The Tech

By Mark Ravine

Special Agent Alexandra Cassidy has made a career of disobeying orders, challenging

bigwigs, and asking uncomfortable questions.

What offends her superiors most is that her intolerable antics have earned her one of the best track records in the FBI.

 

It's too bad, so

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Hill Publications Ltd
• Release date: Apr 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781913423018

Book preview

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Published by Dawn Hill Publications (2019)

Copyright © 2019, Dawn Hill Publications LTD

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in critical written reviews or articles.

The unauthorised reproduction of copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, distributed, uploaded or any other means through the internet, without the written permission of Dawn Hill Publications.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

EPub: 978-1-913423-01-8

Mobipocket: 978-1-913423-00-1

Paperback: 978-1-913423-02-5

Chapter One

An Alternate Revenue Stream

There were four of them, all dressed in black. They looked the professionals that they were. Armed with Uzis, they had a calm outward appearance that belied the tight feelings in the pits of their stomachs, commonplace for their kind of work. Adrenalin would soon kick in and they looked forward to it. It would help them focus and remove any residual nervousness.

As they got out of their SUV, they looked calmly around and noted nothing unexpected—the usual passers-by, the coffee stand in the corner, light traffic coursing through the otherwise busy road. It was early afternoon, the dry heat causing a small sheen of sweat to sprout on their foreheads. They wore powdered blue surgical gloves. No one seemed to notice. Nor did they attract any attention from passers-by with the long coats they wore, completely unsuitable for the weather. They walked, unhurried, for the hundred or so yards from where they had parked their car toward their destination, an imposing greystone building with glass doors. Just before they entered, they gave another seemingly casual look around, but there was nothing casual in their approach. They quickly donned their masks and entered the building.

As they walked in, their leader announced in a calm but loud voice, Everybody down on the floor, arms outstretched! Follow our instructions and no one will be hurt.

On cue, the others pulled out their Uzis and fired shots apparently aimlessly but, unnoticed by any of the employees, hitting the CCTV cameras in place for the bank’s protection. Two bank employees, crouching behind their desks, glanced helplessly at the silent alarm just out of their reach, little knowing that the alarm had been disabled by the fifth member of the gang posing as a maintenance crew member. Within minutes, they had the vault door open and had emptied the cash therein. They didn’t bother with the safety deposits. They did, however, take the money from the teller registers. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before they exited as quietly as they had entered.

In the ensuing chaos, no one noticed the maintenance man quietly slip away. They were all universally thankful no one had been injured. With shaking hands, the bank manager dialed 911. Just as he was being connected, he heard the sirens of approaching cop cars.

Alexandra Cassidy sighed with relief as the pilot announced the landing of her flight. Her mind drifted as she fastened her seat belt. Earlier, she had to rush to the airport after being summoned urgently to take charge. As usual, she lost herself in classical music—this time it was Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade—and briefings on her laptop throughout the long and tedious flight. As with her previous transfers, she wished it would be the final one. This was her fourth move in as many years.

The words of her last supervisor rang in her ears, a discordant refrain from a bad song: You’ve got to wake up and smell the coffee, Cassidy. You’re a damned sight too straight and far too rigid for this job. Loosen up. Or lose it.

She sighed. He was right. She was a tad inflexible. She had started off with such promise after her training at Quantico. With a bachelor’s in psychology and a master’s in international law, she had entered the program with a single-minded determination to be the best of the best. She was battling her secret past, as much as she was looking forward to a promising future. Rising up the ranks, she had astonished all her peers and supervisors with her brilliance, her near-perfect success, and her relentless pursuit of criminals until she reached the vaunted Supervisory Special Agent status. She knew she had the leadership skills, as each and every team she’d managed over the last four years watched her leave with despair, wishing her well and perceivably sad to see her go. Her friends had warned her against a career in the FBI, advising her instead to pass the bar exam and become a lawyer—any kind of lawyer. Her parents were dead. She was an only child. She had no other family in the US, so thankfully, there was no familial pressure. She had responded bluntly to her friends with a single syllable. No.

As always, she played back in her mind not only what her supervisor had said to her but also her blunt response. She had not been disrespectful though, and perhaps that was her flaw as well. She had watched other agents progress with equal parts disgust and envy. She envied their ability to sweet talk their way when it suited them and was disgusted at the way they kowtowed to those with influence and power, disregarding any semblance of honesty or integrity. Nevertheless, this was her bed and she had to lie in it. She did not and could not lie. If she screwed up, she owned up.

Her thoughts jarred to a stop as the wheels touched down, none too gently.

As she made her way off the aircraft, through the terminal and to her rental car, she rehearsed how she would greet her team. She had gone through their files on the flight and had wondered if she’d ever be allowed to pick her own team. This motley crew seemed a bit of a mismatched bunch, each with their crosses to bear.

Patrick Valentino, the youngest of the lot, very much lived up to his name, with numerous notations in his record of off-duty and on-duty exploits with women. John Gardner was the oldest and grumpiest and looked it, if one were to judge by personnel-file photographs. He had an unremarkable record. Don Lambowitz had lost his license to practice law but had somehow managed to find a way into the FBI and was the most experienced field agent. Nancy Wilson, the only African American of the group, had several notations of disproportionate violence while apprehending suspects. Gabriella Daniels seemed to be an appropriate foil for Patrick and his female counterpart. She had previously been a vice cop and was the best looking of the lot. Each of them had been transferred to this division from different parts of the country. Gabriella hailed from Miami, John from DC, Don from Sacramento, Patrick from Los Angeles and Nancy from New York. Alexandra had a sneaky feeling that no one else wanted them.

She found her rental, the most despised of all cars—a Prius—and drove her way to the office, almost instantly regretting not picking up something to eat at the airport. Her luggage was getting shipped the coming weekend. Her carry-on had all she needed until her luggage arrived. She wanted to get to the office and introduce herself to the team this evening. Tomorrow, she would start the day diving straight into the open pile of cases that undoubtedly awaited her. She had found time to go through some of them as well on the flight, albeit briefly. They all looked terribly boring—going nowhere in a hurry.

Following the directions from the GPS, she easily found the parking garage. The office building itself was well signposted, and it was easy enough to find her way to the squad room. She stared blankly around, feeling a bit lost for the first time since she’d landed. There was no one in sight. Not a soul.

As she was trained and practiced in doing, she glanced around, taking in her surroundings. The office was fairly typical of an FBI room—open plan with boarded-up cubicles, with modern monitors connected to laptop docks with the laptops still in them. Each cubicle was decorated with the usual personal paraphernalia, files, and papers strewn about. She sighed and glanced at the walls, with the usual noticeboards and a television. Nondescript would have been the single word she’d use to describe her new office.

Just as she was wondering where her desk might be, she heard quiet footfalls of someone approaching.

Good evening! came the cheery voice of a tall, good-looking man. She estimated he was in his early- to mid-thirties. Welcome to your new office. He was casually dressed, in well-fitting jeans and a semi-casual shirt, so he couldn’t be an agent. An agency ID tag was clipped to his front shirt pocket, which told her that he was an employee. A janitor? No, something in the way he spoke seemed to be too cultured and educated for a blue-collar worker. She didn’t have to wonder too long.

You must be Alexandra Cassidy. We’ve been expecting you. She looked around to see who he meant by we. He laughed and continued confidently. He had a very attractive laugh. The team is out on a case, so I was nominated to welcome you. You must be looking for your desk. Please follow me. He walked languidly toward one of the offices to the side of the squad room and opened the door.

Ta da, he said, casually pointing in the direction of the office. Her own office?

Yes, SSAs who have their own teams get an office here. This is a relatively small field office—less than a thousand staff altogether, if you count the resident agencies scattered around the state. I can show you around once you’re settled or whenever’s convenient. If you log in with your laptop, I can set you up, he said, pointing to the dock. I’m the tech for this office. I provide IT support. I’m Michael Patterson—Mike.

Without prompting, he took her carry-on and put it in an empty cupboard and then proceeded to help her plug in her laptop. After she’d logged in, he took an astoundingly short amount of time—couldn’t have been more than a minute—to set up her connection to the field office.

There! You’re all set to go. I’ve opened the latest file the case team is working on. When she raised her eyebrows, for the second time since she’d arrived, he added, "It’s a bank robbery. They’re at the bank now, investigating."

She looked sharply at him as he emphasized that last word, looking for any hint of sarcasm. There was none. There was an innocent look in his wide-open eyes.

Would you like something to drink? Or eat?

She shook her head vehemently. No thanks. I’ll grab something from the vending machine later, if I feel hungry. Her stomach growled, and he must have heard it. She flushed.

Thankfully, he didn’t proffer a comment but continued as though she hadn’t spoken. The vending machine here isn’t the best choice at any time of the day, and certainly not after a long flight. Let me get you something before I leave for the day. There’s a café close by. Why don’t you go through the case file while I’m gone?

Before she could protest, he was already out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Why had he even asked her if she wanted something to eat if he was going to ignore her answer? It occurred to her belatedly that he hadn’t bothered to ask her what she wanted. While she silently fumed at his presumptuousness, the open case file on her laptop blinked invitingly. He had thoughtfully docked her laptop, so she could see the file on the monitor’s screen and get busy looking through the file. Absent-minded, she noticed that her monitor was bigger and sharper than the ones in the squad room.

She had been mid-air when the bank robbery had taken place, just ninety minutes ago. She now remembered vaguely seeing the news flash on the television monitor at the airport. There had been at least four bank robbers, at most six, all dressed in black. Their faces had been covered with masks. The getaway car was a black SUV—so helpful, she thought sarcastically. The amount taken had been estimated and was unusually large for the size of the bank. She recognized the name of the bank and the address seemed to be somewhere downtown. Most of the money in these banks could only be collections from small vendors and the minimum cash holding the bank needed to keep.

Two things were of note. The first was that there were two vehicles seen driving away, immediately after the robbers. That wasn’t odd in itself. No shots were heard outside the building, according to the report, so no one outside could have known what was going on and even if they did, they wouldn’t have bothered to stick around. The other vehicle was a delivery van from a popular parcel service. This would be easy enough to check out. The second oddity was that the whole team had left for the crime scene. They wouldn’t all have been required to go. They weren’t, after all, she thought wryly, the ERT. Agents usually worked in pairs. She wondered who had asked them all to go. They were without a supervisor—an aging agent who had retired early and had refused to stick around for the customary handover. On asking why, she was told he had to leave the country on some urgent personal business. His sudden departure was another reason for her to rush down to the office on her arrival.

The other details on the robbery were pretty skimpy, but she was surprised that there was that much to go on, given that the team wasn’t back and hadn’t filed their reports. She looked at the notation at the top right of the screen and realized that this must have come from the first responders, the local cops.

It couldn’t have taken her more than ten minutes to read through it, even given her wayward musings, but she heard the door open and then Mike walked in with a drink and a small, attractive paper carton.

Here you go. I hope you like what I’ve brought you. Sorry—I should have asked you what you wanted.

I actually said I didn’t want anything, she reminded him as she opened the package. What’s this? she asked, holding up the drink. Before he could answer her, she exclaimed softly, This is perfect. How did you guess? I simply love these. It was her favorite guilty-comfort-food snack—a blueberry muffin.

Glad you like it. All they had left. And that is a nonfat latte… His voice trailed off as if he’d suddenly realized something.

Now, that couldn’t have been all they had left. You had to have specifically ordered it. She looked at him suspiciously.

Mike seemed nonplussed. I ordered a regular latte, but Dominica gave me a nonfat one, thinking it was for me. I’m a regular customer there, you see. Should I go back and get you a regular one?

No thanks. As it happens, this is exactly what I usually get, a blueberry muffin with a nonfat latte… Now it was her turn to trail off as she realized how contradictory she sounded—a high-calorie confectionery with a low-calorie drink! She had this quirky habit from her college days, often living on just Diet Coke and candy bars. Her eyes misted slightly as she recalled the healthy helpings of borscht with sour cream, black bread, and potatoes that her grandparents favored. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

Mike tactfully changed the subject and gestured at the screen. There’s a second page, you know. The team is on the way back. I informed them of your arrival.

He watched, apparently curious, as she scrolled down and took a sip of her latte. The second page had witness reports and didn’t really add much to what was already in the first officer account. The robbers were quick, seemed practiced. They were well prepared and seemed knowledgeable about the bank and its staff. Nevertheless, with her penchant for absorbing every detail, she didn’t even notice when Mike left.

Having finished her latte and muffin, she gloomily looked at the empty cup and box, wishing there had been more. She leaned back in her chair—which was quite comfortable—and had almost dozed off when she heard the clickety-clack of heels and loud voices. The team had arrived.

The first thing she noticed was that none of them observed her presence. They filed in one by one through the door to the squad room, barely glancing in her direction. They had already been to the coffee machine and had cups to show for it. Lightly bickering about nothing in particular, there appeared to be some light bantering going on as well. The good news was that they were on speaking terms and not at each other’s throats. The bad news was that almost five minutes after arriving, they hadn’t made a move toward their desks, nor attempted to discuss the case. Perhaps they had discussed it on the way over and had nothing left to say. Perhaps they were busy thinking about it. It didn’t seem likely though. She decided it was time to announce her presence and cleared her throat. That got their attention almost immediately.

John was the first to move in her direction to speak, offering an outstretched hand. SSA Alexandra Cassidy? John Gardner—Special Agent John Gardner.

The others followed suit, with Gabriella bringing up the rear. They did their best to be polite and welcoming; they made a point to mention their designations. They all made eye contact and seemed confident.

Once the initial introductions were over, there was a momentary lull as they sized her up.

Patrick Valentino broke the silence. Call me Val. I’ve heard great things about you. Spotless record. Almost 100 percent case closure rate! Amazing.

Somehow, she had expected his voice to be smooth. He was tall, just over six feet. Classical good looks and clean-shaven, with short dark clean-cut hair. It was obvious he had the charm that she’d read about. He was wiry, but she guessed he was probably quite muscular, his well-fitted suit not quite managing to hide his physique. He probably worked out at least five times a week.

Before she could thank him, Don butted in, his smile ingratiating. Heard you’ve really been around. Odd that we didn’t run into you. We come from different places too. Don was short, blonde, and also muscular. His looks were average, and he lacked that easy confidence that Patrick seemed to possess. Don’s clothes had a rumpled look about them as if he’d slept in them for the past two days. A cheap suit, stained shirt, and poorly worn tie did not help his appearance any.

Alexandra managed to get a word in. Sorry, I’ve never been to California. Mostly back east, but I managed to miss DC. She looked pointedly at John. And New York, she added, nodding at Nancy.

Nancy looked at her shrewdly. Then you’ve read our files—and probably didn’t like what you read. Nancy was the best dressed of the bunch. She was wearing an expensive business suit, with a light but alluring perfume.

Way to go, genius! Gabriella said sarcastically. She had a deep, husky, come-hither voice that would have made Lauren Bacall proud. There’s nothing in our files…

"How would you know? Have you read my file?" Don asked suspiciously.

Nothing to hide in my file, Val said with a disarming smile, except of course how super special an agent I really am.

Gabriella turned on him. Where’s your suitcase, Val? The one you need for your ego?

Their bickering had started off good-natured but it was quickly descending into a verbal brawl. Alexandra put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. Loudly. It dawned on her that she’d almost forgotten she could do that. Everyone suddenly stopped speaking and turned toward her.

Does this office have a meeting room? With a monitor? I’d like to discuss the case.

Which one? asked Nancy.

The bank robbery, right? Don said, eager to please. When Alexandra nodded, he growled, But we just got back. And we have nothing…

Alexandra ignored him and stood up straight. The meeting room?

Nancy pointed and started walking in the same direction. This way.

Alexandra went back to her office and picked up the laptop then joined them in the meeting room.

A few minutes later, they were all settled in. Alexandra summarized what she knew about the case and asked the group, Now tell me something I don’t already know.

When Gabriella opened her mouth to speak, Val raised a warning hand and interjected, I think she means about the case, Gabriella. Gabriella closed her mouth.

Everyone was silent. As Alexandra expected. She persisted, All I have summarized thus far is the police account. What did you guys find out?

Val spoke up. The money taken was quite significant, much larger than what the bank usually carried.

While Alexandra already knew that, she had deliberately left it out of her summary. That seems right. She nodded approvingly. "Anything else? Anyone else?"

Gabriella grumbled, Why do I feel like I’m back in school?

Alexandra relented. Okay, if that’s all that we have, that’s all we have. So, what’s next?

It was Nancy’s turn. We should analyze the CCTV footage in and around the bank during the robbery and for the past couple of weeks. Maybe further back if required. We can see if we can trace the getaway car.. And look for the car at other locations. Send a BOLO, if we get that far. But it will take time.

Val prompted, We could canvas the neighboring establishments to see if anyone noticed anything.

Alexandra wondered why they hadn’t already done that.

As they fell silent again, she suggested, Has anyone looked at past robberies with a similar MO?

There is no real MO here, John pointed out. Nothing distinctive.

Then that’s the MO—nothing distinctive, Alexandra ruled categorically.

Don muttered, almost thinking aloud. What about the two getaway cars?

We won’t know that until we analyze the footage, Nancy chimed in. Or perhaps the canvassing.

Alexandra decided it was time to give them some work. Okay. John, please look for robberies across the state with a similar MO. Look at nearby states if you don’t find any and then nationwide. Patrick—I’m sorry—Val, Gabriella—please canvas the neighboring establishments—the ones that are still open. You can check the others in the morning. Nancy, Don—get the footage and begin your analysis. Nancy, look at the footage outside and Don, look at the bank’s footage.

Privately, she was surprised that they hadn’t already had a look and wondered what exactly they’d done when at the bank. They looked surprised, and it was evident from a petulant Gabriella’s complaining tone of voice, You’re taking charge then? From today? I thought—

Yes. Alexandra’s tone brooked no argument. Let’s get cracking.

Just then the door opened, and Mike stuck his head inside. Folks, need anything before I leave?

Alexandra was surprised. You still here? I thought you’d left.

Val flashed him a nasty smile. What could we possibly want from you, Mike?

Right. Mike seemed unfazed by Val’s insulting taunt. I could help transcribe your notes if you have any. I have this new software that has… He hesitated, then continued. Well, never mind. It can transcribe notes pretty quickly. He seemed to know that they weren’t interested in the technology and probably wouldn’t understand if he did try to explain.

The team smiled, all except Gabriella who seemed to be in a bad mood for some reason, but she spoke for the team when she said, Great! It’s on our desks.

Alexandra followed them outside and noticed they seemed to be in no hurry to follow her orders. Val and Gabriella had clearly overcome their earlier hostility toward each other as they were now huddled near the coffee machine, speaking in whispers. Or perhaps the hostility was the symptom of something deeper—maybe an attraction? Alexandra’s relationships were limited. She was too busy for a proper one. Once in a while, in a rare moment of self-indulgence, she found herself at singles bars. Even then, she was very picky about the man’s looks and the quality of the conversation. Immediately, a vision of Mike sprang in front of her eyes and she grimaced. This was no time for fantasizing.

Val, Gabriella. Now, if you don’t mind. We can’t afford to lose time on this…

They were interrupted by the shrill ringing of a telephone.

John was closest and picked up the call. He answered and looked up at Alexandra with surprise on his face.

Someone with a tip, he announced.

Put it on speaker, ordered Alexandra, and once he did, John prompted the caller to go ahead.

I saw the news, said the caller excitedly. I think I saw that SUV they described on the news speeding toward the warehouse district, tires screaming. Heading toward Lincoln. I wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t going so fast.

Did you get a license plate? Nancy prompted.

Sure did. He read it out, and Nancy nodded confirmation that it was the getaway car.

Thank you so much, Alexandra said gratefully. "John, get his contact information. Nancy, see if you can track down some traffic cams on Lincoln. See if you can spot the car and keep us posted. Val, Gabriella, Don, you’re with me. Which of you has the fastest car?

Val chimed in quickly before the others could volunteer, I’ll drive. My wheels are the quickest.

Gabriella piped in with a shotgun and they all filed out toward the parking garage.

Val hadn’t been exaggerating. He drove one of the sportiest SUVs on the market and somehow managed to make it look regulation FBI. It clearly wasn’t, except perhaps for its metallic-black paint job. Very few were issued, and those to senior agents only. Most of the general public assumed that all FBI agents were equipped with dark SUVs, but the reality was far different. Most of them had their own cars and not necessarily the fastest. So much for the influence of television. Alexandra sighed as she got in with the others.

Along the way, she felt a sense of excitement, along with the odd feeling that came from sitting in the back seat of a car when you were used to driving most of the time.

We’ll need SWAT, Gabriella suggested, the excitement clearly infectious.

Already on it. Alexandra noted that her tone was no longer strident. She also noted that everyone, except Don, seemed to be looking forward to the drive.

Nancy called in with an update that a van had pulled into a parking garage just after passing The Duce, one of the more sought-after eateries in that area. No other vehicles had been spotted, least of all the black SUV they were tracking. Alexandra was wondering what could have happened to the SUV when Nancy’s voice broke into her thoughts.

The van I saw going into the building matches the description of the second vehicle seen driving away from the bank. They must have had two cars! I’m sending you the details now.

Nancy also had a picture of the layout sent to them. Alexandra quickly counted the exits and outlined her plan to have the SWAT team surround the parking garage. Gabriella reported that SWAT was on its way and provided an ETA. Alexandra fitted a Bluetooth earphone into her ear, so she could be in constant contact with Nancy.

Alexandra ordered Val to reduce his speed as they approached the parking garage. Do we have any eyes inside, Nancy?

Trying to figure that out—let me see. They’re definitely still inside, boss.

Alexandra smiled—it was the first time she’d heard that title from a member of her new team. She had somehow guessed that Nancy would be the first to accept her. She wasn’t sure about who would be last though. It wasn’t that encouraging given that Nancy had only really called her boss in private.

SWAT was already there and awaiting instructions. Alexandra met with their team lead, Bruce Linklater.

Alexandra Cassidy, she said with an outstretched hand. My first day on the job here. And you must be Bruce Linklater.

What are we dealing with here? Got very little from Agent Daniels. And please call me Bruce.

Bruce was tall and looked reassuringly experienced.

Alexandra filled him in. There are four suspects, possibly more, in or near a van, dressed in black. They were originally in an SUV, but they must have switched vehicles at some stage. We don’t have eyes inside, so the first step is to figure out where they are. I’ll send in the car for a recon.

She gestured toward Val and Gabriella. The two of you go inside and look for the getaway car and see if you can spot them. Don, do a recon on foot near the exit. And please be careful. Don’t engage them, just report back. Do you have the extra comms we asked for, Bruce?

He nodded and motioned at one of his team members, who distributed the comms to Alexandra and her agents.

Nancy, are you still there? Do you have the CCTV in the garage yet?

Sorry, boss. It isn’t hooked up to the net. Can you get the SWAT team to hack into it locally?

Alexandra passed on Nancy’s suggestion to Bruce who agreed to look into it.

Can you get your team to the pedestrian exits? Alexandra asked, pointing to the map on her cell. I suggest that you have the remaining team on standby once Val spots the SUV.

Alexandra waited with Bruce near the entrance/exit of the parking garage; they took positions on each side with their guns drawn. She watched as the SWAT team made their way to the spots she’d outlined.

Val and Gabriella drove carefully through the garage but couldn’t spot the van on the ground floor level, which was practically empty. A floor-by-floor search of the multi-story garage revealed the van to be on the open-aired top floor.

It was the only vehicle in the lot, and they quickly realized why that particular spot had been chosen. The robbers now knew that the FBI was onto their location. Just as Gabriella reported back to Alexandra, shots rang out. Val quickly reversed their SUV into a safe position and got out of the car, drawing his weapons while Gabriella updated the SWAT team so they could join them. Val crouched so that he could see better and so did Gabriella. They spoke softly into their mouthpieces. What next?

Alexandra now wished she had asked for a chopper as well. Her eyes widened in amazement when she heard the sound of a chopper growing louder and louder as it approached their location.

Alexandra looked askance at Bruce, but he looked bewildered when a voice crackled through their headsets. This is Jenna PAZ-02. We are taking position due north of the van on the roof as ordered.

Bruce confirmed to Alexandra that it was a genuine call sign and that he thought he recognized the pilot’s voice.

Approach with extreme caution. Perpetrators are heavily armed. I repeat, perpetrators are heavily armed. Do you have a sniper on board?

Alexandra turned to Bruce. Time to communicate with our robbers.

More shots rang out as the robbers aimed at both Val’s position and the approaching helicopter. Taking two members of the SWAT team, Alexandra and Bruce quickly made their way to the roof using the elevator, which only reached the floor below the roof. They used the stairs to reach the top and took position behind the door after they jarred it open. Alexandra used the megaphone to shout out, FBI! You are surrounded. Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands in the air.

The robbers had stopped firing at this stage. Alexandra whispered to the helicopter pilot. Jenna! She couldn’t be bothered repeating the call sign. Firing some warning shots at the van may be a good encouragement for them. The sniper complied. His shots were accurate, hitting high on the roof of the van and low on the tires, serving the dual purpose of shaking up the robbers as well as making it impossible for them to attempt a getaway with the van.

The robbers slowly came out from behind the van with their hands up. The SWAT team was moving in, but Alexandra asked everyone to hold their positions.

Val heard footfalls behind him and Gabriella cry out. He quickly turned around, just in time to see a short man in overalls hit Gabriella over the head with the butt of his gun.

Before Val could react, the man had taken a swing at him. He narrowly missed Val’s head but managed to knock the gun out of his hand. Val lashed out with his hand, catching the man on his jaw. The assailant fell back but managed to hang on to his gun.

On the floor now, the assailant raised his gun and took aim. He had less than a second before the man could pull the trigger, but it was all Val needed. In the blink of an eye, his hand moved, sliding a knife smoothly into the man’s throat, noting with little satisfaction the surprised look on his face.

He looked on unemotionally as blood spurted out of the assailant’s throat and mouth and heard a gurgling sound before the assailant died. Val checked for a pulse just to be sure and shook his head at Gabriella. He thought about removing the knife and ruefully realized that he would have to wait for the FBI’s Evidence Recovery Team.

Are you OK? he asked Gabriella, who smiled weakly. I’m fine. True to form, she added with her customary belligerence, And now you expect me to thank you, don’t you?

He smiled and shook his head.

Alexandra spoke into her headset and ordered the SWAT team to move in. Gather as much evidence as you can once you have the robbers in custody. Cash, guns, anything else you can find.

Alexandra watched as Bruce coordinated their moving in and apprehending the robbers. They were silent as they were handcuffed and read their rights. Not too encouraging, mused Alexandra. They had sullen faces, all with thin, dark scraggly beards. They clearly hadn’t taken the trouble to shave for days. Their eyes were defiant, rather than composed, which meant that they weren’t as professional as she had originally thought. Some hope, then. It was a pity that they’d lost the man in the overalls, but it couldn’t have been helped.

She turned to Gabriella solicitously. How’s your head? Better get it checked.

She was surprised by Gabriella’s quick nod, but Val shook his head cynically. He looked sternly at Gabriella, then addressed Alexandra. She doesn’t mean it. I’ll make sure she gets medical attention.

Gabriella glared at him.

Alexandra, glancing at the man in the overalls, said, Impressive with the knife, I see. Not regulation, is it? What happened to your gun?

Val responded to the approval in her tone, rather than her words, and grinned. He surprised me and knocked my gun out of my hand. As to the knife, I spent some of my dissolute youth in the circus, boss. He was clearly joking about the circus, but his tone was warm. His self-deprecating humor was a façade for a sober professionalism. At least he had acknowledged her as his leader.

Two down, three to go. She hadn’t realized that she’d spoken the words aloud until Val questioned, Say what? She ignored him.

Alexandra now turned her full attention to the dead man and searched his pockets. She found a bunch of keys; one of them seemed to be a car fob. She carefully placed it in an evidence bag.

I wonder who he is. Let’s see if the others know. Guys, let’s regroup at the office. She turned to Bruce and thanked him. Please convey my thanks to the team. Let me know what you find from the chopper pilot—I don’t know who called for them. I’d also like the local black-and-whites to canvas the neighborhood. We need to find the SUV. She handed Bruce the evidence bag. Here are the keys that go with the car.

Bruce nodded. We found the cash in the van. My team will bag it. I assume that you can take it with you? The prisoners will come with us—more secure that way.

Alexandra smiled her answer, shook his hand, and joined the team in Val’s car. She found Gabriella and Val waiting for her, but no sign of Don. Before she could ask, Val volunteered, Don’s with the SWAT team collecting the cash and guns. He doesn’t trust them. He grinned as he spoke those last words. I’ve asked for ERT to come over. The medic for Gabriella will meet us at the office.

As they drove back, Alexandra was lost in thought with more questions than answers. Who was the man in overalls? Where had he come from? For that matter, where had the helicopter come from? Why did the anonymous tipper lie about the vehicle approaching Lincoln Street—or had he? He could not have known about the second vehicle, as it hadn’t been reported on the news. Why did the robbers go to the roof so quickly? They’d obviously had time to exit the building. And the sixty-four-million-dollar question: How had the robbers known about the extra money in the vault? She was sure that there would be more questions later but hoped they’d find some answers.

Mike walked into his sanctum sanctorum, a dimly lit room with very little furniture, save the rows of cabinets on one side of the room. There was a small desk and chair to one side, but two walls were almost completely covered with monitors of varying sizes. The biggest of them sat just above the desk like a wall-mounted TV. Each screen was providing information of some sort. There was a feed that translated 911 calls, another that provided active case histories from various precincts, and yet another that provided video feeds from news reports. Some monitors were blank, including the large screen above the desk. This last screen came to life as Mike sat down, displaying the case history and information relating to the bank robbery from earlier that day. Mike looked at the screen, looking intently at the row of photos and the criminal records of the robbers just apprehended by Alexandra and her latest team.

Good evening, Aisha.

"Good evening, Michael." A casual observer would not have been able to discern the origin of the voice. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. There were no speakers on the walls. There was no one else in the room. The same observer would have concluded that this greeting had a faint trace of a British accent, and definitely female.

Congratulations, Aisha, on your first successful case.

"Thank you, Michael. However, the case is not concluded. There are several unknowns that could have jeopardized the safety of the team. I thought their safety was our first priority."

Let’s review these surprises. Mike began writing a list on a tablet on the desk, which was appearing as though by magic on the screen in front of him, transformed into a computer font. We need to ensure we don’t make the same mistakes next time round. Why don’t we start with the tip? You picked the wrong vehicle. The tipster described the SUV instead of the van.

"I had no choice in the matter, came the prompt reply. In fact, it was deliberate. The newsreader described only the SUV—how could the tipster have known about the van? It was not mentioned in the broadcast."

We need to figure out how to handle that one. Alexandra will have questions. I have some ideas—let me know what you think. Mike was making more notes about possible solutions. Do we know the whereabouts of the SUV?

"Absolutely, Michael. It is not too far from the parking garage." Text describing the location as well as a small map appeared on the large screen in an empty corner.

Great! That’s a relief. I’m assuming that the fifth member of the crew was the maintenance man. And I see that we have an ID as well. How did we get their prints so quickly? Mike had finished his scribbling now and leaned back in his plush executive chair. On close inspection, the chair had a remote mouse built into one of the arms and a trackpad on the other.

"Special Agent Lambowitz downloaded their fingerprints using the handheld scanner you gave him last week. Your assumption regarding the driver of the SUV is correct. It was the maintenance man from the bank. I used facial recognition from the CCTV footage inside the bank before the cameras were shot out. He had visited the bank earlier on two separate occasions over the past nine weeks along with another member of the crew—the only one who spoke during the robbery."

Mike went down his list of worries. How do we explain the sirens that the robbers heard when they reached the parking garage?

"I made a 911 call resulting in black-and-whites with loud sirens for a crime reported at The Duce. I checked The Duce footage. There was a drunken brawl that would qualify. If they check, they will find that the call came from a nearby payphone."

A drunken brawl, hmm? Lucky again. Get Don to figure that one out. Should be easy. Wasn’t he the one tasked with reviewing the outside footage? Or was it Nancy? I don’t care—both of them are capable of tracking the call. He paused for a moment, mentally assembling his thoughts. Is there anything we don’t know that we should investigate?

"Yes. An armored car delivered a large cash consignment to the bank yesterday. Even with their reconnaissance, the robbers would not have known about it unless they had inside information. The timing of the robbery was decided weeks ago. I have that on tape for your review whenever you are ready."

Mike retorted, I remember the tape. I don’t need to hear it again. Have you been able to track the reason for the consignment?

"No, responded Aisha. Bank records indicate that the request came through normal channels and it seems to be linked to a few requests from customers to keep cash available for over-the-counter dispensing. However, the probability is only 23 percent. I could not find definitive records."

Mike was unperturbed. No worries. I’m pretty sure Alexandra will be wondering the exact same thing and will find out. Somehow. Getting back to the SUV, which of my ideas make sense?

"None of them. They are all illogical."

Do you have any ideas? asked Mike hopefully.

"None at all. However, human behavior suggests that the team will come up with an idea of their own. Once this is known, we can provide some substantiating evidence."

Mike wasn’t sure if he agreed with Aisha. It did make sense though. He had to give it a shot. There was just one last loose end.

We need to explain the appearance of the helicopter.

Aisha answered helpfully, "No need for that. Actually, I got Nancy to make the call. I used the TV—helicopter footage—and flashed the helicopter option when Special Agent Daniels was booking SWAT."

Mike never ceased to be amazed by the power of suggestion. It also helped that Nancy was always trying to prove herself, a regular Girl Scout. Is the ERT still at the bank?

"Yes. Michael, there has just been one more development. The bank manager is missing. You asked me to track him. His cell phone went offline this evening. I have the address where it went offline. He was still in his car. His car does not have a tracking device."

This was Mike’s cue to leave.

He reached the bank fairly quickly, having taken a few minutes to change into an appropriate outfit. He parked as close to the ERT van as possible without being noticed but close enough so he could blend in with the rest of them. He waited for the right opportunity, watching carefully and evaluating the surroundings. The ERT was busy going in and out of the bank as they gathered and carried back evidence. A technician was waiting in the van, tagging evidence as it was brought in. This was not strictly textbook, but each team had their own variations of standard operating procedures. He could use this to his advantage. More importantly, they were all dressed as he was, and this would allow him entry into the bank. He wasn’t worried about the curious onlookers well behind the