At Wit's End (15 page)

DEFCON
2 ALERT… PERSONAL DANGER IS POSSIBLE… DEFCON 2 ALERT… PERSONAL DANGER IS POSSIBLE

Wit struck a button and messages were sent to Special Agent Marlon Hirschenbaum.
The agent’s home and work phones and computers rang simultaneously with notifications for email and text messages.

His priorities had shifted and Wit quickly finished fixing
the mess he had nearly created for James Brandt. When that was completed he looked at the uppermost screen. There were several icons flashing on the screen, most of them with an orange outline. If IGGY had decided he was in a DEFCON 1 Alert Mode the outlines would have been flashing strobe-like with a black outline.

Wit quickly keyed in the commands and looked at the files IGGY had prioritized. The program was running about two weeks behind real time activity for the Brotherhood, the white supremacist group responsible for the murders of his friends, and it had flagged some recent purchases.

He didn’t know what they were going to blow up but they had bought enough chemicals to take out a pretty big chunk of New York City. IGGY was crawling through their hard drives, looking for a clue to their plans. Wit wasn’t sure it would find the answer in time. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

The city that never sleeps has pockets where there never seems to be activity. The blocks are empty, the buildings appear to be abandoned and people unconsciously swerve to the other side of the street to avoid walking pas
t the eerie alleyway entrances. If a pedestrian had been asked why they had crossed the street they wouldn’t have been able to answer. An uneasy shrug would suffice and they would move on to their next errand. Ten steps in any direction and the activity picked up again.

Generally these neighbourhoods were in Industrial areas. That led to an attraction all its own for the young people of New York. The abandoned areas were exceptionally busy at night when swarms of partiers would overtake a building for one
evening of debauchery. DJ’s would set up turn tables, drug dealers would swoop in with the party cocktails du jour and the air would exude bonhomie and a touch of desperation. The mornings would find trash scattered about, including flyers from the raves, empty and crumpled cellophane baggies, cigarette butts and the bottles from various beers and beverages imbibed the night before.

Marie had taken three steps before she recognized this block as being unacceptable. She was disappointed with herself for not using one of the many maps available on the internet to examine the area before she sprung for the cab fare.

Ideally she wanted a relatively busy commercial district. This definitely did not count. Marie wished the storefront with the large front windows hadn’t been leased out. She’d been forced to cancel her deposit after Brandt had robbed her blind.

She immediately turned to re-enter the cab when she saw it had already left to find a new fare. With a shake of her head she decided to look at the space. Perhaps the area would be going through one of those fabulous renovations that had been happening s
poradically. There could be a potential to have charm which could lead to great things. There were too many hypotheticals in this equation but she was here so why not?

The Realtor had seemed desperate to lease it out and Marie understood why. This would be a difficult sell for anyone except maybe a storage company. She cupped her hands and tried to peer through the dirty window. She couldn’t see through the glare and wiped her hands on a napkin she removed from her purse.

So much for that
, she thought. When she turned to leave the alley she saw two men standing at the mouth. They were staring directly at her. Marie turned to look the other way and saw a dead end. She squared her shoulders and started walking toward the men. She kept her head up and did not make actual eye contact without looking like she was doing so. It was a skill many New Yorkers had perfected.

As she drew closer small alarms began going off. The men wore new clothes - the fold marks from the packaging were visible - but they looked slept in. Both men wore thick brown boots, working man’s shoes, and there appeared to be dirt clumps flecking from the sides and tread. The young one had a scraggly beard, patchy and apparently itchy as he scraped at his chin with one hand. The older man had dull brown eyes that did not stray from her.

Marie pulled her purse strap closer to her body and stuck her chin up. She refused to be intimidated by this odd pair. She stepped up her pace and felt sure they would step out of her way when she drew closer. It was the middle of the afternoon, after all, and who would pull off a robbery in the middle of… that’s when Marie noticed there were no witnesses. The nearest potential assistance was more than a block away. She didn’t think a scream would carry that far or be heard and responded to fast enough to prevent her wallet from being taken.

She slid her free hand, the hand not clutching her purse strap, into her pocket and removed her set of keys. She angled them so the pointy ends came out between her fingers in her newly clenched fist.
Hope for the best but plan for the worst
, she thought and continued her steady pace.

Henry shot a look at Jacob and gave a small nod. They wouldn’t have a better opportunity than this. The woman had essentially delivered herself up to them, a sacrificial goose. When Marie had come within two steps he reached toward her arm.

“Excuse me, miss, perhaps you could help me. We’re not from around here and we’re a little lost,” his hand clenched down on her forearm and Marie didn’t hesitate.

“Let go of me,” she hissed and swung the hand holding the keys. She missed the strike toward his eyes when he dodged his head back. Marie’s body swung around. She felt a sudden push at the back of her skull. It pushed her head forward and into the older man’s nose. There was a
crack
and blood began pouring from the man’s nose. Marie’s eyes rolled and her body went limp.

Henry looked at the younger man. “That was a little excessive
, don’t you think?” His voice had a nasal overtone and he glared at Jacob.

“Sir, I didn’t want to hit a woman but she was going to hurt you. I went with instinct. I may have hit her a little hard due to that ponytail. That thing sure is thick.” He
bent down and placed two fingers at the pulse in her throat. “She’ll be fine, sir. Probably wake up with a headache.”

“And mad as hell, I’m sure,” Henry replied. “Regardless the job is done and with a minimum of fuss. Not a bad day’s work. Go get the car
while I keep her blocked from view.” Henry adjusted his stance and stood over the unconscious woman’s body. He noticed a napkin and a set of keys near her limp hand. He used the napkin to blot at his nose and the keys he put back in her purse. No reason to inconvenience her any further.

When Jacob pulled the car even with the alley entrance Henry bent low and scooped Marie into his arms. He laid her gently on to the backseat and climbed in to
the passenger side. “Let’s pick up the recordings and get going for the camp. I’d rather be there when she wakes up than trapped here in the car. I’d hate to have to hit her again.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacob checked for non-existent traffic and pulled out. “We may need a pharmacy first.”

Henry looked at his face in the mirror conveniently located on the visor. “Yeah but let’s get a little farther from the scene of the crime. I’m going to need a new shirt, too.”

Special Agent Marlon Hirschenbaum strode quickly to his government issued sedan. The stop at Brandt’s apartment had been a waste of time. The man wasn’t home and Hirsch was not prepared to begin questioning his neighbours. Not yet.

While he’d been knocking on the door of
an apartment that felt empty the phone at his hip had begun the equivalent of having a nervous breakdown. It began shaking and trilling several high pitched tones he wasn’t sure he recognized and definitely not when they were all going off at the same time.

Simultaneously the cell phone in his jacket pocket began doing the same insane dance. Hirsch had struck buttons on each device and turned back to the door. He had debated leaving his card in the crack of the door before deciding against it. He’d like to keep the element of surprise for the moment. This impuls
ive visit had been a mistake.

Ensconced in the driver’s seat Hirsch looked at the displays on each phone. He used Smart Phones for his personal and professional communications. Each phone came with programs, or apps, already installed. Several of these he didn’t use and wouldn’t recognize the icons for if they blinked at him for the next dozen years.

Several of those icons were blinking now, on both phones. Hirsch selected his work phone – let them pay for it if the thing blew up – and tapped the notifications. His brow creased and he checked each message on both phones. They were telling him the same thing.

Bradley Witson was in personal danger.

That was it. There were no details enclosed with the messages. The only sense of urgency came from the fact that he’d been reached by both phones at the same time and using programs he hadn’t been aware he possessed. That was child’s play for someone of Wit’s skill and talent. He liked to show off. Hirsch had to decide how seriously to take these contacts.

His stomach growled and that made the decision for him. He’d go over, talk to Wit and find out what was going on. Because he had skipped lunch to talk to Marie Chase he would stop at a deli near Wit’s condo. He’d pick up dinner for both of them and consider it his nod to good karma. He’d find out what was making Wit paranoid and then he’d go home and
start reading the new Vince Flynn novel. A solid plan if he did say so himself.

             
The buzzer from the front door broke Wit’s concentration. He used his foot on a switch in the floor and the door was unlocked to allow the guest entrance. George had been instructed to let two people through without calling ahead, Hirsch and Marie. He hadn’t received a text from Marie telling him of her arrival time so the process of elimination dictated it had to be Hirsch.

He’d also cheated, though he wouldn’t admit it. There was a GPS tracker in the remote starter fob on Hirsch’s keychain. Wit had installed it the day Hirsch had come to the islands and interrupted his fun time. It was a prototype he’d been working on at the time and today had seemed like a good day to test it.

Half an hour ago he’d used The Command Center to load the maps program he had designed to go with the trackers he had built. It was a program he had integrated into IGGY and he made a mental note to explore those options at a later date. The screen had started with a long view of New York State and then zoomed in until a small arrow with a picture of a scowling Hirsch glaring at him appeared.

An address had come up on the screen and told him Hirsch was at
Bannerman’s Deli and Small Goods. Wit had no idea what constituted the small goods; the man only sold sandwiches that were served with the biggest pickles Wit had ever seen.

“I hope you remembered to get the sauerkraut on the side this time,” he called out when he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

“Who’s your decorator, a swooning virgin from the 1800’s?” Hirsch laid the file next to Wit’s elbow. “I got your message.”

“Obviously,” Wit acknowledged. “What about the sauerkraut?”

Hirsch shoved the greasy deli bag into Wit’s stomach. “It should be in a container. How did you know I was at Bannerman’s?” Hirsch pulled a wheelie chair over to an empty section of the arched desk. He laid several napkins out and retrieved his turkey on rye. No one made a sandwich like Bannerman. Using a separate napkin as a bib he eyed the enormous construct in front of him.

“I guessed. It took you forever to get here.” Wit bit in and stifled a groan.

“Traffic,” Hirsch told him. “Besides, you don’t appear to be in mortal danger. I figured that would elicit an actual phone call.” When he’d eaten his fill and cleaned his hands and face as best he could he gestured to the file. “I brought the file, as ordered.”

“Did you
read it this morning?” Wit asked.

“No, when I saw it was another of your vendetta files against the Brotherhood I thought I would start with Marie’s instead. There was some interesting information in there. I assume you only recently met Marie? I thought I was familiar with all of your friends.”

“Only because you’re nosy,” Wit told him. “Yes, I recently met Marie. She needed help and I offered it. It’s been about a week.”

“Usually you’re more concise about time but I’ll ignore that for now. There’s no way you put the file on Brandt together in seven days. Can I assume IGGY is up and running?”

The glint in Wit’s eye was answer enough.

“Brad, do you realize what you’ve done? How many laws that program breaks merely by existing?” The words were correct but the tone was not; Hirsch was as excited about IGGY as Wit and that enthusiasm leaked out. “There are so many people who are going to want to talk to you.”

“Talk to me or put me in jail?” Wit’s question was serious.

“Start by talking,” Hirsch said. “I believe you can count on calls from each of the Alphabet Agencies.” At Wit’s cocked brow he continued, “You know, the CIA,
FBI, NSA, etc.”

“That’s one of the many reasons I don’t want anyone to know about IGGY,” Wit said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve already sent two of IGGY’s files to me. At least one will end up in a federal file somewhere.”

“No,” Wit shook his head, “you’ll be leaving this one here when we’re done. The other, well, that could have easily been put together in a week assuming I never ate or slept. The last time I looked in the mirror it seemed that could have been a possibility, don’t you think?” He spread his arms and twisted in the chair.

“Not after the way you put that food away,” Hirsch disagreed. “I think you’re crazy but we can try to play it your way. For now. You are absolutely not going to put my job in jeopardy.”

“No, you’re the only person keeping me out of prison,” Wit agreed. “I hear that’s a nasty place and I’d rather keep avoiding it.”

“We will have to figure out some new rules for how you contact me officially.”

“I agree with you. Okay, can we go back to the main point? I’ve had time to think about the situation and, though I’m not sure it’s urgent, I need you up to speed.”

“What’s the situation?”

“The Brotherhood has purchased enough chemicals to cause some serious damage in New York City. I suppose they could pick a different city to make their point but they seem to be targeted here. I could be biased after the night club.”