Authors: Stephen Coonts
Liberty (9 page)
“And you can monitor them all from here?” Toad asked.
“Right. Of course, we have a computer setup ordered, a big project that will allow us to process digital images and search for that person in the database, see if he or she is on a wanted list. It'll cost a bundle and take a while to procure and install.”
“What about all those cameras in hotels, elevators, and stores?” Jake asked. “Can you access their video from here?”
“Not yet. One of these days. The Supreme Court says that people don't have a right to privacy in public places, and in this day and age, people don't want to be mugged or robbed. Of course, the civil libertarians are squalling, but that's inevitable.”
“Can you record the feeds you do get?”
“Oh, sure. We record them all, but no one ever looks at them. We need a computer program that digitizes the data and allows us to search the data for one person, follow them through the city. That's coming, too.”
“Check an alibi,” Toad suggested.
“The possibilities are staggering,” the technician admitted.
“
1984
is almost here. And people want it.”
“
1984
is almost here. And people want it.”
He got a telephone call then. As he talked into a lip mike, he manipulated the controls on the screen.
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Toad whispered to Jake.
“The INS already has the software,” Jake said. “If someone cobbled it together with the video feeds we could glue all this together right now. Hack into the system in hotels and stores ⦠we could track anyone in this town in real time.”
“Or see what they did yesterday or last week,” Toad murmured. “Here and in New York. Los Angeles. Chicago. This system could put the dopers out of business.”
“Dopers, armed robbers, drive-by shooters ⦔ Jake mused. “And terrorists.”
“And terrorists,” Toad said firmly.
Jake slowly walked the length of the room, looking at everything. When he returned to Toad's side, he said, “We're going to need serious help. What do you think of getting Zelda Hudson and Zip Vance out of prison and turning them loose with some computers?” Hudson and Vance had been convicted a few months ago of helping steal USS
America.
They hacked into U.S. government computers, defense contractors' computers, everyone's computers. They were probably the best two hackers alive.
America.
They hacked into U.S. government computers, defense contractors' computers, everyone's computers. They were probably the best two hackers alive.
Toad whistled. “Jesus, Admiral. You must be desperate.”
“I passed desperate last week.”
“If the press ever finds out those two aren't in the can, you're toast, sir,” Toad said as he carefully examined his boss's face. He had known Jake a long time and thought he knew him pretty well. Grafton was a high-stakes gambler if ever there were one, but he never took foolish risks.
“Can they help find those bombs?” Jake demanded. “If there is a decent chance, I'll take the risk. If not, give me some better ideas.”
“They can get into databases that no one else can get
into,” Toad mused. “Even terrorists and mad bombers leave computer tracks.”
into,” Toad mused. “Even terrorists and mad bombers leave computer tracks.”
“People use credit cards, they fly on airplanes, they make telephone calls, they rent cars, they stay in motels.” Jake made a gesture of frustration. “We don't have time to build a case the old-fashioned way, even if we had the entire manpower of the FBI and CIA to help. We're going to have to take serious shortcuts.”
“How much time do we have?” Toad asked, tugging at his lower lip.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“So how do we go about springing Hudson and Vance?”
“Damned if I know,” Jake muttered. He got out his wallet, removed the card bearing the telephone numbers that the president had given him, and reached for the officer-in-charge's secure telephone.
Four men, Ivan Fedorov thought. This was insane! He couldn't shoot all of them before one escaped! Yet if he didn't, he would have to shoot Zuair.
He flicked off the safety of the Dragunov and settled the sight on the chest of the first man, the man who had gotten out of the passenger seat. He was probably the leader. The man was checking his weapon.
Fedorov looked behind him at the Egyptian, trying to decide. If he shot at those men and didn't get all of them, they might trap him in the stairwell. Shoot him in the street below.
He had the weapon off his shoulder, ready to turn, when Zuair rushed to the wall beside him carrying a long tube. He lifted it to his shoulder. “Shoot after me,” he hissed. He steadied the tube on his shoulder.
A ball of fire leaped from the weapon, shot across the space toward the truck as the deafening report walloped Fedorov in the face. The truck exploded.
A grenade launcher! Zuair had fired a rocket-propelled grenade!
The men lay on the ground, thrown there by the blast.
“Shoot them,” the Egyptian ordered. “Shoot them now!”
The order jolted Fedorov from his paralysis. He put the crosshairs on the man in front of the truck, the leader he had aimed at before. The reticle danced. He forced himself to exhale, gripped the rifle tighter, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bellowed and jumped slightly.
He brought the crosshairs down on the man again. Fired a second time.
“Shoot them all!” Zuair urged, hissing in his ear. “Ensure they are dead.”
Fedorov forced himself to pan the scope. The truck was on fire, creating a heat source that threatened to overwhelm the scope. There, a man crawling â¦
He shot him. Once, twice, then searched for another target.
One man was staggering away, on the other side of the truck, back along the street they had driven down. Fedorov shot him in the back, and he went forward on his face.
The other man ⦠he couldn't find the other man! The scope was being overwhelmed with heat.
“He's under the truck,” the Egyptian said.
Fedorov looked around the scope at the scene. The truck was burning fiercely, lighting the scene. Now he saw the fourth man. He went back to the scope, searched the brightness â¦
There! Two more shots.
“Let's go,” Zuair said hoarsely. “Before the police come.”
“The rineâhere, you want it?”
“Leave it,” Zuair said over his shoulder. He had already thrown down the RPG launcher and was striding for the stairs.
Fedorov dropped the rifle and followed the Egyptian. They hustled down the dark stairs, making enough noise
to wake the dead. The truck was still burning when they exited the building.
to wake the dead. The truck was still burning when they exited the building.
He tried to follow Zuair, who turned toward the warehouse. “No,” the man said roughly. “Go away. I will meet you this evening at the usual place.”
Ivan Fedorov walked quickly away from the truck. He forced himself to walk, not run. He heard a siren moaning blocks away. When he came to a dark alley between the buildings, he turned and went down it. There in the darkness the realization of what he had done hit him like a hammer. He stood in the darkness on shaky legs, retching. It took several minutes to get his stomach completely under control.
No one came into the alley. The siren went in the direction of the burning truck and finally ceased its moan.
He would get off a report to Moscow as soon as possible, he decided. Maybe the men there could figure out whom he had just killed.
Tommy Carmellini was in his office, making telephone calls for Jake Grafton, when a fellow he knew from another department, Archie Foster, stuck his head in the door. “Ah, Carmellini, I wonder if you might have a minute?”
Tommy looked at his watch. “I'm pretty busy.”
“Later this morning in my office? This is important.”
“Ah, you want to tell me whatâ?”
“Not here. My office. I've cleared your visit with security.”
“Sure. In a half hour.”
Archie Foster gave him his room and building number, smiled his thanks, and disappeared. Carmellini checked his watch again, then went back to work.
He had done something for Foster once ⦠what was it? Something in Colombia. Several years ago.
He probably wants me to go back there.
He probably wants me to go back there.
Only five minutes late, Carmellini gave his name and
showed his badge to the guard at Foster's building. The badge, of course, was worn on a chain around the neck, where it was visible to anyone who looked, and to electronic devices. He took the elevator, then did the security thing again with the guard on the corridor that led to Foster's office. As he walked down the hallway an electronic device on the ceiling read his badge again. He knocked on the door, which wasn't locked, then entered. Another man was sitting in one of the guest chairs, a man Carmellini had met on several occasions through the years and knew by sight, Norv Lalouette.
showed his badge to the guard at Foster's building. The badge, of course, was worn on a chain around the neck, where it was visible to anyone who looked, and to electronic devices. He took the elevator, then did the security thing again with the guard on the corridor that led to Foster's office. As he walked down the hallway an electronic device on the ceiling read his badge again. He knocked on the door, which wasn't locked, then entered. Another man was sitting in one of the guest chairs, a man Carmellini had met on several occasions through the years and knew by sight, Norv Lalouette.
“You know Norv, don't you, Tommy?”
“Sure.” Carmellini shook hands and dropped into an empty chair.
“Thanks for taking the time to drop by. We have a videotapeâactually a copy of a videotapeâthat we wanted you to look at. See if anything in there is familiar.” He used a remote to fire up a small portable television with a built-in VCR in the corner.
“Wow, how did you rate a TV in your office?” Carmellini asked as the VCR clicked and whirred.
“Brought it from home.”
“Nice little unit,” Carmellini said as the tape began running.
“There's sound, too,” Foster said, and put on his glasses so he could see the buttons better.
The tape was obviously shot by an amateur on a bright sunny day. The girl in the picture was college age, not bad-looking; the camerapersonâapparently a maleâwas talking to her. Between them they were giving the viewer a tour of the campus. Yes, it was a college campus, with buildings of red stone and trees without leavesâobvious late autumn or winterâbut a nice day.
“It's sorta strange how we got this tape,” Archie Foster said, speaking over the narrator. “The FBI is working on an old murder, three years old now, of a college professor at the University of Colorado. Name of Olaf Svenson. Guy was a microbiologist or something like that. Bugs and
germs. Anyway, someone popped him in his office with a twenty-two on a weekday, about three years ago. No one saw anything, no one heard anything. Someone pumped two bullets into Svenson's brain, apparently while he sat at his desk, one in the forehead, the other over his left ear. No bleeding, so death was pretty much instantaneous.”
germs. Anyway, someone popped him in his office with a twenty-two on a weekday, about three years ago. No one saw anything, no one heard anything. Someone pumped two bullets into Svenson's brain, apparently while he sat at his desk, one in the forehead, the other over his left ear. No bleeding, so death was pretty much instantaneous.”
The girl in the video was walking along, the cameraman trailing her, as she pointed out various buildings on the campus. Students could be seen in the background coming and going, but they paid her and the camera no notice.
“There were just no clues,” Archie Foster continued. “No fingerprints in Svenson's office that couldn't be accounted for, no spent cartridges, no matchbook covers or glasses with lipstick, none of that crap. Oh, the doorknob in and out had been wipedâno prints except for the janitor who found Svenson. The local police were pretty sure he wasn't the shooter. It looked like a professional hit to them, so they called in the FBI.”
Now the girl on the screen was standing in front of the main library. Archie Foster pointed the remote at the television and waited. In seconds someone passed behind the girl. When he did Archie froze the picture.
The man on the screen was Tommy Carmellini.
“Anyway,” Archie said, facing Carmellini, “Norv occasionally liaises with the FBI ⦠and a month or so ago they asked him to look at this tape, which the Boulder PD acquired during their investigation, to see if he could pick out any professional hitters. So ol' Norv is busy watching this thing, stopping the tape on every face and making digital records and doing computer studies and all of that, and bingo! It's good buddy Tommy Carmellini, all the way from the fourth floor at Langley.”
“Looks like me,” Tommy Carmellini agreed.
Archie Foster chuckled. “Oh, it's you, all right. Norv and I did some checking. You were down in Cuba with Bill Chance when he got killed. You were both armed
with Ruger twenty-twos with silencers and neither weapon came home. The FBI tried to put together a case against Olaf Svenson for helping the Cubans develop a biological warfare agent, but they could never get enough to satisfy the U.S. attorneys. You know how those friggin' lawyers are, proof beyond a reasonable doubt and all that crap. They finally gave up on Svenson, decided not to take him to a grand jury. Then a month later he gets popped in his office while you were on leave, somewhere out there in the big wide world vacationing all to hell. That's the way it stood for years.
with Ruger twenty-twos with silencers and neither weapon came home. The FBI tried to put together a case against Olaf Svenson for helping the Cubans develop a biological warfare agent, but they could never get enough to satisfy the U.S. attorneys. You know how those friggin' lawyers are, proof beyond a reasonable doubt and all that crap. They finally gave up on Svenson, decided not to take him to a grand jury. Then a month later he gets popped in his office while you were on leave, somewhere out there in the big wide world vacationing all to hell. That's the way it stood for years.
“Then voila! There you are on videotape, big as life, walking across the campus of the University of Colorado within minutes of the time that Svenson went to meet the devil. See those little red numbers in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen? Date and time.”
Tommy Carmellini glanced at his watch. “Why are you two wasting my time with this? You're not FBI.”
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