The Gillespie Five (A Political / Conspiracy Novel) - Book 1 (42) (3 page)

"What do I mean by the 'right people' you might ask?  And, since I seem to be so good at answering my own questions, I will answer this one." 

A small ripple of laughter echoed through the room.  He was careful to give a slight, appreciative smile but not too big of one.  He did not want to lose the mood. 

"The people we need to go after are the elite or, the best of the best, of the hacking community. 

"Like our failed war on drugs, we cannot approach this by trying to take down the thousands of five and dime dealers out there.  On any given day our police forces arrest a couple of hundred of these small time dealers in every state.  But we all know the best strategy is to go after the person, or people, who run the larger operations.  The leaders of the drug cartel.  The kingpins.

"Now, it has already been statistically proven that the rate of drug flow into the United States has remarkably decreased every time we bring down one of these major players.  So why not do the same for our Internet problem?  Only carry it one step further and publicly punish these criminals, not only to the full extent of the law but perhaps even set some new precedents of punishment.

"If we take away their heroes and punish them, then maybe the small time hackers, or hacker hopefuls, will think twice before they try this sort of thing again.  Maybe then the hackers will begin to realize that the American people are tired of being victimized and are no longer willing to sit idly by while some punks cause havoc to our nation and our lives.  It is time for a new plan!"

The sound of his fist hitting the podium echoed through the room.   Before the echo died the questions began with a flurry.  Gillespie held up his hands for silence, smiling patiently. 

"Before we get into the questions, I would like to say that I will be presenting my agenda to Congress during the next session.  I would like to go with the full support of my state and I do not think I will be disappointed in this desire.

"Now, for your questions, I would like to present to you someone who is infinitely more qualified to answer them.   Again, I would like to thank you for coming today and listening to such an old windbag.  I know I tend to talk a little too much, but it is on a subject I feel, and I am sure all of you feel, strongly about. With that, I give you FBI Agent Greg Barrett.  Greg."

Gillespie stepped off the stage and headed toward his office, where a steaming cup of coffee was waiting for him.  He smiled indulgently at his people and they smiled back.  Today was a good day.  He had the media. Now all he had to do was get the attention of the Senate.  He did not foresee any problems with that.  After all, he had been building favors to call in for years.  And, with the media on his side, the politicians - entering into an election year - were sure to follow. 

He imagined his wife beaming at him with pride as she had for so many years before the cancer had taken her.  The ever present grief took his smile and he continued to his office with his thoughts on her.

An intern approached him with a note stating that one of his long time opponents would like to talk.  As Gillespie read, he thought,
‘No doubt Senator Daniels wants to feel things out a bit to see if he might need to change sides.’ 

His smile returned. 
God,
he loved politics!

(June 12, 1 year after the press conference – present day)

"You ensured us that Gillespie would be knocked out of the race."

Yuri stifled a sigh.  "That is what you asked."

The slightly nasal voice, amplified by the speaker phone, asked, "Have you been watching the news?  His ratings are up!  People are actually on board with his ridiculous platform.  The Senate has agreed to let him move forward! 
How exactly does that help us with our agenda?
"

Containing his irritation, Yuri replied, "You asked my family to help you.  You know our reputation.  We have served you and the other families well these many years.  But, we do provide this service
our
way.  And in
our
time.  Make no mistake about that."

"And when exactly is this plan of yours going to unfold?"

"It has already begun."

"Come on dude, we need you at the next pickup game this Sunday."

Tommy glanced at the pile of school work he had to complete in the next few weeks.  "I don’t think I can, Duncan."

"All work and no play Tommy boy!  You don’t want to let the team down do you?  You’re one of our best players!"

Tommy rolled his eyes.  While he was good at soccer, he knew he wasn’t
that
good.  Duncan just wanted to make sure they had a full team. 

"Maybe next time around."

Duncan sighed heavily.  "Dude, I’d hate to have to come up there and drag you through the halls but you know I will."

Unfortunately, Tommy knew that not only would Duncan try to do what he said, but at 6’5 and 250 pounds, he was actually
capable
of doing it. 

"Fine, dude.  Whatever."

Tommy hung up, turning back to his computer and the paper due tomorrow in his intro class to network security. 

Just two quarters into his freshman year of college and already he was loaded with homework.  He had spent two months researching hackers, hacking techniques and the security holes they exploited and how to plug them.  And though he had thought about reaching out to his uncle again for help, he’d refrained.  He wanted to do this on his own so he could prove to himself that he was as good as Alex. 

His uncle had been hacking for several years and had done both black and white hat hacking for major government security agencies such as CERT, the cyber division of the NSA and – currently – for the National Cybersecurity Communications Integrations Center (NCCIC).  Alex had once explained to Tommy that he was what was called a greyhat hacker.  Or a ‘Gandalf’.  Alex had grinned when he’d told Tommy that this was
his
term for what he did.  Alex then explained that, like Gandalf in the Tolkien books, a greyhat walked both sides of the line, sometimes throwing his hat in with hackers doing what hackers did for fun but also working to stop people from breaking into the systems of the people and businesses he was hired to secure.  He had earned a reputation in the security and hacker community, one well respected and envied.  And Tommy wanted to be just like him.

Of course, his uncle might not exactly approve of some of the things Tommy had been doing to reach his goal.  But how else was he supposed to get experience?

After reading his paper for the tenth time, Tommy got up to stretch.  Glancing at the clock, he noted it was well after midnight and he had to be up in less than six hours for his first class of the day.  He looked gratefully at the second, still empty, bed.  Taking classes during the summer quarter meant he would have the room to himself for another month or two, so no one to keep awake.  Unfortunately, it also meant the dorm building was nearly empty which didn't leave much in the way of a social life.  Not that he could really enjoy one right now anyway.

The yawn caught him by surprise.  When another and then another yawn followed in quick succession, he realized he wasn't going to get much else done for the night.  Stumbling to the bathroom, he splashed some water on his face and swished some around in his mouth before spitting it out.  He was still yawning as he crawled into the hard dorm bed, which still managed to feel like heaven to his exhausted body.  Minutes later he was sound asleep. 

A rough hand closed over Tommy’s mouth, snatching him from his dreams.  Before he was fully awake, he felt other hands grab his arms and legs.  Startled, he tried to sit up.

"Zip his wrists!"   

Adrenaline surged through Tommy and he managed to free his legs and lash out, connecting with at least two people.

"Son of a bitch!"

The hand over Tommy’s mouth disappeared.  He opened it to yell, only to have a cloth shoved in deep enough to make him gag.  The hesitation cost him.  A second later, a set of legs slammed across both of his, the body so heavy he immediately felt the circulation begin to cease.  This action was quickly followed by the crushing weight of someone pushing their knees into his chest.  Suddenly Tommy couldn’t breathe. 

"Tag him!"

His heart pounding so hard, he felt it would jump from his chest, Tommy tried to tear free again.  But his arms were yanked over his head and something hard pulled them tight together, biting into his wrists.  He barely registered the sharp stinging sensation in his neck.

A few seconds later, a wave of dizziness slowed his struggles.  He tried to ignore the nausea and resume his fight, but his limbs were only sluggishly obeying him.  And then, as suddenly as it had all begun, his struggling stopped and he felt himself free falling into oblivion.

01110010011100000110111101110011011001010010000001101111

Denver Police Commander, Nathan Lee, found himself pulling a triple shift and answering phones on a Thursday night like a rookie. The cut backs were affecting everyone and, to make matters worse, he was down two precinct commanders.  So, of course, he had earned the privilege of filling in for them both. 

Getting up to grab his twentieth cup of a brown liquid that should be prosecuted for impersonating coffee, he sat back down at his desk to wait for the onslaught of calls that came in every night. But Thursdays – thanks to college students - usually started off the weekends, which meant the calls would come in earlier and more frequently.  Knowing when the deluge typically started, Lee figured he had at least fifteen minutes to relax.

Propping his feet up, Lee leaned back in his chair to catch a quick catnap.  The relief of finally getting off of his feet was evident in his face and in the long sigh he let out as he closed his eyes.  He had just started to nod off when the phones began ringing in the outer offices, and then in his.  With a groan, he picked up the phone.  "Denver Police, Precinct 6."

The phone calls came nonstop from 8:00 P.M. to 2:30 A.M. and then, mercifully, stopped.  Among the many needless calls taken, such as people asking for directions or complaining about their neighbor's dog being too loud, they actually managed to respond to some real crimes.  All in all, the night's docket consisted of three knife fights, two shootings, one hit and run, and one liquor store robbery.  A light night for a Thursday.

Lee took a sip of his now cold coffee and leaned back, placing his feet on his desk again.  Four more hours to go, he thought.  He was considering trying once more for that nap when one of the rookies knocked on his office door.  He noted Kowalski's grinning face through the glass window. 

"What?" 

Kowalski poked his head in.  "Hey Commander, I got this lady on the line who swears, and this is what she really said, honest.  She said that some ‘men in black’ just accosted some man outside of one of the downtown shops."\

"So what's the problem?  Check it out."

"Well, sir, I would.  I mean she
sounds
sincere.  But I think she may be a little off her rocker."

"How's that?"

Kowalski's face split into a grin.  "Well, sir, she claims she is Marilyn Monroe, as in
the
Marilyn Monroe.  She even said I could call her Norma Jeane."

Lee growled.   "Why are you bothering me with this crap?"

"But you haven't heard the best part!"  Kowalski’s grin widened.  "Not only did she claim to be Marilyn, but she says we should respond immediately because they look just the same men who tried to kill her when she was younger." 

"Get out!"

The grin left Kowalski's face.  "Yes, sir.  But I wanted to ask your opinion about something."

Lee’s eyes narrowed.  "What?"

"Do you think I should ask her out?  I mean it’s not every day one gets a chance to meet
the
Marilyn Monroe.  Even if she is ancient by now."  He started laughing. 

Lee could feel his face getting hotter.  Kowalski's laughter stopped abruptly.  "I'll just be going now."

The shutting door did little to dim the sound of Kowalski's laughter as he headed back to his desk and hung up the phone.  Lee shook his head.  It wasn't bad enough that he had to deal with whackos calling in, he also had a bunch of wise ass rookies.  He leaned back in his chair only to have the phones started ringing again.  With a weary sigh, he sat up and grabbed the phone.

"Denver Police, Precinct 5.  I mean, Precinct 6."

01100110001000000100111001100101011101110111001101110000

Senator Mitchell Gillespie arrived in the office in the early hours of Friday morning, just in time to receive the call informing him that all targets had been acquired.  He smiled as he hung up.  Just a few months before, they had finally launched the operation, and managed to quickly tag several threats, many more than they had expected.  But
this
group?  This group was special. 

Four individuals, all hitting the same trap and all from Colorado, his own state.  And, between their backgrounds and other initial evidence, there was reason to believe they had been collaborating in a way that suggested a major player was involved.  It was regrettable that he would not be able to go immediately to the press.  But there were questions to be asked and legalities to deal with and one did not hurry through these things.  Especially the legalities in
this
case where the use of the CIA’s extreme or, extraordinary, rendition tactic was being employed against American citizens

The fact that it was being used on American citizens, however, was not what concerned Gillespie as much as
where
they were going to be holding the detainees.  Typically, the use of extraordinary rendition required taking detainees to another country, or location, not subject to the Geneva Conventions.  But where the Director of the FBI had suggested they send the detainees was, essentially, U.S. territory.  And, though he had been talking with several lawyers, he still had some doubts and he would not be going to the press until both the interrogations and the legalities had been locked down to his satisfaction.

Still, it was a move in the right direction.  And a move that would help take him to the Oval Office.

011001010110000101101011001000000111011101100001

Barrett hung up the phone with the people who had hired him, and looked around his temporary downtown Denver apartment.  Nearly a hundred and fifty hits to the trap in a matter of months.  All were being investigated but only a few arrests had been made.  He gritted his teeth.  He wanted them
all
questioned! 

Slowly, he began to pace his apartment, his steps coming quicker and quicker in rhythm with his emotions.  Damn
fucking
politicians!  He should have known Gillespie wasn't any different.  He wasn't really interested in stopping
all
hackers, he just wanted the cases that would get him into the presidential seat the quickest. 

There had been twenty-two hits in Colorado alone.  How they had connected the dots and discovered this group was most likely working together, he didn't know.  But once Gillespie realized what they possibly had, there had been no stopping him or turning his interest to any of the other hackers. 

'Sometimes, when you are fishing, you have got to let the small ones go in order to get the bigger haul,' was as all Gillespie had said. 

The people who'd hired Barrett didn't seem to care either.  He stopped his pacing and slammed his fist on the table.  Stupid fucking
idiots
! 

A chirping on his phone cut into his tirade.  Pulling it out of his pocket he read the text message. 

Good job.  Check your account.  More to come.  Time to celebrate.

Time to celebrate?  Seriously?!

Still venting, he opened his bank app and stared at the balance.  As quickly as it had boiled up, his temper vanished, replaced by new – several hundred thousand grand worth of – possibilities. 

More to come.
 

Barrett glanced out of his window to watch the rising sun. 
Maybe they weren’t forgetting the others.

Looking back at his bank balance, Barrett decided that maybe a little celebrating couldn’t hurt.  After all, they
had
been working at this for nearly two years.  Glancing at the clock on his phone, he noted it was barely 6:00 a.m. 

A little bit early to celebrate
, he thought. 

Then, another thought struck him.  Soon he’d be spending his time in the hell hole they had selected to hold the detainees and there wouldn’t be much celebrating then.  Not in that backwater place.

Hell, it was five o’clock somewhere!

With that thought, he grabbed a glass and a bottle of Jack Daniel's, poured himself a double, downed it and then hit 1 on his speed dial. 

"Kikki?  Greg.  Why don't you grab one of your cute friends?  No.  Make that
three
of your friends and meet me at my place in an hour.  Plan on an all day and night gig.  And make sure everyone has evening wear.  We’ll be going out in the limo tonight."