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Prompt #190 - Creative


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You came home to find a note that listed everything about you, including your last lover, and where you hide your toys. There isn’t a thing listed in that note that is wrong. The bottom line tells you to meet the sender tonight at a very private and expensive club. You are even told what clothing of yours to wear. Do you go?

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What the f*ck is this? Blackmail? Extortion? Whatever. I can't let this stand.

 

I immediately swept my house for bugs and found three: phone, broadband connection and a acoustic trap. Rather than destroy them, I put a white noise generator on all three and went to my backups. A burner cell phone and a cellular modem with a broadband connection.

 

I look at the address and got on my laptop. I used a back door to the city network and got into the City Clerk's network. I was able to pull up the plans for the meeting site. It's a private place called the Yacht Club. Definitely not my kind of place. As I looked at the plans filed with the city, something seemed odd about it. There's a hell of a lot of square footage. Some of it looks like office spaces and lots of back rooms.

 

My next hack is the phone company. The building is serviced by four standard voice trunks and an OC-3 broadband circuit. That looks interesting. What's a yacht club doing with that kind of broadband capability?

 

I do a google search and find their web site. Pretty splash page. Party rooms, catering, yadda, yadda and of course yadda. It's not hosted at the building. A couple of pings and a sweep and the Yacht Club's web site located in a server farm in Denver.

 

Using the IP address from the p-hone company I go right to the building router. Nice. Cisco 35000 series and a Watchguard Code Red firewall. Great. A Yacht Club with $100K worth of gateway network equipment. That's interesting. I backed off. That Firewall was way beyond my skills to penetrate.

 

I changed clothes and put on jeans, a polo, jacket, hat and sun glasses. I slipped out my back door and knocked on my neighbors door.

 

Mrs. Mitchell was watching her shows just yelled, "Come in Joey."

 

She was an elderly lady that I helped out. She didn't get around very well and was really useful for a minimal investment in time.

 

When I went into the living room she was in her favorite chair with her foot up. "Hi Mrs. Mitchell. Just checking on you. Doing OK today?"

 

"Not so good Joey. My knee is swollen up. Could you make a run to the pharmacy for me?"

 

"Sure thing Mrs. Mitchell."

 

"Use my Corolla. No sense burning your gas."

 

"Thanks. I'll be back as quick as I can."

 

I went though the house, picked up the keys in the kitchen on the way to the garage. I hit the garage door opener and backed out the driveway. Sure enough, there was a surveillance team right down the street posing as power company. I was well and truly burned. After lowering the garage door, I pulled out and drove the opposite direction.

 

I drove around in circles through the neighborhoods but I didn't detect a tail so I drove into town toward my bank.

 

I took out the burner cell and dialed a number for my case officer. It rang a few times and a familiar voice answered, "Blackledge."

 

"Blacklegedge, It's Joe Carson.

 

"What's your status?"

 

"Cooling off between gigs."

 

What's going on?"

 

"Something weird has happened."

 

"Tell me about it."

 

I told my case officer about the days weirdness. I gave him the address of the Yacht Club and its IP address.

 

He told me that he would check things out and call me back.

 

I drove through the pharmacy drive through. They knew that I often picked up Mrs. Mitchell's stuff and even paid with her ATM card.

 

After I had her prescription, I went to my bank and asked to see my safety deposit box. When I got into the room, I opened it up and took the briefcase inside.

 

I checked inside and found my emergency kit. Beretta 9mm, 3 clips, silencer, cash, a clean passport and two burner cell phones. Damned useful things.

 

As I was packing up, my phone rang and I saw it was Blackledge.

 

"Carson."

 

"Joey, you've got trouble."

 

"What's going on?"

 

"In the last 48 hours, Owens, Cooper and Tyler have gone off the grid. The site we looked at, it looks like the Feds."

 

"Feds? What the f*ck boss?"

 

"Some Senator is running a witch hunt. There is talk of a special prosecutor. They're trying to shut down our tiger teams."

 

"God damnit."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Get out of town. Go to the safe house 31 Charlie and lay low. Call me from there tomorrow morning. Those asswipes are playing politics with dynamite."

 

"OK boss. I'm going to ditch this cell just in case."

 

I took my gear, closed the safety deposit box and left.

 

<to be continued>

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Well James, your occupation made for a great story here. Now, I am wondering why they would pinpoint the items they did to get his attention. I guess when one's privacy is invaded expecially on a personal level it pushes a person to the edge. It certainly would me. I would be creeped out. Great job!

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A note with so much info?

There are two possibilities. It's a note from a demon or a note from an angel.

As for the demon, he's probably bored and trying to act like a prankster, but the angel's intention is a little vague. A probability is that he's desperate and wants a fun night but not very typical of an angel; or he might just want to give me an opportunity to love a proper person.

Either case, I won't be interested in dating an angel and as soon as I figure that out, I'll run away. But for the demon.... Who doesn't want to stay a night in hell?

Let me get dressed for the occasion!

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