PART OF THE fun during Campaign Week for the politicians-in-training was spying on the other side, just waiting for them to do something in violation of election laws. Even taking a photograph that implied voter bribery through food was seen as a success. But most of the time, the two sides always felt it better to keep each other off balance by having their most annoying volunteers follow the other side’s best campaigners.
Such undercover operations, never mind the typical stealing of yard signs and tearing down of posters, were at the heart of each election’s festivities, and one of the many reasons why everyone was still good natured enough to enjoy beers with the enemy on Election Night as they all awaited the results.
But it also generated an unfair amount of criticism for those who were naïve enough about their behavior. Ben was caught under fire in his last campaign by appearing to be playing both sides, even when he stood to gain nothing from the election. It was fair criticism, though, when each side’s moles found Ben at both campaign events and their supposedly closed and secretive strategy meetings. Spying was a no-no, except when officially sanctioned…
THE SOUND OF a bell, notifying him of an incoming call, disrupted his reading. He bookmarked the novel and dropped it in his lap, before answering the caller.
“Mike, here.”
“How the hell ya git off taking that case away from me?” It was Detective Marx, who clearly was not happy and did not care that he was talking to someone who was still recovering from a concussion and was released from the hospital just hours ago.
“Detective, it wasn’t my choice!”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, the FBI saw the new note. They know Anne’s garage was connected with your case. They made the call, since it crossed state lines. I’m sorry if you don’t like it…”
“Don’t patronize me, boy!” the Detective said before ending the conversation. Either the guy was drunk or just stupid – why else would you make a call like that? Mike thought as he adjusted his weight in the bed. But at least he’s convinced me that my idea is my only option, if I am to get out of this thing alive.
ANNE’S CAMPAIGN OFFICE looked very typical. A dozen interns were frantically fetching coffee, retrieving reports, and looking busy. A handful of professional handlers were looking over-stressed. And campaign paraphernalia littered the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. She liked it that way.
While at the front doors, she turned to face her brother. “Are you sure you want to leave the comfort of all this? The FBI is offering protection, you know.”
He smiled. “I’m sure it’s all great, but it’s clear to me now, what I must do. This guy will stop at nothing to see me ruined – either figuratively or quite physically. I need to go into hiding. And again, thank you for lending me the old vehicle.”
“It isn’t much, and the engine’s quite loud, but it will get you where you need to go.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, sis,” Mike said as he patted her on the shoulder and turned to leave her campaign office. “I just need to get out of here undetected, quite unlike last time. And, might I add, it was a stroke of genius to get the press into your conference room as a distraction.”
“No problem. I figure it’s time to give them some personal attention, anyways,” she said with a laugh. “Good luck. And call me if you need anything.”
“You can count on it.”
“ALL I KNOW is he took her used car out of storage and immediately left town,” the aide said.
The lady put on her sunglasses before saying, “I think I know where he’s headed. The first place out of Gainesville he went to was his sister’s. It seems like a logical progression that he’ll visit another sibling.”
“Happy hunting,” the aide said.
“Thanks,” she said as she pulled off in pursuit.
SEATLLE IS THE coffee capital of the world. Mike never really liked the caffeinated stuff, but he did respect their expertise in producing the addictive substance. So, despite his better judgment, once he arrived in his destination, he went in search of a local Starbucks joint. Maybe the natives know how to make it better than the franchises back home, he thought as he entered the spacious café.
Yet, what caught his eye was a wireless Internet hot-spot in the back of the main room. He made a bee-line for one of the empty desks. Once seated, he pulled out a tablet computer.
He typed the following commands: “Connect with Adams D.C. Office. Authorization Adams Michael, ΝΔΠ.”
The computer responded quickly enough. “Internet use surcharge enabled. Authorization accepted. Portable computing device uplink with Adams D.C. Office is in progress.”
After a few moments, the computer continued, “Uplink complete. Please state your command,” the computer stated.
“Execute a search & copy protocol. Download all files dating back to the period, circa ages 18-22,” Mike commanded. The execution would generate any files his D.C. office had dating back to his college days. And thanks to the miracles of digital scanning equipment, that request would be akin to collecting all of his archives for that time frame.
The noise that broke his peace was the sound of a waiter alerting him to the readiness of his coffee. He must have been mistaken, Mike thought as he twisted in his chair to look at the dark-tan, brown haired college boy trying to give him the drink.
“Excuse me?”
“The lady in the navy blue pants suit ordered this drink for you, sir.”
Mike accepted the drink. Ah, café vanilla frappucino, my favorite! Who’d know in Seattle? Mike’s face turned inquisitive as he looked back to the front of the establishment, until his gaze fell on the blonde in blue.
“Ashley?!?”
She inched closer to him. “Yep,” she said with a killer smile.
“How the hell-”
She raised her hand in a defensive gesture. “Don’t worry! My editor sent me here to report on the political conventions going on this week. It’s completely unrelated. But when I saw you in here, I just found myself steering my way over.”
He nodded, and said, “Well, you’re definitely looking great for a journalist being shuttled all across the country these days.”
She shrugged. “Well, that’s what they pay me for. What brings you here to the coffee capital of the world? Surely the FBI doesn’t think the attacks on you are related to someone in Seattle?”
“Funny. No, there’s some business I have to take care of. It’s personal.”
“Oh. Mind that I-”
Beep. Beep. The computer was interrupting to let Mike know the search was complete. “Ashley, if you don’t mind. Thank you for the coffee, but I really should get back to this.”
“No problem. Here, have this.” She handed him her business card. “In case you want to ever get in touch. On the record or off the record. Business or not. I’d really like to hear from you again, Mike.”
With a wink from her right eye, she turned and left the Starbucks café, allowing Mike to resume his work at the computer. Damn, Mike thought as he tried to resume concentration on the work ahead of him.
AFTER VERIFYING THE completion of the download, Mike told the computer to now “download any other files connected with the phrases ‘University of Florida’ and ‘leadership honorary.’” The humming resumed. With the free time, Mike pulled up an e-mail manager, and flipped through his address book.
“There!” He said softly. He had found the address he was needed. He typed it into a new message window, and the following email was sent:
TO:
[email protected] FROM:
[email protected] DATE: SEPTEMBER 23
INCOGNITA, IT’S ME. BREAKING NEWS IS NO LONGER AVOIDABLE; IT’S THREATENING ALL I’VE DONE. NEED TO CONFRONT THOSE SEEKING TO DO HARM. NEED TO MEET AND TALK IN D.C. AT OUR USUAL PLACE. THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW, ONE O’CLOCK. THANKS. – AN INDIE SENATOR
After taking the time to do that, the computer was ready to accept a new command. Mike glanced at the memory gauge on
his tablet. He quickly downloaded a digital face-book of alumni from UF’s student government before shutting down his user session.
While taking a sip of his frappucino, Mike got up and left the café. Time to put a new face on this little adventure of mine.
PAUL ADAMS WAS a computer hacker – and a good one at that. Yet, unlike most hackers, Paul was a tall, lanky, former high school basketball star. He was also distinctive from his more politically active siblings in that he was barely a voter, and his dark, almost black hair was usually kept quite short.
He felt at home in his small office in the Xbox video game development department. As lead programmer, his hacking touch was felt on literally dozens of video games every year – mostly to fix the quirks that those with lesser experience generated, but he also worked with the big-wigs to develop new game concepts. And his influence was being felt on the still-young virtual reality market.
A strong-willed member of the Adams clan, Paul preferred his entertaining backstage success to the more stressful lives his siblings have taken on. But more importantly, Paul felt enriched in the Seattle area, and did not at all mind that his family rarely came to visit. When they did come, like today, he knew they needed his help. First, it was their office’s computer network. Then, it was their Internet systems. Now, he had this little adventure for his shorter, big brother.
“From the sounds of this, you’ve got quite a mystery to solve. What’s in it for me?”
“Paul!”
“I’m serious, Mike.”
“Fine. You know what my bankroll is like. Just tell me what it takes to get this work done,” Mike said in earnest as he handed over the rest of his notes over to Paul.
“Hmm…” Paul said as he rubbed his stubby chin. “Let’s see here. You’re asking me to basically hack into the mainframe of the federal government. Alter some records, and then graft some of this,” he gestured at Mike’s notes, “onto other records. Let’s also not forget that we need to do this without leaving even so much as an electronic footprint.”
“Is that a bit much?”
“Nah. It’ll be fun!”
“If you don’t mind, I have that appointment.”
“Oh, yeah, that professional cleaning you need.”
Mike protested, “It’s not cleaning!”
“Sure, call it what you will. But you’re getting cleaned up. You look too politician-like for your own good, so this will be an improvement. Now, get going and leave me to the computer and my Diet Coke,” Paul said as he turned to face his main monitor. And even without another sound from Mike, a flurry of typing began. Paul was well on his way to accomplishing his task, and his brother was only a blur outside the corner of his brother’s eyes when he left the dimly lit office.
WALT CALLED HIS assistant. She was in a Seattle suburb – waiting for further instructions. “Hey, it’s me,” he told her when she promptly answered his beckoning.
“Go ahead, Walt.”
“We ran a trace program. Michael Adams was accessing his main office database when you saw him chatting near a Starbucks computer. Good work. But we also learned he had sent an email message to someone code-named “incognita” who is based in D.C. Fly to D.C. and identify this individual. Do what it takes to accomplish your overall goals.”
“I understand. I’m on my way.”
IT WAS A BLISSFULLY cool day when she reached the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. A native of the District, she was used to these touristy sites, but never got tired of them all the same. Tall for her gender, and surprisingly well-built for her occupation (medical engineer), she was a physical force to reckon with. Yet, she had the nicest and most easy-going personality he knew. That was certainly was a refreshing change for someone in her mid-40s.
She sat down on the steps, out in front of the memorial. She looked out at the reflecting pool just long enough to remember that she needed to check the time. She pulled out her phone, nodded, and returned it to its rightful place in her purse. I hope nothing happened to him.
The Memorial was largely deserted – it was a nice day, during lunch hour, and out of tourist season. She adjusted the banana straps on her denim dress and sighed. Walking up behind her, a guy in a flannel shirt and baseball cap snickered under his breath. Easy for the taking, he thought. Now what do I do to startle her? It didn’t take long for him to think of a solution to his dilemma.
“Bennita?” he said out loud.
She certainly was startled. She heard footsteps behind her, so she stood up, grabbed the ledge of the steps, and turned to face her would-be pocket-picker. She squinted. He had curly black hair, sunglasses, and the looks of a small tattoo just above his cheap watch. Bennita could not believe her eyes. “It can’t be.”
“A genuine indie, at your service.”
“Mike!” She laughed and smiled all at once. Her friend had arrived on time, but definitely not in the manner she expected. “You look like you walked by a teenage ghetto shop and it threw up a clearance outfit on you.”
“As you might guess, it’s a long story.”
She began making her way down the steps with Mike. “Then I guess you better get started.”