name of Alex Luthecker, would carry on the cause of Safe Block.
Luthecker was an odd cat in Malcolm Combine’s mind, but Combine’s survival instincts told the old man on first sight that Luthecker was also a dude you didn’t mess with. And there was no question that the young man did have a way with people, witnessed by Luthecker’s interaction with his crew—a group that was strong, diverse, and fiercely loyal.
Combine recognized the value in a strong, loyal crew. Survival on the streets required it. He recognized the talent necessary to lead a group of people from diverse backgrounds, all strong-minded in their own right. And Combine had heard rumors that Luthecker had this strange gift, where he made you face the genuine truth about yourself, a hard task that was near impossible for even the most self-reflective man or woman.
It was rumored that this gift that Luthecker had was so strong that it allowed the young man to accurately predict your future. And it was because of this ability that “the man” wanted to bring Luthecker down, “the man” of course being Coalition Properties. But the Coalition was failing.
Under Luthecker’s leadership, Safe Block had not only remained active, it had expanded its reach beyond the human trafficking that went through Los Angeles to include disrupting the slave trade in several parts of the world.
And Luthecker and his crew had learned how to ghost its locations quickly, making it far more difficult for authorities to clamp down. Luthecker had become successful in making Safe Block more of a universal idea than a particular location. And Luthecker’s two previous beat downs of the Coalition had made him a legend on the street, even to the younger sets.
It was because of Luthecker’s growing legend that momentum and support for the Block was growing. And Combine had heard that this latest dust-up about to go down with the Coalition was for all the marbles. It could possibly take down the much-hated enterprise.
And if the rumor was true, Malcolm Combine was more than happy to do what he could. Malcolm despised the Coalition and all it stood for. His youngest nephew had died fighting for oil in Iraq, oil that made profits for the Coalition. It was the same old story, the poor fighting for the profits of the rich, and if this opportunity was a way to fight against yet another deadly pattern that plagued society, then Combine would do his part. And he knew his friends would be right there with him, both young and old.
The plan was for Combine and his friends to cause a ruckus right outside the gates of the new Coalition complex, known as the Fortress, and then have some cops friendly to the cause arrest them, but not before getting the Coalition “guard dogs” involved and away from their posts.
The lead officer on this, Dino Rodriguez, was the LAPD officer who had approached Combine for the mission. Rodriguez had his own reputation on the street, one of always looking out for those with no voice and being fair with Combine’s people.
Rodriguez was an immigrant, one who knew what it was like to have nothing. The young officer was the leader of something called the Blue Curtain, an informal group of LAPD Officers who protected the Block and all the lives that it saved.
In Combine’s mind this made the officer one of the good guys and Combine, as well as other older gangsters, trusted him because of his actions. More important, the Luthecker kid trusted Rodriguez. And that was good enough for Combine.
Combine limped down the sidewalk in front of the Coalition Fortress main gates where he spotted his old friend from the hood, Billy Green, along with a dozen other folks he recognized from back in the day. They were all beginning to gather in front of the Coalition Fortress entrance gate. Many looked unsure what to do next. Green had his game face on, so Combine approached him first.
“So how’s this supposed to start? Am I supposed to take a swing at you?” Combine asked Green.
“Naw, I don’t wanna have to knock you out if you do,” Green answered.
“You ain’t gonna knock me out, get a hold of yourself.”
“Says the man with the limp. I dunno. Why don’t you push me. Start yellin’ at me or something.”
“Why don’t you push me?”
“Because you’d fall down with that gimp-ass leg a’ yours, fool.”
Combine chuckled right before he pushed Green in the chest hard, sending Green tumbling onto the street.
“Get the fuck off my street,” Combine added for effect.
Green tried not to laugh as he slowly got to his feet.
Both men looked around. Combine’s push kicked off the activities. Within seconds, men young and old were pushing and shoving one another and yelling profanities back and forth, with the Coalition entrance gates as the backdrop. Two of the younger men were already wrestling on the ground, exchanging blows. In less than a minute, it looked like a full-blown riot.
“Just like the good old days, huh?” Green said, as he turned back to Combine.
Combine winked at Green. “Let’s do this. Fuck you, old fool. You want some?”
Rodriguez and Levy sat in their squad car and watched as the crowd of over a dozen men, ranging in age from early twenties to late fifties, began to challenge one another.
Things escalated quickly as some of the younger men were taking their roles seriously, throwing punches and tossing each other to the ground. In no time, the brawl was filling the street and stopping traffic right in front of the Coalition Fortress entry gates.
“Wow, they’re making it look real. Should we break it up before it gets out of hand?” Levy asked.
Rodriguez hit the siren and lights and pulled the squad car away from the curb.
“What the hell do we do?” Jim Allen, Coalition Fortress security guard, said to his security booth partner, Joe Blair.
Both men stood behind the glass of their check in booth and watched as a fight between over a dozen men broke out in front of them, the fracas happening just out of surveillance camera range.
Allen, twenty-six years old, had done two tours in Iraq in the army’s infantry. His security booth job was boring and he was itching to get involved in the melee just for the fun of it.
Allen had applied for an enforcement job at Coalition Assurance literally the day he was honorably discharged from the army. He was disappointed that he was only offered a guard duty position, but he had been told during his interview that he would have the opportunity to join the Assurance team based on his loyalty and performance, so he took the position, figuring at least he was “in.”
He’d had the job now for just over six months, and standing in a security booth at the gate checking IDs had become repetitive and tedious. Not today, however.
A smile slowly crept across his face as he watched the conflict unfold in front of the gates.
“This is a job for the LAPD,” Blair replied in response to the smile. Blair was ten years Allen’s senior, and he wa
s more than happy to sit back and watch the conflict escalate in front of them. “Unless they pull firearms or step foot on Coalition property, we sit this one out. Just enjoy the show.”
“Jesus, some of those guys look like they’re in their sixties. Some of ‘em can barely even move. What the hell are they fighting about?”
“Who knows?”
“Look, LAPD is already on the scene,” Allen said as he pointed to the patrol car driven by Officer Rodriguez.
Officer Rodriguez pulled his patrol car up to the curb in front of the Coalition Fortress gates, before he and Levy stepped out of the car.
Both officers pulled their batons, before Rodriguez looked directly at the guard booth and waved at Allen and Blair to help.
“He wants us to help,” Allen said when he saw the LAPD officer waving them over.
Allen was just itching to get in the mix, and it made Blair nervous. “Stay here. It’s not our job.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Like you said, it’s just old men.”
“There are a few young ones, too. And those cops are outnumbered. They’re gonna get stomped if we don’t step in.”
Allen squirmed as he watched the two police officers pull apart quarreling gang members, which only escalated the conflict. It was clear that the officers were overwhelmed.
Rodriguez signaled the two security guards again, this time emphatically.
“It’s just two officers. Why don’t they have back up?”
“Again, not our problem,” Blair answered.
“Fuck that shit. I’m getting into this,” Allen said as he exited the guard booth and headed to the street.
“Damn it,” Blair added, before he reluctantly followed Allen.
“There they go,” Yaw said as he watched the guards exit the guard booth and jump into the middle of the brawl that Rodriguez had set up on purpose.
So far, the plan was working perfectly. The whole crew of Yaw, Camilla, Chris, Masha, and Joey hid behind a large panel truck that was parked less than half a block from the altercation in front of the Coalition entrance gate.
Revolution: Luthecker, #3 Page 25
