Active Shooter Read online

  “Why are you slowing down?” the GPS screen read.

  “Trying to eat my burger,” I said. “Hard to do that and drive.”

  “Pull over. We have a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  I searched my memory again. What had she said to me about my situation that would suggest a pattern for a password? No matter how much I told myself to look for something else, my mind kept going back to the shooting. That’s how her fixation with me had started. What about the interview? Anything there?

  I came to it at the very moment I started to despair. My photographic memory recalled what she’d said after the interview. Hashtag Esperanza is getting some crushing traffic. Here's my favorite: 'Esperanza means hope for America'.

  I tried “#Esperanza” followed by a dash, four digit hear, dash, four digit month, dash, four digit day, but this time with the date of the interview. The home screen came to life.

  “Hot dog!” I said.

  “I thought you ordered a hamburger.”

  “Oops, you’re right.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to go,” the GPS screen flashed back at me.

  “As soon as I finish my fries.”

  By now I had disconnected the USB chord that connected the car charger to the GPS.

  “It’s best for battery life if you leave the unit plugged in.”

  “You’re right,” I replied. “But battery is at 100%, and the chord is getting in my way right at this minute. I’ll plug you back in soon enough.”

  “You’re not plugging me in. You’re plugging in the GPS unit.”

  “Right. My bad.”

  The command screen was up by now, and I used it to list all the executable files in the directory I had seen Bridget use for her little hacker show the prior night. I shook my head. I recognized them all. I’d written most of these back at the lab, or at least I had a hand in the development of earlier versions. The one I was hoping to find was there, a program to fool a device connected into a computer via USB to think it was getting nothing but power.

  “Here we go,” I said as I plugged the open end of the USB into one of the computer ports.

  “Thank you,” the GPS screen said. “We should go now.”

  “Yeah. Almost ready.”

  I launched a back-tracer utility, and in a few seconds I confirmed I had gained access into the home node.

  “What is happening?” the GPS screen said.

  “Where is Bridget?” I asked.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Neither did you,” I shot back. “But in a second I may not need you to.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Patience, dear. In due time.”

  I launched a locator utility, and a graphical interface came up showing a map of my immediate area and that to my south. A blue dot marked my location. The red one showed faster movement, heading south along the 710 freeway. I turned on the engine and sped down the street.

  “I recommend you slow down,” the GPS said.

  I slowed down at the median and made a U-turn.

  “You are headed in the wrong direction.”

  “I’m going to disagree.”

  I eyed the map and I estimated I wouldn’t be too far behind Bridget by the time I got on the 710 freeway.

  “Please don’t do this, Andy,” the GPS screen flashed.

  “Only my friends call me Andy.”

  “I am your friend.”

  “I’m pretty sure I'd remember if you were.”

  “You do not understand everything, Andy.”

  “I readily admit that. In a few minutes I hope to understand a little more.”

  “This is not the plan, Andy.”

  “You should have foreseen it, though. Wasn’t it your idea for me to take the computer?”

  “You weren’t supposed to use it yet.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.”

  The GPS screen flashed a couple of times, then it went black. It was trying to shut down my link, but it didn’t work. The laptop’s screen kept showing me the map and the two dots, all I needed to keep giving chase.

  Or so I thought until the laptop fan speed up with a whining sound, and then sputtered into a terminal shutdown.

  That left me with plan B. I picked up my secure cellphone and dialed Walter’s number.

  “We lost her about fifteen minutes ago,” Walter told me. “Another car swap.”

  “She’s headed south on the 710,” I told Walter. “Last contact, just north of the 5. Do you have any aerial support in the area?”

  “Stand by,” he replied. A few seconds later he came back, “OK, we got a bird closing in. Any idea what she’d be driving.”

  I grinned. “Look for someone in a hurry. But not a tan SUV, since that’d be me.”

  A couple of minutes passed and he came back. “OK, we got her. White SUV. Chevy.”

  I grinned some more. “You don’t say.” I looked down at my brown forearm and in my head I pictured Bridget’s paler complexion. “Where abouts?”

  “South of the 5 freeway, approaching the Florence exit.”

  “OK, I’m about a mile away from that.”

  “Where do you think she’s going?” Walter asked.

  “No idea,” I replied, though I did. “You were right, by the way. They played me for a sap.”

  “Don’t beat yourself. We all agree over here there was nothing else you could have done to preserve the operation. As it is, it looks like we’re about to salvage it. Thanks to you, actually.”

  “Let’s hold-off on the high fives until we hit the locker room,” I said.

  “How did you know her location?” Walter asked.

  “Listen, Walter. I’m driving like a maniac here. Can we save the debrief for later?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m the closest asset you have on the ground, aren’t I?”

  Silence, then, “Yeah. She gave us the slip while heading west, so we thought--”

  “What about your bird?”

  “Pilot only.”

  “How far out are you guys?”

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Traffic is beginning to bog down.”

  I nodded to myself. I told myself to hope for twenty-five minutes, but plan for ten. Problem was, it would take me another five to reach Bridget. If I was lucky.

  Up ahead I saw an eighteen-wheeler. I sped up to catch up with it and pulled alongside, by the trailer rear tires. Out of the driver side window, I fed the laptop, the scanner, and finally the GPS unit. Each went under the tires, shattering and crunching into a million shards.

  I pulled along the shoulder and floored the accelerator.

  “She’s pulling off at Firestone,” Walter announced, and a minute later he added, “Heading west.”

  I sped past Florence, knowing I had another mile or so before the Firestone exit. The shoulder became rough, so I rejoined traffic and wove my way, zigzagging from lane to lane until I saw the off-ramp sign up ahead.

  “Where are you?” Walter asked. “Why don’t you turn tracking on?”

  “Again, a little busy here. You know where I’m going. Where is she?”

  “Heading south along Atlantic, about to make a right on Tweedy.”

  I came to the off-ramp and sped up the steep grade. At the red light, I slowed down, and jumped into traffic to the sound of angry horns. I weaved my way down the road, and made an abrupt left at Rayo. This was my neighborhood, and Rayo was one of my favorite shortcuts. The street was rough, and the SUV jumped over pot holes and train tracks. At Atlantic, I caught a green light and sped down to Tweedy.

  Though I had no evidence to confirm it, I knew where Bridget was going.

  “She’s pulling into a parking lot. From the coordinates, it looks like a library.”

  I tossed the secure phone out the window. No, Walter. Much more than a library. The home of my first hack, back when I attended the local High School. And now a place for a setup.

  Chapter 12

>   The library looked pretty much like it did ten years prior, back when I came here to research dark matter for my senior Physics term paper and when I used the computers to play on the nascent Internet. Aside from newer, shinier posters inspiring kids to read and a new reception/welcome counter, not much had changed.

  Anticipating where I'd find Bridget, I climbed the stairs to the second level. Once there, I turned toward the computer lab. I approached with Bridget's empty laptop satchel tucked under my arm. I held it against me tightly, in a hug of sorts, as if I were carrying something precious, this my best imitation of a computer geek. I hoped this bit of acting fit well with my long-haired wig and the baseball cap.

  They were easy to spot, one standing by the door into the computer lab, one behind Bridget. The one by Bridget held a gun concealed under his jacket, pressed against her back. She sat at one of the computers, typing nervously. Had I not known what and who to look for, I would not have recognized her. Bridget wore a black hair wig, and over it, a lace veil reminiscent of an Greek Orthodox woman.

  I approached the door and saw the sentinel move to block my entrance.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, affecting a nasal voice.

  “We'll be just a minute.”

  “I need to send in my resume. For a job,” I whined. “I can't miss the deadline.”

  “We'll be just a minute,” he repeated.

  The guy standing by Bridget glanced in our direction, then returned his attention to Bridget who had also turned my way with a pleading expression. Her guard pressed in harder, and she turned back to the computer.

  I did not so much think about what I had to do next as I reacted into it. With my left hand I tossed the door guardian the laptop satchel while with my right hand I retrieved one of my Glock pistols. He lost sight of me just long enough for me to press the gun against the flying satchel and put a bullet through it and his head.

  The satchel's neoprene material muffled the gunshot to preserve the element of surprise long enough for me to pull out my second Glock as I pointed the first one at the man standing by Bridget.

  The sound of the next gunshot boomed inside the computer room. My opponent went down on one knee. I fired again. He went down flat. With both guns pointed in orthogonal directions, I scanned the room. No other opponents in here, I decided.

  I turned to the door and walked backwards toward Bridget.

  “It's me. Mr. Hope for America. Whatever you do, don't say my name.”

  I heard her sobbing behind me. Outside, I heard screaming and the scrambling of frightened people.

  “We need to go,” I said. “Now.” I looked at the screen. “Is this our meet with your source?”

  Bridget was shaking, in shock. I had to get her to start thinking again.

  “You're doing good,” I told her. “Let's go.”

  I was about to help her to her feet, but she stood on her own. I nudged her away from the computer, and then I placed the barrel of the gun against the front of the hard drive. I pushed her back a little more and I squeezed off one shot.

  When I turned to her, she was covering her face with her hands.

  I took her veil and used it to wipe the keyboard and the table around the keyboard. It left a bloody smear. I tried it again with a different part of the veil. It was a rush job, the best I could do to blot out her fingerprints. We had to move.

  I turned to her, and she'd lowered her hands.

  “I have blood on me,” she said. “All over me.”

  At that moment I wanted to scold her. I wanted to tell her this business seldom ended with gadgetry and techno-trickery. Eventually, it came down to blood. Spilled blood. Splattered blood. But that wouldn't help right now, and what good would it do, anyway, to lecture her or lash her with clever I-told-you-sos.

  “I am not going to hurt you,” I told her. “Just follow me, close to me, and we'll get through this, OK?”

  Bridget nodded, but it looked more like uncontrollable shivering.

  “Put your hand on my back and never let go,” I said. “Here we go.”

  I felt her hand on my right shoulder blade. We walked out of the room slowly. I held both guns, sweeping to and fro looking for targets. I only saw a couple of figures cowering behind tables and bookcases.

  Down the stairs we went. We moved through the reception area with brisk steps.

  I opted to use a side, emergency exit door instead of the front door. Now would come the fun part. The door's alarm rang out as we stepped outside.

  Sirens already sounded out in the distance. And we were out in the open. I spotted them, two more of them, to my right, by the front door, heading into the library.

  Bridget followed my lead when I squatted down to hide behind a concrete trash can holder. From there, I saw them run into the library.

  “Now, let's go,” I said.

  I put the guns away, grabbed her by the arm, and we ran to my SUV.

  I opened the passenger door and helped -- really pushed -- her in. “Do you have anything in your car we need?”

  She shook her head, but it was the sort of response that said she really didn't comprehend my question more than the type that provided me with an unequivocal “no.” It didn't matter. We didn't have time to deal with a "yes," anyway. I don't know why I'd asked the question. Maybe I was responding to the trained instinct to be thorough.

  Eyeing the front entrance, I made my way around the hood of the SUV and climbed in. With my left I took out one of my pistols while with my right I started the car.

  I drove out slowly and turned north. No one followed us.

  Halfway down the block, I saw a squad car turn onto our street, heading right for us. I pulled to my right and it sped by us.

  “Are you OK?” I asked Bridget as I pulled out.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “That, Bridget, is what we're into.”

  “Who were those guys?”

  “Who did they say they were?”

  “Federal Agents. They said they were Federal Agents.”

  “Did they show any ID?”

  “No.”

  “Then, they could have been anyone. Remember that in case some sharp investigator connects you with that blood bath and brings you in for questioning. You were abducted, kidnapped, a victim.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Your cover story. You wanted to know about Ops. Well, you just saw one. And here's an important ingredient for these little games. How to deny you were involved. The cover story.”

  I drove out to Atlantic and turned south. We drove in silence, eventually joining Imperial Highway traffic. As we traveled east, I eyed Bridget. Her composure seemed to return with every passing mile.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Bellflower.”

  “What's in Bellflower?”

  “Our next ride. Are you up for a little off-roading?”

  ***

  Bridget didn't say much the rest of the way. After I'd wiped the steering wheel and dashboard, we left the SUV a few blocks from the intended destination. We made our way on foot until we arrived at a Self-storage facility. Once inside, we found my unit. I unlocked it and rolled up the metal door to reveal a modified VW Baja Bug, painted in dull gray. Its exposed Porsche engine stared back at us. Cardboard boxes and mounds of my worldly possessions surrounded it.

  I told Bridget to stand to the side, and I went in to start the engine. It had sat for a couple of months, and it took three attempts to get it started. An initial sputter gave way to a satisfying rumble. I backed it out, parked it against the fence and left it idling as I climbed out.

  “I hope we're not planning to stay in there,” Bridget said.

  I smiled at her. It was good to hear her cynical humor return. “I just need to get a few things,” I said.

  I left it up to her, and she followed me in. Inside I dug out a couple of sleeping bags, a hiking backpack and a tent, along with some rope. Outside I mounted these items atop th
e Baja Bug's roof rack and used the rope to secure them.

  Bridget watched me from inside the storage unit, and I rejoined her there.

  “What's the plan?” she asked me as I rummaged for a large backpack.

  “You tell me. I didn't open Pandora's box.”

  “What are we doing, Andre?”

  “Treading water and swimming away from the sharks. No plan. Just action and reaction.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bridget's face tighten with frustration and anger. I went on with my search. I unzipped the backpack to expose and old set of lenses and one DSLR body. For sentimental reasons I'd never talked myself into selling this, my first professional kit. Now, unable to return to my apartment to retrieve my newer equipment, I was glad to have it. Whatever else we took with us, I wanted to have a camera with me.

  I looked up at Bridget. She shot me back a puzzled look.

  Next, I made my way to a freezer, which unplugged, I'd adapted to use as a safe. I spun the dials on two padlocks and opened it. From it I took out a duffel bag and unzipped it to reveal several stacks of hundred dollar bills.

  I looked up at Bridget again. This time she didn't look puzzled.

  “Put these in your purse,” I said handing her one stack.

  “What are we doing, Andre?”

  I didn't answer. Instead I returned the duffel bag to the safe. I needed two more items from the safe, and I took them out now.

  “Burner phones?” Bridget asked.

  “Good eye.”

  I opened one of the boxes, took out the car charger that came with the phone and went outside to plug it into the Bug's cigarette lighter.

  “Anything else you can think of?” I asked her as I reentered the storage unit.

  Bridget shrugged. I grinned at her and knelt by a cardboard box. From it I took out two sets of thick canvas cargo pants, a fleece jacket, and a pair of hiking boots.

  “We'll have to get you some of these,” I said.

  Bridget stared at the clothing, turned to look at the Baja Bug, then returned her attention to me. Her face creased into a frown of many questions, and I wondered which one she'd toss me first.