The Gillespie Five (A Political / Conspiracy Novel) - Book 1 (42) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Stone handed Barrett the official document late in the afternoon.  While she waited, he opened it.  Stunned by what he read, he read it again before turning to the agent. 

"Are you sure about this?"

Agent Stone smiled.  "Yes, sir.  The director was more than happy to approve once he saw our information."

Still disbelieving that it had only taken five days to get approval, especially considering who it was they were requesting to bring in, Barrett dismissed Stone and picked up the phone. 

Finally
, he thought as the phone began to ring.

00101110010101010110111001110100011010010110110000100000

Gillespie sighed as he hung up the phone.  Yet another reporter wanting to know how his project was going, and another non-answer from him.  Barrett had a lot to explaining to do and it was time Gillespie let him know it.

Reaching for the phone, he was startled when it began ringing.

Hitting the call icon, he answered with an impatient, "Gillespie."

"Sir, this is Barrett."

Gillespie could hear the barely suppressed excitement in the agent's voice.

"I think it’s time you prepared your press announcement.  In fact, we will probably be making two in short succession."

"I'm listening."

A smile began to tug at one corner of Gillespie’s mouth as Barrett related what he had found. 

Finally.  Something to run with! 

He waited until Barrett finished and asked, "And the director has approved bringing him in?"

"Yes.  We will have the detainee shortly.  This is what we’ve been waiting for, sir.  With the information we now have and this connection, there is nothing that can stop this from becoming possibly one of the most important hacker stings the FBI has conducted.  You are about to make history."

The man was practically vibrating on the other end of the line.  Unbeknown to Barrett, Gillespie had been asking around himself, anxious to ensure his program succeeded.  He had heard rumors that Barrett may be trying to pull out and had let the group who had approached him with this plan know exactly what he thought about that.  When they had assured him all was well and would be corrected in a matter of days, he hadn’t believed them.  But now he knew why they had asked for a little more patience.

Congratulating Barrett, Gillespie hung up the phone wanting nothing more than to hold the press conference immediately or even first thing in the morning.  But, though the Fourth had occurred last night, he knew that everyone would be enjoying a long holiday weekend and he did not want this news to be overshadowed by anything.  Checking his calendar, he picked up the phone and called his coordinator.

"Johnson.  I need you to schedule a press conference.  Give them just enough information to let them know we've had a break through.  Yes."  He smiled at the excitement in Johnson's voice.  "Finally we have them.  Let's make it for Monday afternoon."

He hung up, his mind spinning on how would make the announcement.  As he headed to his next meeting he decided that it would be good if he could somehow tie it into America's celebration of independence. 

Nothing like riding on the high of a historical holiday to gain the people's support
, he thought with a smile. 

He was whistling as he stepped into the meeting room.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sally Borne was walking by the living room, when she caught a glimpse of her oldest standing in front of the TV as if entranced.  Since his father's disappearance, Duncan had barely said a word, had all but stopped eating and refused to go to school, stating that he was in college now and didn't have to go if he didn't want to.  When he did speak, it was usually in an outburst of anger that always startled and slightly frightened her.

She knew he needed time to grieve the fact his father had left them but, after nearly a month, she was worried that things had gone too far.  He hadn't even bothered to go out with his friends to watch the fireworks last night.  Glancing at the screen to see what had captured his attention, she saw they were running another ad about the missing Moore kid.  She hoped they found the kid and he was okay.  He was the same age as her son and she couldn't imagine what she would do if he went missing.

From the kitchen, her youngest began screaming, telling his eight-year-old sister that she wasn't allowed to eat any of the cookies because they were all his.  With a weary sigh, Sally tried to decide if she should let it go or break it up.  The fighting had escalated since her husband had disappeared.  As much as she had hated to, she had already consulted a child psychologist.  The woman hadn't helped much.  

Suddenly feeling every bit of her forty-five years, she glanced at the front door.  She kept expecting Frank to walk in and tell her it had all been related to one of his missions, just like old times.  And then he would apologize and take everyone out for dinner and it would all be okay.  But Frank had been retired from the military for over eight years.  Now, after nearly a month with no word and knowing how bad the fights had become between them before he disappeared, she was starting to believe the police were right.  Frank had left her.  Had left
them
. 

Sally took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears, but failed yet again.  They had no family here.  Her salary was not enough to cover the bills.  She had no idea what she was going to do. 

She must have made a sound because Duncan turned away from the TV, took one look at her and shouted, "Why are you always
crying
?"

Sally jumped before shouting back, "Stop that! 
What
is
wrong
with you?"

"You mean besides the fact Dad's gone and never coming back?"

Sally saw the kitchen door behind Duncan swing open as her two youngest came into the living room.   She turned back to her son and watched as Duncan clenched and unclenched his hands.  His emotions rolled across his face like a deck of cards.  Anger, fear, frustration.

She had always been good at reading Duncan, even when he thought he was deceiving her.  And the one emotion that stuck out the most prominently, disturbed her.  Hatred.  Pure hatred.  She knew instinctively that it wasn't directed at her.  But who?  His father? 

She watched him a moment longer.  No.  Not his father.  Himself.  But why?

She stepped closer to her son, "No, Duncan.  This is something else."

Suddenly he yelled.  Sally jumped again.  Her other two children began to cry and ran over to her.  She picked up the youngest while her eight-year-old hid behind her, staring with fear at her brother. 

"What the
hell
is wrong with you, Duncan?" She yelled.

He screamed back. "My dad is missing and I don't know if he’s alive or dead!  And all you and the police do is sit around on your
asses
and do nothing!"

The slap she gave him startled her as much as him.  He stopped, hand to face, wide-eyed.  She hadn't raised a hand to him since he was his brother's age. 

And then he did something that scared her more than his outbursts of anger or sullen silence.  He collapsed to the floor and began to cry.  His siblings cried louder.  Setting her youngest down, she sat beside Duncan and put her arms around him, the tears falling freely.  The other two children hesitated, but then moved in next to them both.  She tried to put her arms around all of them as she cried with them.

Several minutes passed before she heard Duncan say, "It's my fault, Mom."

Wiping her eyes, she patted the floor next to either side of her.  The other two sat down and looked up at their mom and then their brother.  "What's your fault honey?"

"I shouldn’t have let Tommy do it."

Tommy?  Where had she heard that name before?
 

"What are you talking about son?"

Duncan took a deep breath, wiped his face and launched into the story about his friend Tommy, his research and some FBI website.  She didn't understand it all and couldn't figure out how this had anything to do with her husband.  She said as much.

"We were at Dad's store and asked if we could use his computer so Tommy could show me something he found.  Some weird message popped up saying the FBI had logged our activity and would be in contact.  We kinda freaked out, but then just laughed it off-"

"Wait.  Who is Tommy?"

"He's the missing kid they've been showing ads about."

"Oh honey.  I had no idea that missing kid was your friend.  No wonder you’re so upset."

"No mom."  He pushed himself away from her, looking at her angrily.  "That’s not the reason.  If you’d let me finish.  This is about dad!"

Glad that her son was finally talking again, she didn’t bother correcting him about his tone.  Instead she said, "I’m sorry, son.  What were you saying?"

"We freaked out about the FBI thing?"  He waited for her nod before continuing.  "Anyway, we just shrugged it off and went to play games and thought nothing of it. Not until Tommy disappeared."

"Duncan, I don’t understand what this has to do with your dad."

"But it does.  It
has
too.  I know Dad wouldn’t just leave us, mom.  It has something to do with dad because Tommy disappeared the same night he did.  Just a few days after showing us that website."

Stunned, Sally was unsure what to say.  Finally she managed to ask, "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

He looked down at his lap.  When he finally responded, it was barely a whisper.  "Because I was scared."

"Of what?"

"That they were going to come and get you next."

Her eyes widened.  "Duncan, this isn't Russia.  I'm not sure what is going on with your father but they don't just snatch people out of their homes without charging them.  Besides, remember what your father used to do?  This may have something to do with that.  You may be too young to remember but there were times he had to go on a mission and wasn't allowed to say anything before he left."

"But Tommy went missing too, Mom.  I don't think it’s the same thing."

Sally was at a loss.  The thought that Frank maybe, just maybe, hadn't left them went through her mind. 
But taken by the FBI?
  She wasn’t sure what to do, but looking at her oldest son’s face she knew what she did need to say to him. 

Taking a deep breath, as if stuff like this happened every day, she looked at her son and patted his knee.  "Well, I'm not sure what exactly
is
going on, but I'm glad you finally told me."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out. For now, you let me be the parent again and you go back to being a regular teenager.  And that starts with watching your siblings while I get ready."

"
Mom
, do I have to?"

Now
that
sounded like her son.  Sally suppressed a smile as she said, "Yes.  I’ll only be gone for a few hours."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to start by calling that number they've been showing on TV and getting hold of Tommy's father." 

She rose, her son standing with her.  "What I do isn't your worry though, son."  She put a hand on his arm and squeezed.  "This isn't your fault."

He looked down at his feet.  "Maybe not.  I just don't know how you're going to do this and I want to help."

He met her gaze and she could see the fear and doubt in his eyes.  But what she didn't see made her smile.  The anger had disappeared. 

"I know, honey.  For right now though, you finally talking to me has been a big help.  And helping with your brother and sister while I'm gone will be even more of a help."

He nodded, looking doubtful that it was enough.

"And don't worry.  If what you say is true, we'll find him, Duncan.  I promise."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

This time Alex was waiting for them.  When the private chat invite popped up, he selected it immediately, launching his tracker program.

What have you found out?

<µβ> Rumors mostly.  Someone after a political seat making a bid for power at the expense of the innocent.  Among other things.  The usual.

Is my nephew still with the FBI?

<µβ>   From what we can tell, yes.

Alex released the breath he had been holding.  As his paranoia grew, he had begun to wonder if µβ
was
right and the FBI suspected someone had knowledge about information they weren’t ready to release, would they move the detainees? Possibly to another group or division. 

Of course he was trusting the word of someone, or several someone’s, he didn’t know.  But then that wasn’t uncommon in his position either.

How do I get to him?

The answer took a long time in coming.  While it made him anxious, the delay also meant that the tracker program had time to do its work.  As he waited, he tried to shake off the internal alarm that had kicked off the moment he walked into his apartment.  The alarm seemed to be trying to tell him that something wasn't right.  But after a quick search around his place, even going so far as to pull out a device detector to search for audio or visual devices, he had found nothing. He’d half laughed at his paranoia.  Still, something wasn't adding up.

The ding of the computer broke through his thoughts.

<µβ> We're working on it. 

I don't understand.  If you don't have anything, why are you contacting me?  Is there something I can do?

<µβ> Not yet.  We have to wait.

Until what?

<µβ> They make their next move.

Their next move?

And what would that be?

<µβ> They are still looking for someone or something.

Who?  What?

<µβ> I hope your affairs are in order.

Affairs in order?  What?

He found himself abruptly booted out of the room.  Quickly he looked at the logs from his tracker program.  They had dropped him seconds before it had completed. 
Damn it!
  They had to have known he was tracing them or, at least, suspected.  Which meant that the long pause had probably been deliberate.  Taunting.  That just pissed him off.

Jaw ticking, he mentally started making modifications to his tracker program, modifications he would put in place before his next encounter.

Affairs in order?
What had they been talking about?

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to let his anger go.  He glanced back at his computer.  Something was niggling just at the back of his mind, enough to make it difficult to concentrate.  A picture on the side of his desk caught his wandering eyes.  It was of him and Tommy, taken while on a fishing trip just a little over a year ago.  Tommy was smiling as he held up the twenty pound rainbow trout he had caught in the Arkansas River near Salida, Colorado. 

Tommy had been so proud that day.  Alex smiled slightly, remembering the hooting Tommy had started the moment the fish came out of the water.  He reached for the picture and was about to pick it up when he noticed something near the bottom left corner.  Leaning forward he took a closer look.  A dust trail. 

The picture had been moved.  Recently.

I hope your affairs are in order.

Alex felt a slight chill.  For the first time in a long time, he was starting to feel a little out of his depth and like he may need to enlist help.  He just wasn't sure who or for what. 

One glance at the clock told him it was too late to contact anyone tonight.  Instead, with the words of µβ still echoing in his head and the dust trail haunting him, he decided to make some modifications to his computer security system.  Just in case.

It took the better part of the night to finish and it was nearly three in the morning before he finally headed to bed.  His thoughts were bouncing around on how he could track down and get more information on the group calling themselves µβ, what they meant by asking if his affairs were in order and, who, if anyone else, they were watching besides him, and why?  Alex fell into a restless sleep, his final thoughts lingering on who had moved the picture. 

When the FBI finally came for him, Alex barely had time to wake before the sedative was administered.   Regardless, he fought back, his training kicking in even as his body began to slow down.  He felt the connection of his fist with someone’s face and was rewarded with a few blows from what seemed like multiple people.  Words were shouted, some of them questions directed at him but all he could focus on was fighting back.  He continued to strike out until his muscles no longer responded. 

The last thing Alex remembered was the loud sound of something snapping and an incredibly sharp pain in his chest before the sedative took full affect.  Despite his efforts, he finally faded out.