Hack, page 4
“Okay,” the cop said hesitantly. “Make sure you do. Lucky for you, I’m officially off duty or I’d write you up.”
Officer Ward continued his inspection of the van and rounded the side of the vehicle just as Nukowski struggled to open the passenger’s door, a steaming cup of coffee balanced in one hand, the sack of groceries in the other.
“Here, let me get that for you,” the officer volunteered, and reached in front of Nukowski, grabbed the handle, and popped open the door.
Under the glare of the truck stop’s bright lights, Nukowski’s store of weapons was clearly visible, and when he turned his head to eye the cop, he saw a look of panic on the man’s face.
Chapter 8
December 16, Truck Stop in Indiana
Indiana State Trooper Clint Ward rocked back on his heels, and his right hand instinctively went to his holstered sidearm. But before he could unsnap the leather strap and draw his service revolver, Nukowski doused him in the face with the scalding coffee. The cop screamed in pain and threw his arms up reflexively, like a boxer trying to shield himself from more blows.
Nukowski dropped the bag of groceries on the ground, stepped around the open door, reached in the cabin, withdrew the Smith and Wesson .500 Magnum, and shot the cop once under his upraised arms through the heart.
It happened so fast that Cooley was still carrying on his end of the conversation about the van with the officer when the violent concussion from the world’s most powerful production revolver jellied his knees. Cooley looked up to see Nukowski long-striding back toward the convenience store. Nukowski was halfway there, the silver-plated handgun with the eight-inch barrel dangling at his side like an executioner’s sword, when he spun around and yelled at Cooley to put the cop’s body in his cruiser.
Cooley slowly crab-crawled around to the front of the van. The dead cop was lying on the ground, hands thrown behind his head like he was leaning back in a chair, walleyes staring off into the distance, a fist-size hole in his chest, crimson fingers spreading across his shirt and under his badge. Cooley gagged, and bile flooded his mouth. He rolled halfway under the van and vomited. He was still lying there in his own puke when the second gunshot shook the windows inside the store.
_______________
After he killed the cop, Nukowski entered the convenience store and shot the clerk in the back of the head as she desperately tried to unlock the door to a little office next to the cleaning supply closet in the rear of the building. Nukowski stepped over her body and pushed open the office door and put two rounds into a Dell tower server tucked under a metal desk, guessing that’s where video from the security system was stored. He fired his last shot into the security camera mounted over the store’s double doors for good measure as he exited.
Cooley was staggering to his feet when Nukowski appeared at his side.
“You’re as useless as teats on a boar, Cooley,” Nukowski said and pushed past him.
Nukowski grabbed Officer Ward by the coat collar and dragged his body to the police cruiser and stuffed it into the back seat. Before closing the door, he unsnapped the two-way radio from the cop’s belt and tucked it into his waistband.
Cooley had climbed back into the van and was sitting in the driver’s seat when Nukowski opened the passenger door and tossed the gun and handheld radio inside.
“Drive,” Nukowski ordered.
“Nuky,” Cooley began to say.
“Shut your face, Cooley, and drive, or I’ll shut it permanently. And don’t stop until we hit Michigan,” Nukowski said in a low, menacing growl.
An hour after the pair fled the truck stop, the first report came over the radio that a trooper and a civilian had been found shot to death. Nukowski ordered Cooley to avoid the interstate and cling to blue highways as they steered a course for the far western regions of Michigan.
Rain fell nonstop, and the farther north they drove, the colder it got. The rain eventually turned to sleety snow, and the roadway was blanketed with an icy sheen. Even the slightest bend in the road sent the van’s worn tires into a fishtail, and Cooley fought to keep the vehicle centered in his lane. The van’s heater had stopped working altogether, and Cooley was forced to use a credit card to scrape frost off the inside of the windshield.
Cooley’s attempts to strike up a conversation with his accomplice went nowhere. “Please, Nuky, I gotta stop and get something to drink,” he pleaded. “My throat is parched.”
“Swallow your spit,” Nukowski said.
“I don’t have enough spit to lick a stamp,” Cooley whined.
Alerts about the killings continued to spill from the radio, and three hours after the shooting, a bulletin was broadcast for law enforcement to be on the lookout for an older-model, light-green van that a passing motorist had seen exiting the highway at the Fuel King truck stop around the time of the shootings.
“Fuck,” Nukowski croaked.
“Jesus, Nuky, you think they made us?” Cooley asked.
“Shut up and let me think,” Nukowski said.
When they were fifty miles inside the Michigan state line, Nukowski bolted upright and instructed Cooley to take the Three Rivers exit.
“We need to lay low for a few days, Cooley, ditch this van and get us a new set of wheels,” he said. “And I know just the person to help us.”
Chapter 9
December 16, Washington, DC
Nik was headed across town on Wisconsin Avenue to Newshound’s offices when his phone’s screen lit up with an incoming call from the Northern Virginia County Sheriff’s Department.
“Sheriff Korum,” Nik started right in when he answered his phone. “I owe you big-time. Your instincts about Trident were spot-on. It looked like a fricking military exercise when I got over there last night.”
“How interesting,” a young, raspy female voice said. “Do tell.”
It was Samantha Whyte, Korum’s investigator.
“Sam, is that you?” Nik said. “I thought you were the sheriff.”
“Disappointed?” Sam asked.
“No, I just . . . well, never mind,” Nik said, caught off guard, fumbling for a clever riposte and regretting that he might have already revealed too much to the former Washington Post reporter. He wanted to cut this conversation short. “I have another call coming in,” he fibbed. “Can you ask the sheriff to contact me when he’s available?”
“Let it go to voice mail,” Sam said. “Sheriff Korum’s in budget meetings all day and asked me to return your message. You were a busy boy last night, Nik. I hear your story lit a fire under the ass of the reporters at the Post, so to speak,” she said.
“It’s probably nothing,” Nik said, trying to downplay the story. “At least, that’s what my editor told me when he chewed me out this morning.”
“‘Li’l Dick’ Whetstone?” Sam said. “What the hell does he know about news?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, I know of him,” Sam said. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to journalism.”
“Yup, that’s him,” Nik said.
“What a douchebag,” Sam said.
Nik chuckled. “Pretty much.”
“Listen, Nik,” Sam said, her voice turning more steely as she steered the conversation toward a touchy subject between the two of them, “we need to clear the air. I get the sense you still don’t fully trust me and blame me for leaking your investigation into county bid-rigging to the Post.”
“I’m shocked you would feel that way,” Nik said sarcastically. “It only took me months of filing Freedom of Information requests and threats from our lawyers to pry those documents out of the county, but somehow they miraculously fell into the Post’s lap the day after I let it slip in the sheriff’s office what I was working on.”
“I swear to God it wasn’t me,” Sam said defensively.
Nik and Sam had already gone several rounds about the leak to the Post in the past, and he didn’t want to slug it out again.
“Okay,” he said, “I believe you. Feel better?”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right, I don’t, but we’re not going to get anywhere arguing about it for the umpteenth time. Let’s just agree to disagree,” Nik said.
“You know I’d be well within my rights to tell you to go fuck yourself, Byron,” Sam said testily.
Nik laughed out loud.
“What’s so goddamned funny?” Sam demanded.
“Oh, nothing,” Nik said. “Just the last person to tell me that was my ex-wife, and, truly, she was well within her rights.”
“Hmm, sounds like domestic bliss,” Sam said mockingly.
“Not even close. For the most part, it was a rock fight. You know how it is,” Nik said.
“I’m sure I don’t,” Sam said. “My sympathies to the lady.”
“Easy for you to say, you didn’t have to live with her,” Nik said.
“Nik, there’s not enough time in the day for us to relitigate old battles.”
“Agreed, and it’s been my experience that those discussions are much more productive over a drink anyhow,” Nik said, more in the way of a suggestion than a passing comment.
Sam ignored the overture and said, “The reason the sheriff asked me to call is to pass along some information about the explosion. Our department has been asked to supply support to the investigation.”
“Hold on,” Nik said. “I need to pull over.” He wheeled into a parking lot of the Giant grocery store chain and parked. He retrieved a notebook and pen from his shoulder bag and twisted the top off his coffee mug to let the liquid cool while he took notes. “Okay, go ahead,” he said.
“Investigators have pulled video from a security camera mounted across the street from Trident. It’s low-res, grainy, and shot from a long distance. There’s one straight-on view and one side shot. Not ideal,” Sam told Nik.
“Why from across the office park? Doesn’t Trident have its own security cameras?” Nik asked.
“They do, but all the feeds went to servers sitting in the building that was destroyed in the explosion, and there’s no backup to the cloud,” Sam said.
“So what’s this crappy video show?” Nik asked.
Sam said, “An old, beat-up, faded-green van, like a repairman would drive, exiting the office park late Sunday afternoon before the explosion. The van’s got a couple signs on the doors, and you can definitely see two figures inside.”
“When did the van enter Trident?”
“Unknown. It’s not a fixed-position camera; it rotates, and it’s not always trained on Trident’s entrance. It was just by luck that it was aimed in that direction when the van exited. Investigators checked with tenants and maintenance crew, and no one claims to have had a repair scheduled for Sunday.”
“Is there a clear view of the passengers?” Nik said.
“Not really. Outlines mostly. Appears to be two men. Technicians are working to enhance the video. And, who knows, it might be just what it appears to be, a repairman’s van.”
“Understood.”
“A couple other things,” Sam said.
“I’m listening.”
“The video also shows Cal Walker’s car entering Trident and driving into the parking garage at the same time the van exited. There’s no video of him leaving. I thought you’d want to know, given the stories you’ve written about his fight with the government.”
“Thanks,” Nik said.
“Okay, here’s the other thing,” Sam said. “Investigators think someone may have tampered with the gas line that runs to the office park’s backup generator that it relies on in case there’s a power failure.”
“So, not an industrial accident, then?” Nik said.
“Maybe not. Too soon to say. I should know more later today,” Sam said.
Nik was scribbling hurriedly in his notes. “If that turns out to be the case, those people who died were murdered,” Nik said.
“That’s correct,” Sam said.
“Besides the guys in the van, are they looking at any other possible suspects?” Nik asked.
“Feds are focusing on radical privacy groups, antifa, and a handful of lower-level militia outfits. They’ve assembled a terrorist task force.”
“Any foreign terrorist connections?” Nik inquired.
“None that I’m aware of so far, but the feds aren’t sharing everything with local law enforcement. I wouldn’t be surprised if federal agents aren’t kicking doors down and busting heads as we speak,” Sam said.
“Really?” Nik said.
“No, of course not. I just said that to see if you were paying attention.”
“So, how much of this useable?” Nik asked.
“It’s all useable,” Sam answered, “but none of it attributable. Proceed with caution, Nik. Things are fluid and could change in one helluva hurry.”
“I need to hop on this story before they do,” Nik said.
“Any more questions before you go?” Sam asked.
“Just two.”
“Shoot.”
“You talking to any other reporters?”
“Nope. The sheriff was clear. You have an exclusive. Next question?”
Nik hesitated. “What about that drink?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“That’s my job,” Nik reminded her.
Sam laughed. “Tell you what, call me next week. We’ll talk about it then,” she said and ended the conversation.
Chapter 10
December 16/17, Washington, DC
Nik sped back to Newshound’s offices and put in a couple quick calls to the FBI, Homeland Security, and the District of Columbia’s Special Investigative Unit. He asked spokespeople at the separate agencies the same basic four questions: Was the gas line tampered with? Were they able to pull any useable information from the video? Were the men in the van suspects? Did they have any other leads?
The FBI and Homeland Security issued blanket “no comment”s. The DC spokesperson referred Nik to Corletta Ramsey, a lieutenant detective who was heading up the District’s investigation.
“I hate the press,” Ramsey proclaimed even before Nik could say hello. “Furthermore, I don’t trust you people. You don’t get shit right.”
“Mornin’, Detective,” Nik countered. “I was hoping to take just a minute of your time.”
“But as much as I despise the media, I hate those government spooks runnin’ around all over the place out at Trident even more. The first word out of their mouths when they were babies was a lie, and they only got better at lyin’ over time,” the detective said.
“Un-huh,” Nik uttered. He thought about asking a question but decided to keep quiet and see where this conversation was headed.
“The only reason I took your call is ’cause I know Mo,” Ramsey said. “We lift together over at the Y, and he’s mentioned your name a time or two.”
Of course, Nik thought, Mo. That figures.
“I’ll give you what I can about the explosion,” Ramsey continued, “but it’s not for attribution, and you need to get another source to confirm it before you publish. It can’t be traced back to me, understood?”
“Understood,” Nik said.
“And Lord help you if you burn me.”
“You have my word,” he said and started composing a rough outline of the list of sources he would need to contact.
Nik worked the phones around the clock and, thirty-six hours later, published his second Trident story.
______________
Investigators Open Two-Pronged Probe into Trident Blast
Evidence of Tampering
Hunt Underway for Older-Model Van
Blast Claims Four Lives
By Nik Byron
Newshound Deputy Editor
Authorities combing through the Trident Office Park blast site have uncovered evidence that a gas pipeline at the complex was tampered with prior to the explosion, Newshound has learned.
Meanwhile, four blast victims have now died as a result of their injuries, and a half dozen others still remain hospitalized, according to a Georgetown University Hospital spokeswoman.
Sources tell Newshound that search crews recovered a large section of a metal coupling that once joined the gas pipeline to an industrial generator the office park used as a backup power source in the event of an electrical failure. Trident relies mostly on alternative energy for its operations.
The section of coupling that investigators retrieved appears to have been scored with a series of small drill taps, possibly suggesting another device was attached to the pipeline, sources said.
Authorities have sent the metal fragment to a lab in Maryland for analysis, but one law enforcement individual close to the investigation who requested anonymity said, “It’s pretty clear a foreign object was affixed to that pipeline, and that foreign object was likely an incendiary device.”
A joint task force consisting of the FBI, Homeland Security, and the District of Columbia’s Special Investigative Unit has been placed in charge of the Trident investigation. A task force spokesperson refused to comment on the probe.
While field investigators continue to hunt for clues in the wreckage, authorities have also launched a search for an older-model light-green van seen exiting the office park shortly before the blast occurred. A video from a surveillance camera across the street from the office park shows what appear to be two men inside the van, which was described as a “typical repairman’s vehicle.”
The video footage is low resolution and grainy, but investigators are working to enhance the quality.
The video also reportedly shows OmniSoft Corporation CEO Cal Walker driving his car into the parking garage of Building 8 just prior to the blast. OmniSoft’s office building was destroyed by the explosion, and Walker, who has accused the federal government of intellectual property theft, has not been heard from since Sunday night.
