Infringement Read online

  “What did he say?”

  “He said no to a surveillance detail, and that he’d check with a classmate at Homeland to see what he could find out on the PRISM thing. The thing is…,” Declan stopped unsure if he wanted to complete his sentence.

  “The thing is what?”

  “The thing is, I know for a fact that Bleeker himself is on the SCI authorized list.

  “How exactly do you know that?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Actually, it is. How’d you find out who’s on the access list?”

  “Kevin, I’m not going to go into how I know. I just know. What’s important is that Bleeker played it as though he’d never heard of Stanton before I mentioned him. When I talked to him again the next day, he told me that he hadn’t been able to get any information and, basically, to back off and leave it alone until he did.”

  “Which you did?”

  “Essentially, but now two people are dead and I know Stanton had at least something to do with it. Leaving it alone doesn’t seem like an option anymore, with or without Bleeker’s go ahead.”

  “Declan, I’m going to give you a piece of advice that you’d be wise to take,” Kevin said very seriously.

  “Okay.”

  “I like you. You know I worked for your dad when I started out. He taught me a lot and I respect him more than almost anyone else I’ve ever known. You’re a good kid, a good agent, and you’ve got the makings for a stellar career with the Bureau. My advice is for you to listen to Bleeker on this one and leave it alone until he says otherwise.”

  “But why? Two people are dead, Kevin. If he’d allowed me to put Stanton under surveillance when I first requested it, they might still be alive. If he’d told me he had SCI access and obtained the files for me, they might be alive. Why sit back and do nothing just because Bleeker says so?”

  “Because the Bureau is, among other things, political. There are things going on, decisions being made, at levels we don’t need or necessarily want to know about.”

  “Are you saying there’s something political about Stanton being SCI?”

  “I actually have no idea. What I’m saying, is that Bleeker isn’t your run-of-the-mill Bureau agent. He’s extremely well connected and he’s on the rise, and you don’t want to cross him, Declan. If Bleeker says leave it alone, my advice is to go back home to Megan, enjoy the Christmas holiday, and do just that.”

  “I really can’t believe you’re telling me this. You’re saying to bury my head in the sand and ignore a double homicide just because my elitist Ivy League boss wants to be Director some day.”

  “I’m saying to follow orders, Declan. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s just that simple sometimes. If you don’t want to see your career go up in smoke, or worse, just follow orders.”

  Chapter 27

  December 24th

  David Stanton pulled into the church parking lot shortly after one in the afternoon. He parked his black SUV well away from the main building, next to the church school, where he had a perfect vantage point of the church and, eventually, the rush of congregants who would be arriving for service.

  He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. It had been over thirty hours since he’d last slept; however, to Stanton’s surprise, he wasn’t tired. His time for requiring sleep to function had passed. Soon, he knew he’d pass from the flawed, weak mind and body he’d been confined in and hated for so many years, to a rejuvenated perfect body that nobody could ever harm or abuse. His memories would be wiped clean and his new life would begin, the second chance he’d asked for so many times.

  Stanton’s thoughts focused on the countless digital simulations he’d run. He visualized himself stepping from the SUV at exactly 5:10 p.m., and slowly and casually walking around to the back. As the service began at 5:00, the traffic in the parking lot would have died down, but for the stragglers. He saw himself opening the back of the SUV and gently arming the explosive device inside one of the black duffel bags, setting the timer for 5:26 p.m. Once the explosive, which should blow both the SUV and a large hole in the left side of the school, was armed and set, he’d zip up the duffel bag and close up the back of the SUV again.

  Stanton watched himself checking his watch, which read 5:12:00. At that point, he picked up the other two, larger bags, and walked slowly toward the back entrance of the church, where none of the congregation would be entering, and waited out of sight, listening to the opening hymns. His email would be sent to the various news organizations at 5:15, then again at 5:16, then again at 5:17.

  His watch finally read 5:17:01, and he left the back of the church, jogging quickly to the east entrance, which was clear. He used his janitor’s keys and locked the east doors, then quickly looped the chain through the two door handles and locked it tight. Stanton moved swiftly around to the west entrance and repeated this process, locking the west entrance tight. Finally, he made his way to the front entrance, the main entrance, arriving at 5:20:02, and locked those doors with his keys. Again, he looped the chain through the door handles and locked it up tight. All entrances, but the back, were secure.

  Stanton watched himself arrive back at the rear entrance at 5:22 p.m., right on schedule. He quickly and quietly opened the first bag, he put his tactical ammunition vest on over his suit coat, and strapped the loaded up ammunition belt around his waist. He removed the first AR-15 from the bag, inserted a 60 round clip and slung the rifle onto his back. After taking the second AR-15 from the second bag, Stanton inserted a 100 round drum magazine, and checked to make sure the weapon was ready to go.

  Stanton’s watch read 5:24:22. He walked calmly through the back door, to the rear sanctuary entrance, where he stood silently, just outside the sanctuary. Pastor Kellen’s Christmas sermon had begun, his words about the magnitude of Jesus’ birth reaching Stanton’s ears.

  “Lord Abaddon,” he whispered, “I am yours and, together, we shall not know failure.”

  His watch read 5:25:50…, 5:25:51…, 5:25:52…, 5:25:53…, 5:25:54…, 5:25:55. Stanton closed his eyes and tightly gripped the weapon in his hand, squeezing the cold metal as if he were clinging to the edge of a tall building he was trying desperately not to fall from. Then, suddenly, the viciously loud boom from the explosive shattered the silence of the sanctuary. David Stanton watched himself spring from the rear hall into the sanctuary behind the lectern. His left index finger squeezed the trigger over and over, directing his aim and the rifle’s deathly projectiles at anyone and everyone moving in his sightline. Screams mixed with the “rat tat, rat tat, rat tat” of the rifle to fill the sanctuary. He towered ominously over every person he came into contact with, and their bodies quickly fell on all sides of him, one after another after another in what seemed a never ending sea of death.

  Stanton opened his eyes and sat up slightly in the driver’s seat, rolling his head in a gentle circular clockwise motion. He looked down at his watch, which read 2:02:22.

  Chapter 28

  December 24th

  Declan stood silently in front of the mirror in his bathroom buttoning the last few buttons of his shirt, while trying to untie the meaning of Kevin Cameron’s “advice”. Of all the agents he worked with, Kevin was the one Declan had always been certain had his back. When he’d first arrived at the field office, Kevin had taken Declan under his wing and acted as his de facto mentor. Kevin had consistently played it straight with Declan and had taught him the ins and outs of being a good FBI agent.

  In truth, Kevin was the last person Declan expected to advise, or better yet threaten, him to back off something that was clearly not on the up and up. What Kevin had told him earlier contradicted everything he’d taught Declan during his first year with the Bureau. It simply made no sense, and Declan’s sense of frustration and disappointment with the Bureau, and Kevin in particular, had defeated his desire to fight back and get to the truth.

  He thought about the numerous conversations he’d had with Evan and his mom about t
he corruption of the federal government and the indefatigable push toward the elimination of personal freedoms and, ultimately, a global totalitarian state. While not naïve, Declan generally had a high degree of skepticism for such conspiratorial notions, but he slowly, reluctantly, began to look at John Bleeker’s actions and Kevin’s advice through such a prism as a last ditch effort to find some sense in the seemingly unexplainable situation.

  Why would David Stanton’s data files be classified as SCI when he didn’t show up with any red flags in any other systems? Why would Bleeker pretend he had no access when, in fact, he did, and why push Declan to back off until he could supposedly obtain information he already had?

  “Hey, are you ready almost ready to go?”

  “Yep,” Declan replied, as he finished buttoning his shirt.

  “You’ve been a bit distant since you got back,” Megan said. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. I’m just… I’m just not sure what to do next.”

  “Give it a little time, babe. It’ll come to you.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Trust me, you’ll figure it out. C’mon, let’s get going.”

  Chapter 29

  December 24th

  As Declan and Megan pulled up, they saw his mom. Declan drove up next to his mom, so Megan could get out of the car and walk with her. “Here, babe, why don’t you go in with mom and I’ll be back soon.”

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “In a bit. We’re not too far from Stanton’s apartment and I need to go over there and check it out. I’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes, tops. Just tell everyone I had something to do for work and I’ll be right back. I’m sorry to have to do this today, but I have to go over there and at least see what, if anything, is going on.”

  “I understand.” Megan leaned over toward Declan and kissed him. “I love you.”

  “I love you,” he replied.

  “Get going and hurry back.”

  “Will do.” Declan looked at his watch, and saw that the time was 4:13. “I’ll be back by quarter to five, at the latest.”

  _______________________

  Declan arrived outside David Stanton’s apartment building at 4:32, and parked 200 feet or so down the street, where he had a clear view of the building and parking lot. He wasn’t certain why he’d had to go back to Stanton’s apartment, or what exactly he planned to do. Something, intuition or whatever you want to call it, told him that was where he needed to be.

  He scanned the parking lot and saw that Stanton’s SUV was missing. Declan desperately wanted to do something, to just get out and look around the building, maybe approach the front door and listen for any movement inside or see if he could pick up any strange odors emanating from within, but Kevin Cameron’s warning hung in the back of his mind like a wet towel. He sat in the car, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement, of which there was none.

  Declan looked at his watch again at 4:48, and sat back in his seat, unsure what, if anything, to do. Finally, he made sure his sidearm was loaded, grabbed a small Maglite out of the glove compartment, and decided to get out of the car and take a quick look around. He stepped out into the cold, bundled his coat collar tight around his neck, and briskly walked across the street toward the apartment building.

  There were a few cars in the parking lot, all of which he’d seen previously and run the plates on, so he knew they belonged to some of the building’s other residents. The bitter cold surrounded Declan and filled his senses as he walked across the parking lot and approached the building, still uncertain about his objective. He looked up to the second floor, scanning the two windows on the east side of Stanton’s apartment, both of which appeared to be open.

  A small sidewalk went from the parking lot up to and around the building, leading to each of the entrances to the first floor apartments and the stairwells which climbed up to the second floor apartments. Declan walked slowly along the sidewalk, almost completing the circle, until he finally came to the stairwell which led up to Stanton’s apartment. As he stood there for a second, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and took it out. It was Megan. “Hi babe,” he answered.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m on my way back. Is everyone there?”

  “Yep, we’re all here. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

  “I’m fine. Sorry, I’m on my way back. Just tell everyone I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.”

  “Was anything going on at the apartment?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “You didn’t see Stanton?”

  “No, it doesn’t look like he’s home.”

  “Then get yourself back here. Everyone wants to see you.”

  “Sorry, I’m on my way. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Okay,” Megan responded, and hung up.

  Declan stood looking at the stairwell, then, on an impulse, swiftly headed up the steps to the second floor of the building, where he took a quick left and found himself standing five feet from David Stanton’s front door.

  Chapter 30

  December 24th

  David Stanton looked down at his watch, which read 4:53:04. From his parked SUV, he sat watching all the people, dressed up in their Christmas finery making their way across the church parking lot into the sanctuary. Many of them he recognized from his years working as the church janitor, although he was quite certain that not one of them knew him. They all filed in, families, elderly couples, young newlyweds, the inevitable boyfriend trying to make a good impression. To Stanton they just looked like blank faces, nameless, hopeless lemmings, many of whom, he was certain, didn’t even believe in the God they were hurrying over themselves to “worship”.

  The ludicrousness of it all made him sick. They had no idea what true worship consisted of, no acquaintance with genuine sacrifice and obedience. How could people who only bothered to give their God a thought once or twice a year know anything at all about worship? Were it not so vulgar and sickening to him, it would have been laughable. In their designer dresses and suits, in their fashionable coats and shoes, they filed in to do their duty, to see and be seen on one of the two days each year that going to church actually mattered to most of them. They were, for the most part, more concerned with how they looked, and how cute their children looked, than with the Savior whose birth they’d supposedly come to celebrate and worship.

  In truth, they had sealed their own fate long ago. It was their total disregard and callousness, their complete absence of genuine heartfelt worship and awe of the God they all supposedly loved and sought, on the outside at least, to emulate, which had brought about their imminent destruction. Abaddon was not the cause of their destruction, he was merely the instrument being employed to carry out a sentence they’d brought upon themselves. The first cleansing in what would ultimately rid the world of hypocrisy and naked self-indulgence.

  _______________________

  Declan knocked lightly on David Stanton’s front door twice, but, as he’d anticipated, he couldn’t hear any movement or sounds of life inside. He placed his hand gently on the doorknob and gave it a slow careful turn. To Declan’s surprise, the knob turned smoothly and the door to Stanton’s private abode stood opened before him.

  Declan instinctively drew his sidearm and slowly stepped across the threshold, into the dark apartment. He was at once struck by the intense cold within, and by a subtle, yet discernable, odor of what could only be described as staleness. Despite all of the shades being drawn and crudely covered with hung dark sheets or blankets, Declan sensed that the various windows were all open.

  The entire place was almost as dark as a moonless night, illuminated solely by two dim, yet contrasting, sources of light: the yellowish light from three burning candles on what looked like a bookshelf against the opposite wall and a small amount of white light emanating from a laptop computer sitting on the floor.

  As Declan’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior, t
he first thing that caught his visual attention was writing all over the walls. Each wall featured a delicate, painstakingly-handwritten, black calligraphic script and words and phrases began popping out of the mass of print into Declan’s consciousness:

  They are corrupt, and their ways are vile; there is no one who does good.

  Why do you boast of evil, you mighty man? Why do you boast all day long, you who are a disgrace in the eyes of God?

  Even on his bed he plots evil, he commits himself to a sinful course and does not reject what is wrong.

  The fifth angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss. When he opened the Abyss, smoke rose from it like the smoke from a gigantic furnace. The sun and sky were darkened by the smoke from the Abyss.

  The words poured into Declan’s eyes and senses from all sides of the room and, despite the eerie awe that had overcome him, began to realize they were all, each and every one, passages from the Bible.

  “What the…,” he whispered to himself, watching his breath growing deeper and more frequent in the cold air before him.

  As his eyes spun around the room, trying to take in the fullness and total insanity surrounding him, Declan caught sight of something hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. It was small and difficult to make out in the sparse light. Declan moved slowly toward it, and caught sight of another similar object hanging a few feet away. As he got closer, he could see that it was a ball, about the size of a decent sized marble, pierced with what appeared to be a fishing hook, and hanging from the ceiling with some sort of thin reddish cord or rope.

  Something inside him told Declan to look up. As his eyes followed the cord up to the ceiling, he was met with a life size Vitruvian Man, again carefully and perfectly drawn on the white apartment ceiling, almost like a Michelangelo fresco in the Sistine Chapel.

  Declan held his sidearm in his left hand, still ready, pulled the small flashlight from his pocket with his right hand, and turned it on. He scanned the Vitruvian Man with the light beam, taking in the detail and the genuine artwork involved. It was stunning, even beautiful in a strange way. It appeared to be a charcoal drawing, perfect in every respect.