Read Online The Beltway Assassin by Richard Fox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Fox
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Congress passed a law mandating that a copy of every document the federal government ever produced be backed up so whatever government survives has a bureaucratic primer to start from. So, there are repositories, vast storehouses of microfiche, digital tape, and servers buried under a few select mountains across this great land of ours. When we need to, we tap into it. No pesky warrants of Freedom of Information Act requests to bother with.”
“Why haven’t I ever heard of it?” Shelton asked.
“Let’s say some government employees thought they could cover up some malfeasance by destroying their hard drives or deleting e-mail from a server. The repositories are a nice little gotcha for those types,” Ritter said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Shelton said.
“I’m sorry, Greg. This ear is bad. Too close to a car bomb in Mosul.” He turned his attention from Shelton with a wink. “Tony, what else?”
“Whoever scrubbed Garcia scrubbed someone else out of the system at the same time,” Tony said. “I’m still working on that other person. I found Garcia because he has a hit in both systems.”
“Where can we find Mr. Garcia? His prints are on the bullets used in the assassination of Bendis. I’d say he deserves a visit from us,” Ritter said.
“Garcia had a GPS tracker on his ankle after he made bail from his ‘first’ arrest. I say ‘had’ because he cut it off this morning.” Tony pointed to a map of Washington, DC, a red pin in a southeast neighborhood. “That was the location of the last ping on his tracker. Cutting it off generated an automatic arrest warrant, so the local DC police are keeping an eye out for him.”
“So we’ve got to find a meth addict somewhere on the streets of DC,” Ritter said, a bit dejected.
“Tony, druggies are creatures of habit. Can you find his dealer or where he used? Meth houses he’d frequent?” Shelton asked. This would come down to old-fashioned police work. There was no need for whatever cloak-and-dagger nonsense Ritter might have planned.
Tony’s hands cupped his chubby face. His voice squeaked, “What am I, a frigging amateur? Here.” Tony pulled a greasy sheet of paper from under his keyboard and handed it to Ritter. “Start at the top of the list and work down. I ranked them from most to least likely. You’re welcome. You and your beard can bring me some Five Guys burgers when you come back.” Tony put on a pair of headphones and started mumbling as he turned his attention to his monitors.
Ritter opened a desk drawer and tossed a wrapped stack of dollars to Shelton. Shelton ran his thumb over the top of the stack, two inches of twenties and hundreds.
“Snitch money. Incidentals. Whatever we need,” Ritter said. He stuck an envelope of bills into a jacket pocket from the same drawer.
“Eric, this…Don’t I have to sign something?” Shelton asked. Spending cash in the course of an investigation was a very painful affair in the FBI. Receipts, acceptable-use policy statements, quarterly refresher training, and invoices of all expenditures were needed for every source meeting where so much as a cup of coffee was purchased. Despite all these restrictions, agents still got caught spending their operating funds at strip clubs and for home improvements.
“Again, with your rules. If you need more, we have more. Shall we?” Ritter walked out the door and opened the room next door.
“Wait. We need a warrant for Garcia in the death of Bendis,” Shelton said.
Ritter hit the lights, and a room full of cages came into view. Firearms, ranging from small pistols that could fit into his palm to kitted-out M4s with the latest red-dot sights and infra-red target designators, were in the cages on top of loaded magazines and grenades still in their shipping tubes. Shelton’s jaw went slack as he took in the arsenal.
Ritter opened a cage and pulled out a worn set of warm clothing. He opened a drawer and took out a plastic bag full of
“Why haven’t I ever heard of it?” Shelton asked.
“Let’s say some government employees thought they could cover up some malfeasance by destroying their hard drives or deleting e-mail from a server. The repositories are a nice little gotcha for those types,” Ritter said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Shelton said.
“I’m sorry, Greg. This ear is bad. Too close to a car bomb in Mosul.” He turned his attention from Shelton with a wink. “Tony, what else?”
“Whoever scrubbed Garcia scrubbed someone else out of the system at the same time,” Tony said. “I’m still working on that other person. I found Garcia because he has a hit in both systems.”
“Where can we find Mr. Garcia? His prints are on the bullets used in the assassination of Bendis. I’d say he deserves a visit from us,” Ritter said.
“Garcia had a GPS tracker on his ankle after he made bail from his ‘first’ arrest. I say ‘had’ because he cut it off this morning.” Tony pointed to a map of Washington, DC, a red pin in a southeast neighborhood. “That was the location of the last ping on his tracker. Cutting it off generated an automatic arrest warrant, so the local DC police are keeping an eye out for him.”
“So we’ve got to find a meth addict somewhere on the streets of DC,” Ritter said, a bit dejected.
“Tony, druggies are creatures of habit. Can you find his dealer or where he used? Meth houses he’d frequent?” Shelton asked. This would come down to old-fashioned police work. There was no need for whatever cloak-and-dagger nonsense Ritter might have planned.
Tony’s hands cupped his chubby face. His voice squeaked, “What am I, a frigging amateur? Here.” Tony pulled a greasy sheet of paper from under his keyboard and handed it to Ritter. “Start at the top of the list and work down. I ranked them from most to least likely. You’re welcome. You and your beard can bring me some Five Guys burgers when you come back.” Tony put on a pair of headphones and started mumbling as he turned his attention to his monitors.
Ritter opened a desk drawer and tossed a wrapped stack of dollars to Shelton. Shelton ran his thumb over the top of the stack, two inches of twenties and hundreds.
“Snitch money. Incidentals. Whatever we need,” Ritter said. He stuck an envelope of bills into a jacket pocket from the same drawer.
“Eric, this…Don’t I have to sign something?” Shelton asked. Spending cash in the course of an investigation was a very painful affair in the FBI. Receipts, acceptable-use policy statements, quarterly refresher training, and invoices of all expenditures were needed for every source meeting where so much as a cup of coffee was purchased. Despite all these restrictions, agents still got caught spending their operating funds at strip clubs and for home improvements.
“Again, with your rules. If you need more, we have more. Shall we?” Ritter walked out the door and opened the room next door.
“Wait. We need a warrant for Garcia in the death of Bendis,” Shelton said.
Ritter hit the lights, and a room full of cages came into view. Firearms, ranging from small pistols that could fit into his palm to kitted-out M4s with the latest red-dot sights and infra-red target designators, were in the cages on top of loaded magazines and grenades still in their shipping tubes. Shelton’s jaw went slack as he took in the arsenal.
Ritter opened a cage and pulled out a worn set of warm clothing. He opened a drawer and took out a plastic bag full of
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