An Armageddon Duology (19 page)

C
BD
: And so the computer records led you to the warehouse on Long Island?

MR. SAVAS: No. The hard drives melted down.

C
BD
: I’m sorry?

MR. SAVAS: Well, not literally. But all the facility’s computers were infected. Turns out, the worm was indeed monitoring the records of the drone sales, so Fawkes at least saw that as a potential vulnerability.

C
BD
: The worm erased the files?

MR. SAVAS: Nuked all the drives. One after the other as they tried to access them. Maybe Angel could have prevented it, although I doubt it. But Lopez and Houston didn’t have the digital chops to even try.

C
BD
: Then it was the paper records you mentioned.

MR. SAVAS: Yes. Can you imagine? Two burglars with the police bearing down on them toting six months of paperwork out of a secured facility? I don’t know if Sara guessed there might be a problem or it was just instinct to get everything they could get, but it saved our investigation. They must have spent hours going through that crap. But they knew what they were looking for: shipments of large drone models, likely in quantity. And they found them.

C
BD
: So, all of them went to the Long Island facility.

MR. SAVAS: No, they weren’t that reckless. In the end we’d find that they ordered multiple drones from several facilities, using a series of aliases for each order, often multiple orders under different names from the same facility. Then they’d ship them to one of five or ten storage locations, then re-mail them.

C
BD
: How did you discover this?

MR. SAVAS: You’ll have to ask Lopez and Houston. Too bad they aren’t here.

A
misting rain
partially solubilized the grime on the gray Ford Taurus that pulled alongside a nondescript brick warehouse in Long Island City. Lopez and Houston exited, both dressed in dark trench coats and shades. Passing underneath the “Your Storage!” sign and the security cameras, they entered the small business.

The office was more a glorified hallway outfitted with a narrow countertop and secretarial equipment on the right side. Behind the counter was a receptionist, a slight African American woman, with thick glasses and makeup obscuring much of her face. She spoke into a microphone on a headpiece as she motioned for them to sit. Houston turned to look behind her at a small and uncomfortable looking bench. She shook her head at Lopez.

Reaching over the counter, Lopez removed the headset in one quick motion, tossing it to the side. The receptionist looked stunned.

“Hey! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Houston placed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “We’d like to purchase the expedited service.”

“The expedited...?”

“Just get your manager out here now and you’ll get another one.”

Grabbing the bill in her hand, she stood up slowly, her eyes ludicrously exaggerated in the strong lenses, her bright purple eyeshadow giving her features a slightly alien quality. “Just a second.” She stepped out from behind the counter and clicked to the end of the room in impossible heels. She opened a flimsy door. “Hey, Ryan. A man and a woman need to speak with you.”

“What do I pay you for, bitch? You deal with it!”

The receptionist startled as Houston handed her another hundred. “Go on back to the call. We’ve got it from here.” The woman took the bill and scampered away.

Lopez opened the door and stepped into a crowded room. Likely an addition to the hallway, the walls were a temporary attachment, the flooring added over part of the cement below it. He canvassed the ceiling and corners, the desk surface and walls. There were no cameras.

A bald man sat over a terminal and flashed them a puzzled expression.

“Who the hell are you?”

He gasped as Houston pointed her Browning at him. Lopez closed the door.

“We’re the ones with the guns. Don’t scream. Keep your hands over the desk.”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please. Take what you want. I have a safe, there!”

“Shut up,” said Houston, ignoring his gesture. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. You are going to answer them truthfully and quickly. Or I’ll let my partner deal with you.” Lopez held a hunting knife in his hand.

The man swallowed, struggling to speak. “Yes.”

“So, Ryan,” she began. “What do you do here?”

“We, ah, store things.”

“What things?”

“We don’t ask. It’s like a remailing service. People ship here, we get another address for the item and ship it there. Keeps buyers and sellers separate. Anonymous.”

“Anonymous?” said Lopez.

The man stared at the knife, terrified. “Yeah. Private. That’s why we don’t ask what’s in the boxes. It’s all perfectly legal.”

“So you don’t know where the boxes come from. How do you know where to send them?”

“Paired codes. The sender has a code that has to match the buyer’s code before we ship to the buyer’s address. They get those from whatever exchanges they make their deals on. That way nothing can be traced.”

“But you put the items in the mail. In their original boxes?”

“Oh, yes. We never open a box.”

“Then you must know the weight of the items. For postage.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And you have records of that?” Houston asked.

“Of course. That’s our main expense. Why are you asking this?”

“The people with guns ask the questions, Ryan.”

The man shrank into his chair. Houston removed a set of folded papers from inside her coat and looked them over. As the seconds ticked by the manager began to sweat. Beads of perspiration dripped down his forehead, and his underarms stained.

Houston grabbed a pen and circled several regions on the paper. “Ryan, I need you to find shipments that match these weight specifications.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

The manager typed furiously on his computer keyboard. Within seconds, his face relaxed. “Yes, I have a bunch of them. Lots of orders match those specs exactly.”

“Where are they shipped to?”

“Um. That’s interesting. All shipped to the same place. Some address in Jersey.”

“We would like you to print out one of those records, Ryan, with the address.”

“Yeah, okay.” He clicked several times with his mouse. A small printer behind Houston whirred to life.

She grabbed the printout and stared at it. Nodding to Lopez, she grabbed the papers she had given the manager and then pocketed all of them. A wad of cash thudded on his desktop.

“You wouldn’t lie to us, would you, Ryan?”

He looked at the knife again. “No way.” He licked his lips.

“We were never here, and you can enjoy the fee for this priority service.” The man nodded dumbly, taking the money. “But this is a discrete service, right?” She glanced at Lopez, who twirled the knife slowly, staring at the serrated edges. “There isn’t going to be any need for us to come back and register a complaint that our privacy has been violated, is there? Nobody would like that.”

Again the man swallowed. “No. I never saw you. I never want to see you again.”

“That’s good,” she said smiling, opening the door.

Lopez sheathed the knife, staring fixedly at the bewildered man. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“
Y
ou sure
you’re up to this, John?”

Savas shifted his position in the car once again. It didn’t help. He was bruised all over his body, several lacerations still quite painful to the touch. He stared at Miller and ground his teeth. Of course he was
up to it
.

“Frank, I’d have to lose a leg or worse to have an excuse not to be on the ground in this crisis. Are you going to tell me otherwise?”

“You are literally the boss, so okay.” The ex-Marine continued to focus ahead as he drove. “And Rebecca?”

“Tibia was snapped. Soft tissue damage from the bone as well. It’s set, she’s stitched up. But it’s going to be a serious cast and crutches for a couple months. She’ll heal. She’s tough.”

Miller nodded. “It always seems to get personal with us, doesn’t it?”

Images of a gray-haired man swept through Savas’ mind. They came with explosions and collapsing buildings, a sniper round buried in the shoulder of the man driving next to him. A massacre of an FBI division. A threat to Rebecca’s life.

“Yeah, and I’m getting kinda tired of it.”

“We sure know how to make friends.” Miller’s smiled faded as they pulled alongside a black van in an abandoned parking lot. “Don’t think this club is going to be very taken with us today. I hope this intel is worth it.”

“Highest level contact in Anonymous we have. Rebecca seems to trust him. Let’s see if she’s right.”

A commuter train rumbled overhead along the Queens subway line. Nestled underneath, a rusted warehouse waited before them. Heavily armed FBI agents in body armor stepped out of the dark van and grouped around them.

Savas limped toward the group. “I’m sorry to pull you from every which division, but you know what we’re up against. FBI—now the damn Federal Bodyguard Institute.” The men laughed. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. We might already be too late, but we have to try. Police are inbound, but we’ll be without their backup for the dangerous parts. I’ll let our vet from Kabul fill you in.”

Miller stepped forward. “There was no time and no data to recon this right. I don’t know what we’ll find in there. Might well be empty. Might be an armed engagement with as many as ten hostiles. But if our intelligence is right, it’s going to be a bunch of hackers scared shitless about what’s going down. We don’t need them dead—understood? We need information. They need to be able to talk, and dead men don’t. Defend yourselves but keep a level head. We’ll go in through the main door with a volley of flash bangs and tear gas. Unless they’re trained militia, that ought to have most of them rolling on the ground crying for mommy. Bag them and into the van. Make sure you canvas the interior and clear it. We don’t want any surprises. Questions?”

“Yes, sir,” came a voice of a young blond to the right. “Is this Anonymous? Are these the guys?”

“We don’t know, but not likely. But we think they can get us to the real criminals. So remember—
alive
. Understood?”

The men nodded. Along with Savas and Miller, they donned gas masks. Savas drew his weapon. “Okay, boys, your show.”

The SWAT team filed off in a quick jog, splitting into two groups on either side of the door, weapons at the ready, quickly reaching the wall of the warehouse and using it as cover from the building windows. They slid along the sides, Miller and Savas at the far end of the lines. An officer nearest the door pulled slightly on the handle near the ground. The roll-up door moved slightly, and he gave the thumbs up. Miller nodded, the other officers set, and the door was raised.

The men dashed inside and out of sight. Savas ran forward and could just discern the arc of canisters being lobbed into the air and over a set of dark obstacles inside the building. The flash bangs flashed and banged. It was nearly stunning even from their position. Several canisters of tear gas filled the space inside with a cloud of burning vapor.

For a moment, there was no other sound. Then the screams began.

T
he SWAT team
pulled out the last member of Anonymous just as their police backup finally arrived. They had never been in any danger. The disoriented and snot dripping youth that were dragged out of the warehouse were never going to put up any kind of a fight. Some of the SWAT team administered first aid to those who had suffered most from the chemicals and shock. It looked to Savas that the agents felt sorry for them.

The blond leader of the SWAT team came out of the warehouse, mask in hand.

“Secured?” asked Miller.

“Yeah,” he said, coughing. “Most of the gas is gone. And you need to come and see this.”

Savas arched an eyebrow. “Right behind you.”

He led the special agents into the warehouse. The dark obstacles Savas had seen were revealed to be rows of computer hardware stacked six feet high in places. The SWAT officer zig-zagged through it like a maze and brought them to the center, a space occupied with several large monitors. And two decomposing bodies.

“Jesus, that ruins your lunch,” said Miller, scowling.

Savas stepped forward and stared at the bodies. Flies danced around the forms and maggots were slithering over the decayed faces. “They’ve been here a while. Likely rules out a killing by our friends.”

“Today, anyway,” said the SWAT officer.

“I doubt they’d have come back here,” said Miller. “Division in the ranks?”

Savas nodded. “Looks like a hacking bunker. I’d say these poor jerks pissed somebody off.”

“Fawkes,” said Miller. “He’s turning out to be one ruthless bastard.”

“Okay, let’s get a forensics team in here and see what we can find. My guess is the computers are all wiped. But we need to check them all. Meanwhile,” he said, turning toward the door, “I’ve got a few questions for our hogtied friends outside.”

He strode back out the door, Miller close behind. The members of Anonymous were placed in a circle in front of the FBI van facing outwards. Their eyes were red, faces flushed, one with bandages over his head. Groups of NYPD and SWAT officers mingled in haphazard groups around them. He stopped in front of the circle.

“I think you know that all of you are fucking screwed,” he began. “Basically anyone connected to Anonymous right now likely goes straight to jail without their $200. Not to mention, as you surely saw inside, the real problem is still out there on the loose turning you folks into corpses.”

He could tell the last remark struck a raw nerve as several bodies jerked and heads turned toward him. He hoped to God he could reach the sane part of someone in the group.

“Now, we have a global catastrophe looming. We know about the worm.” More heads turned. “We know about Fawkes. But we don’t know where he is or what the endgame is. But I think it’s clear it’s going to be ugly. As in civilization-ending ugly. We’re going to get you all back to lockup to question you there, but time is not our friend. So I’m going to give you the opportunity to talk right here, right now. Right now there’s no Miranda. There’s just me and you and getting us all out of this mess.”

“Fuck you, pigs!” yelled one of the group, a long-haired man across the circle. He spat at Savas.

“Anyone else? Anyone else with parents? Friends? Kids? Anyone who wants to help us stop this before it’s too late? Right now I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about you, your amateur cybercrimes, or the Anonymous Manifesto, or whatever you have. I need answers now! I need to stop this. Help me.”

There was only silence. Police red and blue flickered over them like washed out club lights, the setting sun beginning to dip below the taller buildings in midtown across the river. Officers in heavy gear shifted weight, the friction of thick Kevlar on rubber popping around them. Savas looked up into the sky with his hands on his hips. A crimson scab ran down the left side of his face.

“No one?” He shook his head and turned to the SWAT team. “Okay. Load them up. We’ll try again back home.”

“Wait!” A female voice. Savas turned to his right. A black-haired woman with deep black eyeliner stared back at him, the goth makeup running down her face as her eyes watered.

“Yes?”

“Shut up, Poison! Don’t make this personal!” said the long-haired man.

“Up yours, Protos. Fawkes is into some fucked up shit. Pig’s right. Somebody has to end this.”

Savas crouched down beside her, several agents stepping forward with weapons at the ready.

“You know Fawkes?”

She laughed. “Yeah, you might say. Better than all these losers here, anyway. Better than you Protos and your group of ass-wipes.”

“Fuck you, Poison. We’ll remember this.”

She laughed. “Remember this? You gonna remember Dave and Chen? Yeah? You don’t get it. He’s burning everything to the ground. Us, too! There ain’t gonna be nothing to remember, you dumb fuck!”

Savas tried to control his voice. “How do you know Fawkes? What can you tell me about him?”

She looked Savas in the eye and smiled. “What do you need to know? His favorite food? Fetishes? Size of his dick?”

Several members of Anonymous laughed. Some of the police officers smirked as well.

“Look, if you want to help, I need you to be serious. What can you tell me about his whereabouts? How do you know him?”

“Whereabouts? I don’t know jack. He’s too careful. But how do I know him? That I can tell you. I was his lover.”

“His lover?”

“Yeah, you know, Anonymous cock. Hackers do it through the back door. Fawkes’ fuck buddy. On top, underneath, sideways.” She angled her head to the side and ran her tongue over her teeth, leering at him. “Fucking yoga position. I was his right-hand girl, you know what I mean? That answer your question?”

Savas stood up. “Yeah.”

“Then let them go, and I’ll tell you more than you want to know.”