Happy Harrison #3

Agent Patterson mused on emphysema as she smoked her eighth cigarette of the night. Lung cancer. Bronchitis, chronic asthma. Stop it.

No one ordered her to smoke as part of her cover, it was purely her choice. She had never felt comfortable ‘just standing there,’ she always needed something in her hands. Something that gave her purpose. Even if that purpose at the moment was enduring carbon monoxide poisoning. Stop it.

She didn’t know what she would have to do to recondition herself. She also didn’t know how much more nicotine she could take before she puked. Stop it!

Maybe she should go inside and get a drink.

Her earpiece squawked, “Blue Team, eyes open. We’ve got a visual on a suspect moving southwest out of the park. White male, eighteen to thirty years, six feet, one hundred sixty pounds. He’s got a knit cap and a brightly colored backpack.”

On a private channel Agent Mangunta piped, “Kara, sounds like he’s moving right towards us.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She snubbed out her cigarette and couldn’t help thinking that it was going to hurt to run tonight. It was hot, humid as hell, and she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse to conceal her vest. And besides, the description she was just given could be any one of 100,000 douchebags walking through the Village at any given moment.

For the next minute or two she listened while the rest of Blue Team called in negative contact. Agent Mangunta was just finishing his second negative report when he interrupted himself with, “Stand by, I think I have something.” Patterson strained her eyes to see up the block to his position. He must be just around the corner, she couldn’t see him. He called back, “Yeah, I have visual on a possible suspect. I’m flashing my lure, stand by.”

A chirp told Patterson that her partner had shut off the allcom but left open their private channel for her benefit. She could hear him talking to somebody. It sounded as if that person were taking the bait. Then it was quiet. From previous encounters, they knew there would be at least two minutes of downtime. “Hey Rupe, did he take your phone? Just clear your throat or something.” On a busy street, no one could hear the glottal click Agent Mangunta issued through his comset.

“Alright. I can’t see you. Give me a heads up if he comes my way.” Patterson pulled out another cigarette and made sure that her cell phone was displayed prominently on her hip.

The two of them were part of a unit investigating a bizarre series of attacks on local cellular networks. Over the last month, they had witnessed a dozen or so phones each night dialing a mysterious untraceable number. The phones downloaded some sort of information packet from this source, a virus with unknown consequences. And as the evenings wore on, the phones propagated this packet to most of the local numbers stored on the phones, all without even making a call that registered on the network. With hundreds of thousands of devices tying up network resources on a nightly basis, all the major cellular providers were panicking. Aside from service outages, they feared further attacks of unknown magnitude. Attacks that could perhaps even permanently damage their multi-billion-dollar infrastructure.

A truly mysterious aspect of the investigation was that all of this activity appeared to be instigated by a handful of college kids who approached strangers on the street, asking to borrow their phone for an emergency call. It was only in the last week that agents had directly witnessed the calls being placed. They had still been unable to trace or even capture the number that served as the source of the virus.

Special Agent in Charge Matheson impatiently squawked in their ears, “Mangunta, what’s your twenty?” Patterson heard a sigh over her private channel. Matheson continued, “We might have a trace. Yellow Team mobilize, stand by.”

“Rupe,” Patterson called. “We’ve got twenty seconds by my count. Hang on.” She heard him clear his throat before saying, “Yeah, thanks, no problem.” Finally. A further ten seconds and he was reporting over the allcom:

“SAC, I’m at Fourth and Sullivan. Kara, he turned, he’s coming straight for you. I confirm: suspect ‘borrowed’ my cell. It’s still transmitting. Advise.”

Matheson came back, “If it’s the same guy, that’s our second agent hit tonight. Apprehend.”

“Alright then, Rupe, give me a detailed description,” Patterson said. “I’ve got less than a minute.” He obliged her with recall that Patterson knew she could depend on.

“Six feet, one-six-oh pounds accurate. Scruffy brown hair under gray and black hat, brown and yellow plaid shirt, orange and black satchel, fraying tan cargo shorts, sandals. Blue eyes, some sort of necklace, I didn’t notice any piercings or tattoos.”

“Thanks, I’ve got him. Come back me up.” Keeping all the pedestrians coming toward her in the periphery of her vision, she peered back into the club outside of which she had been posted while she eased her left hand behind her back to pull out her sidearm. Only by the tiniest of increments did she allow her gaze to follow the unsuspecting young gentleman in the knit cap as he approached. Gripping her weapon behind her, she was a breath away from stepping into his path. Something wasn’t right. He was looking right at her.

The suspect locked eyes with Agent Patterson as her weight shifted to spring. Was that something in his ear? There was something in his hand. She didn’t get a word out before the taser hit her. She was still screaming and writhing when Agent Mangunta arrived at her side. He quickly gloved a hand and pulled the darts from her neck and arm. She’d have some second-degree burns, it appeared.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she inquired, “Rupesh, what are you doing?” Shouldn’t he be pursuing the suspect? He wasn’t listening to her, there were instructions coming in over his earpiece. Why wasn’t she hearing anything? The tasing must have shorted out her comset. She tried to sit up, but suddenly vomited. Okay, so she was glad her partner hadn’t run down the street and left her here alone. “What’s happening?”

“SAC says one of our mobile listening posts was rammed by another van. A bomb squad is en route and Red Team is scattered all over chasing down the driver and passengers of the van. He’s talking to Washington right now to see if U.S. Marshals will assist.” He looked down at his partner. “Are you okay, Kara?”

Before she could answer, Patterson mentally kicked herself for wanting another cigarette.