Active Shooter Read online

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “How do you know this?”

  She brought her head forward and smiled at me. “Life happens on Twitter, does it not?”

  “She encoded a message for you, like those links--”

  “You know how it goes,” she said. “We can't reveal specific operational details. But you have the general gist.”

  I looked away, back toward the bathroom's door. Her wet hand came to rest on my forearm.

  “Why don't you come in?” she said. “You're still shivering.”

  ***

  An hour later, after I rushed to concoct a breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs, a sliced tomato and some toast, we drove off in Bridget's rental. She drove while I used her scanner to verify we had no listening or tracking devices in her car. I gave her a thumbs up when the scan came up clean.

  We'd left our civilian cellphones in my apartment, and the secured one in my pocket wouldn't do much tracking unless I told it to. I was thinking about how my buddies in command central were reacting to all this when my secured cell buzzed.

  “I have to get this,” I told Bridget.

  With eyes on the road, she smiled. “Sure thing.”

  I answered it, and as soon as I heard the voice on the other side, I held up three fingers. “W” for Walter. Bridget nodded.

  “Is she there?” Walter asked.

  “Yes,” I replied when I really wanted to say “You should know.” But I had a part to play.

  “OK, we talk carefully, and I pitch you the yes-no game.”

  “OK.”

  “I noticed your phones stayed in the apartment.”

  “That's right.”

  “But she let you take the one we're talking on.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you told her it was an untraceable burner you kept around for times like these, like we talked about.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Where are we going now? To meet with her source?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “But her source has contacted her.”

  “I think so.”

  “You're not sure?”

  “No.” I said this and looked over at Bridget. She looked back at me for a moment, and I hoped she could read in my eyes I had just thrown my lot with her. Then I wondered. Had I really?

  “She seems a little more savvy about this than we thought,” Walter noted.

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you think she knows we're following you?”

  “Counting on it.”

  “But she doesn't seem concerned. Like she has a plan to get around us.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You're doing great, Andre. Just hang in there a little longer. If she's going to make her move today, we should be able to close this deal and get you back to your life.”

  “OK.”

  “Listen, there is one thing we need you to take care of for us, OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “Your phone. We're not getting any voice or tracking. We're going to need you to turn it on. You know how, right?”

  “That may prove difficult.”

  “You think she'll know you've turned it on?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  “Anyway you can get around it?”

  “I'll look into it,” I said.

  “We'd appreciate that. Let's go ahead and close this conversation. How about you cut it off?”

  “Listen, I need to go now,” I said. “We'll stay in touch and set up the photo shoot as soon as you have all your stuff in place. Does that sound good?”

  “Roger that,” Walter said, and we hung up.

  Bridget looked over at me and patted my forearm. I expected her to make some joke about how short I'd been on my side of the conversation, or to quiz me about what Walter and I had discussed.

  Instead, she said, “Thank you.”

  “They want me to turn on tracking and voice,” I said holding up my phone.

  She looked through the rear view mirror. “They know exactly where we are, so I can't see where the tracking will hurt us. As for the voice part, we'll have to figure out what to talk about. Photography maybe?”

  “We'll have to give them more.”

  “Like?” she asked.

  “Like I'm really upset with you for playing games with me, not telling me who your source is, not telling me where we're going. I'll have to yell at you a little.”

  She smiled. “Well, we are in Hollywood. A little acting might be fun.”

  We drove by Mann Chinese theater just as our faux argument heated up. We let it reach fever pitch, and cut it off, both of us driving on in silence like we needed a good dose of couple's therapy.

  A few minutes later, we arrived at one of her network's local studio. Bridget parked the car and told me she'd be right back. I watched her go into the building. Knowing Walter's team would tell him I was alone, I called him.

  “We have a couple of minutes here,” I said.

  “You OK?”

  “I think so.”

  “Careful how hard you push. That was pretty intense.”

  “I think it's necessary. It lets her know I'm not just some lump she can push around town during her scavenger hunt.”

  “What do you think she's doing now?” Walter asked.

  “No idea.” I let that sit for just a second, then added, “I'm going to have to turn-off remote monitoring.”

  “Oh?”

  “She'll probably want to re-scan the car, and she'll catch the phone.”

  “You think she's that sophisticated.”

  “It's more about paranoia than justification, but she's got a state of the art scanner. The kind we tested at the lab. You know she caught every bug you had in the apartment, right? She chose to remove only the one in the bathroom.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Can't we just get her for that?” I asked. “I mean, that's government property, of the classified kind, right? She's not supposed to have it. Why not just arrest her, then? That should be enough to can her for a long time.”

  Walter considered that for a few seconds but came back with the all so predictable answer I expected. “She's not the point. Not the mission. We need to roll her source.”

  “OK, man. But... I don't know.”

  “Hang in there, Andre. Just stay with it. Stay engaged. And we'll get through it.”

  Yeah, we'll get through it, where it might be a crematorium. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bridget coming, and I knew that out on the street, Walter's crew could see her, too.

  “Gotta go,” I said. “She's coming.”

  I hung up and watched her come toward me, one hand holding on to her purse strap, the other swinging at her side, and her blond hair glistening under the hot Southern California sun.

  As she approached, I accessed the phone's setup screen to turn off monitoring. She climbed in, and I showed it to her.

  “Great,” she said as she slammed the door shut. “You can put that toy away now. We have a new one to play with.”

  From her purse, Bridget lifted a yellow, padded envelope. “FedEx'ed just this morning.” She cut the seal, unwrapped it and took out what looked like a GPS unit. “I'm told this is a great navigational aid,” she added. “You don't even have to type in the address, and it still tells you right where to go.”

  She handed it to me and said, “Just turn it on.”

  The GPS unit came with a cigarette plug which I used to ensure it had a full battery. Once plugged in, I turned it on. After a couple of seconds a route appeared. I clicked the OK button, and a text message appeared with the first set of directions.

  “It's for the hearing impaired,” Bridget said with a grin.

  I showed it to her. She nodded and drove off.

  Chapter 10

  Entangled. The word came back at me as we meandered our way through West Hollywood, heading toward Santa Monica. The GPS kept giving us directions, and we kept following them, wit
h no idea where this apparent random-walk was taking us. We’d been at this for about an hour now, a span of time during which the secured cellphone rang twice and Bridget and I agreed to ignore it. The third time I thought it best to answer it, and Bridget reluctantly concurred. No sense in making them worry too much.

  “You had me worried,” Walter said.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I saw your calls come in, but unfortunately I’ve had my hands full over the last two hours.”

  “With what? You two have been driving about aimlessly?”

  “Oh, you know. Sometimes progress isn’t measured by the pound but by the ounce, right? The biggest part of the job is yet to come.”

  My sudden loquacity seemed to give him pause, even if only for a brief moment. “So do you know where you’re going now?”

  “It shouldn’t be long now.”

  “You sure?”

  “I think so. But, hey, I’m really busy, so I’m going to have to punch out on you.”

  “OK, Andre. Just hang in there, man. Stay with us, OK?”

  “OK,” I said, and I hung up.

  Ten minutes later we were driving into the U.C.L.A. campus. The GPS text directions pointed us to a parking structure by the medical center.

  “Alright,” I said. “It’s rock and roll time.”

  Bridget flashed a half smile and a half frown, the kind that imply a question.

  “We’re switching cars here. And my guess is that we’re splitting up. To lose the tail.”

  “What?”

  “Listen up. I take all your electronics. The scanner, the GPS, your laptop, and any other tricky goodies you have that may tie you to this source.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “If they catch you with that stuff, you’re going down for a long time.”

  She was about to object when the screen more or less gave the same directions. “Tan Chevrolet SUV, second level, keys under tire well. Wig and baseball cap in bag on floor board. Andre to take SUV, along with scanner and laptop. Bridget will drive to top level, slowly, stop there for ten minutes, then attempt to drive out. Likely to be apprehended. Good luck.”

  Bridget sighed. As we approached the parking structure, I reached behind my back and took out one of my Glock pistols. I chambered the top round. Then I took out the clip and inserted one more bullet. That's how I liked it, at full capacity.

  Bridget’s eyes grew larger. She said, “Jesus, Andre.”

  “Now you know what we’re into,” I replied as I repeated the procedure with my second pistol.

  She pulled up to the parking stub dispenser, and I used the opportunity to reach into the back seat to grab her laptop pouch. Into it I roughly stuffed the scanner. The GPS I held out in case it had any last words of wisdom.

  Just as the barrier rose and we pulled into the structure, I spied the car that had been following us driving by the parking lot entrance. Good. As I’d thought, they would imagine us trapped inside the structure and would set up perimeter, securing all on-foot and drive-out exits.

  We drove up the ramp to the second level. Bridget spotted the SUV first. I stuffed the GPS into the laptop bag and opened the door, ready to move.

  “Slow down but don’t stop, give me room to step out,” I said.

  I saw her swallow, but she did as I said. We drove past the SUV at a crawl, and I opened the door wider.

  “As soon as I close the door, speed up to the top, but without screeching.”

  In one swoop I stepped out and slammed the door. I heard her car speed up and make the turn for the next level.

  I walked in a crouch to the SUV and felt around the driver side front tire well. The magnetic key holder wasn’t hard to find.

  Inside the SUV, I grabbed the bag from the floor board and rushed to put on the wig and baseball cap. In the bag I also found a pair of sunglasses. I put those on, too. I checked my appearance in the rearview mirror.

  The wig had a mangy light bronze tint to it, and it hung down like matted, untended hair, stopping short of my shoulders. The tan baseball cap seemed to blend right into it. The sunglasses capped off my new appearance. I barely recognized myself.

  I breathed in, then out, and drove away.

  As I approached the parking booth, I wondered how much I’d had to pay and whether they took credit cards, because I knew I didn’t have enough cash to pay the parking fee. I slowed down the vehicle, ready to face this mini-challenge, when the barrier lifted. Nice. Somewhere I didn’t have time to notice, this SUV had a remote parking validator.

  I drove out and past a dark sedan. One of our tails, I new. I faced straight ahead, but veered my gaze toward them under my sunglasses. Though they looked me over thoroughly, neither the driver nor the passenger registered a hint of recognition.

  A block later, I pulled out the GPS. It already had a new message. “Well done. You may clip me to the dashboard,” it said.

  Sure enough, I found a male latch that fit into the back of the GPS. I clicked it in place.

  “Check whether you are being followed, then press Yes or No.”

  I drove into the Brentwood neighborhood and wound my way through a few blocks. Convinced I was clear, I pressed the “No” screen button.

  “Very well,” it said. “It’s nice to work again with you, Andre.”

  The tone of familiarity in that last sentence unsettled me. I forced myself to set it aside to focus on the task at hand.

  The GPS screen flashed a new message. “If you want to talk, I can hear you.”

  I cursed.

  “That’s not like you, Andre.”

  “How do you know me?” I asked.

  “In due time.”

  The GPS directed me onto the 405 Freeway’s south on-ramp. A minute later my cellphone started buzzing.

  “Answer it and tell Walter you’re on your way to the source," the GPS told me. "Leave it at that and hang up.”

  “What are we doing here?” I asked.

  “Getting you well.”

  Chapter 11

  “Bridget is not with you?” Walter asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “She’s still in the parking structure. Should be coming out any minute now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Keep your eye on the prize, Walter. I’m not it.”

  “What are you up to, Andre?”

  “Make sure you tail Bridget and you don’t lose her. She’s to make contact first, then they’ll contact me. That’s how we left it.”

  “Jesus, Andre. They played you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “They made you, and they set you aside.”

  “Look. You’re not out here with your ass flapping in the breeze, Walter, dear. I am. I have a solid read on the situation. And I’m telling you, this was the only play. I didn’t do this, and we were off course anyway.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Only way it’s not true is if they listened to you whining on the secured phone. You sure that was as secured as you said it was?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t what me. You know an insider can spoof those things. I could do it in my sleep back in the day. You sure this source didn’t tap you?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “That sounds like doubt, Walter. Tell you what, I keep doing my thing, and you make sure you got this buttoned off. Until then, I’m not talking.”

  I hung up before he had a chance to reply.

  “That was good,” the message on the GPS read.

  “It might buy Bridget a few hours outside of a jail cell. If I were her, I’d use them to get a good lawyer.”

  “LOL.”

  “You’re talking to her, aren’t you?”

  “Worry about your part. She’s taken care of.”

  ***

  When noon came, I went through a fast food drive-through and ordered a burger, fries, and a drink. A few minutes later I found myself in City of Industry,
heading east.

  “Are we driving through here for old time’s sake?” I asked, referring to the lab where I used to work, no more than a couple of miles from my current location.

  The GPS didn’t flash an answer, and I wondered whether it had dropped the connection.

  “Driving streets and avoiding freeways to blend in. We will be there soon.”

  Though the answer addressed my question, it did so in a way that didn’t seem to fully grasp my meaning. It almost seemed mechanical. Perhaps the source -- it, she, I was getting mixed up -- wanted to avoid what could be a painful topic for me. She wanted me to stay focused on the task at hand and not dwell on the way things had ended for me. That’s what I told myself, but I sensed something else behind the response.

  After a few more minutes, I knew there was.

  “Very clever,” I said.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” the GPS screen said back to me.

  “How’s Bridget doing?”

  “They haven’t detained her.”

  “Have you helped her to shake them off yet?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “My mistake,” I said.

  I knew I should pull over and stop, but I couldn’t. As soon as I did, the GPS unit would report back that I had come to a stop. I reached into Bridget’s case and took out the laptop. An upward flip of the lid, and it came to life. The password prompt stared back at me.

  I wanted to curse, but the GPS unit would have recorded my voice and beamed it to Bridget’s source, maybe even to Bridget herself for all I knew.

  To come up with possible passwords, I searched my memory for what I knew about Bridget. It didn't take me long to admit I didn’t know much. Given the technical savvy she had demonstrated, I suspected she had set a hard password. That meant special characters, numbers with upper and lower case letters. It also meant a long sequence. But what would that be?

  By now I had decided this laptop wasn’t Bridget’s work laptop. It seemed very new, and given all the command line utilities I’d seen her use the prior night, I concluded -- if nothing else, for the sake of argument -- that her source had provided her this laptop for this little escapade. Whatever password I was looking for wouldn’t relate to her personal life. It had to relate to me.

  On a whim, I tried “Active-Shooter” followed by the date of the LAX shooting, two digits for month and date, four digits for the year, separated by dashes. I entered the keystrokes softly so that the GPS unit wouldn’t collect the sound. No go. I tried again with “Active_Shooter” along with different permutations of year, month, day. No go.