Gone Dark (A Grale Thriller Book 2) Page 4

  “Could be your shooter has migrated west,” she said. “Want to take a look at the tower here with me tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “It’ll be a long drive tomorrow to Butte County and back.”

  “I’ll fly up tonight, though it’s not going to go over well with Fuentes, the DT supervisor here.”

  It made no sense to Fuentes. “You just got here and three bombings just about blacked out LA. Why would you burn a day in Northern Cal looking at a dead cell tower?”

  “The grid has stabilized,” I answered. “The bomb site evidence is in and we’re waiting for results. Those results will affect where we go with it. I’m back soon, and this may be a sniper I’ve looked for since March. Mara told me he talked this through with you before I transferred.”

  “That was about two or three of your ongoing investigations.”

  “This sniper is one of them.”

  “When you get back we’ll revisit this.”

  From the airport I talked with Julia, who called to say she was meeting in half an hour with Erica Roberts. She also said, “My first real guy was a credit-card scam artist named Nicolas Knowles. That’s pretty crappy.”

  “It is and it’s over. When did you learn his real name?”

  “An hour ago from a fraud investigator back east. They were already onto Nick being here. That’s why he was always watching cars behind us. The fraud investigator said it was one of their people driving the car that chased us. He was tailgating us because he wanted us to pull over. There was another investigator behind him, and between them they were going to try to block the road, trap us, and then call the police.”

  I read a text from Jace after the call ended with Julia. Pick you up Marriott Emeryville at 5:00 a.m. tomorrow. Black coffee? I texted, yes. Then texted Mara,

  Check out the telecom attack arrests nationwide so far. Six arrested for cell tower vandalism. Five were terror related. Suspects arrested were Americans. Their stated goals were “to free America,” “to remake the economic dynamic,” “to throw off the yoke,” “to start the country over,” “to force change that the powers who control us will never allow,” and more with the same commonality.

  Cyberattack speculation still centered on Russia, given the level of sophistication and the similar chutzpah as the election meddling in 2016. They thought things could be hidden through hackers and it would all be fine. That one they got away with. This one will come back to haunt them. The grid attacks have already cost billions, so who knows what will happen if the needle settles on Moscow.

  There may be a demand for reparations, but they’ll never confess so we’ll never collect. But it won’t be forgiven. There will be retribution. I don’t remember who, but someone once said the United States is slow to anger but vicious when aroused.

  6

  JULIA

  Las Vegas, April 19th

  That night Julia sat in the cool dark of UG’s kitchen holding herself, arms wrapped around her chest, as if by holding tight enough she could make everything that had happened go away. She needed to eat but wasn’t hungry. The meeting with Erica Roberts, the lawyer, went fine, but like UG warned, the bullets worried Roberts.

  This morning Detective Allred had asked almost out of curiosity, not challenging her, “How could you not know something was off about Nick?”

  And Allred didn’t even know what Nick had done to her. Crazy suicidal thoughts crept in. She pushed those away and walked through the house. She ate crackers with peanut butter. She needed to get another car. She needed to prove she had a job, not just an offer, so a judge wouldn’t order her to come back to Las Vegas. That’s what Roberts had told her.

  “You can say you were planning to move because you were. But then you need a reason. It can be school if you’re accepted somewhere. It can be a job. Judges like to hear it’s a job. They like jobs.”

  Julia had told her she’d been accepted to the University of Arizona but had deferred to figure some things out.

  “Like what?” Roberts had asked.

  “Like whether it’s worth the cost. Millennials are the most indebted generation in the history of America.”

  It was a little bitchy. She wished she’d said it differently, and she liked Roberts, who didn’t seem to mind at all. Her phone buzzed as a text came in.

  What’s up, Julia? it read. Need to see you tonight. Home?

  Tonight? she thought. What was up with “need to see me” and were any of these friends really her friends? She turned on the kitchen lights and texted back, Who is this?

  Shanna. You home?

  Why?

  Gotta talk. Pick you up outside like last time. Same place half an hour from now.

  So it’s about Nick, Julia thought, and texted back, Nope.

  You have no choice, came back a few seconds later.

  Julia texted, Why don’t I?

  Explain when I see you.

  Julia laid her phone down. It’s about Nick, but no way with the police looking for him will he be there. She went back and forth, but before the hour was up left the house and walked in darkness to the dry little park. Shanna’s car was already there.

  “What’s up? Come on, get in, let’s talk,” Shanna said.

  “What’s to talk about? You’re going to tell me what Nick wants and why I should do it because it’s good for everybody?”

  “Come on, girl, let’s take a drive and talk, but first I’ve gotta say this. Val, me, everyone, we really like you; we don’t want to lose you. Nick is a weird guy, but he does some good works sometimes. You split with him, but we’re still your friends.”

  “He told you we broke up?”

  “He said he broke it off and you’re trying to deal with it.”

  “That’s such bullshit.”

  “Duh, but you’ve got to deal, right. He needs his wallet back and wants you to deliver some box you know about. You’ve got his wallet, right?”

  “Nope. The police have it, but all he has to do is go to the Metro main police station and ask for it. They’ll help him.”

  “Ha ha. Come on, let’s drive.”

  Julia got in, and Shanna pulled away, then got her serious voice going. “I’m supposed to tell you some stuff that might make you really angry,” she said. “So that sucks, but that’s what’s happening.”

  “Don’t tell me he got a credit card in my name.”

  “He has a video of you and Joel Shepherd that he could post.”

  “Tell him I’ll go to the police if he does that. He drugged me, and tell him also it’s not date rape, it’s rape.”

  “Dude, he showed me.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it. He slipped something into my beer. They drugged me.”

  “Why would he do that to you?”

  “Why would he have four driver’s licenses, Shanna? Because he’s bullshit, that’s why.”

  “He said you were drunk and you’ve always thought Joel was hot.”

  “If I drank all the alcohol in the world, Nick would still be a bad guy and I would still never sleep with Joel Shepherd. Nick is going to pay for what he did to me.”

  Shanna said, “Or maybe you just forget about it and let it go.”

  “What do you get for doing this tonight?”

  “It’s about all of us.”

  Shanna picked up a piece of paper lying next to her phone.

  “That’s where you deliver the box that’s in your car. You’ll get a text when to take it there.”

  “Why does he think I still have the box? The car is in a wrecking yard.”

  “He knows where it was taken. I know where it was taken. I went there and looked in it. The dude who towed it said everything got cleaned out of it and what’s the big deal anyway? He just wants to get his stuff back. Why do you care? What are you going to do with it?”

  “My ex-boyfriend is about to post a video of his roommate raping me after they drugged me and you’re asking why do I care if he gets his stuff back? Don’t say
another thing to defend him, Shanna. Not a word.”

  Julia rattled the piece of paper.

  “Seriously, he gave you this to give to me? These are instructions.”

  Julia lowered her window, held out the paper, and let it go.

  “Tell him I dropped it out the window. Tell him I’ll deliver after I have the video and proof all copies are destroyed. And he and Joel are going to sign something a lawyer writes, so if he posts anything I can sue him.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Or they can forget about the box,” Julia said.

  “You’re making a big mistake, girl.”

  “Not as bad as falling for him. Take me back to the park, Shanna. You know what, forget that. Pull over and let me out.”

  “This is not a good place to get out, and we need to talk more. You need to think about this.”

  “Stop the car!”

  “There’s nowhere to walk from here.”

  “Let me out.”

  Shanna finally did and came back twice after Julia started walking. She walked miles along the empty desert road not really caring what happened to her. She was thirsty and tired when in the moonlight on the shoulder she saw her mom and dad and Nate. They shimmered in silvery light, and her father waved her forward. When he did, she straightened and stood taller. In her head she heard, Do not forget who you are. Never forget.

  She walked through the spot where they had been. A police car sped by with its lights flashing and was tiny in the distance when it braked, turned around, and came back. The officer questioned her.

  “I got in an argument,” she said. “I didn’t want to be in the car anymore and didn’t realize how far I was from home.”

  “I’ll take you there, but you’re lucky. There’s a sexual predator we’ve hunted in this area for a year and a half. We just caught him. They’ve got him in cuffs in the back of a car. They don’t need me. I’ll take you home.”

  She’d been around friends who were so hard on cops that his kindness was unexpected and moved her. She choked up as she thanked him when he dropped her at UG’s house. Inside, she curled up on a couch. She’d always thought of herself as strong like her mother and aware and on top of things, yet she’d been hanging with people who tore her down. Nick had belittled her whether teasing or angry, and listen to Shanna tonight, laying down what she had to do, telling her what to forget. Threatening her.

  Julia turned these things in her head and returned to her dad’s impatient wave urging her forward. She knew his gesture. She knew what he was saying. These people don’t own you. You’re Julia Kern. Do you hear me? Stand tall.

  7

  Jace was parked in front of the Emeryville Marriott hotel at 5:00 a.m. I got in the car and asked, “Waiting long?”

  “Not too long.”

  “When you start dating again, make sure the first question you ask is whether he likes to get up early.”

  “Best time of day. Here’s your coffee. Let’s go.”

  We pulled onto I-80 east. I looked across the dark bay to the lights of San Francisco, then we were on our way. We work well together—older agent, younger agent. I don’t tell her how to think or investigate, but we do bounce ideas hard off each other. She’s the rare skeptic who’s not negative, something I admire.

  Two and a half years ago, Jace’s fiancé was in a motorcycle accident that left him without higher brain function. When the question of whether it was best to let him go came up, Jace had said yes, that’s what he’d want.

  Gene’s mother said no and brought him home to Sausalito and a two-room caretaker’s cottage beneath a stand of eucalyptus at the rear of her property. A nurse was available 24/7 for his needs.

  During one of Jace’s weekly visits, Gene’s mother made a request Jace still struggled with. She’d explained that a seer had felt the presence of a negative energy that came and went from Gene’s cottage. The seer had then determined it was Jace who was preventing Gene’s full recovery. Gene’s mother told this to Jace, who was thirty-one at the time, and asked that this visit be her last.

  The Jace I know works long hours and has no life at home. But I’ve seen changes in the three years I’ve known her. She’s coming to acceptance in her own way. If she ever wants to talk about the motorcycle accident and losing Gene, maybe I can help. I know some things about loss.

  “Read consultant Gary Farue’s report,” she said.

  “I’m reading right now.”

  “He’s in tight with the tower companies, and now he wants to be close with us. They let Farue crawl all over the cell-tower site yesterday morning before notifying us of the attack. He dug out slugs. He contaminated everything then called me all chatty brothers-in-arms wanting to help us figure out who did it. He said he knew the second he got there it was a serious shooter. Have a look at his website, look at his background.”

  On the website was a photo of him in combat gear sitting near the open door of a helicopter. It was on the opening page, so maybe that was how he saw himself. Beyond the helicopter were high snowy mountains, as if Farue was part of SEAL Team 6 on his way to Tora Bora. Another page said he’d seen combat in Afghanistan.

  “Farue is looking out for number one, but it does sound like he knows his stuff,” Jace said. “He calculated the arc of the bullets and concluded shots were fired from Buckhorn Ridge across the valley.”

  She glanced at me and continued.

  “We’re not here because Farue called us. We’re here because someone made an anonymous call to the Butte County Sheriff’s Office. That caller heard dozens of shots and saw a lone adult male in a green Jeep descending a dirt track from Buckhorn Ridge after the shooting stopped. Farue called me late in the afternoon just before I called you.”

  I read more of Farue’s report. He’d concluded the bullets recovered were military-grade, steel-jacketed, high-velocity rounds. Twenty-three of the sixty-one shots he’d counted had a second bullet within an inch of the first. If the shots came from across the valley as Farue believed, that degree of skill was in high-level sniper territory. Every significant working piece of equipment on that tower was dead. Farue used the phrase “a complete kill.”

  I turned to Jace. “If this shooter was US military and that good, we’ll get names. I know an Army lieutenant colonel I can ask. I’ve talked snipers with him before. He used to teach in sniper school. He’s still connected.”

  “Why, with Russia looking like the source of the cyberattacks, would we assume it’s an American sniper?”

  “I’m not saying it is. But if the shooter is American and that good, he’ll be known, especially with the two bullets close together style. Someone will recognize that, so it’s worth checking.” But I wasn’t done. I’d been dwelling on this and added, “Granted there haven’t been many, but every arrest so far tied to an attack on a telecom facility has been an American.”

  I scrolled for his phone number, then sent a text to Roy Anders. He would frown when he saw the text and debate for nearly a day whether to respond. It was outside standard protocol, but he would respond to the simple question: Gary Farue. Any record of him as a sniper?

  8

  Butte County, California, April 20th

  When we crested the road up to Tower 36 we saw Farue on his phone standing near the chain-link fence surrounding the facility. A clean, waxed, black Suburban not unlike an FBI vehicle, a Bu-car, sat under firs growing downslope though tall enough to shade a corner of the clearing.

  “Every time we get close to one of these big towers I think cancer,” Jace said. “Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.”

  “On the ground, the radio frequency signals are well below federal safety standards.”

  “If you believe them,” she said.

  “I believe them.” I pointed at the metal-rung ladder attached to a tower pole. “Climb that ladder and they get stronger and start heating up cells in your body.

  “RF signals fall between FM radio and microwave spectrums, so it’s a little bit like a micro
wave. That’s why cell phone manufacturers say hold a cell phone a half inch away from your ear.”

  “Yeah, well, who does that?”

  Farue wore stained leather boots, jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt with cuffs rolled halfway to his elbow. He looked like he was closing out his thirties, barrel-chested and fit, six foot two or close to that, bowlegged and blue-eyed. I looked at his hands, dirt on his fingers and under the nails, blood on his thumb as if he’d rubbed it over a bullet hole in metal and cut it on a jagged edge. That was the kind of cut I might get.

  I shook his hand, saying, “Thanks again for sharing your report with us.”

  “Wouldn’t do it any other way, sir.”

  “It’s Paul Grale, not sir, or Agent Grale if you’re more comfortable with that.” I handed him a card. “Why did you wait a day to tell us the tower was shot up by a sniper?”

  “I talked to Agent Blujace yesterday.”

  “After you’d already been here all day.”

  He looked exasperated, then glanced at Jace as if this was her failing.

  “My client wanted me to take a look first to confirm what had caused the damage,” he said.

  “How long did it take you to figure out it was a sniper from across the valley?”

  “Could have been as much as five minutes.”

  So Farue was a bit of a smartass as well.

  “You knew right away,” I said.

  “I trained at the Army sniper school. The shooting here reminds me of why I couldn’t hang with the truly good ones.” He pointed at the ridge across the valley. “He shot from over there.”

  “Do you think he was military trained?”

  “Where else would you learn that?”

  We walked the bullet-pocked cell-tower facility listening to Farue as we videotaped and took notes, then I put on gear, clipped in, and climbed a steel ladder behind him. Higher up, we got a clearer view of Buckhorn Ridge to the east. Its slopes were treed, but there was also a long face of open rock.