by A J Jameson
Banshee signed something to Jordan and the two waved goodbye.
“Wait, I want to ask you about the boat,” Axel said.
“No, Axel, you’ve said enough,” Little Eye advised.
Banshee hurried down the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder every few steps to ensure she wasn’t being followed.
Axel tapped Jordan’s shoulder. He pointed to Banshee and then signed bad or good. Jordan shrugged, then submitted a good. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Axel said. “We’d better get going, Little Eye may have called the cops.”
But the sirens and flashing lights never came as Axel walked Jordan back to his foster care facility. When they got there, Axel noted the brightly glowing watch adorning the wrist of the front desk caretaker, a piece of jewelry that hadn’t been there before. He wanted to ask about it, but he knew better. Little Eye had made it very clear that if Axel were to disturb Jordan’s caretakers as he did Jordan’s teachers, there’d be no possible way for them to spend time together.
“That’s a nice watch,” Axel said, biting his tongue afterward.
The desk worker looked up, smiling. She also had a set of bright-yellow earrings that danced to the sway of her head. “Thanks. Just received an unexpected bonus. Somebody’s watching over us.” Then she smiled at Jordan. And lost the smile when turning back to Axel. Her eyes widened.
“Axel, don’t push it,” Little Eye said. “Tell her to have a good day, and then leave. Now.”
“Have a good day,” Axel said, and gave Jordan a hug goodbye.
His blood turned to fire, burning the inner walls of his neck, his cheeks. His heart was pumping so hard it hurt. He watched the sidewalk and counted the cracks as he hurried home. Dropped his keys and fumbled with the multiple locks of his front door. Inside, Axel lost his temper.
“How can she use the food money for jewelry!” he screamed, kicking over his device bench, small tools and gadgets launching across the room.
“Axel…” Little Eye’s voice now streamed from the speakers flanking his workstation. She spoke in her authoritarian voice. “Calm down.” It had the opposite effect.
Axel kicked the flipped table and hollered as his big toe ruptured in pain. He booted it again, this time using his heel, and felt better. “Shiny things do not take precedence over sustenance!”
“Quality of life has improved,” Little Eye said.
Axel picked up the closest tool he could find, a tiny Philips-head screwdriver, and threw it across the room. It almost impaled one of the monitors of his workstation and the near miss soothed Axel like an avalanche meeting a forest fire.
“Donating money to Jordan’s caretakers improved their individual quality of life, and this will trickle down to Jordan’s level. After they’ve had their fill, Jordan will get his. And all the other kids, too.”
“I didn’t give them money to have their fill,” Axel countered.
“You gave it to help Jordan, and it will, if not in the exact way you envisioned.”
Then came a sound Axel hadn’t heard since the last time his parents visited: the doorbell. “Fine,” he said, bringing definitive closure to their dispute. He returned to his workstation.
Little Eye displayed the feed of the outside camera. Three individuals, all wearing suits, ear pieces, and sunglasses, were on his stoop. “Professionals,” Axel muttered. “But what profession?” Then it dawned on him. “You really sold me out to the authorities?”
“No, of course not,” Little Eye said. “Their glasses are preventing me from running facial recognition. I’m disconnecting our database from the servers as a precaution.”
The doorbell rang again. “Okay. Good idea. I feel nervous, Little Eye. My hands are clammy and I’m having a hard time thinking straight.”
“Answer the door and let me do the talking. Who knows, maybe they have the wrong address.”
Axel unlatched and disabled the locks of his front door. He opened it slowly, orangey dusk pouring in through the crack and the warble of traffic with it. The view of a ghostly pale man with almost no lips, reflective sunglasses, and short, gelled-back hair, offered no reaction as the door swung open to reveal him.
Next revealed was a woman, her ghostly complexion and slim lips giving the impression she was related to the man. She stood at Axel’s height, her reflective glasses perfectly mirroring his nervous bearing. She smiled warmly as the door curved past her concealment.
And the last professional, the tallest, most muscular, and tannest of the three, gave a simple nod. The lenses of his glasses were opaque, and his shaved head and thick mustache added a layer of brass to his already intimidating stature.
All three wore metallic-hued suits with plenty of concealed pistols and knives.
“Good evening, sir,” the first ghost said. “Sorry to inconvenience you at such a late hour, but we are involved in a matter that requires immediate resolution.” He reached into his jacket and produced a folded slip of paper. “This is a restraining order filed by one Darryl Harris, a man who claims you harassed him earlier today, and,” he held up a finger, “we also have a search warrant to investigate the impersonation of a federal agent.”
“Oh, I uh…” I think you have the wrong address. “I think you have the wrong address.”
The ghostly woman traded her smile for the ghostly man’s frown. “And with whom are we speaking to?” she asked, glancing down at her own sheet of paper.
“Tim.”
They waited. Then laughed when Axel asked for their names in return. The ghost with the slicked back hair removed his glasses. Bored, hazel eyes conveyed perfectly his depleted patience. “Give me your I.D., Tim.”
“This doesn’t feel right,” Little Eye said. “And I can’t run facial recognition with the server offline.”
Axel rubbed his chin against his shoulder, pretending to itch it. “They have weapons, and no handcuffs,” he whispered.
“Excuse me?” the ghost woman said, brushing aside her slanted bangs before removing her sunglasses.
Axel patted his pockets. “I think I left my wallet in the other room. If you want to—”
“Sure,” Ghost Man said. “We’ll come in.” He stepped forward, his foot wedged against the door. Axel recognized the determination flatlining his every feature. The calmness before the storm.
“Do not resist, Axel,” Little Eye said. “Abide.”
“Please, come in,” Axel said. He hastily upturned the flipped table and picked up the scattered tools, pocketing his Cellphone Sweeper. Too much incriminating evidence, but as he knelt here and there to clean up his mess, he noticed that the interest of his three visitors rested on the computer station and, oddly enough, the overhead hamster tubing.
“We apologize for the intrusion,” Ghost Man said. “The motorcycle owner you spoke with earlier is of elderly age and gets spooked easily.” Despite Ghost Man’s efforts to obstruct the view of his two companions, Axel caught glimpses of them scrutinizing his computer router. “He worked for the Bureau in his younger years. A respectable man.”
“I’m picking up outside interference,” Little Eye said. “Whoever is probing won’t get anything, but these people are bigger than they’re pretending to be.”
“No need to apologize,” Axel said. “I, uh, can’t find my wallet.”
“I hate when that happens.” Ghost Man continued scanning the hamster tubing above. In short time he’d spot the camera.
“I was working earlier and jumped out of my seat, knocking my work bench…” Axel lifted a corner of the bench and let it slam, “…clean over.”
The bang reclaimed Ghost Man’s attention, the other two glancing over as well. The woman must have perceived the racket as a threat because she left the router and joined her colleague. Brother, Axel deduced, noticing their matching hazel eyes.
“And what is it you do?” Ghost Man asked. “For work?”
“My work?”
The other nodded, then gestured at Axel’s computer station.
“I…” Freelance accountant. “Work as a freelance accountant. Getting people’s finances in order. Consolidating loans, broking stocks, that kind of thing.”
“Axel, I can’t pinpoint the origin of interference, but I can disrupt the signal,” Little Eye said. “It’ll put them on high alert.”
“Do it.”
An electrified needle threaded its way into the minds of all three visitors and zapped them in unison. Ghost Woman stopped tapping her fingers against Tiny Feet’s sleeping quarters. The man with the shaved head and thick mustache stood up, his transmission received loud and clear as he stared at Axel in disbelief. And Ghost Man…well, he started clapping.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t provide proof of my identification, but I’m afraid I must get back to work. People have extraordinarily short patience when it comes to their money.” Good job, Axel.
“Got everything we came for?” Ghost Man asked, his neck craned to address those behind him.
“More than an ID could give,” Shaved Head said.
“Excellent,” Ghost Man said. “Or should I say splendid.”
Axel gasped, his MI registering it as a light sniff. Mockery. Malice. He cleared his throat, wanting to make his visitors leave before he suffered another melt down.
“Have a good night, Axel,” Ghost Man said.
“Night,” said Shaved Head.
“Your hamster needs more straw bedding, and the tubes need cleaning,” Ghost Woman said. And then they were gone. Splendid.
Axel locked the front door and activated the magnetic bonds. “They jotted down the router information.”
“I saw,” said Little Eye. “It’s only a matter of time before they break through our firewalls, even with the server down.”
“Okay. We find a new server, write all new code and reroute all information on the cloud to a secured database.” Axel took a seat at his computer station and opened the command bar. All three screens went black.
“It’s too late, Axel. They have the router and your home address. Now it’s only a matter of time.”
“Did you override my computer?” Axel asked. “It’s not too late, and why are we only thinking defensively? My MI recorded their voices and my eyeglasses recorded their faces. We can analyze their speech patterns and run it against all archived federal databases. Pinpoint their office and throw viruses at whatever software they’re using.”
“That’s dangerous. The probability of their occupations being federally funded are miniscule.”
“What do you mean? And give me access to my computer, please.” The monitors switched back on. Axel plugged in his MI.
“They’re not federal agents. I know because I used to be one. That’s how I found you.”
Axel stopped typing. Little Eye had never mentioned her previous employment before. “But you’re breaking the law, working with me. The hacking, money skimming. You’ve accepted stolen money from me…”
“Let’s just say retirement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“We’re in danger, Axel. These people are highly skilled. When I tried to stream the camera feeds from outside, to track their vehicle, I couldn’t gain access to any of them. I’m thinking our three visitors played a role in that.
“You think we should relocate? Pack up and leave?”
“Yes, and the sooner the better. I’m thinking tonight.”
Splendid. “What about Jordan, and Banshee? We haven’t reached closure with either of them.”
The two outer monitors of Axel’s computer station went blank. The middle screen radiated the words, “Do You Want A Job?”
It’s them, Axel thought, then heard the same as Little Eye gave voice to his inner monologue. “Little Eye, see if you can track the sender’s location,” Axel said.
“It’s in the dark.”
Then another message populated the screen. “Stop typing. We’re impressed by your credentials and extend this invitation to join a highly classified agency responsible for preventing cybernetic attacks against national soil. You have a minute to respond. If you decline, we will corrupt all files on your hard drive and soft drives, and will make it so you never hack, steal, or ‘work’ again. Failure to respond will be interpreted as a rejection.”
“Do you want me to cut power?” Little Eye asked.
“No, they’re watching.” Axel recalled the locations of all three guests. The ghost man had stood in front of Axel the entire time, rendering him unlikely to plant a camera. “They told me to stop typing. They have eyes inside.” He knelt by his computer tower and inspected the router, flipping it upside down and twisting it from left to right. No camera. Ghost Woman.
“Thirty seconds, Axel. Do you want me to cut the power?”
Axel walked over to where Ghost Woman had been when she was tapping the walls of Tiny Feet’s home. A small black bead the size of a pupil stared down at him. He peeled free the micro camera. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. Expensive, he thought. High tech.
“Axel, we’re running out of time.”
Back in his seat, a final message was displayed on the monitor. “10 seconds. Make a decision, or never see Jordan or your girlfriend again.”
“I’m cutting power.”
“No,” Axel said, but it was too late. The entire computer station and every light in the house shut off, plunging the room into darkness. “Little Eye?” Nothing. She was cut off, too.
His phone vibrated. The text message read, “Last chance. Keep cyber criminals at bay. Continue to do good things.”
Axel typed his response as quickly as he could. “Okay.”
The power returned.
“Little Eye?”
“I’m here, Axel. What happened?”
“I got a job.”
Chapter 11
Law, Marek, and Zyta were gathered around Yolanda in the command center. They still needed to breach a few more firewalls and then they’d reconvene with the rest of C3U in the briefing room, where Charlie squad was set to present an assortment of specialized intravenous narcotics.
Yolanda was sure—positive—that they had found their hacker. But Law never left anything to chance, so he hovered as she hurdled over the many cybernetic obstacles. This on top of an ongoing dispute between the three crammed around Yolanda did nothing to ease her efforts.
Marek sighed, clearly frustrated. “Why hand him over to Charlie before I get a chance to interview him?”
“Are you getting dense on me, boy?” Law responded. Yolanda felt the heat of his gaze lift from the back of her neck. Suddenly her fingers moved more freely over the keyboard. “Our roster is full,” Law continued. “Five members per squad, four squads. Not to mention the interference this bastard has given us over the past couple of missions.”
“That’s why we considered him, because of all the issues he’s given us. He’s good. Ask Yolanda.”
The heat of Law’s gaze returned. Yolanda’s hands tensed, a small tack stabbing the ligament in her wrist. She took a short hiatus from her task. “He has skills, Law. Almost on par with me.”
Law thought about it, then turned back to Marek. “No. He’s an enemy to C3U.” Yolanda resumed her duty at the keyboard. “The job offering was a means of pacification. He’ll no longer have his guard up.”
Marek bumped the back of Yolanda’s chair. She could hear him puffing through his nostrils. “Now that I’ve seen him in person, I think you should give him a chance. He could replace Ivan.”
“No, and that’s final. Good job, Yolanda,” and with that Law exited the room.
Before I finished, Yolanda realized. “He’s in a rare mood today, Marek.”
“Why didn’t you get my back, Zee?” Marek said.
“I’m sorry. I think he may be irritated because of me,” Zyta said. “I’ve been bugging him about his DNA sample.”
Marek muttered a curse. “I told you I would ask him.”
“But you haven’t, and why
does it matter who asks? It’s for the mission, isn’t it?”
The siblings remained silent as another red-lettered “Access Not Authorized” displayed on Yolanda’s monitor. She could imagine Axel sitting at his computer station, playing defense. Him, or the person who had intervened just as Axel was examining Zyta’s decoy camera. A second hacker.
“We should get out there before we piss him off any more,” Zyta said.
“Yeah,” Marek said. “Let us know if you get anywhere.”
Yolanda nodded, happy to be left alone.
Upon the long table in the briefing room sat five distinct briefcases. The first, constructed of green leather, contained Charlie squad’s biochemical weapon, Peyote Cactus, a strong hallucinogen formulated using authentic mescaline. The next briefcase, its outer sheathing a formable gray plastic, held a unique concoction of tropane alkaloids, psilocybin, and ingredients of sedation. Marek didn’t recognize the leather case, nor the velvet case embroidered with roses. And then the deadliest of the bunch, its contents secured in black mesh, was Nightshade.
Charlie squad, garbed in gray jumpsuits and black boots, stood fast. Caden, Charlie squad’s leader, acquired the briefcase most compelling to Law. “A new formula of Nightshade,” he said, unzipping the black mesh to reveal a single vial of dark, smoky liquid. “More potent than the last, it creates extreme distress in the victim, first causing them to become erratic and destructive, followed by a gradual decline in organ function. For all intents and purposes, it’s euthanasia. But.” He held up a finger and smiled. “An autopsy report has a ninety-eight percent diagnosis rate relating to an ischemic stroke.”
Coughing into his handkerchief, Law stuck one thumb in the air. He didn’t give the dark vial half a glance before pulling the trigger. “So that’s it? Offer a fake interview and kill the man?” Marek said. “I thought we didn’t concern ourselves with matters outside the mission parameters?”
Law batted the air in Marek’s direction, coughing and trying to regain his breath.
