[Lady Justice 08] - Lady Justice and the Watchers Page 3

  The worst was one evening when we had attended the Starlight Theatre.

  After the show, as we looked over the thousands of cars in the lot, we realized that we didn’t have a clue where we had parked.

  We roamed the aisles, dodging cars, and finally just waited on the curb breathing exhaust fumes until the lot was nearly empty.

  Not the greatest way to end the evening.

  We were just standing there with our cart full of groceries looking befuddled when an old guy my age approached.

  “Lost your car, didn’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I replied.

  “I used to do that all the time until I got one of these,” he said holding up his phone. “Watch this!”

  He punched the phone a few times and showed us the screen.

  “There’s my car,” he said proudly.

  “How did you do that?” I asked amazed.

  “Do you have a smart phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you can download this app for ninety-nine cents. It’s called ‘Find My Car’.”

  I turned to Maggie, “We gotta get one of those!”

  When we finally located the car and the groceries were safely tucked away, we were ready to embark on the second half of our regular Wednesday ritual --- gassing up.

  The supermarket had their own gas station at the far end of the parking lot. Utilizing another brilliant marketing ploy, when the customer takes his grocery receipt and his gas receipt to the gas station counter, he will get a cash rebate, and in this age of astronomical gas prices, who doesn’t want a rebate?

  Depending on how much we spent on groceries and how empty the tank was, I would usually walk away with a buck and a quarter in my pocket.

  Whoopie! But as my Grandma used to say, “It’s better than a sharp stick in your eye.”

  I had swiped my card and filled the tank and was patiently waiting for the receipt to print out so that I could collect my reward.

  The receipt popped out and for the first time I noticed the printed words on the bottom of the receipt, “Thank you, Walter Williams.”

  I suddenly realized that I was standing there having a conversation with a gas pump that knew not only my name and address, but my credit card number and shopping history as well.

  All for a buck and a quarter.

  The next morning at squad meeting we learned that the incident the day before was not just a simple carjacking gone wrong --- it was a kidnapping.

  Joshua Randall was a young executive at Sprint.

  His position, fancy home and luxury car had made his family a prime target for a kidnapping and ransom demand.

  The Randall’s had received a phone call the previous evening demanding $50,000 in cash in small, unmarked bills.

  They were given the usual instructions to not involve the authorities if they wanted to see little Josh, Junior alive again.

  They gave Randall until noon to acquire the cash, at which time they would call again with instructions.

  Thankfully, Josh and Janet Randall had the good sense to call the police, who in turn, called the FBI.

  After the meeting, Captain Short called Ox and me aside.

  “The FBI is running the show and our department is available to assist in any way we can.

  “Apparently, the two of you impressed Janet Randall yesterday. She has asked that you be assigned to the task force.

  “We have a command post set up in the situation room.”

  The command post was a beehive of activity.

  Tekkie guys were busy assembling sophisticated-looking equipment.

  I immediately recognized Agent Blackburn. We had recently worked a case together involving a large pharmaceutical company and a handful of corrupt politicians and bureaucrats.

  “Walt, Ox, good to see you again.”

  “Agent Blackburn, how can we help?”

  “I was just about to have a briefing. Take a seat.”

  The bustling ceased and everyone’s attention was on Blackburn.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go.

  “The Randalls are waiting in the next room. At noon they will join us and we’ll wait for the kidnapper’s call.

  “They will give Josh Randall instructions where the money drop is to take place. The call will probably come from wherever they’re holding the boy.

  “We’ll trace the call to pinpoint that location.”

  He turned to the tekkie guy. “Mike, are you all set up?”

  Getting an affirmative nod, he continued, “We’ll split up into two teams. The boy will either be with the pick-up man or still at the location from which the call was made.

  Either way, we’ll have men on the scene. Your assignments are posted.”

  Ox and I were assigned to the team going to the call location. We noticed that Judy DeMarco and her partner were assigned there as well.

  I wandered over to where Mike was adjusting knobs on one of the machines.

  “So you can really do that --- I mean --- pin point where they’re calling from?”

  Mike smiled, “Are you kidding? If we have your cell phone number and the phone is on, I can tell if you’re sitting on your throne taking a dump.”

  “So how does this thing work?”

  “In 2004, the Federal Government mandated that all cell phones be GPS enabled by the end of 2005.

  “The main reason was a response to the September 11th tragedy, but there were also other benefits --- like when someone dials 911 for an emergency, their exact location pops up on the screen.

  “Then there’s the consumer stuff too. Did you ever use your cell phone to find the closest Taco Bell when you were on a trip?”

  “Well, yes, but it wasn’t Taco Bell, it was the Red Lobster.”

  “It all works the same way. These cell phones have imbedded GPS transmitters in them. These transmitters continuously broadcast your position within a few feet, which allows the phone company network software to calculate which of these services are closest to you.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing, but ----.”

  I was about to ask who had access to this information when Agent Blackburn called everyone together.

  “It’s almost noon. Let’s get ready to move out.”

  The door opened and Josh and Janet Randall stepped into the room.

  It was quite obvious that they had slept very little.

  Janet’s eyes were red and swollen and Josh had the look of a man much older than his years.

  Everyone took their places and watched as the minute hand on the big clock slowly ticked toward high noon.

  At five minutes after twelve, the Randall’s cell phone rang.

  Blackburn looked around the room and everyone signaled ‘thumbs up.’

  He pointed to Josh and nodded his head.

  Josh pressed the answer key.

  “This is Joshua Randall.”

  Over the speakerphone we heard the voice loud and clear, “You got the money?”

  “Yes, we have it.”

  “Did you call the cops?”

  “Look, all we want is our son returned to us unharmed. You said not to call the authorities, so we didn’t.”

  “That’s thinking smart. Here’s how it’s going to work. Do you know Quality Hill?”

  “Do you mean the big bluff that overlooks the West Bottoms?”

  “Yeah, that’s the place. Then you have seen the big bull statue?”

  “Sure, the big red bull on the pedestal in front of the Hereford Association building.”

  “That’s the one. You bring the money and leave it at the base of the statue and then make yourself scarce. Keep your cell phone handy and when we make sure all the money is there, we’ll call and tell you where your kid is.”

  “But how do we know you won’t just take off with the money? How do we know our boy is even still alive?”

  “I guess you don’t, now do you? And you’ll never know unless this thing goes off without a hitch. You come alone
or the kid is a goner. You call the cops, the kid is dead. Got it?”

  “Yes, we understand.”

  “Good! I want that money there by one o’clock. I figure you have about forty-five minutes, so you’d better hurry.”

  The line went dead.

  Blackburn looked at Mike. “Did you get it?”

  “Hang on --- here it comes --- got it! It’s in the nine hundred block of Mulberry in the West Bottoms. Looks like an old warehouse --- supposed to be vacant.”

  “Ok, let’s hustle. Team 1, take your places at the bull statue and Team 2, head to Mulberry Street. Let’s bring this boy home for the Randalls.”

  Ox and I and three other cruisers headed west across the Twelfth Street Viaduct to the West Bottoms.

  This was primarily an industrial area made up of buildings dating back to the thirties and forties.

  Railroad spurs crisscrossed the streets bringing rail access to the loading docks of the old brick structures.

  We turned onto Mulberry and spotted the building that Mike had identified. A faded sign reading, ‘Acme Wholesale Foods’ hung at an angle over the door.

  The eight of us held a brief conference and decided that four of us would cover the exterior of the building while the other four would search the interior.

  Judy, her partner, Ox and I headed for the door.

  Naturally, it was locked, but Judy’s partner pulled a lock pick set from his pocket and went to work.

  Within minutes the lock clicked open and we cautiously ventured inside.

  The door had opened into a reception area that held an old desk, a chair and some rusty file cabinets.

  The door on the other side of the office opened into a warehouse where boxes that had once been destined for supermarket shelves stood covered with dust.

  Most likely this had been a business that had gone belly-up in bankruptcy and the owner had just locked the door and walked away.

  We saw boxes labeled, ‘Ajax Cleanser’ and ‘Del Monte Peas’.

  I was guessing that these commodities were way past their expiration date.

  Seeing those old boxes reminded me of the day Maggie and I moved in together.

  Having lived the bachelor life for over sixty years, one of Maggie’s first chores was to clean out my pantry.

  I remember her pulling the cans and boxes off the shelf one at a time and reading the labels.

  “Walt, this can of beets expired in August of 2009. Why do you have a two year old can of beets on your shelf?”

  “Because I don’t like beets!”

  “Then why did you buy them in the first place?”

  “Because beets are supposed to be good for you. Isn’t that right?”

  “That only works if you actually eat them. You can’t get nourishment by osmosis.”

  By the time she was finished, my cupboard, like Old Mother Hubbard’s, was bare.

  At the far end of the warehouse was another door and we could see light coming from beneath it.

  Ox pointed to the door and we made our way toward it cautiously and quietly.

  Judy turned the knob and opened the door just a crack.

  It opened into another warehouse room somewhat smaller than the first.

  At the far end, a man sat in a folding chair and we could see a baby’s car seat perched on a set of crates in front of him.

  We pulled the door closed and quietly conferred.

  There was no way we were going to sneak up on the guy, so we decided that a fast all-out assault was the best option.

  He wouldn’t be expecting us, so we had the element of surprise. We were hoping the guy would panic and take off before he had a chance to hurt the baby.

  We radioed the officers on the outside to be ready then charged into the room with guns drawn.

  “POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!” Ox bellowed.

  Naturally, the guy did just the opposite --- they always do.

  He high-tailed it to another door on the other end of the warehouse.

  “You guys get the baby,” Judy’s partner yelled. “I’ll follow the perp.”

  When we arrived at the crate, we were relieved to see little Josh cuddled in his car seat sucking away on one of those rubber things that mothers poke into their kid’s mouth.

  Ox was about to pick up the car seat when Judy screamed, “STOP! Don’t touch that baby!”

  Ox jumped back. “What? Why?”

  “Look!” she said, pointing behind the crate that held the baby.

  There on the floor were a bundle of wires with a block of white stuff on one end and a digital clock on the other. The clock was counting backwards, 4:49, 4:48, 4:47.

  Judy’s military training kicked in. “That’s C-4 and this place is going to blow sky-high in four and a half minutes.”

  “Then let’s just grab the baby and get the hell out of here!” Ox said.

  “Can’t do it.” Judy said, pointing to another set of wires running from the C-4 to a metal plate. “I think there’s a back-up detonator under the car seat.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and called Agent Blackburn.

  “We’ve got a situation here.”

  I put Judy on the phone since she knew a lot more about explosives than I did.

  After explaining the situation, Blackburn said, “How much time on the clock?”

  “Just under four minutes.”

  “No time to get the bomb squad there. You’re going to have to handle it.

  “Do any of you have a cell phone with a camera?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Great! Take a picture of the bomb and email it to me.”

  He gave me his email address and I snapped the photo. I had only done this a few times and I wasted precious seconds figuring how to send the thing.

  A few seconds after the transmission, Blackburn came back on the speakerphone.

  “You were right. The bomb is connected to a pressure plate. If you move the baby, the bomb will explode. Hang on a second.”

  We could hear him talking in the background.

  “The Randalls say the baby weighs about fifteen pounds. Here’s what you have to do --- find something that weighs fifteen pounds and substitute it for the baby.

  “One of you will have to maintain steady constant pressure on the car seat while the switch is being made. But you’d better hurry!”

  I looked at the timer that had just hit the three-minute mark.

  “You guys find something --- quick!” Judy said. “I’ll stay here with the baby.”

  Ox and I split up and we frantically searched the warehouse, but found nothing. I saw Ox disappear into the first warehouse and a few seconds later I heard him yell, “I got it!”

  He came running into the room carrying three five-pound bags of C&H Cane Sugar.

  “Perfect!” Judy said. “Now all we have to do is trade the sugar for the baby without blowing us all to smithereens.

  “I’ll provide the pressure on the car seat. Walt, you pick up the baby and Ox will put the sugar in his place. Got it?”

  We nodded.

  The clock was almost down to two minutes.

  “Then let’s do this!”

  Ox put his hand on Judy’s arm.

  “Just in case this doesn’t go as we hoped --- well --- I just wanted you to know --- to know that I love you.”

  Judy didn’t miss a beat. “Well guess what you big oaf? I love you too!”

  Judy reached on either side of the car seat and gently applied pressure.

  She nodded to me.

  I took a deep breath and lifted little Josh out of the seat.

  No explosion --- so far, so good.

  Ox placed the bags of sugar into the seat one by one and when he finished, we looked at one another.

  It was now or never.

  We held our breath as Judy released the car seat.

  There was no big bang and no flashing bright light.

  We breathed a sigh of relief, but our reverie was short-lived.

&nb
sp; The digital clock showed fifty-nine seconds until detonation.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Ox yelled.

  We sprinted to the door on the far side of the warehouse and had just reached the outer door into the street when the explosion shook the ground and a fireball erupted on the far side of the building.

  We all stood in awe as we watched the blazing inferno engulf the building, realizing that less than a minute had stood between us being alive or dead.

  I looked at the little guy I was holding in my arms.

  He was totally oblivious to his near-death experience and was happily sucking away on his rubber thingy.

  Suddenly, his expression changed and a strange, strained look came over his face.

  I heard a tiny rumble, heard a small ‘toot’ and felt a warm sensation where his bottom was cradled in my arms.

  Everyone laughed, but as the reality set in of how close I had just come to never seeing Maggie again, I wondered if it might be a good idea to check my own britches.

  As I drove home that evening, I found myself reliving the day’s events.

  Cell phone technology had pinpointed the location where the kidnappers were holding little Josh and my ability to snap a picture and send it electronically in a matter of seconds had no doubt saved all of our lives.

  While I should have been joyously reveling in the hero’s welcome we received back at the station, something was gnawing away in the back of my mind.

  I remembered Mike’s words, “If we have your cell phone number and the phone is on, I can tell if you’re sitting on your throne taking a dump.”

  Even more disturbing, “The Federal Government mandated that all cell phones be GPS enabled by the end of 2005. These transmitters continuously broadcast your position within a few feet, which allows the phone company network software to calculate your exact position.”

  The thought running through my mind was that someone, somewhere could know exactly what I was doing every hour of every day.

  Conflict!

  Cell phones are wonderful --- cell phones are bad.

  Professor Skinner’s doublethink all over again.

  By the time I arrived at my building, I decided it was time to visit the Professor again.

  I knocked on his door and when he opened it, I held my cell phone up for him to see.

  “We need to talk!”