THE BODY COLLECTOR
CHAPTER THREE
"THE OPPOSITION"
(This chapter is in the process of being completed, so check back often for the finished version)
The clouds opened up letting nothing but beautiful rays of sun light through, each one warming Harris’ back as he left the Clive building. The way things were turning out; this day had the makings to become one of his most interesting yet. Maybe it was the fact that everything he believed to be true or false about Division 2 has been laid to rest. Or better yet, maybe the idea of actually joining such a division left an odd residue on his mind. Then something off into the distance caught his eye. He looked up and down the street and even across it, as if scanning for something. After realizing that he might have someone watching him, he decided to take his film to get developed. Going somewhere public and in plain view would protect him and also flush out any company he might suspect to have. He then got in his car and left for the photo shop that was located just around the corner about a mile or two. His radio was rather loud and somewhat overwhelming and although it distracting many who drove near him; it never broke his concentration as he dwelled over the question at hand. What should he do; join and forget the past or just turn the Division down and continue on with the life he’s always known. A very good and life changing question many would want time to sleep over; although in his case, he only had twenty four hours to decide the fate of his future.
The photo shop’s owner was a friend of Harris’ named Dean. The two have known each other ever since community college where they took economics together. Harris was horrible at it but his friend was a wonder with money and after graduating left to open his own shop that entailed a hobby that Dean was equally impressive at.
A little bell shook sounding as if a master were calling his butler. This was the sound the door gave when presenting new customers. Harris could smell the liquid solution used to develop film in the air. The shop had up to date cameras and lenses with advertisement posters spread out across the walls. Some of the shelves had a little dust on them, but for the most part you could tell that this place generated a lot of business. Dean hearing the bell came out from behind the counter cleaning his hands and looking about the shop were Harris finally came into view. He was average height and a little overweight, but was known through out the community as the nicest guy to know and do business with.
“Well look what the cat drug in . . . is that you Harris?” asked Dean in a cheerful voice.
“Been a long time hasn’t.” Harris hated to lose touch with friends but times have been hard and the idea of visiting old acquaintances almost never crossed his mind.
“I’d say about four years.” Dean came out and hugged Harris which everyone knew he hated. Harris was the type of guy that hated to be touched, just one of his pet peeves. “So . . . what’s brought you to my neck of the woods?”
It was then he withdrew a roll of film from his coat pocket. “Dean, I need for you to develop this. It’s from a murder scene so I’m going to warn you that it may have photos of things you shouldn’t and probably wouldn’t want to see.” Dean then took it into his palm and examined it by rolling it between his fingers.
“You got it bro; trust me when I say that I’ll take care of it. This never leaves my sight and I’ll personally make sure it gets developed.”
“Thanks . . . I knew I could count on you.”
“But . . . .” with a slight pause, Dean then asked, “why didn’t you get it developed at the police department’s lab?”
“There’s something different about this one,” said Harris.
Dean then looked at the film again and this time noticed something unique about it. “Did you know that this is black and white film?” asked Dean.
Harris making a confused expression said, “No . . . I didn’t. Is there any significance about using black and white as opposed to color film?”
“Most of the time no, except for a few minor differences,” said Dean as he scratched the side of his temple. “Some black and whites are a little more expensive to develop, and then you have some that are infrared and . . . listen to me going on about things that would only confuse people that don’t know much about photography.” Dean placed the film in a black bag and said, “When I find out more, I’ll let you know. Give me about a day and I’ll have your pictures.” Harris felt at ease trusting an old friend; and with that they parted.
Harris heard the bells ring again as he strolled out of the shop extracting a set of keys from his jean pockets. He looked over his car that was parked just in front of him, but never moving towards it as if it had a disease. Instead he walked past it and across the busy street to a dark blue Caprice that was parked next to a hotdog stand. Once he reached the window of the vehicle he popped his head in.
“Hey guys . . .” a hint of silence and tension filled the air between Harris and the two gentlemen who sat quietly staring at their new visitor through the driver window.
“How about the two of you join me for some coffee just down the street?” Harris cracked a tiny smile that came and went in the blink of an eye. One of the gentlemen appeared the same height and weight as Harris except sported a clean cut hair style combed to the left and smelt of cigars or cigarettes. The other guy was larger and burly with a scar that ran down his left eye. These were the guys from earlier at his apartment. The two appeared a little apprehensive towards Harris but eventually calmed down and accepted his invitation.
“Sure,” said the clean cut one with a monotone sound. Harris quickly got in his car and began to drive to the coffee shop with his new friends closely in tow. The café was of moderate size and filled with occupants that hunched over their laptops scrutinizing their work while trying to converse on their telephones. Some had business suits and earphones taking conference calls as they gulped down their lattes. Harris ordered some coffee, black with no sugar and then took a seat next to one of the larger windows that faced the crowded street. As a waitress dropped off his order, the two men entered and immediately sat opposite him; neither one speaking at first, just staring and analyzing. Until eventually the front man of the two, the clean cut gentleman finally broke the ice.
“Detective Harris, that was impressive of you spotting us so quickly.”
“When you say us you mean?” asked Harris as he took a sip of his coffee.
“My name is Special Agent Frost, and this is Special Agent Besson. We work for the C.I.A.” As Frost was speaking he was also showing his credentials as well as his partner. Harris looked over the identification of the two verifying whether they were authentic or not, once he was pleased he took another sip.
“So then, what does the big bad C.I.A. want with an average homicide detective from New York?” Harris had a look of cynicism that loomed over his face.
“Where do I start,” said Frost with equal playfulness in his voice. “We’ve been watching you for the past six months and I must admit it that hasn’t been boring. You’ve had very interesting theories that surround your current case, the murders and how they tie into together.” Harris felt like a cat in a corner, those theories and ideas about the murders were documented and recorded at the department and could only be seen and retrieved by the chief of police. They were never made public because the idea of a mass murderer wondering the streets would put the public on alert status and even cause them to question their political leaders. Especially with the elections around the corner, for the Mayor as well as the Senator, they weren’t going to jeopardize their reputation as the two who couldn’t help and watch over those that they were elected to protect. So instead his reports were locked away until future notice. Some of his colleagues mocked him for such an absurd idea, that so many killings that seem so random could somehow be connected. Some even thought of him as unstable, especially after what happened last year. Some of the higher ups even tried to have him psyched out of the department. Harris felt as though he were at a poker game where his cards were face up for the world to see, and he was blind as a bat. He had no leverage at the table and if he wanted answers, he had to come up with something fast.
“I know you two have access to a lot of reports and documents, but those files were confidential, more than your usual shit that the government can just pick up at the local convenient store. So my question is how did the two of you just stumble across it?” Harris was now more serious than before.
“A cop like you wouldn’t understand how deep our streams run, but rest assured that you have no idea what we’re capable of doing.” The two locked eyes as if ready to draw guns at an old gun fight. Frost then took a deep breathe and started over. “Listen, I didn’t come here to make enemies with you. If anything we got off on the wrong foot. We’re here to tell you that the C.I.A. has got your back, through and through. We want to bust this guy just as bad as you do, but we need your help.” Harris looked over the room as he slowly felt his guard simmer down.
“Listen, I’ve been trough a crap load of shit lately, and having people throw their weight around doesn’t go over too well with me. And what about your partner, doesn’t he ever get a chance to talk.” As Harris said the remark, Besson initiated to rise from his seat but was restrained when Frost grabbed his arm. “You obviously have the tools and information to get this guy, so I’m sure me walking away from this table won’t offend either one of you.” Harris stood up and before he could take a step or even hint towards the door Frost said, “And what of your decision about Division 2?”
“Damn.” Whispered Harris under his breathe, barely audible to himself. These guys had all the ammo on him and their wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He despised this feeling of being bullied, where they knew more than they were telling him, just giving him morsels at a time; on their time. Harris contemplated his options; walk away and venture out on his own or stick around and see just what these vendors had to offer. Harris took a seat and pulling back his coat sleeve to glimpse over his watch said, “You’ve got 5 minutes.” Harris’ words were no longer one of friendliness, but that of a haggler.
“You were recently contacted by a group that refers themselves as Division 2. I’m here to tell you that all they have to offer is nothing more that a title of traitor.” Frost then pulled out a manila folder and pushed it across the table towards Harris who opened it slowly, as if it were a ticking time bomb. “They are a terrorist group that has embedded their workshop here on American soil.” Before he could finish his next statement Harris jumped in, “So what your saying is that the Taliban are setting shop just down the street?”
“Please Detective Harris, think about it. They’ve got access to an enormous amount of information at the press of a key. Who keeps them in check, because as far as I concerned everyone, even the President of the United States has to through checks and balances because no one has free reign.”
“Okay,” said Harris, “but how do you guys have so much information on Division 2?” It was that this time that Harris had opened and pulled out a set of photos, each black and white, each showing a team member of Division 2.”
“We began to notice about a year ago that somehow or another a mole was in our midst, or maybe even a leak had been paid off giving information out to the highest bidder. Then one day during routine maintenance checks of all our equipment, someone found a tracker, a bug hardwired straight into our computers. These sons of bitches were seeing everything we were. They weren’t using wireless connections mind you, someone had to infiltrate our security, get in and set this connection up by hand. They’ve got some balls and the audacity to link straight into our system. So we traced the signal back to the Clive building and after putting up surveillance we were able to identify and name all of the perpetrators. Those photos you’re looking at are from a years worth of work. It took awhile to get our information because they’re extremely secretive and well guarded.” Harris skimmed over each photo; they had the Colonel, Johann, Solis, all of them, each with a brief description of their careers stapled to the back. Harris didn’t like where this was going, and after examining the pictures more realized that they must have been taken from a distance because they had an odd tint to them and weren’t as clear as regular photos.
“How did you get these shots without them knowing?” asked Harris.
“From across the street using a high powered lens; if they would have caught on, they would have packed up and flew the coop in a heart beat.”
“From the look of your evidence, it seems as though you’ve got all you need to put these guys away. You’ve got the intelligence and the man power. So why contact me, I can’t do any more than you two.” Harris took another sip from his coffee that was once hot and now lukewarm.
“You’ve got something we don’t,” said Frost, “a chance to get on the inside and mingle with the enemy.”
“Why not just put these guys away, why prolong it?” asked Harris.
“Because we need one last piece of evidence that only you can supply.”
“And what’s that,” whispered Harris as if someone were listening.
“Access codes to the Mainframe.”
Now everything was beginning to fall into place. Harris fought the urge to tell them they were full of shit, because a part of him worked out the numbers, and what they were saying could in fact be true. But a part of him also could help but wonder how they could know about the Mainframe. Sure photos can be taken, look at the paparazzi and their incredible and intimate shots of the stars. But the Mainframe, that just didn’t set well with Harris. He hated the idea that Division 2 could be a terrorist group; he in fact liked them all from just the short while he met them. Harris tumbled the accusations through his mind trying to make sense of the whole thing.
“Why do you need the access codes the Mainframe?”
“Glad you asked,” said Frost “using the Mainframe we can locate all of their affiliates and bring them to justice. They’ve got the hardware so why not use it against them?” Frost took the photos back and placed them aside and continued, “I know you’ve been through a lot, especially after last year . . .”
“Say anything of last year and this conversation is over!” snapped Harris.
Frost and Besson looked at each other a bit startled and thrown back. “Sorry Detective Harris, I meant no harm and will not bring that subject up again.” Frost waited for about a minute before Harris said anything more.
“You’re 5 minutes are up.”
“Very well,” said Frost. “We’ll be leaving then, here’s my card, please feel free to call me when you decide to play ball or not.” The two then stood up leaving Harris seated in place. “Just remember that without your cooperation we’ll have to go another route, one that involves hostile tactics. We don’t want to see anyone get hurt, so it’s up to you.” Frost and Besson then left leaving Harris to stare into his coffee. He couldn’t help but feel that last statement was some type of threat. Harris then let out a deep sigh hoping to reduce the tension in his head. Today was in fact turning out to be one that he would never forget.
“Copyright © 2004 by Robert Dominguez Jr. All Rights Reserved.”