“You know better than most that a guy like Ed can make friends and enemies with any story. Investigative journalists are in the business of unearthing dirt. Often it’s dirt the bad guys don’t want moved around,” the captain said.
“And yet he managed to keep out of this kind of trouble for years. My spidey senses are telling me this time he poked a hornet’s nest.”
“Spidey senses, huh? How old are you exactly?”
Jon coughed, deepened his voice. “Not the point here, captain. I just want to get all the data and go from there.”
“Even if there was something sinister going on, the guy bolted, no trace of him. The area cameras were tampered with. We got no feed whatsoever.”
“Just more proof it was premeditated.”
“No one is disputing that. Let me ask you something. If this wasn’t Ed, would you be wasting your time on this? This doesn’t rise to the federal level.”
Jon remained silent.
“Your superiors know what you’re up to?” the captain asked.
In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was given this job because I have a nose for smelling out trouble that others don’t. But to answer your questions, I’m doing this for Ed. I let him down and I won’t do that again. As much as I love my new job—the one where my boss has no idea that I’m speaking to you—I joined the Bureau to help people.” His voice rising, he added, “I won’t let this job change me. If anything changes, it’ll be the job.”
“Whoa, take it easy. Yep, confirmed. You’re a young one. Bright eyed and idealistic to a fault. You’re in it for the right reasons, I’ll give you that. I’ll help you as much as I can. But let’s be clear, if I get a call from your boss, I won’t cover for you. You’ll be on your own with that.”
Jon let out his held breath. “Understood. And thanks.” He sat up straight, readied his personal computer. “Now what else can you tell me?”
***
The captain was dead on. Virtually nothing to follow up on. The assailant left no DNA and had the presence of mind to take the syringe with him. The one new piece of information that stumped him was what was in the syringe. The doctors couldn’t find any poison or drug that could explain Ed’s physical reaction. He had not suffered a heart attack from the stress or fear but went into debilitating shock. The witnesses had no usable information other than the assailant’s height and build, which Jon knew was frequently unreliable testimony.
The only thing he could think to do was speak to Ed’s doctors. If they would even talk to him. It would require feigning FBI involvement. He needed to figure that one out. How did I get into this mess?
***
“What do you mean you’re too busy?” Jon said with frustration. “We need to work on this.”
Luanne loudly yawned. “I wish I could but with the royal wedding only weeks away, the newsroom is in a panic. I’ve been reassigned to working on it full time.”
Jon persisted. “What about Ed? I thought you wanted to find his assailant.”
“Of course I do! But I don’t make the rules here.”
Though he was giving Luanne a hard time, Jon knew how she felt. “What if you do what your boss is asking of you but use your time off to help with your previous investigation?”
“I doubt he’ll see it that way. Journalism isn’t a nine to five job.”
“Then don’t tell him. Put in your hours on the wedding and help me in the evenings and weekends.”
“And when do I sleep exactly?”
“Sleep is overrated.”
When she didn’t laugh, Jon said, “Come on, Luanne. Think of Ed.” Deciding to lay it on thicker with a dose of guilt, he added, “He’s lying in the hospital in a coma. He needs us.”
Luanne sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just overwhelmed. Went from no work to way too much of it.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
He could visualize her shoulders slacking. “Of course I will. If it weren’t for Ed, I’d still be looking for employment. You’ll need to come here. I can’t get away now. There’s just no way.”
“Understood. I’ll be there tomorrow morning and we can collaborate. Please have all your research ready and I’ll bring mine.”
“Will do. Meet me at the Westwood Library on Glendon Avenue.”
They agreed on noon.
Jon felt a little bad pushing so hard, but there was no choice. They needed to find Ed’s attacker and bring him to justice. Ed would have done the same for them. Only now he had to take his own advice and put in the hours for his day job before Matthews caught on to his extracurricular activities.
***
Jerusalem, Israel
A soft breeze carried the intoxicating fragrance of roses in full bloom as Terry walked beside Yosef Kahn. The Wohl Rose Park was a five-minute walk from the Knesset, where Kahn kept an office for when he was in town. His permanent office was elsewhere, but Terry understood she would never be privy to its location.
Given the magnificent weather, Kahn suggested taking a walk in the park, nineteen acres displaying over four hundred varieties of roses, many of them gifts from other countries. Two bodyguards wearing headsets and beige short sleeve Guayaberas were steps behind them creating a protective barrier. The boxy shirts were well suited to conceal their Berettas.
Terry regarded the fit, fifty-something-year-old ex-commander strolling by her side. Theirs was a nebulous relationship. When she’d first met the man, she’d been in awe. Stalwart and indomitable, his reputation was larger than life. While much of that sentiment remained, her view of him had evolved into something more balanced. He was a brilliant strategist, each act and word thought out well in advance. Aware his ethos was to protect and defend his homeland, Terry tolerated his penchant for manipulation.
Yosef pointed to a climbing vine of large pale pink blooms, its berry-like fruit a striking red. “Ahh, the Rosa canina. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Terry wasn’t expecting a class in horticulture, but admittedly the flower was exquisite. She leaned in to fully capture its scent.
Yosef continued. “It’s also called the ‘Dog Rose.’ In the days of the Temple, roses were used as an additive to the incense mixture, which was burned twice a day.”
“Truly fascinating.” She meant it, allowing a moment to pass in what felt like comfortable camaraderie. Then, “Why am I here?”
“As you know I was hoping your colleague and friend, Agent Steadman, would take the role of liaison between the Shin Bet and the American FBI.” The Shin Bet was Israel’s internal security service. “I’ve been notified that he declined the offer.”
“And you want me to convince him to reconsider.” It was not a question.
Kahn offered a toothless grin. “B’diyuk.” Exactly. “That objective is secondary, as a favor, so to speak, to my colleague at the Shin Bet.”
“What is my primary function?”
“To attend the World Symposium in biogenetics.”
Terry furrowed her brow, certain he was easing her into something. “I presented at the San Diego conference a few years ago.”
“I’m well aware. However, you won’t be presenting this time.”
Yosef took a seat on a stone bench across from the Japanese section of the garden. The bodyguards halted nearby, their eyes in constant motion. Yosef looked up at Terry. “Please join me.”
Terry sat.
Yosef spoke softly. “There are a handful of elite and highly secretive individuals who illegally trade in digital data. Essentially, they are brokers, buying and selling spyware, classified government documents, valuable scientific records, and such.”
“Brokers?”
“Think of them as the equivalent of black market arms dealers but for high-demand intelligence, rather than weaponry.”
Terry was dumbfounded.
“In recent weeks, there has been an unprecedented uptick in aggressive cyberattack attempts here in Israel. Both in government and laboratory systems.”
&nbs
p; Terry blanched. “Are you saying someone is trying to steal my work?” As the words escaped her lips, she realized how self-absorbed it sounded given the bigger picture.
Undeterred, Yosef nodded solemnly. “We are facing a different sort of enemy. One who wishes to undermine our country’s security by mining our computer networks for sensitive data . . . yours included. Fortunately, we have some of the world’s best programmers, experts in defensive countermeasures. They have managed to stave off these attacks. For now.”
A mother pushing a baby carriage walked nearby. From where she sat, Terry could hear the infant’s suckling noises. She watched as one of the bodyguards steered the woman away. “If these so-called terrorists succeed, the ramifications are far beyond losing my lab’s professional accolades. Much of the research would be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“You and I are among a limited few who understand that.” Yosef was referring to the last mission that had brought them together. A scientific breakthrough that nearly ended in a global disaster. “It’s precisely why they are terrorists. Perhaps not in the conventional sense but no less lethal.”
“These brokers purchase classified intelligence and sell it?”
“Correct. To our competitors . . . and enemies.”
Terry felt a growing sense of dread. Even if Yosef was holding back as he was apt to do, the possibility of her work being stolen was unthinkable. “How can I help?”
“We’ve gained valuable intel that one of these power brokers will attend the symposium. We have not yet succeeded in identifying the individual in question. This person is savvy, knows the way around computer systems to remain undetected. We must assume the purpose is to negotiate dealings with hackers and buyers.”
“What will my role be?”
“To trace the source of the attacks by identifying the broker. You will attend the symposium under the guise of networking with others in your field as a representative of your country. Your true objective however will be to weed out the culprit, make a positive ID and report back.”
Terry thought of Gabe. “How long will I be away?”
“I can’t predict the precise timing, but I estimate a week.”
Terry breathed a sigh of relief. A week was doable.
Yosef said, “The symposium begins in one week from today. Before you leave, meet with Shira to review some tactical plans.” Shira had been Terry’s handler on the last mission. Terry knew the “plans” would include a rigorous refresher in the finer points of shooting and hand-to-hand combat. “Shira will provide you with what we already know about the broker and how to elicit contact. Let’s see who we reel in.”
Terry felt a now-familiar prickle. “So, I’m bait.”
“Is that an issue for you, doctor?”
Before she could reply in the negative, he went on. “This is a highly sensitive matter. You’ve been chosen not only for your scientific expertise, but because of your basic nature.”
Terry wanted to ask him to elaborate when he cut her off again. “You are scheduled to arrive in New York a day in advance of the symposium. It will give you a chance to meet with Agent Steadman.”
This was the part of the bargain she was least comfortable with. As much as she detested being manipulated, she knew Jon well. He hated it even more.
Chapter 6
Los Angeles
Jon pulled into the lot of the Westwood Library, a non-descript building just off Wilshire. Los Angeles continued to perplex him—a strange demographic mess of self-absorbed wannabes and middle-income families just trying to get by. It remained his least favorite city, mostly for the unrelenting traffic. It was a wonder more people didn’t die of road rage. The only upside he could think of was getting to wear his cowboy boots. No one looked at him funny like they did in New York.
Last time he was here it was to meet Ed on his turf. He thought back to the first time he’d met the reporter. Not what he’d expected to find of an eventual Pulitzer winning writer. Yet another lesson in not judging a pro by his potbelly.
The library’s interior was contemporary and well-maintained. People were sprinkled about, hovering over books and laptops, many even further closed off from the world around them with noise-cancelling headphones.
A slender young woman, tomboyish with maroon-tinged jet black hair and a killer smile traced in black lipstick, stood to face him. Piercings with no studs, the hint of ink on her wrist mostly covered by her black and red boatneck sweater. Looked like she was outgrowing a fairly recent Goth phase. She was holding a large portfolio.
“Jon?”
He nodded. “The one and only.”
“Nice to meet you in person.” Her open demeanor took him off guard. New York City must be rubbing off on him.
“Same. Good thing you introduced yourself. You don’t resemble your Times photo in the slightest.”
“I get that all the time. I’ve never come out good in pictures.”
Jon doubted that.
“There’s a small meeting room upstairs where we’ll have privacy and can speak above a whisper. It’s where I go to concentrate on my research without interruption.”
“Lead the way.”
They took the stairs up to the second level and situated themselves in one of the rooms.
Jon asked, “How are you liking LA? More or less than NorCal?”
Luanne looked up at Jon quizzically. “You’ve done your homework.”
“Always.”
“Hmm, good to know. Can’t say I’ve made a firm impression yet. I’m not here long enough. But at first glance, it’s too congested. The air too smoggy, and if I didn’t need this job, I’d never have left NorCal. I’d be spending my days hiking in the Sierras.”
“Sounds like a pretty solid impression to me.” Jon took out his computer and logged in on his secure hotspot, watching as she extracted sheets of paper with feminine handwriting. “I see you’re a fan of old-fashioned longhand.”
“Mmhmm. I’m told I’m an anachronism. There’s something about the feel of paper and pen I just don’t get when typing.”
He looked at the volume of papers. “To each his own.”
“How about we start with my update?” she said.
Jon raised a brow. “What update?”
“After our last conversation, I called Ed’s doctor. I wanted to go see him, but visitors aren’t allowed in the ICU. Since he had me as his contact, the doctor was willing to speak.”
“What did you learn?” Jon asked, relieved she solved the problem for him.
“He said they’ve determined that the syringe was filled with sucrose.”
Jon was perplexed. “I’m not following. Isn’t that sugar?”
“Yep.”
“How does that make sense?”
“I didn’t get it either, but apparently Ed is diabetic. I told the doctor Ed liked his pastries, but he said the amount of sucrose administered by the attacker was way above a donut or anything Ed’s body could tolerate. It put him into an immediate state of shock.”
Jon was stunned. “But that would mean . . .”
“That his attacker knew he is diabetic. But what’s crazy is the blood results had only just come in. The doctor never even had a chance to tell him.”
“So, the attacker somehow had access to Ed’s medical information even before he did.”
Luanne said, “Seems that way. Needless to say, I asked the doctor about that. He of course was very disturbed by the suggestion. Got defensive. Claimed their records, while electronic, are highly secure, using the most advanced software.”
“Oh, come on, everyone knows for every security platform there’s a hacker that can bypass it.”
“That may be true, but then answer this—why would someone go to the trouble of hacking Ed’s medical records? Even if they had the capability, it seems a lot of trouble and risk when he could have just administered a poison. It’s not like the guy was trying to kill him and make it look like an accident. He attacked him out in the open.�
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Jon pondered the problem. “I see what you mean. It does seem over the top. There has to be an explanation.”
She paused, deep in thought. Then said, “Maybe it’s as simple as sugar being a whole lot easier to get one’s hands on than a poison.”
“True. But still, how did the guy know Ed is a diabetic?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Luanne said.
“What about the project you were working on that Ed mentioned to me?” Jon asked.
“You mean the social media DNA conspiracy theory? He told you about that?”
“Yeah, he said you may be on to something.”
Luanne was quiet a moment. “With everything going on, I let it go for now. This royal wedding has taken over my life.”
“Seriously, who cares about some entitled figureheads living a continent away?” Jon typed something into his computer.
“Are you kidding? It’s the biggest story of the year. People are obsessed with anything royal. Especially an American commoner marrying a British prince. I’m just lucky they’re not sending me over there.”
“Sorry, I tuned out there for a second. Focusing on the DNA thing. What’s the Facebook page you found it on?”
Annoyed by the slight, she told it to him, and looked over his shoulder while he searched.
She pointed to the screen. “There, that’s it.”
“Wait, it says these comments were from Ed@Times.”
“Yeah, I used Ed’s account. It was already set up and I figured people would be more open with him than some lowly intern.”
“Hmm, okay. Looks like you put out a lot of feelers with your comments.”
“I did, but I didn’t have a chance to follow up with any of those posts. Like I said, I got caught up with the royals.”
Jon scrolled through a string of comments. “Okay, I’ll go over it tonight.”
“What are you looking for?’
“If any of these so-called conspiracy theories rings legitimate. Maybe there’s some connection to Ed’s attacker.”
“That seems a stretch,” Luanne said.
“For now we have nothing more to go on. So that’s where we’ll have to start.”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 3
