The Wheel Spins Forward

As promised, I said I was going to post 2 parts. Well, here’s the second, so enjoy! I’ll keep posting as fast as I can to eliminate the backlog and keep it current…

Part 19 – Unexpected Sources

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The doorbell jingled urgently as Hide yelled “Coming!”, pulling on a pair of shorts over his lower body. He’d just emerged from the toilet when the bell started chiming. Whoever the heck was it? The door opened to reveal a top-bare Hide, whose beer belly was beginning to show. He scratched at his chest and looked at his visitor. It took a moment before he recognized her. 

“Cousin Carrie! What brings you here?” *** 

The Mastermind rolled over on her comfortable four-poster bed. Morris had been a good boy, pleasuring her in ways her husband could not, and also allowing her to exercise her feminine power over him. But still, he was just a toyboy. The millions came from her husband, and her ambitions depended on that. He was overseas at the moment, so she enjoyed the comfort of the superior spring mattress and feather duvet alone. The air-conditioning was tuned to be in sync with external weather conditions, to provide maximum comfort levels. She sighed with pleasure, and decided that she needed company. 

Fumbling in the dark night for the light switch, she found it and clicked it ‘on’. Judy Lee stood there, arms akimbo, just staring. 

*** Craig could no longer focus on the pictures and Koo had nodded off half an hour ago. It was 3am. ASP Joy Lee had also gone to her office, where she had stowed a safari bed, when told that processing and analysis results would only be available in the morning. 

He nudged Koo awake. “Hrmflrz..?” 

“It’s 3, let’s go.” “Ok.” 

Craig led the way, and took the wheel. Seeing that Koo was in no condition to drive back to camp, he offered the use of his spare room and some clothes, which the sergeant gratefully accepted. Carrie, meanwhile, nursed a beer while Hide fiddled with the circuit boards, trying to spark them to life and retrieve information from the ROM chips. His house was surprisingly neater than she remembered, but it still smelt of beer and stale cigarettes. 

“You finally bothered to clean up, eh?” “Well, actually a chick helped me.” 

“Oh, so somebody has a girl friend!” “Nah. Just friends.” 

“Just friends and she helps to clean your godawful house?” “And cook for me too.” 

“Wow, someone’s getting married soon ah..” “In my dreams, yes.” 

“Seriously, who’s this unlucky girl?” “Don’t be an ass. I’m not all that horrible. She’s this girl I met online, we share similar interests but she has a talent for cooking and she prefers clean houses to dirty ones.” 

“Lucky you, unlucky her.” Hide poked his cousin playfully in the ribs, and soldered into the circuit a resistor and capacitor. Then he connected the headings to a data cable, which ran to his experimental supercomputer, one he built with RISC processors salvaged from the Pentium Pro era. 

A little LED on the damaged board began to blink, and screen displays indicated that data transfer was in progress. “You da man, cousin Hide!” 

“Aw, shucks, its nothing.” Hide activated the data descrambler, a program he wrote himself, to transcribe the binary code extracted from the damaged circuit board. Then he printed a cleartext copy, and passed it to Carrie. 

“Here. This mean anything to you?” data descrambler v1.0 by Hideki MatsumotoDate generated: Jun 07, 2009 03:12:34am 

ROM manufacturer: Samdisk T/W LtdModel: SN-4408-PDate Mfg: Aug 21, 2008 Imei: 2748931004573301Processor Model: Nokio J25Date Mfg: Aug 25, 2008Facility: Svensig, Norverge 

Usage data storedLast outgoing call: NoneLast incoming call: NoneLast missed call: 9758*^&1, 31-05-2009, 11.45pm Service ProviderLMSP: StarTelSIM Card No: 4%33MST0)( Mobile Number: 811&5#!0 

##%$@!)*&&*({:><?|__+!~_+)#)_*&#$%^@!~{}”>?<>?</,.,/’[]=0110001010101 End of data 

Carrie carefully scruitinized the data generated by Hide while he worked the second chipset. “What do all the symbols mean?” 

“Oh, those symbols mean the data cannot be successfully decrypted. Sorry, the program’s still a little buggy.” “Sorry? You’re great! Thanks, Hide! Ever considered joining the force?” 

“Nah. Hate the regimented life. Rather freelance.” Just then, an icon flashed on the screen. “You have new mail.” 

Hide handed Carrie a second printout while he read the message. “Home. Thanks for your company. Hope u liked the food. Do it again tmr or day after. – J” 

He hit reply and his fingers glazed over the keyboard as he typed a return message: “Anytime. Anytime. Tmr, definitely.” 

Carrie was busy looking at the printouts and paid no attention to his little online email romance. *** 

“So, tell me. What’s this about that police superintendent and her being your daughter?” The Mastermind wondered how in the world Judy Lee managed to get into the house undetected. Probably it was the heavy rain. Or the training. 

“She’s an assistant superintendent. With the police. She’s my daughter. You two look alike. Do the math, Judy.” Judy Lee looked in horror at the Mastermind. 

“You’re…my…” “Yes. I didn’t think it would come out so soon, but you have a twin. Who happens to be a police officer. And is investigating the cases. Of course, knowing how they work helps me in my planning. And hopefully with you girls being more meticulous than boys, nothing will be traced back to any of us.” 

“All these years I thought…” “I had to, Judy. Your father consulted a fengshui master, who thought you were a jinx. I didn’t want to get rid of you, but I couldn’t leave your father either.” 

“So you used me…” “Well, if you consider how well I’ve treated you, no I haven’t.” 

Judy Lee had been trained to be calm in all situations, but this was way over her head. The truth was too much to bear. She started to tear. 

“Now, now, Judy. We still have a job to do. And then, you’ll probably be able to come back to the family.” *** 

Koo woke first, at 6.45am, just as the day was dawning. He found himself in an unfamiliar place and remembered that he had been too tired to drive home the night before. Lieutenant Craig had been nice enough to offer him a bed and some clothes, and a towel was placed on the top of the side table. He ventured out into the dark kitchen, where his uniform had been hung out by Craig, who was still in bed. He went into the bathroom and took a cold shower, the water relaxing and preparing him for a new day. 

The dailies had arrived, and splashed all over the front page were pictures and articles of the previous day’s blast at City Centre. However, that was not the only bad news. Panic selling had caused the market to dip nearly 25% and the finance minister was appealing for calm. Koo shook his head at the despondent news, and turned the pages while waiting for Craig to rise. The phone rang shrilly, waking Joy Lee from her deep slumber. Sitting up and reaching over for the cordless handset, she fumbled with it for a while before finally pressing the answer button. 

“Yes?” “ASP Lee? It’s the duty officer of the CMC.” 

Her eyes opened wide. “Something happen again?” 

“No, mam. Just that you requested a morning call last night, when any new data arrived.” “Ok. I’ll wash up and be right there.” 

The analog hands on her trusty Timex watch read 6.48am. It was going to be another long day. Folding up the safari bed and storing it behind the door, she reached into the desk drawers and fished out facial foam and a toothbrush. 

The rising sun shone directly into the window and onto Craig’s eyes. He awoke sleepily, and looked at the radio clock. 7.25am. Reasonable. 

He pulled himself out from under the covers and walked out into the living room to find Koo reading the newspaper. “Morning, sir.” 

“Hey. In these circumstances, not sir. Craig.” “Yes sir, I mean, Craig.” 

“That’s better. I’ll turn on the coffeemaker. Help yourself. I’m going to shower, then we can go. Anyway your uniform’s dry. It does smell a little. Never mind, we can always go back to camp for you to get a clean set.”  “How bout this, sir, I mean, Craig? I’ll go back now, get changed, and come pick you up.” “Sounds good too. The keys are on the rack beside the door.”

(To Be Continued…)

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Don’t stop reading, and don’t stop checking. It still has a lot of life yet!

 

The ‘Legend’ continues…

Yes, I’m still here. Just been lazy and using all my excess time to do other things other than post. So well, as a little reward, I think I’ll post two chapters in two days, so keep reading!

Part 18 – Critical Evidence

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Dinner was Pork chops, steamed broccoli, baby carrots, boiled peas, cream of mushroom, mashed potatoes and  french fries. Hide’s eyes bulged at the feast on offer, as Jane beamed widely at him. 

“Looks good, but I dunno if it tastes as good.” 

Hide spooned soup into his mouth, dripping some on the table. 

“Mmmm…” 

Jane looked anxiously at him. 

“Creamy. Tasty. Wonderful!” 

“Try the rest.” 

One by one, Hide tasted the various items put in front of him. 

“My verdict: Yum!” 

Jane slapped him playfully as she untied the apron from around her waist, dropping it on the chair beside, and joined in. Hide showed incredible restraint, as compared to the previous time she cooked. He didn’t want to look like a slob. But the food was simply too good, and Jane was turning out to be too good to be true. 

Inside the room, the password sniffer had done its job. The screen flashed “Access Granted” even as Hide was helping himself to a second plate of pork chops and mashed potatoes. 

*** 

Carrie emerged from the tunnels, into the artificially lighted surface of the disaster area. The injured had all been cared for, but dead bodies still lined some of the streets, covered with white sheets and guarded by army medics who looked fresh out of school. Elsewhere, the engineers had erected a temporary medical tent and a command post. She soaked all this in as she walked slowly to the beat up Ford, peeling off the mask and gloves she had been wearing all the time she had been underground. 

The next shift had arrived to take over, and she had to return to the station to help with the analysis of the evidence collected. Fishing for the keys, she unlocked the car and inserted the key into the ignition.It took a few tries before the engine caught. But as she shifted into first gear and released the clutch, the car coughed, sputtered and the engine died. 

Cursing silently under her breath, she turned the ignition key again. But although the starter whined and wheezed, the engine wouldn’t catch. 

Not again, she thought. Tired and angry, she shoved the door open, right into Craig, who was walking past. 

He narrowly avoided the outswinging door, but bashed his shoulder onto the lamp post instead. 

“Oh no! Sorry! So sorry!” 

Wincing as he rubbed his bruised shoulder, he forced a smile as if to say “its ok” and asked: 

“What’s wrong?” 

“A lot is. My car broke down, then I had to catch the crowded train. After that, I had to draw this lousy Ford, which is manual, and now cannot start and I have to go back to the office.” 

“Whoa, whoa. I’m going that way. Want a lift?” 

“Yes, please, thank you, you’re a saviour!”“No problem.” 

Craig led the way as Carrie slammed the door, took out her forensics equipment, and locked the car. Koo had left the key to the military green standard-issue Opel station wagon with one of the officers on site, and it was the same key that Craig now used to open the rear door for Carrie to stash her things. He slammed it shut and then unlocked the car doors. 

“Sorry for the mess.” 

“It’s ok.” 

The car smelt a little musty, but was otherwise fine. Craig missed his silver Honda Civic, which was currently parked at home, because he didn’t want to dirty it by using it for work. 

The well-maintained 1.4 litre engine purred smoothly, and Craig shifted into drive, pulling out of the parallel lot and pointing the car towards police headquarters. 

*** 

Koo, meanwhile, was bent over a transparency as ASP Joy Lee gave a briefing to the higher-ups of the nation. In the meeting room were superintendents, colonels, generals, ministers and the president. She spoke clearly and confidently, and in a few words brought out the true danger that the nation faced at this point in time. 

“And now, I’ll hand the stage over to Sergeant Koo here, who will brief you on the technicalities of the recent spate of bomb blasts.” 

He had never had such a high-ranking audience before, but Koo composed himself and began to speak. 

“The recent spate of attacks were most likely to be caused by remotely detonated C4, a plastic explosive commonly used by the militaries of Europe and
America. It is uncommon here, for we use TNT-based explosives, and so do our neighbours. The remote detonation device consists of a detonator, electronic, connected to a device which sends radio waves. For remote action, I believe that the device is a mobile phone, whose number when called, will detonate the C4. The only exception is the Esplanade bomb, which was made of ammonium nitrate, and detonated by a timing device which self-activated after a certain period of time.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the intention of these bombs are to kill.” 

The questions came fast and furious, like why wasn’t border checks intensified, and how could the explosives and detonators make it into the country, and why couldn’t the mobile phones be traced. 

ASP Joy Lee, assisted by Sergeant Koo, answered all but one question. 

“Who did it?” 

*** 

Craig sat at the photofit terminal, figuring out how to make the darned thing work. The technician had gone home for the day, and the area was dark and quiet. 

Footsteps approached, and Craig stood up from his seat in the cubicle, only to find the familiar image of Koo and ASP Joy Lee staring back at him. 

“Ah, Lieutenant Craig. Come with us to the CMC, we’ll update you on the way.” 

Craig retrieved his memory card from the reader and followed as they made their way towards the basement command post. 

Carrie, meanwhile, was in the lab and studying the remains of the mobile phone salvaged from the scene. From the circuit patterns and transistor count, she surmised it to be a late-model Nokio, a very popular one at that. 

Accessing the shared database, she queried it, looking for information on the mobile phone that  she found at the previous blast scene. 

The computer hummed as it searched, and returned: 

“No data present” 

Carrie was puzzled and queried the database again, this time searching by date. 

Again the computer returned “No data present”. 

She left her perch and went over to the chief technical officer’s room. 

“Mam?” 

The chief technical officer looked at her quizzically. 

“There was a piece of evidence from one of the previous blast scenes, Zook I believe, that hasn’t been analysed yet.” 

“Oh. We hadn’t finished when this City Centre one came along today and screwed everything up. The Zook evidence has been boxed up and priority lowered. You can find it in the evidence room, rack 12A.” 

“Thanks.” 

In her rubber-soled shoes, Carrie walked along the quiet corridors into the Evidence room, which was more like a warehouse than a room. Rack 12A was in the third row, right on top. She dragged a rolling ladder over, secured the wheels and climbed up. 

There were three huge cartons, each the size of a 34-inch television set. The inventory labels on the side were a great help though, and she managed to locate the right carton, opening it and removing the evidence bag with the device that looked like a mobile phone. 

Back at her perch, she placed the evidence under the microscope and examined it. 

The faded letterings on the main chip read “N-O-K-I” and the model number was similarly close to the more intact piece found at City Centre. The circuitry was also identical, leading Carrie to conclude that both were part of a mobile detonation device. 

She wrote it down quickly and prepared to submit a report to the chief investigating officer and the chief forensics officer. 

Then she remembered, weren’t mobile phones supposed to have a unique identification number? Bagging the two pieces of evidence, she quietly slipped them into her bag, intending to ask someone adept at such things to retrieve the numbers from the damaged hardware. 

Picking up her bag and heading to the transport office, she turned in the keys to the Ford and notified them where to pick it up. At the same time, she got a replacement, a rather new Mazda 323, and headed off into the night. 

*** 

The simpler CMC computers allowed Craig and Koo to easily view, expand, shrink and mark the latest photos taken from the scene. As the two experts analysed the blast pattern, Joy Lee sat with a technician at another terminal, this one a more powerful supercomputer. The image plucked from the videotape was cleaned, refined, smoothened and processed, more and more until the result was a smooth, fine black and white image of the perpetrator, whose back faced the camera. However, as the technician zoomed in, they realised that the perpetrator had had the presence of mind to wear a mask. But, the pictures also confirmed other things. It was a female, judging from the body shape and the presence of the outline of a bosom under the bodysuit. 

The duty sergeant arrived in the CMC, carrying a file addressed to ASP Joy Lee. She took it over and read through the technicians’ evaluation and assessment of the three crime scenes. 

What had started as a light drizzle had developed into a downpour. Paula was wrapped tight in her comforter, fast asleep. The mini grandfather clock chimed two in the living room. Judy Lee, too, was in bed, but she was a light sleeper and could hear the raindrops falling heavily on the windows and the distant rumble of thunder. The weather had just given her some ideas. 

Jane had just gotten into the Z4 after leaving Hide’s when the downpour started, so she turned on the wipers and turned out of the parking lot. 

Carrie’s headlights picked out another car heading in the opposite direction. A sporty Z4, she thought to herself as they passed each other. She reached into her equipment box, drawing out a portable umbrella, after she parked and switched off the engine. Clutching her bag tight, she stepped out into the rain, and locked the car, after which she sought shelter at the nearest block, which happened to be her destination. From where she stood, she could see the beat-up Datsun belonging to the person she sought, and so started up the stairs to where he lived.

(To be continued)

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Tomorrow, ok? Tomorrow.

Please, leave comments here. It’s fine both ways.

 

Trial and Error

My very first post here, on wordpress.com, continues my tale at part 17. Why did I shift here? You’ll know why pretty soon, whoever you are, whoever reads this.

Ah, who am I kidding. I’m probably writing for an audience of 3.

Part 17 – Cutting

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The building was dark, for its had long been abandoned. Although a buyer for the building had been sought, no action had been taken. Paula led Craig through an unlocked back door and up the fire escape stairs. She’d been here at the motel before, on a training mission a year ago. Then, it was pure hell, as Judy Lee made them run up and down, up and down before starting the sniper training. She always believed in realism, and that night, they’d shot at a few stray animals for practice. Jane was a helluva shot, but she herself missed a few, securing herself the task of collecting all the empty cartridges and removing traces of their presence.

The first few levels were usually populated by junkies from the nearby Vice Street, who hid in the empty rooms and snorted cocaine or smoked cannabis. Paula wisely avoided these floors and led Craig up to the 8^th storey, where the rooms were bigger and sometimes used by illegal prostitutes who roamed the streets without pimps. Paula stuck a key into 810, and they went in.

“You have a key?”

“Yeah.”

“Why..?”

“Shh…” She seductively put a finger to his lips, as her free hand fondled his crotch.

Craig kicked the door shut.

***

The screen flashed once, and went blank. Hide cursed. He knew it was coming, but it still was at an inopportune time. The hack was still running, and he wanted to monitor its progress. Picking himself off the bed, he stubbed a toe on the computer table, and cursed again.

Good thing Jane was here, or he’d be in an even fouler mood.

He walked out the open doorway and into the spare room. Inside, one could find tons and tons of new and used computer hardware, stuff Hide acquired cheaply from used stores and serviced himself, or totally new pieces of equipment.

The new CRT monitor he’d ordered a week ago had thankfully arrived earlier in the day. It was a 17″ Philips 107S4, top-of-the-line in today’s shrunken CRT market. But due to his extensive usage and his knowledge of its inner workings, he decided to return to the bulkier but more reliable and longer-lasting monitor of yesteryear.

Heaving the carton into his room and still cursing under his breath, he unpacked it and set it up in place, removing the dead LCD monitor he had been using for barely a year. He was going to send it back to the manufacturer’s tomorrow.

But for now, he plugged the CRT into a power source and hit the switch.

The screen came to life, and on it was:

“Mainframe Access Screen

Please enter your username and password.

User ID:

Password:”

Hide let out a whoop of joy when he saw it. One night’s work, finally bearing fruit. Jane came to the door, holding a spatula and knife.

“What’s happening?”

“Nothing, good luck charm. Go continue cooking.”

She saw the mess he created while replacing the monitor.

“Clean that up!”

“Yes mam!” He mocked.

She smiled and went back to the kitchen while he launched the password sniffer program.

***

ASP Joy Lee sat in the command tent, laptop in front of her. The report from the forensics and pathology department regarding Emmanuel Ungaro Choo’s death was unconclusive and provided little evidence. All it said was that his head was sliced off by something sharp, probably some type of glass thread or metal wire. It was a clean break, cutting through the aorta and nerves, killing him almost instantly.

She muttered a prayer and switched files, opening data on the first two bomb blasts.

The modus operandi, or mode of operation, was similar. Remote explosions, no immediate claim of responsibility, and no sign of suicide bombers. The letter from the Holy Army of Noobunan could not be confirmed or ascertained with regards to its true source, although the group existed but were not known to operate in the region.

Craig’s analysis of the blast pattern and pictures was also online. He had written a detailed report, along with Koo, on the explosives, effect and mode of administration. The submission was full of technical terms, but the point was clear: the perpetrators had used the military grade C4 plastic explosives, matched with remote detonators connected to wireless mobile signal receivers. They had also intelligently used the construction of the buildings to their advantage, turning glass and metal into lethal shrapnel.

Joy Lee sighed. She was tired.

“Coffee?”

It was Koo, holding out a large cup of takeaway coffee.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

He turned on his heels and was about to leave, when she called out:

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“You co-wrote the report with Lieutenant Craig?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask you to explain certain things to me?”

“Sure.”

So Koo sat down and patiently began explaining things about blast area , detonation speed, shrapnel velocity, and others to a grateful Joy Lee, who sipped coffee and listened quietly to the expert.

***

Only the shrill ringing of the mobile phone broke the crystal calm of the command tent, which had gone silent save for Koo’s clipped tones and Joy’s murmur of understanding.

“Yes?”

“…”

“What?!”

“…”

“Why wasn’t…”

“…”

“I’ll be right there.”

Joy clapped her mobile phone shut and stood up in a hurry, banging her knee on the underside of the table.

“Oww…”

“You ok?”

“Yeah, I gotta get back to the office. Something new’s come up. Do you need to stay here?”

“Not really. Lieutenant Craig is back in camp and I’m supposed to be reporting to the medical and engineer officers-in-charge, but they don’t seem to need me around.”

“Ok. Screw them. I officially discharge you from those duties. You now report directly to me. I need you to come with me back to the crisis management centre as the subject-matter expert.”

Koo shrugged.

“Fine by me.”

“Let’s go.”

***

For probably the very first time, Craig managed to stand up and walk out of the building with Paula, instead of falling asleep like he always did after some intense action with her. The relationship was strictly lust-only, love later, but probably for the very first time, Paula felt something give; the woman in her wanted to be hugged, loved and cared for.

But the job had to be done first.

Craig absent-mindedly walked with her to the nearest road that was open to traffic, saw her into a cab, and waved as it disappeared down the road and headed left at the next junction.

Adjusting his uniform as he walked back towards the disaster site, Craig fished for his mobile phone and dialled Koo’s number from memory.

“Sir?”

“Where are you, Koo?”

“I’m currently in ASP Joy Lee’s car, sir.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the CMC.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the ground?”

“I was. I’ve been relieved of my duties.”

“By who?”

“ASP Lee herself, sir.”

“Oh, just as well. Cuts through all that damned red tape.”

“Are you back in camp, sir?”

“No, no. I’m at the site. Going to look at the tunnels once again. Something still bothers me.”

“Yes sir.”

“Ok Koo. You go with ASP Joy. Call if you need any help. I’ll cover you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Koo hung up and looked straight ahead at the road, as Joy Lee swung a hard right into the car park and nose-first into her reserved lot. Springing the door of the red Beetle open, she dashed up the stairs and into the building, followed closely by Koo.

Descending into the basement room known as the Crisis Management Centre, officers on duty snapped to attention upon seeing ASP Lee, but cast doubtful looks upon Koo, who was in his Army dress uniform, chevrons stitched to the sleeves.

“He’s with me. This is Sergeant Koo, the Subject-Matter Expert in this case. He was seconded to us by the army’s Explosive Ordnance Squad.”

“Hi.”

The officer-in-charge handed Joy Lee a file marked “Confidential” and gave a running commentary for the benefit of Koo.

“This morning, at about 0830 hours, a call came in to the dispatch centre about a dead security guard at Central train depot. Officers arrived at 0848 hours, cordoned off the site, and waited for the crime scene experts to arrive. But, with the explosion at City Centre, most of the investigative and rescue personnel were not available, and it was not until 0930 hours that an ambulance and paramedics arrived. Crime scene technicians arrived even later, at 1045 hours. Even reporters, who are usually vultures for news like this, did not arrive until 1200 hours. By then, massive efforts were underway at City Centre, and the discovery of two identical cases at the East and West Depots did not get the attention required. For those two cases, calls came in at 0845 and 0847 respectively, and officers only arrived at 0900 hours or later.”

“The initial case drew little suspicion, for there was no visible trauma and the guard was a retired police officer. However, the other two cases suffered either a slit throat or head wounds, indicating foul play. But without further confirmation, little could be done.”

“The results just came in not long ago. The guard with no visible injuries died of a broken neck, and the one with the cut throat literally bled to death as his aorta was severed. The last one died of two gunshot wounds to the back of his head.”

“As soon as we got the info, which, as usual, took a little too long to arrive, we informed you immediately, mam.”

ASP Joy Lee nodded thoughtfully while Koo finally understood how the charges were placed for maximum damage.

“So that was how…” They spoke simultaneously.

“You go first, mam.”

“Ok. So that was how they placed the explosives. In the dead of night. So there were no witnesses, no ‘suspicious articles’ in the stations or trains. No proof we can use.”

“Yes. And that explains how they managed to plant the charges at the most effective areas for maximum damage and shrapnel.”

Just then, a young corporal came in bearing a tape.

“Sir, from the forensics department.”

“Put it in the player.”

He popped it into the VCR and pushed play. On the massive 61-inch projection screen rolled footage with the date and time imprinted.

It was footage from the West depot. As it rolled in slow motion, a black-clad figure crept up behind the security guard, who was on the phone, and slit his throat from ear to ear. He was dead even before he hit the ground. Then the figure moved under the table, and the screen blacked out.

It was rare footage, a rare glimpse of who had been behind all the mayhem in the past few weeks.

(To Be Continued…)

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This is a long drawn fight. Keep awake.