Infiltrator Page 16

  "They missed completely Monica's blasting Jerry with that weapon," Mark noted.

  "They either edited out, or more likely no one caught it. That happened first, and it wasn't until our shots that people probably started filming," Jessie said.

  "Someone was quicker than that," Glen said, as a short clip showed Mark quite clearly placing his shot into Monica. The clip showed the object Monica was holding getting struck, but nothing was said about it after that. The police had Monica's body, but nothing was said at any point about Jerry. The four of them were each caught well enough by various bystanders that there was no doubt about their identities.

  "Well, we have to figure out what we're going to do next," Stephanie said. "Sooner or later the police are going to track us down, so we better have a plan."

  "I think the police are not our real problem," Mark said as he reflected on what had been said in the Jeep as they fled Washington.

  Chapter 18

  "Damn it!" Duke Harmon cursed. "Just what in hell is going on? I hope you realize we are looking absolutely ridiculous here?" The case he'd hoped would simply go away had suddenly become far more interesting to him, but also much more of a problem.

  Duke and Tom Burrows were at the police department and had just finished reviewing the video that had been gathered from the witnesses of the shooting on the Georgetown University campus. More video would hopefully be coming in as those who had already left learned of the official police request for all video that had been recorded. The news stations were already carrying the request.

  "How in hell did Miss Parker get there?" Harmon asked. "She mysteriously manages to escape from our holding cells, only to become a victim a few hours later in a public shooting. The Director isn't going to be very happy about our part in this."

  "No one has figured out how she managed to escape the cell," Burrows replied defensively. "It shouldn't have been possible."

  He was a bit shocked by the unexpected turn of events. They had considered her a possible suspect in the killing of Pam Chou, and now she was a victim herself. A victim of some of the very people they thought were her cohorts. Nothing was making any sense. He said as much to his partner.

  "Let's look at this thing objectively," Harmon said. "It all started because an influential aide to a powerful Senator made a claim that she and several others were witness to a killing, and there was a coordinated effort to cover up the fact. Normally a police matter, even after the aide was killed shortly thereafter. We were directed to become involved because of the Senator. A bit of quick checking suggests the story is bogus, because the supposed victim turns out to be alive and well, and at his job in New York, claiming that he was never even in Washington on the day of his supposed attack. His story is consistent with that of Miss Monica Parker, who we brought in as a person of interest because she was one of those Miss Chou accused of trying to force her to cover up the attack. Miss Parker's story is consistent with that of Mr. Johnson, the supposed victim."

  "It makes Miss Chou seem like a liar, or a nutcase, or perhaps both?" Tom Burrows said.

  "It does, doesn't it?" Duke agreed, although we never got Miss Parker to state that Mr. Johnson was never present. I find that part of all this odd. Anyway, while in custody, somehow, which no one here can explain, Miss Parker vanishes from her cell. A cell that has to my knowledge never seen a prisoner escape before. Then she appears across town a couple of hours later where others of the group identified by Miss Chou have gathered, only to be shot and killed by one of her alleged friends, and possible cohorts in Miss Chou's killing. In the process, one of the friends may or may not have disappeared, possibly having been attacked by a strange looking device that Miss Parker was carrying, but which disappeared before the police could secure the area."

  "And which no one managed to capture on video, despite the dozens of students who filmed most of the rest of the encounter," Burrows pointed out. The video that had been turned in had been clear enough to show Mark Wilson and Jessie Carter, names that Pam had given to the secretary. Now they had visual proof they were involved somehow. How they were linked remained a mystery. The video also showed who the other two people were. With the first names from Monica Parker's phone and video of their faces, it was relatively easy for the techs to run them through the database of driver licenses. The woman is an engineer for AT&T named Stephanie Brewer, and the black guy is an Air Force Major named Glen Taylor."

  "Air Force? How are these people linked? They don't seem to have anything in common?"

  "If we can capture one of them, and keep him or her alive long enough to question them, maybe we'll get some answers," Tom replied.

  Harmon shot him an angry glance.

  "Capture them. No one even saw what kind of vehicle they left in, let alone managed to get a license number. They could be anywhere by now. You can see why the Director is unhappy and why he has tasked the Assistant Director to follow our every action and report back to him frequently."

  "We have to be thorough on this one," Duke added.

  "Autopsies are being performed on both bodies, despite the fact the cause of death is apparently obvious in both cases," Burrows pointed out. Both the police and FBI agents are still on-site at the University, but I suppose we should have a firsthand look ourselves," Burrows mused.

  "I'll take care of that," Harmon said. "I don't expect anything to come of it, but we have to make the effort or be faulted later. I want you on a plane to New York as soon as possible."

  "New York?" Burrows asked.

  "I want you to interview this Mr. Johnson. This all started there, and despite what he claims, what you showed me a while ago suggests he might not be being entirely forthright. There is a verifiable record that someone with his name took a flight to Washington the day before the supposed attack. A reservation for a return flight that night was not used. So who went to Washington, and if it was this Mr. Johnson, how did he get back to New York?"

  "You don't think our agents in New York were thorough when they spoke with him?"

  "I think it was just a standard interview, without the insight of everything else that is going on. Catch him after work and grill him thoroughly. I'd like to get him on a polygraph, but unless he agrees, I can't see how we can manage that. You can take a late flight back and be here in the morning. Carol already has made your reservations. You can pick them up at the airport."

  Burrows knew there was little point in arguing. He'd rather go to the University where the shooting took place. The trip to New York was almost certainly Duke covering their asses, but he was the senior agent, and with the Director focusing on this case there couldn't be any slip-ups.

  "Swell," he said as he stood to leave. "You'll let me know if you find anything at the scene?"

  "Of course," Duke mumbled. "You better get going."

  Bud Johnson looked the part of a Wall Street investor. Young, just twenty-nine according to the summary profile Carol had forwarded to his phone, the man's hawkish looks and somewhat soft two hundred and twenty pounds fit Burrow's image of a man who spent his time at computer terminals and away from any regular physical exercise. He'd been surprised when Burrows had appeared at his door, but had been completely agreeable and welcomed him into the apartment where he lived.

  "I thought we were finished with this?" Johnson asked.

  Tom Burrows smiled.

  "There have been some strange developments to the case, and since the agents who spoke with you aren't close to the details, it was felt a follow up interview might be warranted," he said.

  "I think you have probably wasted a flight," Johnson said. "You came all the way from Washington just to see me. As I told the other two agents, I wasn't in Washington on the date they mentioned, hadn't been there for more than a year, and then I just drove through on my way to Florida. I didn't recognize the name of the woman they said insisted I was there, nor any of the other names they brought up. I am completely perplexed why anyone would claim I was there."

  Bu
rrows observed Johnson's face and body language closely as he spoke. He seemed completely relaxed, and there was nothing that suggested he was being evasive or misrepresenting the truth in any way.

  "You weren't at work that day," Burrows pointed out.

  "No, I wasn't. I thought I was coming down with the flu, there's been a particularly nasty variant going around, so I stayed home. It turned out to be nothing, and I was back at work the next day. And, no, I have no one who can verify I was here. I live alone, and didn't call anyone."

  "It is an interesting coincidence, in that a flight in your name was booked and filled the night before, along with a reservation at the Hilton."

  "And I suppose the people at the hotel were able to accurately describe me?" Johnson asked, seemingly amused.

  "Actually, no. Beyond the fact that someone of your approximate age checked in, used the room for the one night and checked out the next morning, they see too many people to be certain of anything."

  "And then I supposedly flew home?"

  "The flight was for that night. It was delayed several hours because of the storm, and the reservation in your name went unfilled. Whoever booked the reservation, didn't make the flight."

  "So if I flew there, and didn't make the flight back, how was I here to go to work in the morning?" Johnson asked.

  "A reasonable point, and suggests that someone else might have traveled in your place. Can you think of any reason someone would wish to pretend to be you?"

  "None at all. It's more likely that someone else shares my name. Johnson isn't all that unusual a name."

  "There's another thing. One of our witnesses claims you spoke to one of the group who was here in New York on Friday. Her name was Jessie Carter, from Homeland Security. She was in town and met you at lunch the other day, and during that meeting you confirmed having been at the meeting in Washington last Thursday."

  Bud Johnson looked confused.

  "I never met anyone at lunch. I don't know this Jessie person. Whoever told you that was lying."

  Burrows had a lot of experience questioning people, and had nearly a sixth sense about when people were lying. Bud Johnson was telling him the truth, he was certain of it. The man had never gone to Washington, and didn't know Jessie Carter. At least, that was what he apparently believed.

  "There's just one more complication that I wish you could explain," Burrows said. "Your cell phone appears to have been turned off from sometime Wednesday night until early Friday morning, the entire time where you might have been in Washington. Is there a reason you turned your phone off?"

  Johnson's eyes widened at this news.

  "That's simply not possible," he said, clearly surprised at the new.

  "Tricky things, these cell phones," Burrows said. "They give away a lot of secrets people don't expect."

  "I don't care what the data says, my phone was on and with me here in my apartment. I never made any calls as I told you, but it was on the entire time. Someone has messed with the data."

  Burrows could see that Johnson believed what he was saying. Either that, or he was a very practiced liar. Somehow Burrows believed the man. Data could be faked or erased, but who and why would that be done so in this case?

  "Can I see your phone?"

  Johnson walked over to the kitchen counter and retrieved his phone. He handed it to Burrows.

  "You use AT&T?" Burrows asked.

  "Yeah, so what?"

  All of those involved in this strange case used the identical model phone and were all AT&T customers, the company for which Stephanie Brewer worked. Coincidence, or something else? Just as it was coincidence that the others had missing data in their phone location history for the same time period?

  Chapter 19

  Tuesday Evening

  The four fugitives had canned stew for dinner, washed down with cold cans of soda. There seemed to be an abundance of both stored away in the cabin pantry, although Mark was less than impressed with the stew and couldn't help wondering why the owner of the cabin would have stocked so much of the unpalatable stuff. The cans were cooled by dumping a couple of cases into a convenient snow bank just off the front porch.

  The television remained the center of their attention. The stories continued to be repeated and expanded, with more details being added as the news station learned more about each of them. The video clips had been seen dozens of times, along with enlargements made from screen grabs, and later photos from driver's licenses and company photo's showing what they looked like. Monica's photo was shown as the attack victim, and absolutely nothing was said about Jerry. Despite one witness, and a brief report, indicating a fifth person had been in the group that initiated the attack, the news reports had let the matter pass. Nothing was being said about the weapon that Monica had carried in the grocery bag. A couple of the more recent reports indicated that Monica had been in FBI custody and had somehow escaped.

  "We are well and truly screwed," Glen finally observed. "I can't see how we are going to explain this away, and we can't go anywhere. Our photos are on every station and in every newspaper. There isn't anyone who could help but recognize us. And I don't see staying here as desirable, or even reasonable. Eventually someone is going to stumble onto this place."

  "I'm not happy that we are caught here with only a few handguns and very limited ammunition to defend ourselves," Jessie said. She regretted not bringing the long guns when she and Mark switched vehicles at her storage unit.

  "You want to engage the cops when they find us?" Glen asked dumbfounded. "That'll certainly work out well for us."

  "I think Jessie is concerned about the others," Steph said, giving Glen a sharp look.

  "The others?"

  "We talked about this earlier," Mark said. "Everything that has happened to us has been the result of some kind of manipulation by someone."

  "Or something," Steph added.

  "And whoever it is," Jessie continued the thought, "has been systematically thinning out our group. Pam was the first to go, if we forget about Bud Johnson, who was an accident that seemed to trigger all this. Then it was Monica, who appears to have been arrested, mysteriously escaped only to come up with a strange, if not impossible weapon. We killed her, but she was placed in danger by someone who controlled her. It wasn't like her to go on the attack. That's a significant character change from the woman we knew."

  "And then Jerry," Mark added. "She was the weapon that was used to eliminate him, and if we hadn't shot fast enough, I'm convinced more of us would be gone."

  "You believe these people are looking for us?" Glen asked. "Clearly he hadn't thought the matter through."

  "I believe we've been marked for termination," Jessie said nodding. "We are too much of a danger to whoever is behind all this and whatever it is they are doing. They probably would have liked to do it quietly, but I doubt they care if the FBI or police eliminate us for them."

  "Damn it!" the major cursed. "Well, we are better armed than you say."

  "What do you mean?" Mark asked.

  "There are guns here," Glen explained. "Not that many, and only shotguns, but those are probably more effective than your handguns."

  "Where?" Steph asked. She would have thought they would have spotted them when they searched the cabin for anything they could use.

  "Behind the paneling over there," Glen pointed. "My friend hid the small safe pretty good because this place is empty much of the time. Come, I'll show you."

  The paneling did a better job hiding the hidden cache than Mark would have thought possible. Glen pulled a couple of pins out of the two supports that held a shelf with a series of pictures on it, and then used the shelf as a handle to pull outward. A section three feet wide and about five feet high came away, revealing a foot deep cavity with a cheap metal rifle safe. Glen knew the combination from his past visits to the cabin when he'd hunted here with his friend, and quickly opened the steel box. Inside were two pump-action Remington 12 gauge shotguns, a 16 gauge side by side, and two 20
gauge semi-auto Winchesters. None of the guns were anything special. They showed the signs of hard use, but were clean and well cared for. Several boxes of shells were scattered around the bottom of the safe.

  "Now we're talking," Jessie said delightedly as she reached in and pulled out one of the pump action shotguns. She racked the action and checked the weapon, then handed it over to Mark before reaching in for the second one. Mark had already grabbed one of the boxes of shot shells, No. 1 buck, and was in the process of loading the weapon. Jessie did the same, and soon both weapons were ready for use.

  "Glen?" Mark asked.

  "I'll take one of the 20 gauges," he said. "I've used them a lot.

  As Glen proceeded to charge the weapon, Jessie turned to Stephanie.

  "I sense you haven't shot much," she asked.

  "Never," Steph admitted.

  Jessie reached in and grabbed the side by side.

  "This is slower to use and load, but is probably better for a beginner. Come, let me show you how it works."

  As the two women headed off across the room, Glen pulled out a small handgun from a rear pocket.

  "I also have this," he said, showing Mark the gleaming snub-nosed revolver.

  It was a pretty thing, but also clearly designed to be functional. He liked the way the blued sight melded into a smooth line with the stainless steel of the frame. Mark was surprised to see the name on the grips.

  "Kimber?" he asked. "I thought they only made semi auto handguns."

  "Yeah, it's the only revolver they make as far as I know. Guy at the gun shop told me if I wanted quality, I should go for the Kimber."

  "A .357 magnum," Mark noted, seeing the markings on the barrel.

  "Loaded with 125 grain hollow points," Glen added. "Guy said that was one of the most effective defense loads around. The reason they designed the .357 Sig round."

  "Magnum rounds, in a two inch revolver?" Mark asked. "Please don't shoot that near me. We'll be deaf for days."