The Secret Target

by Dean Atwood

  The lights inside the train brightened, and she squinted until her eyes adjusted. The usual departure bedlam began, led by those with a Type A personality, who were hellbent on being part of the initial wave to leave. The Type B’s sat patiently while the A’s invaded their personal space, reaching across them to retrieve suitcases and other personal items.

  Only the people closest to the exit were aware when the exit door opened. As the first passengers departed, they set a ripple effect in motion. The Type A’s anxiously watched as the row-by-row exodus ensued, sending the ripple from the front to the back of the aisle.

  The lieutenant was seated near the back of the car, so the ripple hadn’t reached her yet. The commotion awoke the man seated next to her. He looked up, confused, and asked, “Where are we?”

  She eyed him with suspicion, as she did most people she didn’t know. Everything about his appearance gave the impression that he was wealthy and pretentious. His attire was straight out of a GQ magazine. He was wearing an expensive suit accessorized with Gucci shoes that matched his belt. The highlight of his personal grooming was a Pompadour hair style with tapered sides that revealed some gray mixed with his dark hair at the temples. The haircut was accented by a manicured five o’clock shadow, and his fingernails were meticulously filed and coated with clear polish.

  “We’re at the Crystal City Station,” she replied.

  He glanced at her and then did a double take. “It’s too bad I slept all the way from Charlottesville,” he said. “We could have gotten to know each other.”

  The degradation of her personal hygiene over the past few years had served as a repellent to keep most men a safe distance away. However, there was a time in her life when it was commonplace for her to be hit on by attractive men. Freshly showered and still glowing from her night with QT, she was once again a focus of men’s attention.

  “You were out like a light, the entire way,” she said.

  “I was catching up on my sleep. My business sometimes keeps me up late at night. Are you continuing to D.C. or getting off here?”

  “Here.”

  “Me, too. Do you live in the D.C. area?”

  “No, Charlottesville.”

  “What brings you to Crystal City.”

  The lieutenant stood up and retrieved her overnight bag from the bin. “It’s time to go,” she said.

  “I’m staying in Crystal City tonight. I have a limo picking me up. Can I give you a ride to your destination?”

  “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll take a hotel shuttle.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. You’ll be waiting an hour to catch one and then you’ll be crammed in with a bunch of strangers touching you on all sides.”

  With her recent mental episode still fresh in her mind, the picture he painted of being packed into a shuttle gave her pause to reconsider. “OK,” she said, shocking herself that the words came out of her mouth.

  “Yeah?” he said, as if he were surprised he’d talked her into it. “It’s settled then. Where are you staying?”

  “At the Westin.”

  “What a coincidence. That’s where I’m staying.”

  Coincidences raised a red flag with the lieutenant because in her way of thinking, there seldom was such a thing. But since she knew the Westin was booked to capacity because of the conference, she supposed it wasn’t far-fetched to meet someone on the train who was staying there.

  The lieutenant said in her usual direct manner, “What is somebody like you doing on a train? Why didn’t you take a limo all the way from Charlottesville?”.

  “What do you mean, somebody like me?” he said, feigning that his feelings were hurt.

  “You appear to be a man of means, who would have the option to travel in private.”

  Her recognition of his affluent appearance wiped away any trace of false modesty. “You’re right,” he said. “I could’ve taking a limo or private plane, but believe it or not, I like riding the train.”

  “I prefer the train, too,” she said as though she had other options.

  “You look familiar. Have we ever met before? We must move in some of the same circles.”

  The lieutenant was quite sure her room in the basement of the Jefferson Theatre automatically excluded her from any circles he frequented, but she played the game. “Maybe we do socialize with some of the same people, but I don’t recall seeing you before today. I think I would’ve remembered if we’d met.”

  “You’re probably right, if we’d met you wouldn’t have forgotten. I don’t mean to be immodest, but I have had women tell me I have a unique look. But, I digress. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What was your question?”

  “What brings you to Crystal City?”

  “I’m attending the technology conference at the Westin.”

  “I’m here for the conference, too. My company has a large presence at the event. That’s two coincidences in one night. It’s as if we were destined to meet.”

  The lieutenant wondered how many times he’d used that line to try to pick up women. “It’s a huge gathering. It’s logical to assume there are a lot of people on this train who are here for the same reason.”

  “Oh, you’re the logical type. For you, there has to be a clear explanation for everything that happens. Am I right?”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt this fascinating conversation, but it’s time for us to disembark,” the lieutenant said.

  “So, it is,” he said. “We’ll resume our social intercourse in my limo.” She was quite sure the double entendre was intended.

  Chapter 43

  B laire got out of the vehicle and walked toward the back of it. After a short struggle to free his potbelly from the seatbelt, Thomason escaped and lumbered beside the passenger’s side of the van until he met her at the back doors. She opened them and removed a duffle bag, which contained her hacking tools. She walked nonchalantly toward the security checkpoint. Thomason swiveled his head around wildly, searching for something. Blaire assumed he was looking for additional video cameras or guards. She wanted to tell him to act like he belonged there; however, she didn’t want to make him appear more conspicuous than he already did.

  She nudged his arm and pointed to the facial recognition reader. “It’s over there,” she said.

  Her subtle message registered, and he changed his focus to the entrance. Blaire arrived first. Thomason stood closely behind her to observe the procedure. She gave him a quick glance and a flick of her head to let him know he was invading her personal space. He moved back a couple of steps. She looked into the camera and received the expected positive feedback, telling her she was recognized. When prompted, she entered her pin and the doorlatch clicked. She entered the hallway and let the door close behind her.

  There was a shatterproof pane of glass on each side of the door. She watched through one of the panes as Thomason stared into the camera. He nodded his head, indicating the system had acknowledged him. He pressed four keys to enter the pin number. His pained countenance revealed he’d been rejected by the system. He keyed in the numbers again without success. With a bewildered expression, he gazed through the window at Blaire with his palms turned up and shrugged.

  Obviously, the idiot forgot his pin, she thought. She moved closer to the window and mouthed the numbers, “9487”.

  He entered the numbers and nodded his head when the latch clicked. He joined her in the hallway and said, “It didn’t accept my pin the first couple of times. Must’ve been a technical glitch.”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “No doubt.”

  Blaire led the way down the corridor. She stopped when they reached the door with the Security Equipment Closet sign on the front of it. When they entered, it was obvious that the word, closet, was a misnomer. It was more like a small computer room. In addition to several servers, PC’s, and network devices, there was a bank of monitors, which displayed the feeds from the internal and external cameras located throughout the estate. Two
of the monitors were of special interest. One provided a view of Anne Upshaw’s home office and the other displayed an image of Thomason and Blaire, standing in front of the computer equipment.

  She sat down in front of the PC labeled Main Console and logged in with the credentials the security company had reluctantly provided to the FBI. After her user ID and password were accepted, she inserted a USB drive with the hacking software. From the main console, she was able to gather data from the disks on all the devices attached to Upshaw’s home network, plant a keystroke logger on all the computer devices, and remove any evidence that she’d done it.

  When Blaire was finished, she said to Thomason, “Now I need to install the critical patches to prevent the virus that affected some of our other customers from finding its way to the Upshaw network. It’ll take a while to install.”

  “Right, right,” he said with a confused look on his face.

  The idiot has forgotten, she thought.

  During the morning walkthrough, it was agreed that the reference to a virus was the signal to Karen that Blaire had completed her hacking tasks. Karen was then free to take control of the security cameras to provide a repetitive feed of the computer room video. This would make it appear as though Blaire and Thomason were remaining in the computer room while they were really in Upshaw’s home office. Karen would make sure that Blaire and Thomason wouldn’t be picked up by any cameras to, from, or inside the office.

  The monitor images blinked for a split second and then return to normal, signaling Blaire that Karen had done her job. She motioned to Thomason to make him aware it was time to leave the computer room.

  Blaire walked down the corridor with Thomason waddling a few steps behind her. She could hear his cigarette damaged lungs suck in air as he struggled to keep up with her. A set of ornate French doors made the home office stand out from the other rooms they’d passed while walking down the hall. When they reached their destination, Blaire entered the office while Thomason, still wheezing, remained outside with his back to the doors and his hands clasped in front of him. By the smug expression on his face, one would think he was a secret service agent guarding the oval office while the president was inside.

  At least he remembered he was supposed to station himself at the door while I bug Anne Upshaw’s office, she thought. She doubted he was technically savvy enough to recognize that she was installing a mind control device, but Special Agent Warren was adamant that she was to keep the installation of the equipment a secret.

  The room was dimly lit by a night light, but it was still impressive in semidarkness. Calling it a small library would be more accurate than referring to it as a home office. Straight ahead of her was a large picture window with a view of an estate garden, which was illuminated by landscaping lights. Close to the wall on her right was a bar. Bottles of various kinds of alcoholic beverages, including several bottles of Macallan Scotch, were on shelves behind it. A full-sized sofa with end tables and a coffee table was situated in the center of the room. To her left was an antique, cherry desk with a highbacked chair. Two visitors’ chairs were positioned in front of the desk. Floor to ceiling bookcases covered the back wall and the wall adjacent to it.

  Blaire sat down in the highbacked chair and swiveled a little left and then right while she studied the only photo on the desk. It was a picture of a much younger Anne with a distinguished looking man, looking down at her lovingly, with his arm around her. Anne had her hand resting on the shoulder of a little girl. Blaire recognized the man as Anne’s father. But, who was the little girl? There was nothing in Anne’s dossier that had indicated she’d been married or had children. Over the years, she’d appeared a few times in scandal magazines, where it was reported she was having illicit affairs with various celebrities. One story claimed she’d had a baby out of wedlock, but no such child had ever been seen in public. It was anybody’s guess how much of what was printed was true. There was always a sliver of truth in tabloid articles mixed with an abundance of exaggeration and conjecture. Blaire removed her iPhone from her pocket and snapped a picture of the photo.

  She spun around in the chair and faced the bookcase on the wall directly behind her. She made a cursory glance at the wall to her left. In the space on each side of both bookcases were framed pictures of Anne with a variety of political, corporate, and entertainment personalities. Among the more notable were photos with each of the last three presidents of the USA, a shot of her with Steve Jobs during his second stint as head of Apple, and a recent picture with Bill Gates. Also hanging on the wall were several photographs with Chinese associates, which confirmed that Anne had connections to the Chinese government. They weren’t proof of any wrongdoing, only validation that the opportunity existed to forge alliances that could be detrimental to US national security. Another item that caught Blaire’s eye was a group photo of Anne Upshaw with her corporate staff. What drew her attention to it was the unexpected inclusion of someone who wasn’t a staff member. Blaire recognized him immediately. She pointed her iPhone camera and panned both walls until she was satisfied she’d captured images of everything.

  The bookshelves provided the perfect place for her to install a video camera, audio bug, and the mind control frequency device. The books appeared to be there for show, not reading. It was unlikely anyone would be pulling out a book and accidentally find the equipment. It only took a few minutes for Blaire to put all of the devices in place and verify they were functioning properly.

  After completing the installation, she sat down again. One by one, she pulled on the desk drawer handles. All of them were locked. She could jimmy the locks, but she didn’t want to risk leaving signs of tampering. As far as she knew, the warrant obtained by Warren only covered planting the bugs, so anything incriminating she discovered in a search wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law anyway.

  She rose from the chair and walked toward the French doors. When she opened them, Thomason turned in her direction with a startled look on his face.

  “Did you install the bugs?” he asked.

  “Yes, mission accomplished. Let’s get out of here before one of the servants discovers us and starts asking questions.”

  They walked back to the Security Equipment Closet and repositioned themselves, so they were in the exact locations they were before Karen had taken control of the cameras. A flicker on the monitors signaled Blaire that Karen had put them back on a live feed.

  “That’s it,” Blaire said to Thomason. “The installation of the antivirus patch is complete.”

  “Good,” he said. “They should be safe now.”

  Blaire zipped up her duffle bag and they returned to the security van. Once inside the vehicle, Thomason said, “That was easy.”

  “It worries me when things are too easy, but you’re right, it went according to plan.”

  They drove to the security gate and stopped. The young guard eagerly greeted Blaire. “Are you done already?”

  “Yes, the security system is now completely up-to-date.”

  “Good to know we have somebody like you taking care of us.”

  “I do my best.”

  “Are you done working for the evening?”

  “Yes, that’s it for me tonight. I’m going home and take a nice ... long ... shower,” she said as she lifted her arms and stretched seductively. “How about you? When do you get off?”

  “Unfortunately, I’m part of the night shift. I’ll be here until seven tomorrow morning.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah. If I can ever be of assistance, you let me know,” he said and handed her a piece of paper with his phone number written on it.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that,” she said and slowly drove away.

  “You sure are good at manipulating men,” Thomason said. “That boy never knew what hit him.”

  “It won’t hurt to have good rapport with the guard. Who knows, I may need somebody on the inside who can vouch for me or do me a favor.”

  “Don’t get me
wrong. I don’t have a problem with it. I’m complimenting you on a talent you have. I can see now there’s more to you than a pretty face and a nice figure.”

  Blaire scowled.

  “No offense intended,” he said. “I’ve been through the FBI sensitivity training. I know a man isn’t supposed to comment on a female coworker’s looks. But, you and I know all this political correctness stuff is overdone. Am I right?”

  She ignored him. Telling him what she really thought wouldn’t alter his warped view of the world. It would only give him the opportunity to make even more inappropriate comments while trying to convince her he wasn’t being insensitive.

  Blaire stopped at the intersection of the private drive and main road. There were no cars visible in either direction. She turned left in the direction of the security company to return the van. After driving a couple of minutes, bright lights shined into her rearview mirror. The vehicle behind her was approaching at a high rate of speed.

  “The pickup is following us again,” Blaire said.

  Thomason turned around and shielded his eyes from the light with his hand. “Let him go by.”

  “I don’t think he wants to pass.”

  They approached a caution sign, warning drivers to reduce speed to 35 MPH for a sharp curve to the right. Blaire let off the gas but didn’t slow down to the recommended limit. Half way through the turn she heard the truck accelerate. The jolt from the impact of the truck smashing into the van was sudden and severe. To Blaire, it felt like they were spinning in slow motion. She cranked the steering wheel in a failed attempt to stop rotating. When the tires hit the edge of the embankment, the circular motion ended, and the van rolled over until the friction from rolling through tree saplings brought it to a complete stop — upside down.

  Chapter 44

  T he lieutenant felt a wave of relief come over her when she stepped off the crowded train and strode onto the platform. The man she’d met on the train walked beside her as they headed toward the station lobby. He carried a briefcase, which he swung back and forth in rhythm with his steps. It occurred to her that it was the perfect size to store a mind control device, but she quickly dismissed it as paranoia.