Online Murder Syndicate: The Paranormal Mysteries & Adventures of Special Agent Lou Abrams (The Paranormal Mysteries & Adventure of Special Agent Lou Abrams Book 2) Read online

  Not sure what to make of the note, the police solicited the FBI’s help, and soon after we had our first real piece of evidence linking the OMS to a murder for hire.

  It turned out that the victim had received a note to kill someone. Apparently, the victim had gone through with the murder, but it seemed the burden was too much for him to carry.

  Lauren had discovered that the email from OMS was sent from a very sophisticated user on the Darknet, with no traceable IP or user ID making it almost impossible to suss out the origin of the email. She had a theory that if the PC was never turned off and was never disconnected from its router and internet connection, she may have had a fighting chance to use one of her software programs to trace back the origin of the email on the Darknet.

  The FBI has shut down many black-market websites operating in the Darknet before. Human trafficking, drug sales, prostitution, even murder for hire. Even so, the success in recent years had not put a dent in the Wild West that was the Darknet.

  The FBI hoped that if they hired enough “Lauren’s” to act as “Wyatt Earp’s,” eventually some order would be established in this uncontrolled space. It was an extremely optimistic view, but for now, there was plenty of bad shit happening on the Darknet and no shortage of crimes to solve.

  “I hate to say it, but we are still at ground zero until we get lucky and score another PC that is still connected to the internet,” Lauren replied. As soon as she said it, she realized what that meant for some poor unfortunate soul.

  “I…I didn’t mean lucky in the sense that someone else had to…”

  “I know what you meant,” I let her off the hook. We all knew the likelihood of our next break would come at someone’s expense. Every day, Arya would spend time with the victim’s computer and personal items, hoping for a vision. Nothing yet.

  Arya is clairvoyant and her visions have helped us in the past. Since being with me, her visions have come more often and were at times much clearer. Much like my gift, only a few people know about Arya’s talent.

  Arya came into the kitchen a few minutes later and rounded us up for the ride to the office. I dropped Andy off with the neighbor and it was not long before we found ourselves entering the 4th-floor briefing room at the Atlanta Field office.

  Special Agent in Charge Thomas Cooley, otherwise referred to as Director Cooley, was looking through his morning summaries as we came in and found our seats. Cooley filled every inch of the office chair with his linebacker physique. The briefing papers looked small under his hands as he impatiently tapped his thumb on the table waiting for the one team member still missing from the room.

  “What did I miss?” Holliday asked as he entered last. Tom Holliday was a cowboy in every sense of the word. Boots, jeans, Stetson hat, southern drawl, and born with the confidence, ability, and attitude that if it moved, he could catch it. It did not matter if it were a football, baseball, horse, cow, chicken, or fugitive, he could catch it. As a highly decorated US Marshall who seemed well connected in all corners of law enforcement, we were lucky to have him assigned to the team. It didn’t hurt that we knew him and worked a case together already. As they say, he is good people.

  “Like every morning, you missed your opportunity to be the first one here,” Cooley snapped back. Director Cooley and Holliday traded at least one jab or one story a day. It was their thing, and no one tried to imitate it. Both played college ball, so that likely connected them on some comradery higher plain.

  “Yes, but this morning I come bearing gifts,” Holliday replied.

  Holliday walked around and dropped what looked like an airplane boarding pass in front of each of us. Most of the general public does not know that the FBI has its own fleet of jets. They outsource the flying to a company that contracts mostly ex-military pilots with a top-secret clearance. These pilots fly cargo and private jets for the NSA, Secret Service teams, FBI, and even the CIA.

  “Wheels up in two hours. Lauren and I are going to drive up to Greenville from Cherry Point, which is as far as our flight goes,” Holliday announced. Cherry Point is a well-known Marine Corps Air Station near the mouth of the Neuse River on the North Carolina coast. Greenville was about 45 miles north of Cherry Point.

  Holliday quickly caught us up on the information he received earlier this morning. Local PD and FBI in Greenville reached out to us to share a particularly odd case that seems to align with our case alert. A college student was offered $20,000 through email to kill someone. His conscience guided him to local law enforcement, but he seems to think his life and the life of his father are in danger if he does not follow through with the contract by this evening.

  His father was now in protective custody at Cherry Point. This gave us hours to gather electronic evidence and get them and the intended victim into our protective custody, and with a little luck, without incident.

  As we stood to leave, Director Cooley’s deep reverberating voice filled the room.

  “They likely did not teach you this in Cowboy school Holliday, but it is a Federal offense to read my morning summaries from my desk without explicit permission.”

  Holliday was already out the door when he shot back, “Real Cowboys are made, not taught.”

  ◆◆◆

  On our way to the locations, we received a message that all three were in police custody awaiting our team. Emmitt Gaffney, the target provided by the OMS to Charlie, was in Raleigh. We had no intentions of splitting up our team any further, so Emmitt’s interview and transfer to us would have to wait. Local FBI was already with him. Another piece of good news was that the college student's laptop was equipped with an air card, allowing for the internet connection to stay in place as the equipment moved from the dorm room to the police station where it and the young man awaited us.

  After landing at Cherry Point Marine Corps Air station around noon, Holliday and Lauren headed north, and minutes later Arya and I were met by a Naval Criminal Investigative Service Agent.

  “Special Agent Michaels, NCIS out of Camp Lejeune,” he said as he extended his hand to Arya first. “I’m up here working with the Military Police Commanding Officer Major Wahl, organizing skills training. We typically do not babysit civilians, but I could tell this was an odd situation and made an exception. Follow me and I will introduce you to Mr. Houghton.”

  We cut through what seemed to be an open hanger which must have been bigger than two football fields. A huge banner about 20 feet up on one wall read 2nd Marine Aircraft Wing “Second to None”. Far to our right was a parked F-35B fighter jet that a crew had partly dismantled and were working on. The smell of grease, oil, and jet fuel was in the air.

  “We are walking through the Fleet Readiness Center where they work on the lift fan of the F-35B propulsion system. The lift fan allows it to make short takeoffs and vertical landings,” he paused and then directed his next comment towards Arya, “It can hover.”

  “I figured that out when you said it could take off vertically. It’s replacing the Harrier jet, which has been around for over 50 years. About time, right?” Arya replied with a smile.

  With a little crow in his teeth and not skipping a beat, Agent Michaels continued, “Exactly. It is replacing the Harrier, the Hornet, and the Prowler. I think we are getting about 70 more F-35B fighter jets for our East coast air stations over the next few years.”

  “That has to mean many jobs for the base,” I said.

  “Indeed. The ripple effect goes far beyond these hangers and crews. Hundreds of jobs on and off base. Maybe even a couple of thousand jobs through the ripple effect,” he said with noticeable gratification.

  We found ourselves exiting the hanger and navigating through a few more streets and buildings before arriving at a two-story office building. After working our way through some cubicles on the main floor, we entered a conference room where Mr. Houghton sat with a Military Police officer.

  We instantly knew something was wrong. Special Agent Michaels had barely taken two steps into the room before he turne
d around and pushed his way past us. The Marine MP was face down on the conference room table in a pool of blood. Mr. Houghton was slumped over sideways in a chair with several bullet holes in his chest.

  Special Agent Michaels had the base hopping in seconds. The gates were on lockdown, MPs mobilized and the office we stood in became a hornet’s nest of activity. The commanding officer was now in the mix and barking orders. They were already in the process of looking at office surveillance.

  I had not immediately noticed, but Arya did not follow me out to the main office floor. She stayed behind in the conference room. When I returned, I found her holding the inside door handle to the conference room staring at the floor. I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and felt a warm current pass between us.

  Arya gave a small gasp as she broke off her stare and looked at me.

  “He is about 6 foot, a Sergeant, in Camo with cover, Mencen, Mencer or Mercer for the last name,” she said as she looked around to see who was listening. Just me.

  I waived over Agent Michaels and relayed the information of the potential lead. After talking to a few people, someone in the room came up with Justin Mercer’s information within seconds of another person shouting they have the surveillance recording of the conference room. Without hesitating, the CO spoke into his hand-held radio, letting the gate guards and mobile MPs know of a possible suspect.

  The room was still in a state of controlled chaos. A medical officer was already in the conference room with a civilian NCSI agent managing the crime scene. We stepped over to the cubicle where the CO and Agent Michaels quickly arrived to view the playback of the conference room. Other than confirming the explicit execution that took place minutes before we arrived, not much else could be taken from the recording.

  “Agent Michaels, if Mercer is our man for this crime, it is highly likely he was hired like the others online. We need to bring in Mercer alive to follow this back to the organization responsible,” I requested.

  “I understand that is ideal, Agent Abrams, but that all depends on the suspect’s behavior when we corner him,” Agent Michael’s said with confidence regarding the apprehension of the killer. “How did you come across Justin Mercer for this?” He asked me.

  “Agent Shah said she thinks she saw him leaving the facility as we were coming in.” I already knew that lying was going to be a more regular act, and necessary to avoid complications in the field. Arya and I have had a few discussions on how to cover for each other, which was necessary to lower our stress levels and limit the suspicion from others. Like me, Arya had a gift as well, clairvoyance. The same inner circle of four knew about it.

  Arya was already talking with the CO, organizing a team to take us to Mercer’s apartment for access to any email devices.

  Chapter 2

  Earlier that day in North Carolina

  It was 3:15 A.M. Justin slowly looked around the card table taking in the scene. Texas Hold’em was his game of choice. As usual, he was sitting on borrowed money and playing recklessly. Knowing he was about to win; Justin was sizing up the other 4 players' stacks, and thinking how to maximize the pot.

  These last few months, Justin had been on a streak of bad luck in the backroom poker game off base. He had set limits for himself and brought his max allowance of 500 dollars to each game. However, he was extremely susceptible to “playing on tilt,” or letting emotions take over when his luck was down. He borrowed from the house in what seemed like small amounts, but they had added up. A few months later, he owed the wrong people 15,000 dollars.

  Tonight had started the same. He had already borrowed another 2,000 dollars but had won the occasional hand, and now had 4,000 dollars in chips in front of him. Justin was sure he could get the other four players to push their money in the middle. He sat confidently with two aces in his hand.

  Showing on the table was the Ace and King of Clubs and the Ace of Diamonds. Justin had four Aces. The person to his right bet 500 dollars. Justin called. The person to his left raised another 500 dollars and the other two called.

  Justin thought about it for a second and then said, “All in”, pushing his remaining 3,500 in the middle.

  His heart started racing with excitement when two of the three pushed their money in. He would win 13,000 in this one hand. Enough to settle almost his entire debt with the house and walk out with a few hundred in his hand.

  He wasn’t even paying attention as the next two cards turned over were the Two of Diamonds and Ten of Clubs. He turned over his two Aces and the room went crazy for his 4 of a kind. He was grinning ear to ear.

  The person to his left revealed pocket Kings for a full house, but that was not enough to beat Justin.

  Seconds later the room erupted again when the person to his right flipped over the Jack and Queen of Clubs.

  It took Justin a moment to process that the most unlikely of events just took place. The person had nothing on the flop and nothing on the turn card but bet everything hoping a ten of clubs would turn up to give him a Royal Straight Flush. With less than a 5% chance to win, the person had received the only card he was playing for and sat across the table grinning from ear to ear.

  Someone yelled, “Oh! Now that is a bad beat!”

  Justin nodded in disbelief as he stood, defeated both financially and mentally. He started walking towards the door, only to be stopped by an exceptionally large fellow named ‘Buddy’.

  “Jay, the House is calling your $17,000 loan and giving you two weeks. We don’t want to see you here again unless you are paying in full, or a big part of it. Got it? No more playing, until done paying.”

  “Okay, Buddy.” That is all that Justin could manage to say as he stepped out into an empty parking lot and starting walking towards the neighboring store where he parked his car hours earlier.

  The drive back to his apartment had him deep in thought. Mostly about his horrific luck lately. He felt as though the universe was taking a giant crap on one Justin Mercer and the urge to retaliate was boiling inside of him.

  “Who the fuck pushes in 3,000 dollars in hopes of getting the one card in the deck that can make them win? Nobody!” Justin screamed at his steering wheel.

  Realizing he only had three hours until his shift started on base, Justin pulled into an all-night diner and went inside to get some food and coffee. He had done this before and knew that if he went home and worked out for an hour, he would be wide awake for his shift and a few energy drinks would help as well.

  An hour later, Justin pulled into his apartment complex. As he turned under the carport and parked, he slammed the palm of his hand repeatedly on the steering wheel in frustration. He could not shake the thought of the asshole who bet all his money on nothing and got the miracle card to win. He dragged himself out of the car and headed up the walking path towards the apartment.

  A man with a hat pulled low over his eyes was walking away from Justin’s front door. Justin could see a package at the foot of his door and quickly stepped in front of the man.

  “Hey, what the hell did you leave at my door?”

  The man tried to step around Justin but was unsuccessful. Justin had already grabbed the man’s coat. They both gave each other a shove and then Justin found himself staring at the muzzle of a pistol.

  “You have your phone on you?” The man asked with no emotion.

  Justin nodded.

  “Look at your email and don’t make me come back here,” the man said, then turned the corner and disappeared.

  A little shaken, Justin picked up the bag and muttered to himself, “What the hell is going on?” He entered his apartment and sat at the kitchen table. Moments later he sat stunned with elbows planted on the table and his face buried in his hands. A .22 caliber pistol and silencer lay on the table in front of him and his phone was open on the email that demanded his attention today.

  Later in the day, he was disgusted with what he had just done. With truly little time to think about or even plan out this dreadful event, Justin Mercer
knew he was not getting off the base through normal channels. This is why he fled to the old Base Officer’s Quarters, or “BOQ’s,” parked, and headed into the woods adjacent to the buildings. He quickly found a fire trail and started running north on it.

  He hadn’t wanted to kill those two men. However, the email, the stranger at his apartment, the gun, they all added up to either him taking the life of a stranger or a stranger taking his life. It was a horrific situation he found himself in. Total madness.

  Justin had little time to think about it and when he did, he thought it had to be connected to the people that loaned him $17k. But he knew of people that had bigger debts and paid them off without having to kill someone. His head was spinning with conflicting thoughts, anxiety, and the look on the other man’s face after seeing Justin shoot the MP and then swiveling to shoot him.

  The fire trail took him to the banks of the Neuse River. As soon as he descended from the woods onto the sandy banks, the sound of the water helped settle his nerves a little. He reached for his cell phone only to find that he left it in the car. “Shit!”

  He had a friend who could have come by boat, had he thought to call him sooner. Now, it is just another reminder of his bad luck. The river looked like it could be a mile or wider at this point with strong ocean currents. Getting into the water was suicide without a boat. So, he continued to explore his way up the banks.

  Chapter 3

  Transport

  Holliday and Lauren were about 10 minutes from the Greenville Police Station where Charlie Houghton was being held in protective custody when Lauren received a call from Arya. The news was not good and made the upcoming conversation with Charlie even more sensitive.

  “You might want to not mention Charlie’s father’s death until after the interview. Emotions might run high or he might just clam up,” Holliday advised Lauren.