Wild Fyre (3 page)

“Thanks for lunch,” Jim said.
 

He nodded to Ed before he left.

# # # # #

 
InterviewAfterJim1();

/*****

August, 2013 (1 week A.J.)

Aster and Ploss knocked again.

The door was better than the rest of the house. It was thick and sturdy. The house looked like it might blow over in a high wind, leaving just the door standing.

“Yeah?” Ed asked as he opened the door a few inches.

“Oh,” Ed said as he saw the badge clipped to Aster’s suit jacket. “Come on in. Why didn’t you guys ring the bell?”

Ed opened the door and waved the two officers into his living room. The room had nice furniture, but not enough to make it look full. On the wall over the fireplace, a TV was mounted. Aster noted the cables dangling from the device.

“The bell doesn’t always work. People thing it’s rude to ring and knock, so we just knock,” Ploss said.

“I see,” Ed said. “Would you like to have a seat?”

Aster took a seat on the couch and crossed his legs. Ploss perched on the edge of a chair. He pulled out a notebook and balanced it on his knee.

“I’m Ed, but you probably guessed.”

He held out his hand.

“I’m Detective Aster, and this is Detective Ploss. You didn’t ask us what this is about,” Aster said, shaking Ed’s hand. “Everyone asks that.”

After shaking with Aster and Ploss, Ed reached back to his dining room table and grabbed his bottle of beer. He wiped the bottom on his shirt before he set it on the table next to his chair. Ed sat down with a sigh.

“I’ve been expecting police to show up,” Ed said. “He was a close friend of mine, and I’m sure my number was one of the last he dialed before... Do you guys want something to drink?”

Ed took a long pull from his beer.

“No, thanks,” Aster said. He was about to ask another question, but it died on his lips as he watched Ed. The man seemed normal enough—he was forty-something, maybe fifty, had some gray hair, dressed well for a Saturday, wore his hair short and kept a clean shave even on the weekend. But what Ed was doing was anything but normal. Ed opened a drawer on his end table and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed one to each of the detectives. As soon as they took the paper, Ed put a finger to his lips.

The paper explained, in a way. The text was printed with a pencil in neat block letters:

# # # # #

Dear Officers,

I wrote this note in anticipation of your arrival. I’ll be happy to talk to you about your investigation, I but I need to ask you for one precaution. Please place any cell phones or radios in the box in front of me. It merely blocks electronic communication so I can speak freely. Your devices will be unharmed. If you’re uncomfortable with this process, or mention it aloud before I’ve closed the box, you’ll find me unwilling to answer any questions today.

Thank you,

Ed

# # # # #

 
InterviewAfterJim2();

/*****

When Aster finished reading, he looked up at Ed. The man was gesturing towards a box on the floor, next to the coffee table. It looked like a safe, sitting on its back. Ed held the door open and while Aster and Ploss watched, he put his own cell phone in the box.

Aster felt Ploss’s eyes on him. He looked over at his partner and nodded. The two detectives took out their phones and put them in the box. Ed closed the lid.

“I’m sorry for all the cloak and dagger stuff, but I can’t be too careful now that Jim is dead,” Ed said.

“We’re not allowed to record any conversation without your knowledge,” Ploss said.

“I know,” Ed said. “But The Organization is what I’m concerned about. It doesn’t follow your rules.”

“And who is that, Mr. Statler?” Aster asked.

“I’m going to hold off on answering that one,” Ed said. “Please—you had questions about Jim?”

Aster bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked like he was gearing up for a bad day. Aster’s hair was clipped down to about a quarter inch of fuzz. He ran his hand back and forth over the top before he began with his questions.

“How long have you known James Owens?” Aster asked.

“About fifteen years, I guess. Yeah, fifteen,” Ed said. He finished his beer.

Ploss scribbled something in his notebook.

“And what was the nature of your relationship?”

“Friends. He was a friend of mine. I also placed him in some jobs. I’m a recruiter and he’s a contractor of sorts,” Ed said.

“Like construction?”

“No,” Ed smiled. “Database guy. Software stuff. He was a software contractor.”

“And you found jobs for him?”

“Yeah,” Ed said. “I work with a number of software and hardware guys. I find them work and I get a fee. I’m like a pimp, but it’s all legal.”

“We’re familiar with employment recruiters,” Ploss said.

“These guys work a little differently,” Ed said. “Normally, a head hunter will find a permanent job for his clients. I find short-term work. It’s more like an agency, but the work is so specialized that these guys don’t fit in an agency model. It’s kinda unique. Anyway, Jim was a friend, but I also found him work.”

“And he was working on something for you recently?” Aster asked.

“No, not for me,” Ed said. “He was working on his own stuff. He had been on a break since the beginning of June.”

“His calendar shows a meeting with you next week.”

“That’s our standing lunch. A bunch of us get together every two weeks for lunch. I organize it—those guys aren’t much good at reservations and such. It’s a miracle they all show up most of the time. We were supposed to get together next week. Now, I’m not sure if anyone will have the guts to show up.”

“The guts?” Aster asked.

“Yeah, after Jim, you know...”

“I don’t follow,” Aster said.

“You know,” Ed said, “I watched a couple videos last year that described exactly why one should never talk to the police. Guilty or innocent, there are always pitfalls and traps. In fact, a thoughtful person should never answer any question, lest their answers be misconstrued. I’m not suggesting you guys are up to no good, it’s just a minefield of unintended consequences.”

Ploss wrote several lines in his book.

Aster narrowed his eyes.

“But I’m going to tell you guys what I know, because I think it might save some lives in the long run. Not all of them, but maybe some,” Ed said. “You’ll think I’m crazy, I’m sure, but if I’m right, you would end up thinking that anyway. This doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, of course it does,” Aster said.

Ed laughed.
 

“You’re a really good liar, Officer, sorry, Detective Aster. I’m going to grab another beer. Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

Aster glanced at Ploss. Ploss flipped closed his notebook and rose. “I’ll get a water, if that’s okay?” he followed Ed into the kitchen. Ed came back first, followed by Ploss.

Ed flopped back down in his chair and killed about a third of his beer immediately.

“I suspect that lunch next week might not be well attended. Now that Jim is dead, a lot of the other guys will be laying low, trying to stay alive.”

“You’ll be there?” Aster asked.

“Yeah. I’m stupid that way. Even though Maco predicted Jim’s murder, I still only half-believe that The Organization really exists. I probably won’t be fully convinced until there’s a bullet in my head.”

“Maco?” Aster asked.

“Terrence Macomber. He lives in Fairfax,” Ed said.

“And he predicted the murder of James Owens?”

“Yup. Lister—that’s Ulrik Pedersen, which is spelled U-L-R-I-K and Pedersen with all E’s and a D—anyway, Lister said that Jim was probably murdered when he didn’t show up to the last lunch. Maco said, ‘Nope, when Jim goes down, she’ll do it in a big way. She’ll want everyone to know that
she
took out Yawgmoth.’”

“Yawgmoth?”

Ed waved his hand. “It’s just a nickname for Jim.”

“So Lister thought Jim had been murdered, but Maco predicted that Jim would be murdered in public?” Ploss asked. He held his pen perched above his notebook.

“Yeah, but not just in public, in front of a lot of cameras. Lots of physical evidence,” Ed said.

“She?” Aster asked.

“Pardon?” Ed asked.

“You said that she took out Yawgmoth.”

“Oh, right. The guys refer to The Organization as a girl. I guess the same way you would do with a boat.”

“What’s the name of this organization?” Ed asked.

“That
is
the name. I call it ‘The Organization’. It’s as good a name as any. I’ll tell you about it in a second. Like I said, I’m not convinced it exists.”

“You’re convinced enough to make us put our phones in the box,” Aster said.

“Better safe than exploded,” Ed said. He paused to take a drink. “It’s just a little hard to get your head wrapped around. Imagine that everything you do or say is being monitored. Cell phones, computers, security cameras, cash machines, smart TVs, everything electronic that you interact with is collecting information and all that information is being sifted and catalogued by The Organization. Nobody knows this is going on, but Jim figures it out. Jim’s in a position to shut it down. Jim blows up.”

“Is that why your TV is unplugged?” Aster asked.

Ed took a sip and nodded with the beer bottle pressed to his lips.

“If nobody knows about it, then why kill Jim publicly?” Aster asked.

“Because the people who suspect something will keep digging until they do figure it out. Then they’ll see what happened to Jim. Then they’ll be too scared to do anything.”

“So he was an example?”

“Yup. It sounds totally paranoid, doesn’t it?”

“We don’t have enough information to pass judgement yet,” Aster said.

Ed smiled.

“Do you have phone numbers for Terrence and Ulrik?” Ploss asked.

“Yeah, in my phone,” Ed said. “I’ll give them to you before you leave.”

“If you suspected that Jim was going to be killed, why didn’t you do anything to stop it?” Aster asked.

“I didn’t expect anything to happen. Maco predicted the murder, but he’s a big conspiracy guy. Almost everything out of his mouth is some horrific prophecy. I don’t take my cues from Maco. I guess he was right this time. Who knows.”

Aster waited for a second. He leaned forward. “Okay, back up. Where did you first hear about The Organization?”

“It was theorized by Lister at one of our lunches. That was about two weeks ago. He said that he had connected the dots and found evidence that a nameless entity was manipulating several stock markets. After he finished describing what he saw, Dale said that he found a fake company that was shipping stuff through a major retailer. Maco put it together and linked up the financials with the manufacturing.”

“I don’t follow,” Aster said.

“Believe me, neither did I. I hang around those guys, but a lot of times their conversation goes right over my head. They were saying that The Organization was making high frequency trades and pulling money out of the stock market. Somehow that money was used to fund manufacturing over in China or somewhere else. The goods were shipped to the US for assembly and then stocked with bogus descriptions by US retailers. Then they could be purchased and shipped with anonymity.”

“For what?” Aster asked.

“For anything,” Ed said. “You could make an ATM that electrocuted a particular customer and ship it in place of the real machine to be installed at his bank. You could make a bomb and blow it up while it was being shipped across a bridge.”

“But the people assembling the thing would have to know what it was.”

“Nope,” Ed said. “You have the pieces manufactured in small enough parts that the objective isn’t clear. You have strict specifications on the packing. Then, the assembly plant is totally automated. Machines put everything together and package it up.”

“What’s the point?”

“It would be a way for The Organization in cyberspace to reach out and disrupt meatspace,” Ed said. “It would be a way for The Organization to eliminate threats without getting its figurative hands dirty.”

“And you think, sorry, Maco thinks that Jim uncovered the truth about The Organization, and they had him killed.”

“Almost,” Ed said. “Maco thinks that Jim created The Organization, and was going to shut it down, so it killed him.”

CH.5.Everyone ()
 

{

 
LunchWithEveryone();

/*****

F
EBRUARY
, 2012

E
D
ARRIVED
at eleven. The sushi restaurant didn’t officially open until eleven-thirty, but the staff nodded at Ed as he walked through the dining room. He slid open the pocket door and let himself into the dark private dining room at the back of the restaurant.
 

Inside the little room, to the right of the door, a hanging print showed a Japanese warrior driving his knife down towards some unseen enemy. Ed swung the picture to the side to reveal the light switch and thermostat. He turned on the lights and turned down the temperature. Overhead, hanging lanterns flicked on to reveal the long table. It could seat about twelve, maybe thirteen if you put someone on the end. Ed never had more than seven.

Ed sat down and flipped open his laptop. He had a couple of emails to catch up on before the group arrived. The first was from a manufacturer of automotive parts. They had a small development shop out in the suburbs of Virginia and they were looking for an engineer. It was a pretty classic HR query. Ed discarded dozens of these each month. He had a low opinion of Human Resources departments who tried to source their own talent. In Ed’s opinion, their role should be administering the health insurance and dealing with behavior problems. Your typical HR department didn’t have the depth to hunt down the right person for a job. They were lucky just to recognize the right person when the query letter came across their desks. Ed sent his stock reply, thanking them for their query and promising to get back to them if and when he found someone. He deleted the email.