Active Shooter (9 page)

“We do? Just exactly how far is far enough?
Can you define that for me?”

Bridget closed her eyes and leaned her head
back to let the water run through her hair. Still in that position,
she said, “She wants to meet. Not with me. With you.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“How do you know this?”

She brought her head forward and smiled at
me. “Life happens on Twitter, does it not?”

“She encoded a message for you, like those
links--”

“You know how it goes,” she said. “We can't
reveal specific operational details. But you have the general
gist.”

I looked away, back toward the bathroom's
door. Her wet hand came to rest on my forearm.

“Why don't you come in?” she said. “You're
still shivering.”

***

An hour later, after I rushed to concoct a
breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs, a sliced tomato and some
toast, we drove off in Bridget's rental. She drove while I used her
scanner to verify we had no listening or tracking devices in her
car. I gave her a thumbs up when the scan came up clean.

We'd left our civilian cellphones in my
apartment, and the secured one in my pocket wouldn't do much
tracking unless I told it to. I was thinking about how my buddies
in command central were reacting to all this when my secured cell
buzzed.

“I have to get this,” I told Bridget.

With eyes on the road, she smiled. “Sure
thing.”

I answered it, and as soon as I heard the
voice on the other side, I held up three fingers. “W” for Walter.
Bridget nodded.

“Is she there?” Walter asked.

“Yes,” I replied when I really wanted to say
“You should know.” But I had a part to play.

“OK, we talk carefully, and I pitch you the
yes-no game.”

“OK.”

“I noticed your phones stayed in the
apartment.”

“That's right.”

“But she let you take the one we're talking
on.”

“Yes.”

“Because you told her it was an untraceable
burner you kept around for times like these, like we talked
about.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Where are we going now? To meet with
her source?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“But her source has contacted her.”

“I think so.”

“You're not sure?”

“No.” I said this and looked over at Bridget.
She looked back at me for a moment, and I hoped she could read in
my eyes I had just thrown my lot with her. Then I wondered. Had I
really?

“She seems a little more savvy about this
than we thought,” Walter noted.

“You could say that.”

“Do you think she knows we're following
you?”

“Counting on it.”

“But she doesn't seem concerned. Like she has
a plan to get around us.”

“Yeah.”

“You're doing great, Andre. Just hang in
there a little longer. If she's going to make her move today, we
should be able to close this deal and get you back to your
life.”

“OK.”

“Listen, there is one thing we need you to
take care of for us, OK?”

“Sure.”

“Your phone. We're not getting any voice or
tracking. We're going to need you to turn it on. You know how,
right?”

“That may prove difficult.”

“You think she'll know you've turned it
on?”

“Heck, yeah.”

“Anyway you can get around it?”

“I'll look into it,” I said.

“We'd appreciate that. Let's go ahead and
close this conversation. How about you cut it off?”

“Listen, I need to go now,” I said. “We'll
stay in touch and set up the photo shoot as soon as you have all
your stuff in place. Does that sound good?”

“Roger that,” Walter said, and we hung
up.

Bridget looked over at me and patted my
forearm. I expected her to make some joke about how short I'd been
on my side of the conversation, or to quiz me about what Walter and
I had discussed.

Instead, she said, “Thank you.”

“They want me to turn on tracking and voice,”
I said holding up my phone.

She looked through the rear view mirror.
“They know exactly where we are, so I can't see where the tracking
will hurt us. As for the voice part, we'll have to figure out what
to talk about. Photography maybe?”

“We'll have to give them more.”

“Like?” she asked.

“Like I'm really upset with you for playing
games with me, not telling me who your source is, not telling me
where we're going. I'll have to yell at you a little.”

She smiled. “Well, we are in Hollywood. A
little acting might be fun.”

We drove by Mann Chinese theater just as our
faux argument heated up. We let it reach fever pitch, and cut it
off, both of us driving on in silence like we needed a good dose of
couple's therapy.

A few minutes later, we arrived at one of her
network's local studio. Bridget parked the car and told me she'd be
right back. I watched her go into the building. Knowing Walter's
team would tell him I was alone, I called him.

“We have a couple of minutes here,” I
said.

“You OK?”

“I think so.”

“Careful how hard you push. That was pretty
intense.”

“I think it's necessary. It lets her know I'm
not just some lump she can push around town during her scavenger
hunt.”

“What do you think she's doing now?” Walter
asked.

“No idea.” I let that sit for just a second,
then added, “I'm going to have to turn-off remote monitoring.”

“Oh?”

“She'll probably want to re-scan the car, and
she'll catch the phone.”

“You think she's that sophisticated.”

“It's more about paranoia than justification,
but she's got a state of the art scanner. The kind we tested at the
lab. You know she caught every bug you had in the apartment, right?
She chose to remove only the one in the bathroom.”

“Jesus.”

“Can't we just get her for that?” I asked. “I
mean, that's government property, of the classified kind, right?
She's not supposed to have it. Why not just arrest her, then? That
should be enough to can her for a long time.”

Walter considered that for a few seconds but
came back with the all so predictable answer I expected. “She's not
the point. Not the mission. We need to roll her source.”

“OK, man. But... I don't know.”

“Hang in there, Andre. Just stay with it.
Stay engaged. And we'll get through it.”

Yeah, we'll get through it, where
it
might be a crematorium. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bridget
coming, and I knew that out on the street, Walter's crew could see
her, too.

“Gotta go,” I said. “She's coming.”

I hung up and watched her come toward me, one
hand holding on to her purse strap, the other swinging at her side,
and her blond hair glistening under the hot Southern California
sun.

As she approached, I accessed the phone's
setup screen to turn off monitoring. She climbed in, and I showed
it to her.

“Great,” she said as she slammed the door
shut. “You can put that toy away now. We have a new one to play
with.”

From her purse, Bridget lifted a yellow,
padded envelope. “FedEx'ed just this morning.” She cut the seal,
unwrapped it and took out what looked like a GPS unit. “I'm told
this is a great navigational aid,” she added. “You don't even have
to type in the address, and it still tells you right where to
go.”

She handed it to me and said, “Just turn it
on.”

The GPS unit came with a cigarette plug which
I used to ensure it had a full battery. Once plugged in, I turned
it on. After a couple of seconds a route appeared. I clicked the OK
button, and a text message appeared with the first set of
directions.

“It's for the hearing impaired,” Bridget said
with a grin.

I showed it to her. She nodded and drove
off.

Entangled.
The word came back at me as
we meandered our way through West Hollywood, heading toward Santa
Monica. The GPS kept giving us directions, and we kept following
them, with no idea where this apparent random-walk was taking us.
We’d been at this for about an hour now, a span of time during
which the secured cellphone rang twice and Bridget and I agreed to
ignore it. The third time I thought it best to answer it, and
Bridget reluctantly concurred. No sense in making them worry too
much.

“You had me worried,” Walter said.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I saw your calls come
in, but unfortunately I’ve had my hands full over the last two
hours.”

“With what? You two have been driving about
aimlessly?”

“Oh, you know. Sometimes progress isn’t
measured by the pound but by the ounce, right? The biggest part of
the job is yet to come.”

My sudden loquacity seemed to give him pause,
even if only for a brief moment. “So do you know where you’re going
now?”

“It shouldn’t be long now.”

“You sure?”

“I think so. But, hey, I’m really busy, so
I’m going to have to punch out on you.”

“OK, Andre. Just hang in there, man. Stay
with us, OK?”

“OK,” I said, and I hung up.

Ten minutes later we were driving into the
U.C.L.A. campus. The GPS text directions pointed us to a parking
structure by the medical center.

“Alright,” I said. “It’s rock and roll
time.”

Bridget flashed a half smile and a half
frown, the kind that imply a question.

“We’re switching cars here. And my guess is
that we’re splitting up. To lose the tail.”

“What?”

“Listen up. I take all your electronics. The
scanner, the GPS, your laptop, and any other tricky goodies you
have that may tie you to this source.”

“I’m not following.”

“If they catch you with that stuff, you’re
going down for a long time.”

She was about to object when the screen more
or less gave the same directions. “Tan Chevrolet SUV, second level,
keys under tire well. Wig and baseball cap in bag on floor board.
Andre to take SUV, along with scanner and laptop. Bridget will
drive to top level, slowly, stop there for ten minutes, then
attempt to drive out. Likely to be apprehended. Good luck.”

Bridget sighed. As we approached the parking
structure, I reached behind my back and took out one of my Glock
pistols. I chambered the top round. Then I took out the clip and
inserted one more bullet. That's how I liked it, at full
capacity.

Bridget’s eyes grew larger. She said, “Jesus,
Andre.”

“Now you know what we’re into,” I replied as
I repeated the procedure with my second pistol.

She pulled up to the parking stub dispenser,
and I used the opportunity to reach into the back seat to grab her
laptop pouch. Into it I roughly stuffed the scanner. The GPS I held
out in case it had any last words of wisdom.

Just as the barrier rose and we pulled into
the structure, I spied the car that had been following us driving
by the parking lot entrance. Good. As I’d thought, they would
imagine us trapped inside the structure and would set up perimeter,
securing all on-foot and drive-out exits.

We drove up the ramp to the second level.
Bridget spotted the SUV first. I stuffed the GPS into the laptop
bag and opened the door, ready to move.

“Slow down but don’t stop, give me room to
step out,” I said.

I saw her swallow, but she did as I said. We
drove past the SUV at a crawl, and I opened the door wider.

“As soon as I close the door, speed up to the
top, but without screeching.”

In one swoop I stepped out and slammed the
door. I heard her car speed up and make the turn for the next
level.

I walked in a crouch to the SUV and felt
around the driver side front tire well. The magnetic key holder
wasn’t hard to find.

Inside the SUV, I grabbed the bag from the
floor board and rushed to put on the wig and baseball cap. In the
bag I also found a pair of sunglasses. I put those on, too. I
checked my appearance in the rearview mirror.

The wig had a mangy light bronze tint to it,
and it hung down like matted, untended hair, stopping short of my
shoulders. The tan baseball cap seemed to blend right into it. The
sunglasses capped off my new appearance. I barely recognized
myself.

I breathed in, then out, and drove away.

As I approached the parking booth, I wondered
how much I’d had to pay and whether they took credit cards, because
I knew I didn’t have enough cash to pay the parking fee. I slowed
down the vehicle, ready to face this mini-challenge, when the
barrier lifted. Nice. Somewhere I didn’t have time to notice, this
SUV had a remote parking validator.

I drove out and past a dark sedan. One of our
tails, I new. I faced straight ahead, but veered my gaze toward
them under my sunglasses. Though they looked me over thoroughly,
neither the driver nor the passenger registered a hint of
recognition.

A block later, I pulled out the GPS. It
already had a new message. “Well done. You may clip me to the
dashboard,” it said.

Sure enough, I found a male latch that fit
into the back of the GPS. I clicked it in place.

“Check whether you are being followed, then
press Yes or No.”

I drove into the Brentwood neighborhood and
wound my way through a few blocks. Convinced I was clear, I pressed
the “No” screen button.

“Very well,” it said. “It’s nice to work
again with you, Andre.”

The tone of familiarity in that last sentence
unsettled me. I forced myself to set it aside to focus on the task
at hand.

The GPS screen flashed a new message. “If you
want to talk, I can hear you.”

I cursed.

“That’s not like you, Andre.”

“How do you know me?” I asked.

“In due time.”

The GPS directed me onto the 405 Freeway’s
south on-ramp. A minute later my cellphone started buzzing.

“Answer it and tell Walter you’re on your way
to the source," the GPS told me. "Leave it at that and hang
up.”