Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3)

by Nellie Neeman

Bernie got out of the car and crossed Canyon Road. The air was nippy, the sky a perfect blue. Unaccustomed to the cold climate, he was glad he’d brought along a hat and gloves.

  Vortex Arts was housed in a small adobe building fronted by large pots of bright purple and pink petunias. Deep-red dried jalapeños strung in clusters hung from the shop’s eaves. Bernie entered the shop, causing a tiny bell to chime above the doorway.

  A woman in a flowery dress, hair uncut for several years, no makeup, in her mid-sixties was studying a small glass dish. Behind a rough-hewn wooden chest-high table stood a stunning black woman, staring intently at the computer screen in front of her. Janelle, Abigail’s mother.

  Janelle said, “Sure Layla, I can get you a dozen of those in time for your daughter’s wedding. They’ll make the perfect bridesmaid gift.”

  Layla’s joy seemed out of proportion with the pronouncement. Perhaps her mood was enhanced by an ingestible similar to those Bernie saw displayed by the register. The woman paid, then rounded the desk, hugged Janelle, and left.

  “Welcome, I’ll be right with you,” Janelle said.

  “Take your time.”

  Bernie walked around the quaint shop. A door at the back led to a tiny studio. All sorts of art materials were neatly arranged, a pottery wheel in the middle of the space. “Did you make all these things yourself?”

  “Most of them, but not all. The jewelry bowls Layla ordered are from a Hopi Indian artisan I buy from. Are you looking for anything special?”

  “Not really. I suppose I’d like to go home with something authentically New Mexican.”

  “Everything I sell was made here in the Land of Enchantment. Where is home if I may ask?”

  “Los Angeles. But now that I’m here, I may reconsider that.” He smiled warmly.

  She laughed. “I know how you feel. I moved here years ago. No desire to be anywhere else.”

  The door opened, and a teenage girl with mild acne on her forehead walked in. She was a lighter shade than her mother and nearly as lovely. He’d timed his visit right.

  “Hi honey, how was your day?”

  “Fine.”

  “The math exam go okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bernie vaguely recalled his own monosyllabic adolescent phase. Seemed like it lasted forever.

  Janelle eyed her daughter, who picked up on the nonverbal cue. She faced Bernie, “Hi. Can I help you find something?”

  Bernie said, “Sure.” He made a show of looking back and forth between the two ladies. “Are you sisters?”

  Abby laughed. “That’s my mom!”

  Jan also laughed. “I had her pretty young.” Then, “What brings you to Santa Fe?”

  Bernie studied a ceramic figurine. “Work. I’m a private investigator.”

  Abby perked up. “Wow, a P.I. So cool.”

  “It’s not as glamourous as it sounds. But I get some interesting jobs sometimes. As a matter of fact I’m in town working a stalking case.”

  The words had their intended effect. Both women suddenly became quiet.

  Then, Janelle said, “Abby, go clean the easels please.”

  “Mom! I want to stay.”

  “Now.” She said in a soft but firm tone.

  To her credit, Abby didn’t argue further.

  Janelle said, “I don’t mean to be nosy, but can you tell me a bit about your case?”

  “Well, there isn’t much to tell at this point. My client is worried about his daughter. Seems someone’s been following her around.”

  “She okay?”

  “Yeah, so far. But the local PD said several other complaints have come in with the same M.O.”

  “I haven’t heard that.”

  Bernie shrugged. “Can’t speak for the PD but maybe they have a lead and don’t want to scare the guy off.”

  She nodded slowly. Lowering her voice she said, “My daughter,” she gestured with her head to the back room, “had the same thing happen to her.”

  “Oh?”

  “We filed one of the complaints.”

  “Go figure. Can you tell me exactly what happened? It may help me find the guy.”

  Janelle shared everything Abby had told her.

  When she was done, Bernie said, “If it helps any, usually these things don’t turn into anything serious. But if it were my kid, I’d take extra precautions.”

  “Extra precautions?”

  “On rare occasion, these stalkers—usually men by the way—get so obsessed they turn aggressive. Keep a closer eye on her. I realize teenagers don’t like to be monitored, but better safe than sorry, you know?”

  Jan bit her lip, nodded. “Good advice.” Pointing to the figurine that had caught Bernie’s eye, she said, “Why don’t you take that? On the house.”

  “Really? Thanks.”

  “I hope you find the guy.”

  “It’s a matter of time, but I will.” Bernie meant it.

  Five minutes after he left the shop, he phoned Theo. “She’s fine . . . yeah, I saw her with my own two eyes . . . I scared the mom enough to keep a closer eye on her.

  He hung up wondering how an a-hole like Theodore Davis managed to snag two incredible women. He considered his next step in the case. Ryan Cook and Deborah Frost were dead ends. That left the ex-wife. In Salt Lake City. He pulled up flight information on his phone. No direct flights. He’d drive down to Albuquerque and catch a non-stop from there.

  ***

  Squaw Valley, California

  Theo closed his eyes, letting the steam from the hot tub do its work. It was the most relaxed he’d felt in a very long time. Getting away with Nic and Lizzy was a smart move for multiple reasons. Connecting with his wife, creating memories with his daughter. And leaving his problems behind. Or trying, at least.

  The lake area was known for spotty reception, a consideration for where to go. He and Nic had agreed to go unplugged to allow for optimal family time. It served his purposes as well. He knew he would have to face them soon enough but if he could offer Bernie more time to find his blackmailer while keeping his wife far from the mail, why not?

  He opened his eyes, taking in the imposing pine trees surrounding the property, the snow-covered ski mountain in the distance, its snake-like slopes lit with tiny lights to accommodate the night skiers. They had stayed before at the private condo west of Lake Tahoe. It was a year-round destination with horseback riding and boating in the summer and perfect powder conditions in the winter. If his business stayed the course, perhaps one day he would buy the place.

  Nic scooted over beside him and filled two glasses with the sparkling grape juice they’d brought. He always thought it amazing that she never drank alcohol in his presence. Not even at weddings. She stayed dry in solidarity with him. He was a lucky man.

  Lizzy was sleeping soundly inside their chalet. The night was filled with stars, the smell of the burning balsam wood in the nearby firepit. For a few moments he forgot about the damning letters. His phone within arm’s reach, solely in case Lizzy needed them. He took a sip of his sparkling grape juice and placed the glass at the edge of the hot tub, the chill on his exposed skin invigorating. Nic followed suit. He drew his wife to him, kissed her, tasting the sweetness on her lips. “Do you know how much I love you?” Theo asked, his voice gruff.

  Nic must have sensed the intensity in his voice. He could feel her body respond. With her breath on his lips, she said, “Why don’t you show me?”

  And he did.

  ***

  Salt Lake City

  Franklin burned with fury listening to the man. The reception was poor, limiting the video. When the breathing became rapid, he turned off the speaker. The man didn’t have a care in the world. His letters were being ignored. He wanted to scream, throw things, pitch all his monitors, keyboards. But it would only alert his mother. This couldn’t stand. He needed to do something to make the man pay attention. And pay his dues. His therapist said he was rea
dy. He knew he was. Only fear stood in his way. And he now found the impetus to overcome it.

  Chapter 35

  FBI Field Office

  New York City

  “This meeting,” Matthews began, his tone formal, “is for the express purpose of working together with our allies.”

  Shira was typing furiously, keeping her eyes on her screen. “In other words, Israel will owe you.”

  Terry raised her hand like a crossing guard. She didn’t need a fight to break out before she could even begin. Something or someone had delayed the meeting with the FBI. Given that Yosef was on board, she had to assume it was Matthews. “Agent Matthews, you’ll soon learn what we have to say will help your nation as well. You may end up owing us.”

  Terry spotted a rare smile on Shira’s lips.

  Matthews held his tongue, but his eyes spoke of skepticism.

  Israel’s secure networks are under attack. We believe it’s the work of sophisticated hackers mining for classified information they can sell to interested buyers. It’s highly likely similar efforts are being made here in the U.S. as well as other countries around the world.”

  Terry saw Matthews nod at a middle-aged man sitting in the corner who stood up and quickly walked out. She continued. “These hackers are typically young people skilled in their field, designers of sophisticated malware and spyware, but unable to find the buyers on their own. For that they need a broker, someone who’ll trade or outright sell for money or bitcoin. There are only a few, how do you say, high rollers?”

  “Here, these crimes are known as misappropriation. It means stealing intellectual property and trade secrets. These matters typically fall under the auspices of the DOJ. If the crime is committed for the benefit of any foreign government, convictions are made under the Economic Espionage Act resulting in up to fifteen years in prison and half a million dollars in fines. Do you have reason to believe the situation has reached that level?”

  Terry said, “As of several days ago, we learned the hacking software used to attack our systems will be sold.”

  “To whom?”

  Terry paused looking at Shira, who hesitated. Terry wondered what was running through her handler’s mind. Finally, Shira said, “North Korea.”

  Jon's face paled.

  “The hackers are working day and night to perfect the app so it can be ready for sale by midnight of the thirtieth.”

  “That’s in two weeks!”

  Shira said, “Now you understand what’s at stake. If the sale goes through, Pyongyang will gain access to classified intel anywhere in the world.”

  It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. For several moments no one spoke.

  Jon broke the silence. “How do we find the broker?”

  “The suspect is here in New York, goes by the nickname, the White Knight. But we have had no luck making an ID. If we locate this person, we can prevent the sale from going through long enough to confiscate and disarm the virus.”

  Matthews spoke up. “How can we help?”

  Shira turned her screen to face the others. “This is our prime suspect. I’ve run her face through Israel’s and Interpol’s most advanced facial recognition software but got no hits. To help, you can use whatever technology you have available to identify her.”

  “Please email it to Agent Steadman.”

  Shira did so.

  Jon jumped up from his chair, grabbed his laptop and headed for the door. “I’m on it.”

  ***

  Salt Lake City

  From five thousand feet, Bernie thought Salt Lake City looked like the surface of the moon. Stark with no vegetation, snow-peaked mountains in the distance. The lake itself appeared otherworldly, its shores barren. The airport was busier than expected, a hub for connecting flights. Weaving his way through the hordes of travelers, it occurred to him that he’d spent more time traveling in the last week than in nearly a year. He liked it.

  Bernie rented a car, setting the heater to full blast. The drive to his destination took him past the city’s pale granite capitol building, its majestic dome and Corinthian columns reminiscent of the ones in Sacramento, his home state’s capital. He turned right at Temple Square, continuing southwest to the Poplar Grove neighborhood. The address turned out to be a small, neglected home with an overgrown front yard. A ramp led up to the front door. For a stroller or wheelchair, he didn’t know, though there were no telltale signs of a young child. No toys strewn about, no swing set. Perhaps it accommodated an elderly parent. He parked several houses away.

  To think Theo, who lived the high life, had an ex-wife residing in this dump was bizarre. Clearly, their paths had drastically diverged since the divorce. Still, looking at the rundown house, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was faced with the makings of a wild goose chase. He took a few photos and waited.

  At six p.m., a beat-up Ford pulled into the driveway, and a woman who looked to be in her fifties emerged. She was balancing two weighty McDonalds bags and a 7-Eleven Big Gulp, trying to keep them from falling as she approached the front door. Bernie snapped a few pictures capturing her face, then zoomed in on the shots. It was her. She’d aged poorly.

  Francine Oakley. Bernie had checked her record. She had two DUIs but was released on her own recognizance after having her license suspended. She was required to do community service and enter AA. She must have met the requirements and reactivated her license, explaining her driving home. He wondered about that. Unless laws in Utah were way laxer, that wasn’t typical. Why did they let her off? Maybe her wheelchair-bound ward relied on her for caregiving. Bernie watched as the woman closed the door behind her.

  ***

  Bernie spent the next day tailing Theo’s ex. For someone who repeatedly fell of the wagon, she was a hard worker. Her day began as a floor attendant for a big-box hardware store ten miles from her house. At three-thirty, she made the drive to a McDonalds, where she swapped aprons for her job as a manager. She had two jobs, neither of them big money makers. He figured after taxes she made around 50k. Once he realized she was heading home, he made sure to get back to her house before she did and check the mailbox.

  Seven minutes later, he was parked at the corner, watching Francine once again pull into her driveway, fast food in hand, looking drained. As far as he could tell she had no significant other. Certainly not one that lived with her. The mailbox had revealed a pile of junk mail, several collections notices and a letter from an insurance company addressed to Mr. Franklin Oakley. That one he took.

  ***

  FBI Field Office

  New York City

  Terry was tapping away on her laptop when the conference room door opened and someone walked in. Expecting Jon who’d called to reconvene, Terry glanced towards the doorway, doing a double take. Her jaw dropped. Standing there with likely the same expression Terry had on her face, was a young woman in her mid-twenties. Dressed in a fashionable professional black pantsuit, her short black hair brushed against the shoulders. No glasses.

  Netta.

  The woman sat down across from her. “Doctor Lavi, I'm Shelby Emerson. Terribly sorry for the confusion.”

  Terry was speechless, giving Jon an opportunity to explain. “Shelby recently transferred here to the Cybercrime division from the DC office which is why I've never seen her around here before.”

  Terry studied the woman. She had the same body as the wallflower at the cocktail party but with a completely different way about her. She was fashionable, poised.

  Netta aka Shelby said, “This must be beyond frustrating. It is for me as well. I suspected you were the White Knight.”

  Terry found her voice. “All this time I’ve been trying to lure the wrong person. An FBI agent, no less.”

  “Don't beat yourself up. Clearly your handler thought the same.”

  Taking no offense, Shira said, “Now we can all work together to find the real White Knight.”

  After Shelby explained her role, she excused herself and left, Matthews
following behind her.

  Terry's shoulders slouched. She felt defeated. With only Shira and Jon left in the room, she spoke openly. “I can't start from scratch. I haven't seen Gabe in a couple of weeks. We're trying to plan a wedding and I'm stuck roaming around New York spinning my wheels. We’ve just wasted all this time on the wrong mark. We’re no further along than when I arrived.”

  “Not exactly,” Jon said.

  “What do you mean?”

  The same middle-aged man from yesterday entered, quietly taking a seat in the corner.

  Jon said, “There’s a common denominator with my current case that we need to figure out. Our countries have been so focused on not showing our hands, we’ve been oblivious to the fact that we're likely looking for the same people. It’s time we fully collaborate to stop whoever is behind the cyberattacks before it’s too late.”

  The middle-aged man in the corner stood up, addressed Jon, his voice icy. “Agent Matthews wants to see you.”

  “I’m in the middle—”

  “Now.”

  Jon peered at the man. The moment after he walked out the door the man addressed Terry and Shira. “Thank you for coming. We’ll be in touch.”

  ***

  Matthews walked into his office, Jon a step behind him.

  “Godammit, Steadman, you spoke out of turn. Get your kumbaya mentality under control.”

  “What are you talking about? Terry and Shira just gave us exceptional intel. There could very well be a connection to my case.”

  “We need to verify that. Until we do, we keep our secrets. Even if they choose to share theirs. Understood?”

  Jon felt his face redden. Will this stupid bureaucracy ever end? “Didn’t you tell me your superiors gave the green light to speak openly with the Israelis if they provide quality leads?”

  Matthews’s eyes flared, his jaw jutted.

  Jon knew he should get out of there before his boss blew up, yet again. He couldn’t get his legs to move. “This is diplomacy? The whole point was to work together.” With his hand on the doorknob, Jon added, “Next time, sir, don’t send your spy, just freakin’ talk to me.”

  ***