Jury of Peers (32 page)

Chapter Fifty–Five

Telemetry

             
Tanner held his head in his palms and stared at the incoming data.  If the FBI was right, and he grudgingly admitted that they were making a good case, then he was going to have a very long week watching the blue lights flash overhead.  His left eye remained closed as if in deep thought, but his right scanned the paper before him and then darted back to his screen.

             
"Well?"

             
He closed both eyes and waited five seconds before turning, trying to appear collected.  Calm.  Cool. 
Something other than panic stricken
.  "I think I see what's happening…" he began.

             
"Fix it.  Right now," Mr. Baker said.  The NSA was not pleased by the FBI's inference that their systems might be harboring a fugitive.

             
Tanner's tiny room became even smaller.  "Yes sir, I'm working on it."

             
"Listen son," Baker said, sitting down and participating in a rare moment of eye to eye contact.  "You're smart or you wouldn't be here.  You know what he was doing, and you can tell me if he's really hiding anything."

             
"I think he is…" Tanner ventured.  "It looks like… well, there are lots of paths leading to us here, but it's going to take time for me to isolate it."
              "How much time?"

             
"Sir, Mr. Baker… I really don't know.  I won't sleep until we get it though, I promise."

             
"You've got a whole staff here to burn up.  Use 'em."  He glanced at the ceiling, paused, and then continued, "The question isn't if he's hiding something, if he's using us to hide himself.  The question is, are we compromised?"

             
Tanner blinked.  He considered his next words, realizing that he was either making or breaking his career in the next few syllables of prophecy, "Sir… the answer to that is complicated… yes and no."  He went on quickly before he could incur the wrath of a tired old man waiting for the blue lights.  "Yes, in that if Mr. Meek is using our code to conceal himself, we are technically compromised.  However, this is also a no.  There's no evidence that Mr. Meek has done anything… malicious."  He said the word as if it tasted bitter.  "Certainly he may have… it's something that we have to consider, but from where I sit, and what I'm seeing and hearing, our security integrity is at one hundred percent.  Everyone is hitting us right now trying to trace Meek's path… but no one is getting in,
no
one
.  I think… I think he's just hiding his location here on site and using his encryption to do it.  No one can get through our security and if his path dead–ends with us… what can anyone do?  He just has to route his path through us here, and his location falls into a huge void."

             
"If we are
technically
compromised, isn't the best step to simply shut down and kill his signal entirely?" Baker rubbed the bridge of his nose, still looking at the dormant blue lights. 

             
"No!" Tanner said, perhaps a little too forcefully.

             
Baker's eyes came down, and for a moment there was alarm.  It looked very, very dangerous.  "Why?"

             
"Sir… understand, if… if Mr. Meek knew that he needed us to 'hide him' for a specified amount of time… if he knew that, then he would have thought about our just pulling the plug.  Doing so at this point could cause huge, huge problems.  He could have safeguards in place… I think it's doubtful, I don't think he could have done it this quickly, but… you… we… have to believe that shutting him down by killing our signal suddenly could have an undesirable result."

             
"For instance?"

             
"For instance… his code could lock us out of our own system.  Suddenly we would be dead in the water.  Maybe totally.  And that would be very, very bad."  Tanner was sweating and probably, this saved him.

             
Baker leaned forward, "You'll find the signal, you'll isolate it, and you'll shut it down.  Right?"

             
"Yes sir, that's exactly what I'll do."

             
"Right the fuck now."
              All Tanner could do is nod, his insides felt quite liquefied.

Chapter Fifty–Six

Tracks

             
Finn and Tonic tried Hack’s home phone, tried his cell.  They tried his door, tried his windows.  When this turned up nothing, Tonic drove them out to the scene of the accident while Finn tried to find some known relatives to pester.  There was no one.  Not even Roos the Internet vampire would answer.

             
Finn tossed his phone up on the dash with a clunk.  "You’d think the Super Bowl was on or something.  Jesus.”  In frustration, he snatched it up again.  He searched through numbers for someone to call.  “This is supposed to be easier.”

             
“Doing
audits
is easier,” Tonic said.  “You’re a detective, quit your bitchin’.” 

             
“The guy doesn’t have a car.  Where’s he at?”

             
Tonic checked his mirrors and slowed a bit.  There wasn’t much traffic because of the next round of snow that had moved in during the day. 
Light
snow in D.C. was enough to keep most any driver home, but evidently not Hack.  “Oughta be comin’ up on the ramp where he augured in…” he said.

             
Finn leaned forward, searching.  “Yeah, here…”  They eased up into the median and came to a stop just short of where the shattered orange plastic began. 

             
“Wow,” Tonic said.  He flipped on the flashers, then the high beams, but made no move to get out into the wind.  It was strong enough to rock the car as they admired the carnage. 

             
“So, assuming that he was following somebody…” Finn began.

             
“Drunk,” Tonic added. 

             
“Right, but if he was following, he bought the farm here for one of two reasons right?” Finn’s eyes searched the scene.  There weren’t really any skid marks in the median leading up to the barriers that he’d crushed.  The sand and face-sized shards of “don’t hit me” orange plastic covered most everything.  Four drums, cracked open like enormous Easter eggs, lay along side the concrete pylons.  This left just one to absorb any future impact.

             
“Either he just lost it and gave the orange barrels some love, or he was trying to turn.”  Tonic rechecked his mirrors, tossed the car into reverse, and scooted back up the road.  “Orange barrels, orange barrels,” Tonic sang as he drove over his shoulder.

The engine whined, but Finn kept urging him on…  "There!”  He pointed.  A series of dashed skid marks began about a hundred feet prior to the off ramp, swerved right past the exit, and ended against the drums.   This time they did get out.  Finn braved the wind chill and balanced himself on the railing, scanning the exit ramp and the city all around.

“Well that settles it,” he said.

“What?”

“All those years of being an alter boy paid off for you, Smokey’s is right there.”  Finn hopped down and the two walked to the other side of the road.  “If we were more important people in the world, we’d come in on the Beltway more often.”

The Elkhorn plaza beaconed. 

“Fuck it.  Let’s go get a drink.  I’m cold.”

“Yeah, tomorrow’s gonna be another long day.”

Seth had just said just the very same thing not two hundred yards away. 

But none of them knew just how right they all were.

Chapter Fifty–Seven

Thalamus

When Smokey arrived after nine the next morning, he found the two detectives lying on the back room floor.  Finny was using his rolled up coat for a pillow, and since he was closer to the door, Smokey kicked his leg first.  “You should pay rent.”

             
Finn didn’t wake to the sound, or the kick, but Tonic did.  "What time is it?”

             
“Time to get your asses up,” Smokey gave him a smile, the kind that said
better you than me. 
He turned and clunked out on the wooden floor.

             
“Finny,” Tonic said as he stood only long enough to sit back down at the poker table.  He brought up Meek’s broadcast screen, and was relieved to find it still black.  It was 9:40am.  He poked Finn in the ribs with bare toes, which brought him out of his slumber in a hurry.

             
Smokey returned with three mugs of coffee and a couple of newspapers. He sat down beside Tonic.  "Don’t spill on my table you freeloaders.”  He passed the mugs around and let the two get themselves adjusted and awake.  “How long have I known you guys?” he asked.  “What?  Ten years?”

             
“Close,” Finn said.  His eyes were bloodshot.

             
“And how many times have you slept on my floor?”

             
Finn sighed, "A few.”

             
“So you owe me.  How close are you to this guy?”

             
“Not very,” Tonic answered.  “And technically, we’re off that part of the case.  The Feds run kidnappings.”

             
“Where’s the
but
in that sentence?”

             
“But…” Finn pulled a newspaper over, grunted, and tossed it to Tonic. 
Seth Meek’s Jury of Peers
the USA Today read.  “…we
might
have a lead on a guy who
might
have seen something but he
might
have been shit faced.  Oh, but first we need a lead on where to find said guy… it’s a normal day.”

             
“Do you want to find him?” Smokey lit his second cigarette of the morning.

             
“Gimme,” Finn said and another one came out of the box.  “Personally I don’t want to even hear his fucking name again.”

             
“Not much chance of that,” Smokey said.  He addressed Tonic as he examined the cigarette.  "How about you Spence, what isn’t your crony here telling me?”

             
“We were within about fifty feet of the guy the other night.”

             
“No shit?”

             
“Yep,” Finn stood slowly and lifted his shirt.

             
“Jesus H. Christ,” Smokey said as he too stood and looked at the foot wide deep purple and yellow bruise.  He held up a hand by way of measure, which made Finn flinch.  "He did that to you?”

             
Finn shook his head and dropped his shirt.  “No, probably doesn’t even know it happened.”

             
“Bunch of bangers lit us up,” Tonic said.  “Right when we were talkin’ to this guy Meek.  Finny caught one,” he gestured to his friend.  “I watched Meek run the fuckers over in his car, just whap whap whap.  They were pretty much right on us, he saved our asses.”

             
Smokey slurped his coffee.  "Little conflict of interests going on here.”

             
“Fo shore,” Tonic said.

             
“Doesn’t seem like such a bad guy to me.”  The man took a puff, dumped the butt in his coffee and swirled his mug until it sank.  “How'd you get your guy on the inside like that?”

             
“You mean Ray?” Tonic asked, and then went on, “we didn’t.”  He explained for a few minutes, but it was clear that Smokey was still dubious.  To his credit, he let it go.

“How’s he doing in the press today?” Finn asked even as he read the Post.

              “Same.  No one wants to come out and say he’s doing what we’d all want to do.  Politically, it’s dangerous right?  But up at the bar last night it was all anyone was talkin’ about.  Period.  It’s…well I’ve never seen anything like it.  He’s takin’ heat from the ACLU of course.  This is like a wet dream for those guys.  If you read the papers, you’d think that
he
was the crazy one.  Hell, maybe he is, but on the street… at least my street, people want to see what’s gonna happen next, you know?”

             
“How’d you vote?” Tonic asked. 

             
The two smiled at one another.  "Well read your papers, I’ll be back when things get rollin’ here at ten.  Better go take a leak if you need to, eh?”  Smokey left, squeezing out of the door and going back to get his place ready for the lunch crowd that was already beginning to trickle in.

             
Both checked the voting site.

             
Current voting status: 

             
No Trial:  14,311,100

             
Yes Trial:  122,032,701