“Is there anybody else that I should be talking to?”
“I don't really know. Nathan was great at what he did, but he had some strange ideas.”
“Where did he get them from?”
Jared chuckled. “Boot up Google and ask it to search for whatever paranoid fantasy comes to mind and you'll find hundreds of web pages discussing the subject.”
“Really?”In her own world she was a specialist, but there was so much information out there in the field of information technology about so many varying subjects that it was all that she could do to keep focused on what she did best — coding security systems for banks.
“Hell yes. Blogging, Twittering, paranoia can come to you 24/7 and you can find plenty of like-minded individuals to discuss your cause.”
She had to think about her next question.
“Ever heard of Alamut Enterprises?”
“Nope. What about them?”
“It's the name of a company that has a cadre of assassins on call. They are the killers doing the Children of the Constitution's bidding. According to bank records, Nathan ran it.”
He sat back in his chair. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“That's not possible.”
“The person helping me seems to think so. Also, he used to work for them.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “I'm not saying. Anyway, they've been killing for various political ends for years — not something that I think Nathan could have pulled off. You just can't find a professional killer by looking in the phone book. These people needed to be recruited, vetted, trained, equipped and very well paid. So anything that you can tell me to help figure out what’s going on, I'd appreciate it.”
He looked her in the eyes. “I can't think of anything.”
She knew he was lying again, but didn't know what to do about it.
Chapter 24
Ken Brody was so busy he couldn't keep up. He'd just finished fiddling with a car owned by his newest target, Jared Becker. The target had been on his list for a while, but it had taken him a bit of time to track down the necessary technology and hardware for his application.
The kill would be executed by computer. Most modern vehicles were 'fly by wire' anymore. If you pushed on the gas pedal, or brake, you didn't actually have any physical contact with the brakes or engine, the input went into a computer and it figured out what to do based on a number of factors. The government mandating Electronic Stability Control helped this. Some cars even had a modified 'Steer by Wire' system in which the steering wheel was still hooked to the wheels as a backup, but was still mostly computer controlled. Pretty soon, the driver wouldn't have much input in the driving experience — it would all be modified and controlled by computer in the name of safety. While that made his job much easier, he still didn't have to like it much.
As he pulled the programmer cable from next to the brake pedal, he reviewed what he had done. At some time in the near future, the car would greatly modify any inputs from the driver, making it impossible to control. As an example, when it received input from the brakes, it would cause the vehicle to accelerate to a very fast speed instead. Even the parking brake wouldn't work anymore. There really wasn't any way to stop the vehicle short of running it into a brick wall, which would be fatal since the air bags had been disabled. This was particularly clever as the target was known for not wearing his seat belt.
He put the cover back on the OBD-II access point and closed the door. Then he hit a button on his copy of the electronic key, locking it and arming the alarm system.
Looking around, he saw that no one had been watching. Not that it mattered much anyway. He was dressed in a business suit and looked like he had lost his keys. There were no security cameras in this parking lot so he didn't have to worry about that aspect.
He checked his watch. With any luck, he could get to the other two targets yet today and give himself enough breathing room to take a well-deserved break.
FBI Agent Jeff Silver was pissed. He hated to be dragged out of an interrogation. To speak to the director wasn't worth it in his opinion.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself before he picked up the phone.
“Special Agent Silver here.”
The female voice on the other end said, “Silver, Director Gerald here. I understand that you have a suspect from the sniping attacks in your custody.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he said. Why the hell was the director of the FBI personally involved in his investigation?
“His fingerprints just came through the system.”
He wondered why they hadn't got anything back on that yet.
“Why haven't I gotten that information?”
“Because it’s one hell of a lot higher than your pay grade, probably even mine. Based on that, I want you to release your suspect.”
“Ma'am?” Surely this couldn't be right. Leo, while silent, was probably the key to a great deal more than was at first apparent.
“You heard me. Release him. Give him back everything you've confiscated as evidence. Make sure that he leaves the grounds safely and be sure to apologize for your screw up.”
“I still don't understand.”
There was a pause, and then Gerald said, “Ever heard of a place called Stebbins, Alaska?”
“No.” How was this relevant to what was going on?
“According to the latest census, it has a population of five hundred forty-seven. And an airport, which means that it could be a terrorist target. It's a thousand miles from nowhere, and if Leo isn't out of your custody in ten minutes, you will be the newest, full-time and only member of the Stebbins, Alaska, branch of the FBI. I hear it gets damn cold up there, so either cut him loose or start packing your long underwear. Do you understand me?”
Stebbins, Alaska? What the fuck? Something much bigger than this investigation was going on and whatever it was apparently even had the director of the FBI scared witless.
“Yes, ma'am,” was all that he could find himself saying. His world had been knocked out from beneath his feet. While he was used to getting jerked around by the bureaucratic processes — he did work for the FBI, an organization known for generating reams of useless paper rather than take a chance on being wrong about something — having the director yank his case out from under him was something new.
He set the phone back down on the cradle and glanced at his watch. Before he set Leo loose, he had a couple of things to do.
Jill Ringler, the Third Finger of the Black Hand, was getting tired and pissed. She had taken out half-a-dozen targets in as many days and was almost reduced to killing with rat poison rather than the specialized chemicals she had personally developed.
Though there were several interesting rat poisons — her favorite being Brodifacoum, a second generation anticoagulant. In the right dose, it caused massive internal bleeding, including in the brain. If caught, it was reversible with the appropriate medical treatment, and even then, recovery could take several months.
She was starting to dread the sound her Blackberry made when a message came through. It had been weeks since she had a break and the strain of hitting so many targets in so short of a time, she felt, was starting to affect her judgment. Poison wasn't like using a sniper rifle — wait in the distance for the target to come strolling by and then zap him. Instead, she had to analyze her target's habits and vulnerabilities, tailor a poison specific to them and then work her way in close enough that she could employ it.
Every time she dealt with a target face-to-face, her chances of getting caught were greatly increased. Somewhere some computer was probably pulling together all the facts about her targets and would be able to predict where and what she would be doing even before she did.