Chapter 40
Six Days, Two Hours, Fifty-Five Minutes
The telephone rang loudly, startling Donovan from his reading of the security briefings. Reaching across the stacks and stacks of piled paperwork, he found the receiver, lifted it, and placed it to his ear.
Immediately, Marty said, "Tell me that you're near a computer terminal."
"Are you kidding?" Donovan replied. "You're talking to a representative of the United States government. Computer terminals are standard issue around here. In fact, there's a computer terminal in any direction I look." Brushing aside the largest pile of reports, he shifted in his office chair, pulled the keyboard out on its slide, and keyed open his directory. "Please tell me that you're not going to send me another batch of naked photos of that thing you call your 'wife.'"
"You know, Donovan ... as a taxpayer, I'm paying your salary. You could give me a little respect, couldn't you? So far as I know, you sit there all day being a funny guy," he heard. "As if that's what this world needs? Another comedian? Does your Uncle Sam pay you extra for that, eh?"
He laughed. "Not in this lifetime."
"Open up your email cache," Marty ordered. "As we speak, I'm uploading a video file. You have to see this to believe it."
"A video file?" He smiled. "So you've graduated from still photography to motion pictures? You devil! Well, I guess if it keeps the missus happy, then who are you really hurting?"
"Like I said ... real funny guy, Donovan."
"You know me, Marty. I'm just passing the time."
Donovan clicked on his email icon, and the screen morphed to his electronic inbox. Like his desk, the folder was overflowing with messages: local security alerts, upcoming conference meeting reminders, an itinerary for a field service training program he had registered for in hand-to-hand combat. He dragged the search bar to the top of the screen, scrolling upward to the newer messages.
There it was, clearly indicated – with the video attachment – sent by Detective Martin Guerrero.
"What is this?" Donovan asked.
"It's footage from this morning's suspected arson you called about," Marty explained.
"The storage facility?"
"That's it."
The agent clicked on the email and opened the file. After a quick second for the CPU to read the file type, Donovan watched as the smaller television screen opened, granting him the view – from above – of a long stretch of garage doors, facing one another, in the pale morning light.
"What am I looking at, Marty?"
"You're seeing Aisle K at Essential Capital Storage," the detective stated. "Now, there are multiple cameras throughout this complex, but this is the primary camera for the aisle. It's fixed at the end so that anyone monitoring the aisle can get a bird's eye view of the entire aisle. It's a low-end piece of crap, so don't expect any zoom or tilt features. The owner didn't exactly break the bank putting these cameras in, if you know what I mean. He went for bottom drawer stuff. But, from what I've been able to recover, this is the best angle of this fellow. There's other footage available ... if you want it. Give the word. But this angle is the best. You can see his face. Watch him closely, Craig, and tell me what you think."
On the screen, a man dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt suddenly appeared from the bottom – from beneath the camera.
"Did this guy hop a fence, Marty?"
"As best as we can tell," the detective replied. "The place wasn't open for business yet, but the direction he came from would indicate that he climbed a cinderblock brick wall on the south end of the place ... assuming, of course, that he didn't spend the night in one of the lockers."
The mysterious man walked slowly up the aisle. He stopped, slowly raising his arms out to his sides, and he kept walking. Slowly, he turned around, and, finding the camera to his rear, he glanced up directly into the lens. Quickly, Donovan grabbed his mouse and clicked 'pause.' As the detective had indicated, the mystery man offered a clear view of his face, almost daring the camera to keep recording.
"What the hell is this?" Donovan muttered. "Marty, do we know who this guy is?"
"Sorry, Craig, but that's where you come in," Marty snapped. "I've run a freeze frame of his mug through the DC database, and I came up empty. All that tells me is that he isn't local. Most probably, he isn't a citizen of the United States."
"How do you figure?"
"It's what you call a hunch," he said. "Where I hang my hat, hunches and a loaded weapon account for a honest day's police work. But you? Yours is a candy store with plenty of flavors. I would imagine you have point-and- click access to far greater profiles than I do. CIA international. INTERPOL. MI-6. The works. If this guy is a major player, then he's going to fall somewhere on your radar, not mine."
"Did he start the fire?" Donovan asked.
"At this point, that's our working assumption," Marty answered. "We have footage of him entering the container where we now believe the fire began. There weren't any cameras close enough to capture any images of what he did inside, but, as the fire started there, our mystery man clearly had something to do with it. We also have footage of him leaving, but he wasn't in any real hurry."
"He didn't need to be," Donovan mused aloud. "You called it, Marty. Our mystery man is a pro. If he started the fire, then he knew exactly how much time he had to get far enough away before the smoke let loose." He brought his hand up to his chin and rubbed as he thought the scenario through. "What doesn't make any sense is the video. It's like he's performing, you know? He's acting. Taking what was recorded only at face value, this guy wanted to get our attention ... at least, on camera he did."
"Well, he has not only my attention but also the undivided attention of the entire Washington D.C. Police Department, Craig," Marty responded. "The only thing I need to know is who he is. I'm hoping you can help me out with that."
Leaning close, Donovan studied the man's eyes. Despite their small size on his screen, he could tell that they were filled with purpose, with desire, with ...
Vengeance?
"Once I have an identity," he said, "you'll get the call, Marty."
"Don't shank me on this, Craig."
"No way, Marty," Donovan promised. "If this guy went to so much work to capture our attention, then I say we give it to him."
End of Chapter 40
Six Days, Two Hours, Fifty-Five Minutes
The telephone rang loudly, startling Donovan from his reading of the security briefings. Reaching across the stacks and stacks of piled paperwork, he found the receiver, lifted it, and placed it to his ear.
Immediately, Marty said, "Tell me that you're near a computer terminal."
"Are you kidding?" Donovan replied. "You're talking to a representative of the United States government. Computer terminals are standard issue around here. In fact, there's a computer terminal in any direction I look." Brushing aside the largest pile of reports, he shifted in his office chair, pulled the keyboard out on its slide, and keyed open his directory. "Please tell me that you're not going to send me another batch of naked photos of that thing you call your 'wife.'"
"You know, Donovan ... as a taxpayer, I'm paying your salary. You could give me a little respect, couldn't you? So far as I know, you sit there all day being a funny guy," he heard. "As if that's what this world needs? Another comedian? Does your Uncle Sam pay you extra for that, eh?"
He laughed. "Not in this lifetime."
"Open up your email cache," Marty ordered. "As we speak, I'm uploading a video file. You have to see this to believe it."
"A video file?" He smiled. "So you've graduated from still photography to motion pictures? You devil! Well, I guess if it keeps the missus happy, then who are you really hurting?"
"Like I said ... real funny guy, Donovan."
"You know me, Marty. I'm just passing the time."
Donovan clicked on his email icon, and the screen morphed to his electronic inbox. Like his desk, the folder was overflowing with messages: local security alerts, upcoming conference meeting reminders, an itinerary for a field service training program he had registered for in hand-to-hand combat. He dragged the search bar to the top of the screen, scrolling upward to the newer messages.
There it was, clearly indicated – with the video attachment – sent by Detective Martin Guerrero.
"What is this?" Donovan asked.
"It's footage from this morning's suspected arson you called about," Marty explained.
"The storage facility?"
"That's it."
The agent clicked on the email and opened the file. After a quick second for the CPU to read the file type, Donovan watched as the smaller television screen opened, granting him the view – from above – of a long stretch of garage doors, facing one another, in the pale morning light.
"What am I looking at, Marty?"
"You're seeing Aisle K at Essential Capital Storage," the detective stated. "Now, there are multiple cameras throughout this complex, but this is the primary camera for the aisle. It's fixed at the end so that anyone monitoring the aisle can get a bird's eye view of the entire aisle. It's a low-end piece of crap, so don't expect any zoom or tilt features. The owner didn't exactly break the bank putting these cameras in, if you know what I mean. He went for bottom drawer stuff. But, from what I've been able to recover, this is the best angle of this fellow. There's other footage available ... if you want it. Give the word. But this angle is the best. You can see his face. Watch him closely, Craig, and tell me what you think."
On the screen, a man dressed in dark slacks and a white shirt suddenly appeared from the bottom – from beneath the camera.
"Did this guy hop a fence, Marty?"
"As best as we can tell," the detective replied. "The place wasn't open for business yet, but the direction he came from would indicate that he climbed a cinderblock brick wall on the south end of the place ... assuming, of course, that he didn't spend the night in one of the lockers."
The mysterious man walked slowly up the aisle. He stopped, slowly raising his arms out to his sides, and he kept walking. Slowly, he turned around, and, finding the camera to his rear, he glanced up directly into the lens. Quickly, Donovan grabbed his mouse and clicked 'pause.' As the detective had indicated, the mystery man offered a clear view of his face, almost daring the camera to keep recording.
"What the hell is this?" Donovan muttered. "Marty, do we know who this guy is?"
"Sorry, Craig, but that's where you come in," Marty snapped. "I've run a freeze frame of his mug through the DC database, and I came up empty. All that tells me is that he isn't local. Most probably, he isn't a citizen of the United States."
"How do you figure?"
"It's what you call a hunch," he said. "Where I hang my hat, hunches and a loaded weapon account for a honest day's police work. But you? Yours is a candy store with plenty of flavors. I would imagine you have point-and- click access to far greater profiles than I do. CIA international. INTERPOL. MI-6. The works. If this guy is a major player, then he's going to fall somewhere on your radar, not mine."
"Did he start the fire?" Donovan asked.
"At this point, that's our working assumption," Marty answered. "We have footage of him entering the container where we now believe the fire began. There weren't any cameras close enough to capture any images of what he did inside, but, as the fire started there, our mystery man clearly had something to do with it. We also have footage of him leaving, but he wasn't in any real hurry."
"He didn't need to be," Donovan mused aloud. "You called it, Marty. Our mystery man is a pro. If he started the fire, then he knew exactly how much time he had to get far enough away before the smoke let loose." He brought his hand up to his chin and rubbed as he thought the scenario through. "What doesn't make any sense is the video. It's like he's performing, you know? He's acting. Taking what was recorded only at face value, this guy wanted to get our attention ... at least, on camera he did."
"Well, he has not only my attention but also the undivided attention of the entire Washington D.C. Police Department, Craig," Marty responded. "The only thing I need to know is who he is. I'm hoping you can help me out with that."
Leaning close, Donovan studied the man's eyes. Despite their small size on his screen, he could tell that they were filled with purpose, with desire, with ...
Vengeance?
"Once I have an identity," he said, "you'll get the call, Marty."
"Don't shank me on this, Craig."
"No way, Marty," Donovan promised. "If this guy went to so much work to capture our attention, then I say we give it to him."
End of Chapter 40