Page 72 of Fear of Flames
“Spying?” Michelle asked.
“Yeah. The world today makes it a lot easier than it was when the agency was founded over fifty years ago. Today our geeks” —he smiled— “it’s what those of us who do the legwork call the techies. They can literally watch a person of interest twenty-four hours a day. Hacking into home surveillance, doorbell cams, street cams, traffic cams, business security…the list goes on and on. People today don’t realize how much of their life is being watched and heard.”
“I want to watch Sheriff Perkins.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Senator Patrick Lehman turned up the volume on the television in his hotel room. The press conference from Nova Scotia was live, interrupting the usual Sunday morning news shows. The assistant commissioner and commanding officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police—Canada’s national law enforcement equivalent to the United States FBI—was speaking from a podium.
“Fuck,” Rick mumbled under his breath. The scrolling words on the bottom of the screen read—Breaking News, Timothy Wells found alive. Yacht seized. People of interest in custody. Ongoing investigation.
He mumbled the expletive again. If the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were involved, then so were the FBI.
How had this gotten out of control?
It was the alarm in Iron Falls. Rick knew at the time that the alarm was bad. He’d taken care of the problem. Perkins admitted they got the right guy. Upon further investigation there was a shed on the property. The door was locked and sturdier than it appeared. The sheriff broke one of the blackened windows and found the interior transformed, equipped with top-notch technology. Of course, when the incompetent sheriff went back to collect the equipment with his deputies, the shed was cleaned out.
That meant Holdcraft wasn’t working alone.
Thanks to some damn true-crime podcast, the two separate fires at two homes a thousand miles apart were getting national attention. He couldn’t figure out why Perkins’s man caused such a scene. That wasn’t what Rick wanted. It sure as hell wasn’t what the investors wanted.
To top it all off, yesterday, Indiana’s attorney general announced she was calling for a grand jury to assess evidence that Holdcraft’s daughter was responsible for her father’s death and the explosion in Indianapolis.
Perkins let this situation get out of control.
One problem solved wasn’t supposed to create ten more.
The investors had a lucrative operation trafficking children around the world. The primary customers were in Russia, where people paid exceptionally well. Russia’s birth rate had reached an unsustainable replacement level. While the world wasn’t privy to the actual statistic, a recent report from National Bureau of Asian Research stated that the fertility rate was down to 1.4 from the 2.1 needed for population stability.
In other words, wealthy oligarchs wanted children of all ages. Anglo-Saxon children were in high demand, the younger the better. There were on average two children shipped overseas per day. It was the high-profile kidnappings that were to blame for part of this disaster.
Rick sat on the edge of the king-sized mattress and listened to the broadcast. The assistant commissioner was speaking.
“…believe that Timothy Wells wasn’t an isolated case. Our investigation is underway.”
A reporter shouted a question. “Do you think other disappearances can be connected to the Wells case?”
The commanding officer gripped the sides of the podium. “We do.”
“What proof do you have?” another reporter asked.
“Due to the status of the investigation?—”
“Fuck,” Rick mumbled. He’d be hearing from the people higher up, the people who supplied the money, planes, yachts, and more. Rick didn’t have that kind of money, but this operation was increasing his wealth a hell of a lot faster than his congressional paycheck. Rick was only a cog in the operation. His job was to provide cover in the New England area. He had counterparts throughout the country.
Rick scoured New England for the right people.
Utilizing the state’s resources, Rick acquired demographic statistics. Income-to-debt ratio was particularly helpful. Take Ralph Perkins, for instance. He lost his wife about five years back after her bout with cancer. The wife’s treatment drained their savings and put them underwater in debt. A man in that position was usually willing to make money on the side. Rick had both law enforcement and laypeople throughout New England on his payroll.
If the Timothy Wells case or whoever Holdcraft was working with brought more attention to the operation, Rick knew the damn liberal governor would call it terrorism. Then he’d get the feds involved. Rick needed to stop the bleeding before it became terminal.
He sent a text message to his man in charge of quotas.
* * *
“Quotas still present. Let this news cycle die. Concentrate on plan B. No plan A until further notice.”
