The Secret Target

by Dean Atwood

  “OK, but if you get caught, don’t mention us.”

  “Who knows what I’ll say if I’m being tortured,” she said and cast a teasing smile in Dr. Bit’s direction.

  “Rasputin, have you learned anything about who hired that sniper, Scarlatino,” the lieutenant asked.

  “I posted a message on Scarlatino’s personal Web site with a coded message for him to call me. While I’m waiting to hear back, I did some more checking on him. He’s not a US citizen. He was born in Venezuela. He’s here legally on a work visa. His sponsor is a US company. L. Ron and I are trying to tie the company back to a government agency to give us a trail to the person who hired him. The problem is that intelligence agencies can easily set up bogus companies to hide their tracks.”

  “After killing an FBI Agent, where do you think he’d go?”

  Rasputin widened his fiery eyes, as if it was required to expand his cognitive abilities. “It depends,” he said. “If the FBI agent was his only target, he would have made prior arrangements to leave the country and is most likely already gone.”

  “From what I heard, the sniper attempted to kill Blaire Saunders, too, but failed,” the lieutenant said.

  “That makes a difference. People who hire a professional don’t like loose ends. Somebody like Scarlatino has a reputation to uphold. He won’t stop until the job is completed, which means he’s still in the Charlottesville area.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’ll call your burner immediately, if he makes contact and I get any useful information from him,” Rasputin said.

  “Dr. Bit, you said you had some video related to Blaire Saunders,” the lieutenant said.

  He looked at Rasputin and L. Ron and then gave the lieutenant a USB stick. “This is for your eyes only,” he said. “I added a text file on the flash drive to clarify its origination for you. I’m not sure where it fits into the whole puzzle.”

  The lieutenant knitted her brows. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What is it?”

  “I explained it in the text file. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Why don’t we just play it on the monitor where we can all see it and discuss it?”

  Dr. Bit looked at Rasputin and L. Ron again. They’d gone back into cyberworld and didn’t seem to be interested in the subject at hand.

  “Trust me, it’s better seen alone,” Dr. Bit said.

  “OK, I’ll take your word for it.”

  “What’s next?” asked Dr. Bit.

  “You guys keep digging. We need to find out who’s really driving Project Typhon and what their goal is.”

  Lieutenant Mad stood up and punched Dr. Bit in the arm before leaving. “That’s for the second wisecrack you made about the FBI Agent and me,” she said.

  Chapter 15

  A s Quinton made his way from the crime scene to the media room, he reflected on his situation with Blaire. He realized he was better at attracting women than he was at forging long-term relationships with them but with Blaire, it had been different. He’d felt like he could be himself with her and he’d tried to give her space to do whatever made her happy. He’d thought they had an implied commitment to each other. Now, he found himself in an all too familiar place — like every other woman he’d ever known, he was uncertain what she was thinking, feeling, or would do next.

  Quinton peered through the partially open door to the media room. His eyes lingered on Daphne, who was standing in front of the screen which was mounted on the front wall. He wrapped on the door and then entered without waiting for anyone to invite him inside.

  Daphne looked in his direction and said, “QT, this is NSA Cyber Analyst Karen Williams. She’s familiar with the internal security system and has agreed to walk us through the surveillance videos.”

  Karen Williams’s fingers glided over the keyboard as she scrolled through the menus and selected options. It was clear she had a comfortable, almost symbiotic relationship with her computer.

  “I’ve already narrowed down the footage to the shooting, the five minutes leading up to it, and five minutes following it,” she said.

  Quinton sat down in a chair along the side of the oval conference table, and Daphne took a seat next to him.

  “Go ahead and play the video,” he said.

  “I went back to the early morning clips and saw Agent Glover arrive in the parking lot at 6:25 a.m. He arrived alone; however, he walked into the building with someone. Do you want to see that first?”

  “Go ahead and play it.”

  The video showed a car drive into a parking space and stop. The driver remained seated for a couple of minutes until a BMW parked beside it. The man got out of his vehicle and waited for the woman to exit her car.

  “The man is Agent Glover and the woman is NSA Cyber Analyst Blaire Saunders,” Karen said.

  Quinton watched intently as they smiled at each other and walked toward the entrance. There was no audio, but it seemed to him that the video communicated that the two were talking flirtatiously to each other until they disappeared out of camera view.

  “They seem friendly,” Daphne said.

  “Move to the point where he exits the building prior to being shot,” Quinton said.

  Karen Williams clicked the play symbol and the video began. A timestamp of 12:00 p.m. displayed in the upper right corner and updated on a second by second basis. From a rooftop angle, the images of a man and woman appeared as they exited the building into the parking lot. Karen zoomed in to get a closer view of the two, but far enough away to show the action.

  When the subjects put their arms around each other’s back, Daphne said, “Stop.” With the video paused, she said, “What do we have here. It looks like Jeremy was involved in a little extracurricular office activity. Maybe a jealous girlfriend of his or boyfriend of hers found out about them and decided to do something about it.”

  “I agree they look like more than friends, but it’s a bit of a stretch to conclude they were having an affair and cheating on significant others. Karen, what do you know about their relationship?”

  Karen said, “They were on a secret joint task force together. As far as I know, they weren’t dating.”

  “If it’s a secret task force, how do you know about it?” QT said.

  “Because I’m on the task force with them … Obviously, the NSA is very concerned about Blaire’s safety.”

  “I’d like to ask you more about the task force after we’re finished with the videos.”

  “OK,” Karen said nervously.

  “What do you know about Jeremy’s and Blaire’s personal lives?”

  “Not much. I met Jeremy about a month, ago. He doesn’t live in Charlottesville. He’s out of the Richmond office, I think. I’ve worked at the NSA with Blaire since I moved to Charlottesville. We aren’t close friends outside of the office, but she’s nice to me. I’d call her a work friend. She told me she has a boyfriend in the FBI.”

  “You mean, Jeremy?” Daphne asked.

  “No, another FBI Agent. Blaire never talked about him. She told me she tries to separate her personal from her professional life.”

  Daphne said, “From the looks of it, she didn’t do a very good job of that. I think —”

  “Let’s look at the rest of the video before making any conjectures,” QT said, cutting her off.

  Karen clicked the icon to resume play. The subjects walked a little farther before Blaire removed her arm from around Jeremy, pulled out a mobile phone, and put it to her ear.

  “Pause,” said Daphne.

  “What is it now?” QT said in an annoyed voice. “We can see she’s answering a phone, but there isn’t any audio.”

  “I just wanted to emphasize that there was a call, which could be pertinent.”

  “You’re right, we don’t have audio,” Karen said. “We have lip reading software, which would be able to pick up on the conversation, if we could get an unobstructed view of her lips. Unfortunately, she’s walking with her back to th
e cameras. The camera on the far end might be able to give us a side view of her, but I don’t think that would be sufficient for the software to work.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Quinton said. “We can accomplish the same thing by checking Blaire’s phone records and speaking with her, once she comes in for an interview.”

  “The NSA has already checked Blaire’s call log and the call came from a burner phone,” Karen said.

  “Is there a recording of the conversation?”

  “No, the burner phone must have a scrambler because it masked the call.”

  “Continue the video. I want to see the shooting.”

  The replay of the events was consistent with what Quinton remembered. Blaire had hung up her phone, walked toward her car, and dropped her keys. There was nothing in her actions that indicated she purposely dropped them to provide the assassin a clear shot at Jeremy.

  When the video reached the point where Blaire had rolled under her car for cover, Quinton said, “Rewind and pause at the frame right before she rolls beneath the BMW.”

  They looked at the freeze-frame of Blaire, on her knees, looking in the direction of the shooter.

  “No question about it, the shooter was on the hill behind the parking lot, like you speculated when we were outside,” Daphne said to Quinton.

  “Karen, are there any cameras aimed at that backroad?” he asked.

  “No, Commander Smithers tried to get equipment installed, but there were privacy complaints from the civilians that use that backroad to reach the residential subdivisions located up there. There are cameras positioned on the fence around the parameter of the parking lot, but they’re pointed down at an angle to capture any nearby activity. The fence is also electrically charged and has audio alarms.”

  “I believe you can only make a right turn onto route 29, exiting from that road, is that correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Are there any public cameras at the traffic lights on 29?”

  Karen seemed defensive when she said, “Yes, but neither the DIA or NSA manage them.”

  “But you’re intercepting the feeds, recording them, and saving them in your NSA databases, aren’t you?”

  Karen looked at Daphne for help but received none. “Yes.”

  “Do you have the video for the timeframe following the shooting?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the cameras haven’t been functional since five this morning. The camera feeds are transmitted over the Internet. Somebody hacked the system and turned off the surveillance. We have no way of knowing for sure whether it was done deliberately to cover up the killer’s escape route or it was a coincidence.”

  “Maybe there’s no proof,” Daphne said, “but it’s too convenient to be a coincidence.”

  Quinton didn’t say it, but he was relieved there was no video of his involvement during and after the shooting.

  “Hit the play button,” Quinton said.

  Once again, the recording showed Blaire rolling under her car. Even though there was no audio of the shots fired after she took refuge, debris was visible from the bullets that hit the pavement and the ones that ricocheted off the car. After thirty-two seconds passed, Blaire rolled out from under the car, stood up, and stared at the hill for a moment. She knelt over Jeremy’s body to search through his pockets. She glanced in the direction of the backroad again before getting into the BMW and driving away.

  “I guess we know now where Jeremy’s mobile phone and wallet went,” Daphne said.

  “Let’s be honest, Daphne,” QT said. “If you or I had witnessed a murder and been shot at, our instinct would have been to check his phone and wallet, too.”

  “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t have left the scene.”

  “She could’ve been chasing after the shooter.”

  “If that’s the case, why hasn’t she contacted her supervisor?”

  “We’ll have to ask her to explain her actions, when we find her.”

  “Did you see her stand up in the open and look toward the hill,” Daphne said. “Something must have signaled her that the killer was no longer a threat.”

  “Maybe she saw the assassin’s car drive away after the bullets stopped flying,” Quinton said.

  “It’s possible the killer has already tracked her down and killed her, too,” Daphne said. “Then again, we can’t totally rule out her involvement in the assassination.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions about her without any evidence to support them. Let me worry about Blaire Saunders. I have a lead on her whereabouts.”

  “Keeping secrets, are we?”

  “When I have something more conclusive, I’ll let you know.”

  “Is there anything else you want to see on the videos?” Karen asked.

  Quinton said. “We need to find out whether anyone in the building saw anything pertinent to the shooting. Daphne, since you’re an insider, I’d like you to canvas the offices. We can’t keep the facility locked down forever. There doesn’t seem to be any imminent danger of a follow-up attack on the JUIAF.”

  “Excuse me for saying so, but it’s up to the commander to decide when to cancel the lockdown.”

  “I understand. We can make a recommendation to her after you and I do inquiries.”

  “Are you coming with me to canvas the offices? You do realize there are close to 1,000 civilian and military employees working at the JUIAF, don’t you? I couldn’t possibly interview them one at a time. I’d be here for days.”

  “You’ll have to get them together in groups and only do a one-on-one interview with anyone who might have knowledge of the killing. I’m going to talk with Cyber Analyst Williams about the task force while you’re doing that. You don’t mind staying here to tell me about it, do you Karen?”

  Karen looked at Daphne and then Quinton. “If you want the full story about the task force, you’ll have to talk with DIA Special Agent Warren. I don’t have the complete picture. I just do what I’m told.”

  “He’s on my list of people to talk with, after you and I finish our conversation.”

  Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to escape interrogation, she said, “OK.”

  Chapter 16

  E duardo Ruiz Gomez, aka Scarlatino, sat in his SUV with his mobile phone pressed against his ear. From the pained expression on his face, it was clear he wasn’t enjoying the discussion. He prided himself on being proficient in his chosen profession and he didn’t take criticism well.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “How could I know that somebody would start shooting at me? I took out one of the targets.”

  “You don’t get credit for doing half a job. You were contracted to eliminate two people without being detected. You’re lucky I covered your ass by turning off the cameras near the signal lights at Hydraulic Road. As it is, you smashed into two cars and left the scene of the accident. You came highly recommended. I’m not very impressed, so far.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make it right by taking out the girl to finish the job. And, if the guy that shot at me gets in the way, I’ll throw him in for free.”

  “Do you even know who shot at you and spun out your vehicle?”

  “It was that NSA Analyst’s FBI boyfriend. I recognized him when he shot at my SUV. I don’t know why he was there. Maybe he was warned there was a contract out on his girlfriend.”

  “Killing one FBI agent has generated enough attention. I don’t want you to kill another one unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Do you understand?”

  Scarlatino said impatiently, “Yes, yes, I understand.”

  “Do you know where the girl is, now?”

  “I lost her when I got into the accident, but I’ll find her.”

  “Fortunately, I have competent people working for me who can bail your ass out. She checked into room 235 at the Wintergreen Resort Lodge, registered under her boyfriend’s name, Quinton Target. Do you think you can handle it from here or do I ne
ed to send somebody to do the rest of it for you?”

  “I’ll do the job.”

  “Did you dump that white SUV yet? The local cops put out an APB, identifying it as a vehicle involved in a hit and run.”

  “I’ve replaced it,” he said, although he hadn’t really done it yet.

  “Notify me when you’ve taken care of the girl and your mess is cleaned up,” the man said and hung up without saying goodbye.

  “Pendejo (asshole),” Scarlatino said.

  ***

  The rest stop where Scarlatino was located wasn’t busy. He’d been waiting an hour for a suitable vehicle to show up. Finally, the ideal candidate arrived. A man in his forties drove in and parked a black, 2017 Chevy SS. He got out of his car and walked hurriedly toward the restrooms. When he returned, he found the SUV parked next to him with its front passenger door about six inches from his driver’s side door.

  He knocked on the SUV’s driver’s side window and when Scarlatino rolled it down, he said to him, “What the hell is going on, man. Practically the entire rest area is empty, and you have to park this close to my car?”

  Scarlatino looked over at the Chevy then back at the distraught man and said with a smile, “Sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? How about moving your damn car?”

  Scarlatino’s smile disappeared as he raised his pistol with the silencer from beside his leg and fired two shots between the man’s eyes. “Yes, I’m sorry you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  The dead man had a slight build, which made it easy for the much bigger Scarlatino to pick him up and put him in the SUV’s driver seat. He removed the wallet, mobile phone, and keys to the Chevy from the man’s pocket and closed the SUV door. He opened the Chevy’s passenger door and slid over to the driver’s seat. He barely fit behind the steering wheel until he found the electronic adjustment and guided the seat back to provide space between the wheel and his belly.

  As he backed out, he scanned the rest area to assure himself that nobody had observed his activities. He saw two visitors walking their dogs next to the restroom building, and a family returning from the restrooms to their parked car in front of the building. Nobody was looking in his direction.