The next thing was to issue another prepared press release to state and national media:
“The Children of the Constitution are expanding to cover selected areas to spread the ideal of a country not ruled by tyranny. All members of government, your past actions will reveal if you will live or die.”
Besides sending it out to the usual media, it also sent it to selected bloggers. The regular media wasn't printing enough stories about Tyrannicide's accomplishments, but it had determined that in the right blogs, information could spread like wildfire throughout the Internet.
It performed a check of finances. There were some funds that were becoming depleted, so it moved around money as needed. Then it settled down to wait and watch.
Jackie had no idea as to how to get in touch with the man she was looking for — Jared Becker. He specialized in web-based applications and had parried his world-known expertise into one hell of big business. He no longer worked by himself and employed a cadre of young, up and coming programmers to code his World Wide Web visions into reality. Rumor had it that he didn't even program any more.
White Hat Enterprises had used Jared's company, Web Solutions, Inc., over the years including the recent credit card swipe machine project as the machines had to be updated over the Internet. Why it couldn't have been handled with in-house expertise, Jackie never found out. They had the capability to write the code, but Nathan had decided, despite the cost, to use Web Solutions instead.
She knew the city where he lived, Castle Rock, Colorado, just south of Denver on I-25, but not much more than that. Not having a laptop any more, she found an Internet cafe and rented a computer.
She Googled the company and eventually found their web site. It only listed a PO Box for the address and no phone number. Typical.
There was an e-mail address listed, but she didn't have the time for them to sort through the probably thousands of e-mails they received each day to see hers and act on it.
The next best thing was to hack their mail server. Damn, she wished she had her laptop but didn't, so she did the next best thing. It took almost an hour to figure out the naming scheme they used to address e-mails. Even then, there was no guarantee that he would even see it.
She signed up for a throwaway Google e-mail address, and sent a message to what she hoped was Jared's e-mail address. To make sure it got noticed, she included her hacker handle, 'Grizel'—Scottish for 'gray battle maid.' The message said:
Grizel needs a face to face. Your PBX, where and when. Soonest though.
'PBX' meant, formally, private branch exchange, a telephone exchange that serves a particular office or business rather than servicing the public, but to hackers it meant 'call.' Ten minutes and a half a fresh triple espresso later, an e-mail popped into her inbox:
“Where we meet for fun toys, 2 hours.”
What did he mean by 'fun toys?' It could be anything, from a gun range to a porno shop. Then it hit her; Jared was into old telephone switching systems, arcane computers and strange electronic parts. She popped up another window and started searching for electronic surplus stores in the Denver area. There was one that carried all the things that interested Jared. She copied the address down on a piece of paper and then looked up the bus schedule. If she was going to meet him, she was going to have to hurry.
Chapter 23
From the instant that the black clad FBI agents kicked down the hotel door, Leo had crawled within his mind. He didn't put up an ounce of resistance as they rudely knocked him to the ground and roughly cuffed him, then dragged him until he could get his feet under him.
He put up with having his clothes forcibly removed, the uncomfortable, ill-fitting jumpsuit, the body cavity search, the cold interrogation room with the stiff backed, slick chair that stunk of sweat, urine and vomit, and knew that his every move was being video and sound recorded through the one-way mirror in the room in which he was sitting.
It was all a matter of perspective to him — at least he was out of the weather and reasonably comfortable. What the future would hold for him he had no idea, but he wouldn't be an active participant in his own downfall by making the mistake of opening his mouth.
He didn't think that the FBI would believe anything that he had to tell them, and knew enough, from his historical studies of assassination, that nothing like Robert-François Damiens, a Frenchman who tried to assassinate Louis XV in 1757, would happen to him. Damiens was the last person to be executed by drawing and quartering, and his death took many horrifying hours. That Damiens was an amateur and only slightly wounded the king didn't have much bearing on his punishment. The finest refinement of the art of assassination was to be able to kill without being caught.
He didn't think that even the most hardened FBI agent would consider torture at this stage of the game, but didn't really put it much past them. History was also full of examples of government agencies like the FBI doing whatever it took to accomplish their own ends. He just wasn't going to help them.
The agent that appeared in charge entered the room and introduced himself as Special Agent Jeff Silver. He was swarthy, had a five o'clock shadow, bags under his eyes and a suit that looked like he slept in it for the past month.
Leo thought about telling him the origin of his last name, being derived from the Anglo-Saxon ‘seolfur’ and the chemical symbol from the Latin ‘argentum,’ both meaning silver. Leo knew a lot about history and one of the threads running through history was precious metals — the other was murder. But any explanation would require talking, which he didn't want to do.
“Are you Leo Marston?” Silver demanded. He stared at the man, fixing his gaze into his eyes, like he was measuring him for a coffin and remained silent.
“You’re in a world of trouble, you know that?”
Leo remained silent.
“Why won't you talk?”
He smiled.
The rest of the interrogation went about the same, with Silver getting louder as it progressed. Leo never uttered a word.
This continued for a couple of hours. While Silver ranted, Leo reviewed everything he had experienced over the past week. It had all had gone as expected, including getting caught. He did wish that they had been able to find out more about who was behind this mysterious assassination organization before getting caught.
The shouting didn't bother him — long ago he learned to concentrate while trying to take a shot despite all the distractions of a match, and that was gunfire going off right next to you, not an irate FBI agent.
Then there was a tap on the door. Both of them looked up at it as an upset-looking man stuck his head into the interrogation room.
“Call for you, line six.”
“Take a fucking message, can't you see I'm busy?”
“You better take this call. It's the director.”
Silver gave Leo a sneer and said, “Don't move. I'll be right back.”
Allan Wells was starting to get pissed. He'd done every task asked of him and yet they wanted him to do another. Though they couldn't know that he was up to his armpits in constructing his newest version of the remote sniper rifle platform, if he didn't get it finished quickly it would seriously cut into his ability to make money and take on jobs for the company.
His latest task was to snipe an FBI agent. And, if he got the chance, to take out someone he only had a picture of, no other details, a guy by the name of Leo Marston. For some reason, the name was familiar, but he couldn't place it. A quick Google shoot didn't reveal anything — how was that possible, not to show up on Google? It probably didn't matter. The information on the FBI target, Jeff Silver, stated that he was currently working out of the Byron G. Rogers Federal Building in Denver. Looking at the aerial maps of the area, it was clear that this was going to be a difficult job to pull off. Across the street was the Federal Building and US Custom House, next to it was a Federal Court house and on the other side was an office complex.