Hack, page 21
He was about to abandon his stakeout in the afternoon, grab something to eat, and check into a motel when he saw Nik, driving a Land Cruiser, glide past him on the street, searching for a place to park. He watched the vehicle in his rearview mirror as it circled the block and decided he’d approach the reporter when he was entering the front door to his apartment, his back to the street. Dilworth hoped threats would work to get what he wanted, but he needed information, and he was prepared to do whatever it required to get it.
Dilworth was still looking in the mirror when a dark-blue sedan inched down the street with a man behind the wheel. Something about him caught Dilworth’s eye.
After Dilworth had found Pontiac’s lifeless body in the snow and rushed the dog to the veterinarian’s office, he had returned to the woods to search the site for clues. It was clear there had been a vicious mauling, and whomever the German shepherd had attacked had lost a great deal of blood. Dilworth traced the trail and boot prints to the roadside, where they disappeared.
Given the amount of spilled blood he found on the ground and in the snow, Dilworth felt certain the victim had needed to seek medical attention, and the only place a person could get it was at the regional hospital. He drove straight there.
Dilworth had donated several of his sculptures to the hospital for its annual fundraiser over the years and was on good terms with the hospital’s administrator. He told the administrator he thought Pontiac had attacked someone who had wandered onto his property, and he wanted to find the person to apologize and offer to help pay for any medical bills. Within minutes, Dilworth was reading the hospital report and talking to the emergency room doctor who’d sutured the wounds.
Turned out the man had given the hospital a fake name and address and paid in cash, but the doctor provided Dilworth with a detailed physical description. “About six one, fit, yellow hair, and a mustache as thick as a cat’s tail,” the doctor said, “and he’s limping, badly. Probably will be for a while, maybe forever. Your dog did a real number on his leg.”
The man in the dark sedan had a large, bushy mustache, and Dilworth swung the Subaru around and fell in behind him. He followed the car to a leafy neighborhood in DC and watched as the man gimped up a flight of stone stairs, one tread at a time, to a three-story townhome. After the man entered the front door, Dilworth slid out of his car and planted the GPS unit under the back tire wall of the sedan and activated the device, convinced he had found Pontiac’s assailant and the man who had waited outside his home in the early morning to ambush him.
Later that day, Dilworth tracked the sedan into Rock Creek Park and witnessed the mustached man confront another man on a stone bridge and shove him down the embankment. Dilworth couldn’t see what was happening, but he could hear cries coming from under the bridge.
Dilworth, dressed in camo, had taken up a position in the woods that surrounded the bridge when he saw the reporter stumbling down the hillside with a dog.
Dilworth was about forty-five yards from the bridge with an unobstructed shooting lane and just the slightest of breezes, four Grim Reaper broadhead carbon arrows affixed to the body of the Scorpyd bow, rear-mounted scope dialed in for a forty-two-yard shot to account for the downslope of the terrain.
He saw Nik step onto the bridge and approach the mustached man, who was now dressed in the peacoat and hat the other man had been wearing. He heard a scuffle break out, but the stone arches blocked his view of the bridge deck, and after a few minutes, the reporter reappeared, trundling down the bank, dog in his arms, the overhead lights illuminating the ground beneath the bridge.
Dilworth armed the bow with one of the Grim Reapers and drew back the string, the cables and pulleys locking the pull in place. He could maintain that position indefinitely without the slightest discomfort.
Dilworth saw the man lay the barrel of a revolver against Nik’s forehead but determined he wouldn’t fire the weapon and risk drawing attention. Dilworth leaned against a tree stump and waited, and it was only when he saw the man screw a silencer onto the end of the gun, point it at the dog, and then swing it away and level it at the reporter’s head that he made the split-second decision to release the arrow.
The second arrow was on its way by the time the man’s scream reached Dilworth’s ears.
Chapter 53
January 19, Washington, DC
The painkillers the nurse had administered were starting to wear off, and Nik began to stir from a deep, thick slumber. Several figures stood at the foot of the bed talking, but he couldn’t make out their faces and didn’t recognize the voices. To his right, a window, blinds partially drawn, let in small pools of light that hurt his eyes when he looked directly at them. As he slowly regained consciousness, his head started to throb, and when he ran his tongue inside his mouth, he could feel holes where teeth once were.
“Nik,” a soft voice said, and he rolled his head away from the window toward the sound, white pain stabbing at his neck and radiating down his spine, arms, and legs.
He closed his eyes and passed out.
_______________
When Nik woke again, it was dark outside and the only light in his room came from a monitor next to his bed that cast a bluish glow. He pushed on his elbows and propped himself upright and looked around. The effort exhausted him. Sam was in a chair to his left, asleep, her head resting on a rolled-up coat.
He picked up a mirror from a bedside table and held it up to his face. His left eye was partially closed, the whole left side of his face covered in deep-purple bruises, his forehead bandaged, and it felt like his nose was stuffed with cotton balls. He pulled a tissue from a box on the table and blew hard, and when he did, he heard an odd crunching noise, like someone cracking open a walnut, and his left cheek bulged out like a bullfrog’s.
“Don’t do that,” Sam said and sat bolt upright in her chair. “Doctors said you shattered your cheekbone and fractured your eye socket. There’s no bone structure holding in your sinuses, so when you blow your nose, your cheek bulges. It’s really disgusting.”
Nik looked at Sam through clouded vision. “Have to admit, though, I’m a sight for sore eyes,” he slurred and sank into the bed and fell back asleep.
_____________
Two DC detectives were stationed on either side of Nik’s bed when he was wheeled back into his room from the X-ray lab. Doctors told him one of the blows he suffered had fractured his skull and they were worried about the potential of swelling in the brain. So far, the tests were negative, but they recommended he remain in the hospital for a few more days for further observation just to be on the safe side.
The senior detective was Yvette Jenks, a veteran of the DC police force and a former marine. She was wearing a lavender pantsuit and a frown. Her partner was Jason Goetz, a recently minted detective who had started his career as a secondary school teacher in DC’s inner city. He flashed Nik a toothy smile. After quick introductions, Jenks led off the questioning.
“We got a body down in the morgue full of holes like a pincushion, Mr. Byron. Normally, we’d be lookin’ for a gun or knife, sometimes both, but that’s not the case here. The murder weapon appears to be a crossbow. A crossbow, you believe that. I’ve been on the force for twenty-odd years and have seen people killed with all manner of weapons—lawn mower, nail gun, hay bale hook, and, even once, a high-heel shoe, but never no crossbow. There’s a Robin Hood running ’round in the woods in Rock Creek Park shootin’ people, and I want to know if you know who it is.”
“Never saw the shooter, Detective Jenks,” Nik said. “I passed out.”
“That’s not what I asked, is it? I asked if you know him or her, as the case may be.”
“I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman, and no, I don’t know who it is.”
“You got any guesses?”
Nik shook his head no.
“You better not be messin’ with me, Mr. Byron. You think you’re hurtin’ now, I’ll land on you like a ton of bricks if I find out you’re lyin’,” Jenks threatened.
Detective Goetz cut in. “I believe what Detective Jenks is trying to convey to you, Nik, is that it would be in your best interest to cooperate. You and Mr. Walker are the only witnesses, and Walker claims he was unconscious most of the time, and, judging from his injuries, we tend to believe him. The shooter removed the arrows, so we don’t have any physical evidence to trace.”
“Kinda strange, don’t you think, that William Tell was hiding in the woods just when you needed help,” Jenks said. “Whatcha do, whistle?”
“I’m just grateful he or she was there,” Nik said.
“I bet you are,” she said. “I am not at all convinced it was a mere coincidence, and I think you know more than you’re saying. We’re done here for now, but we’ll be back,” Detective Jenks promised and gave a nod of the head to Goetz, who withdrew his wallet and handed Nik a business card with his cell phone number, email address, and Twitter handle on it.
“You can reach me twenty-four seven, Nik, if anything else should occur to you,” Goetz said and thanked Nik for his time and wished him a speedy recovery.
After the detectives left, a parade of visitors streamed through Nik’s hospital room. Sam dropped off several paperbacks, an iPad with a handful of downloaded movies, and a large vase overflowing with colorful flowers to brighten the drab surroundings.
“I’ll be back after work,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Bring PJs and we can have a sleepover. And cards. To play gin,” Nik said. “And speaking of gin, I could use a drink.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but these Georgetown Hospital nurses are pretty strict,” Sam said before dashing out.
Nik was sitting up in bed reading one of the paperbacks when Mo pushed Frank into the room in a wheelchair, followed by Mia.
“What now?” Nik said.
Frank revealed to Nik for the first time that his kidneys were failing and he was in the hospital for preliminary testing for a possible transplant.
“I been trying to tell you that you needed to talk to Frank,” Mo said.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” Nik said. “What did the doctors say?”
“Said it shouldn’t be a problem if we can find a donor.”
“And guess who’s a match?” Mia said.
Nik looked puzzled.
“Mo.”
“Get outta here,” Nik said.
“Yup, and I plan to do it, too,” Mo said. “Doctors tell me you only need one kidney, and they assured me the operation won’t hinder the performance of my johnson. If they’re wrong about that, I swear to God I’ll order a lead sandwich from Café Smith and Wesson.”
“Don’t joke about things like that,” Mia scolded.
“Who’s joking?” Mo replied.
Mia told Nik to expect a visit from Teo. “We’re sitting on the hottest story in DC, and we need to get that next podcast episode produced, like, really fast.”
“He knows where to find me,” Nik said.
A burly nurse came in and shooed the trio out of the room and ordered Nik to get some sleep. He napped, restlessly, for about an hour and then strolled down the hall to visit the convalescing Cal Walker.
Walker was in good spirits. He said he had just had a visit from the US attorney general, who told him the government was anxious to get the OmniSoft matter straightened out and offered a high seven-figure settlement, as well as the return of POOF, to Walker in exchange for his cooperation in dealing with the Chinese.
“What did you tell him?” Nik said.
“Told him I was a patriot and that I stand ready to assist in any way I can but I wouldn’t consider anything less than an eight-figure settlement for all I’ve been through.”
“Think they’ll go for it?”
“Don’t think they have a whole lotta choice. You see, like any self-respecting developer, I built a back door into POOF. Two, in fact. One I want the Chinese to find, the other they’ll never find in a million years. With Mr. Liu’s help, we can cause all sorts of mischief for them and anyone else who uses an unauthorized copy of the software once it’s actually activated and up and running. It’s now up to our government to decide just how much pain they want to inflict.”
“Brilliant,” Nik said, and got up to leave. “I need to start work on a script.”
“Those two detectives dropped by,” Walker said. “Asked me about the shooter.”
“Yeah, what did you tell them?”
“Told them the truth. I got no idea who it was. What about you? What did you say? Who do you think it was?”
“No clue,” Nik said.
“Oh, by the way,” Walker said as Nik headed out the door, “your ex-wife, Maggie, she’s been a big help in getting this thing worked out with the AG’s office. Thought you’d like to know.”
Chapter 54
January 19, Washington, DC
Uber driver’s here. ’Bout time. Oh, he’s cute. Can’t go there, she told herself. Need to focus. Hawk’s gone dark. Put out the distress signal. Still nothing. Not like him, and he knew what was in store when he returned. Gave him a little taste of the poontang before he set off on his mission to Rock Creek Park. He was nearly delirious. No way he passes that up. Now there’s a story on the news about a body being found in the park. Maybe Hawk’s plan wasn’t so good after all. One thing’s for sure, I ain’t waiting around for jackbooted thugs to kick in my front door. No, sir.
Mind’s made up. Time to evacuate, put plan B into effect. Hawk will either find me or he won’t, if he’s still alive, that is, and not in prison somewhere. If I’m being totally honest, he’s better off dead than alive as far as my welfare’s concerned. Told him to sell Walker’s software to the Russians, or the Iranians, like we done in the past, and be done with it. But no. This time, he had to retail it. Make a big killing. Cut out the middleman, he said. Told him that was greedy. Risky, too, but the man wouldn’t listen.
Well, I’m outta here. Maybe that Uber driver’s got a friend. Whoever said two’s company, three’s a crowd, didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. They certainly never spent any time in France, that’s for damn sure.
Chapter 55
Producer’s introduction: The Front Page podcast is based on court documents, sworn testimony, social media posts, metadata, and interviews with US and Chinese diplomats and intelligence officials. It is narrated by reporter Nik Byron, who is joined in the podcast by Mia Landry, the host of Newshound’s popular Dateline Washington series.
In the Beginning
On a hot, muggy late-summer afternoon in 2012, a top analyst with the Defense Intelligence Agency made an unannounced visit to the offices of OmniSoft Corporation in southeast Washington, DC, to evaluate a potentially powerful new surveillance technology for the United States government’s war on terrorism.
That analyst’s seemingly innocuous visit would eventually lead to a multimillion-dollar investment in the company by the federal government and ultimately set in motion an elaborate scheme to wrestle control of the software from the company and its founder and sell it on the black market for millions of dollars to some of the same terrorist organizations and rogue operators the program was initially designed to thwart.
Before the scope of the criminal enterprise was fully exposed, nearly a dozen individuals would be killed, an office park bombed, millions of taxpayers’ dollars squandered, a company left in ruins, careers damaged, and the software circulated worldwide to terrorist cells and police states seeking to suppress their citizenry.
At the heart of the story is a software program code-named POOF, which stands for Phantom Omniscient Ocular Functionality, and its creator, Cal Walker.
Until now, Walker’s claims that the government subverted his company to gain control of POOF have largely gone unheeded, if for no other reason than Walker could never substantiate the allegations.
As it turns out, Walker’s allegations—which appear now to be largely accurate, albeit at times overstated and misdirected—represented only one piece of what would become a multidimensional, multinational conspiracy.
Unbeknownst to both Walker and the US government, a third party was operating behind the scenes to steal POOF’s code and sell it to the highest bidder on the black market.
Our investigation reveals that the third party consisted of at least two key individuals—a female analyst who originally evaluated POOF for the Defense Intelligence Agency, the military’s top spy operation, and a shadowy, quasi-military accomplice who used several aliases and had underworld contacts from his time as an international soldier of fortune.
The man has been identified as Lewis Hawkins, a West Point dropout, who was killed in Rock Creek Park recently during a failed attempt to abduct Walker.
Based on our reporting and government sources, we believe his female accomplice is Candice Smothers, a DIA counterterrorism analyst who held the nation’s highest security designation. Smothers is believed to have fled the country, and her whereabouts are currently unknown.
Hi, Nik.
Hi, Mia.
I’m riveted by this story, Nik, as I’m sure are listeners of The Front Page. But it’s very complicated, with a lot of moving parts. What’s the best way to tell a story like this?
That’s a great question. To fully comprehend and appreciate the complexity of the OmniSoft story, we need to travel back in time to September 11, 2001, otherwise known as 9/11.
In the beginning . . .
