Terminal Compromise Part 54

"Ok, that's enough. What about the van?"

"The van?"

"The van!" Kavitz said pointedly at the patrolman. "The van!

What's in it? Has anybody looked?"

"Uh . . .no sir. We've been working with the injured . . .I'm sure you . . ."

"Of course. I'm sorry." Kavitz waved off the explanation. "Must have been pretty rough." He looked around and shook his head.

"Anything else officer?"

"No sir, that's about it. We still don't have an exact count though."

"It'll come soon enough. Soon enough." Kavitz left the young patrolman and walked into the bloodbath, pausing only briefly before opening the driver's side door. "Let's see what's in this thing."

"D'y'hear about the mess over at Times Square?" Ben Sh.e.l.lhorne walked up to Scott Mason's desk at the City Times.

"Yeah, pretty gruesome. The Exchange . . .McDonald's. You really sc.r.a.pe the bottom, don't you?" Scott grinned devilishly at Ben.

"Maybe some guys do, not me." Ben sat down next to Scott's desk.

"But that's not the point. There's something else."

"What's that?" Scott turned to Ben.

"The van."

"The van?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, the van. The van that busted up the McBreakfast crowd."

"What about it?"

Ben hurried. "Well, it was some sort of high tech lab on wheels.

Computers and radios and stuff. Pretty wild."

"Why's that so unusual? Phone company, computer repair place, EPA monitors, could be anything." Scott seemed disinterested.

"If that were true, you're right. But this was a private van, and there's no indication of what company it worked for. And the driver's dead. Personal ID only. No company, no numbers, no nothing, except this."

He handed a sheaf of computer printouts to Scott. "Look familiar?"

Scott took the papers and perused them. They were the same kind that Scott had received from Vito, his unknown donor. These were new doc.u.ments as far as Scott could tell - he didn't recognize them as part of his library. They only contained some stock tips and insider trading information from a leading Wall Street bro- kerage house. Pretty tame stuff.

"These," Scott pointed at the papers, "these were in the van?"

"That's what I said," Ben said triumphantly.

"How did you get them?" Scott pushed.

"I have a few friends on the force and, well, this is my beat you know. Crime, disaster, murder, violence, crisis, death and de- struction on the streets. Good promo stuff for the Big Apple."

"Are there any more?" Scott ignored Ben's self pity.

"My guy said there were so many that a few wouldn't make any difference."

"Holy Christ!" Scott said aloud as he sat back in thought.

"What is it? Scott? Does this mean something?"

"Can I have these, Ben? Do you need them?"

"Nah! There's no blood on 'em? Not my kinda story. I just remembered that secret papers and computers are your thing, so they're yours." Ben stood up. "Just remember, next time you hear about a serial killer, it's mine."

"Deal. And, hey, thanks a lot. Drinks on me." Scott caught Ben before he left. "Ben, one more thing."

"Yeah?" Ben stopped.

"Can you get me into that van. Just to look around? Not to touch, just to look?" Scott would have given himself a vasectomy with a weed eater to have a look. This was his first solid lead on the source of the mysterious and valuable doc.u.ments that he had stymied him for so long. He had been unable to publish anything significant due to lack of confirming evidence. Any lead was good lead, he thought.

"It may cost another favor, but sure what the f.u.c.k. I'll set it up. Call you." Ben waved as he walked off leaving Scott to ponder the latest developments.

The interior of the dark blue Ford Econoline van was not in bad shape since the equipment was bolted into place. The exterior though was thoroughly trashed, with too many blood stains for Scott to stomach. It was a bad wreak, even for the Police Im- pound.

While Ben kept his cooperative keeper of the peace occupied, he signaled to Scott that he would only have a minute, so please, make it quick.

Scott entered the van with all his senses peaked. He wanted to take mental pictures and get as much detail as he could. Both sides of the van contained steel shelving, with an array of equipment bolted firmly in place. It was an odd a.s.sortment of electronics, noticed Scott. There were 2 IBM personal computers with large WYSIWYG monitors. What You See Is What You Get moni- tors were generally used for intensive word processing or desktop publis.h.i.+ng. In a van? Odd.

A digital oscilloscope and waveform monitor were stacked over one of the computers. Test equipment and no hand tools? No answer.

Over the other computer sat a small black and white television and a larger color television monitor. Two cellular phones were mounted behind the drivers seat. Strange combination. Then he noticed what appeared to be a miniature satellite dish, only 8 or so inches across. He recognized it as a parabolic microphone.

Aha! That's it. Some sort of spy type surveillance vehicle.

Tracking drug dealers and a.s.sorted low lifes. But, a privately registered vehicle, no sign of any official affiliations to known enforcement agencies?

Scott felt his minute was gone in a only few seconds.

"Well, you find what you're looking for?" Ben asked Scott after they had left the police garage grounds overlooking the Hudson River.

Scott looked puzzled. "It's more like by not finding anything I eliminated what it's not."

Ben scowled. "Hey riddle man, back to earth. Was it a waste or what?"

"Far from it." Scott's far away glaze disappeared as his personal Eureka! set in. "I think I may have stumbled, sorry, you, stum- bled onto to something that will begin to put several pieces in place for me. And if I'm right, even a little bit right, holy s.h.i.+t. I mean, hoooolly s.h.i.+t."

"Clue me in, man. What's the skinny. You got Pulitzer eyes."

Ben tried to keep up with Scott as their pace quickened.