Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

“Nigeria will cost a shitload of money, Angus. There’s like sixty zillion sites. They can’t monitor all of ’em.”

“Oh yeah? Last month the freakin’ NASA headquarters in D.C. was raided. They caught some high-ranking dude, right outta Mission Control, dealing in kiddie porn over the Internet. If they can trace a guy who knows how to disappear into outer space, they can locate anybody.”

“You’re watchin’ too much CNN.”

“And this new pope. Benenick-”

“Benedict, you idiot.”

“Whatever. There’s this old priest-”

“Don’t even go there.”

“He’s like eighty-somethin’. Marsh or Marshall something. Outta Mexico. A big shot. A bishop, I think. Anyway, he gets called in by the pope for some nasty they say he did sixty years ago.”

“So what’s your point?”

“You know how far Mexico is from where the pope lives? The guy reaches clear across the planet after sixty years? That says nobody’s safe. Think about it. The feds take down an astronaut for trawlin’ the Web and the Vatican’s main man calls for a replay on one of his own. No. Body. Is. Safe. That Driscoll guy tracked us down to Carbondale, for Chrissake!”

“We got outta there just in time. How’d you know?”

“’Cause Big Brother is everywhere.”

“Carbondale?”

“Everywhere. And it’s only gonna get worse. We’re on the run now with a million-dollar bull’s-eye painted on our asses. We gotta hurry and set up a new Web si-”

Holy shit! He froze in the middle of a freaking word. “Angus, are you okay? Angus?” He’d never done that before. Cassie thought he’d passed out with his eyes open. Until a smile said otherwise.

“I know that look. What is it? Whad’ya come up with?”

His smile broadened.

“Ya gonna tell me? C’mon, I’m bustin’!”

“We’re not gonna need a Web site, Cass.”

“No?”

“Not even a phone.”

The Mayor held the handset away from his ear and let Shewster rant. When it stopped reverberating, he returned to the line. “May I speak now?”

“Go ahead,” Shewster barked. “But I’d better like what you’re going to tell me.”

“Rest assured the city of New York is not about to bargain with murderers. What the Lieutenant will get out of this is an intricately carved Native American trinket. Nothing more. I doubt very much that the kids themselves believed their peace-pipe gambit would garner absolution. They’re good at playing games. Our belief, the Lieutenant and I, is that both the pipe and the e-mail were meant as distractions. Give them a chance to regroup. We also don’t think they have any intention of stopping. They’re nuts, for Chrissake!”

“Look, Reirdon. I want to make this point crystal clear. I don’t want to ever read in the papers that you’ve collared these bastards. What I want to read is that they’re dead. Dead. You got that?”

“I can’t promise you that. C’mon. This isn’t Dodge City. Vigilante violence is a crime.”

“Not where I come from!”

“Mr. Shewster, you have to let…Mr. Shewster? Malcolm? Hello? Hello? Are you there?”

It was nearing 6:00 A.M. Driscoll had just arrived, early for the morning shift. He put on a fresh pot of coffee, adjusted the blinds, and took a seat behind his desk. Pushing an assortment of the paperwork to the side, along with three messages from the chief of detectives marked “Update,” he reached for the folder Margaret had left for him. It was labeled: INTERPOL. Opening it, he discovered she had highlighted the important information in yellow. He wasn’t surprised to learn the pair from Germany and Yen Chan of Japan had contacted the twins on their disposable phone. What he was hoping the report contained he found on page three. Not only had Margaret highlighted it but also it was underlined in red. He smiled as he read the editorial she had penciled next to the twins’ cyber link: “TwoNaughtyFreaks. Some name for a Web site. I’m sure they had the old man to thank for that one.-M.”

His phone rang.

“Driscoll, here.”

“You get it?” Margaret asked.

“Just opened it. Where are you?”

“Ten minutes out.”

“Good. Thomlinson’s on his way in, too. It’s time for the three of us to discuss strategy. There’s been a new development.”

Margaret was already seated inside the Lieutenant’s office when Thomlinson appeared at the door.

“Come in, Cedric.”

Thomlinson did and sidled up next to Margaret.

“You may have already seen or heard about this.” Driscoll passed them a copy of the morning’s Daily News. Its headline read: JUSTICE SEEKER RAISES BOUNTY TO THREE MILLION. “I’ve read the article. It doesn’t shed any light as to why an anonymous justice seeker has raised the ante. Shewster obviously wants them found in a hurry. But not necessarily alive.”

Thomlinson raised an eyebrow.

“It’s likely New York has its own vigilante in Shewster seeking revenge-seeking twins. That, according to the Honorable William “Sully” Reirdon, who called me last night, a tad concerned. Seems he got a call from the man. Shewster doesn’t want them caught. He wants them dead.”

“And we know why,” said Thomlinson. “He doesn’t want Abigail’s fondness for kinky sex revealed by the twins.”

“Kinky doesn’t quite cut it,” said Margaret. “It’s perverse.”

“Whatever you wanna call it, Shewster’s got one foot on Gweneth’s grave, the other foot on Abigail’s grave, and he’s looking to get the twins in his crosshairs,” said Driscoll.

“Does Reirdon know that Shewster has both feet on one grave?” asked Thomlinson. “Or is it just us civil servants who know Gwen and Abie are one and the same?”

“I doubt the Mayor’s aware. Just to play it safe, I left him out of the loop. He is a politician.”

“That puts a sniper between us and the twins,” said Margaret. “With no way of predicting which way he’ll shoot.”

“Nor do we know who that shooter might be,” said Driscoll. “Shewster will have an infantry of yes-men to choose from. Now, although our new initiative falls under the heading of prevention, I’m not enlisting anyone from the department’s Crime Prevention Section. The fewer people we involve, the better. We’ll be shadowing a man who’s got the home phone number of a horde of political honchos and he’ll go to any length to keep his secret buried. When I met with the Greyhound bus operator who ID’d the kids as coming down from Carbondale, he told me someone other than NYPD had returned the call he placed to the Tip Line. Who that was will likely remain a mystery. But on whose behalf had he placed the call? Three million fingers point to Shewster. It could have been the man, himself, but I doubt it. When it comes to selecting someone to take down the twins, he may not use a phone. The likelihood is he’ll call him at some point along the way, so we’ll trace his calls.”

“You’ll need a warrant, no?”

“Why? The president didn’t need one to eavesdrop on millions of Americans. Besides, this is a crime prevention measure. We’re not likely to have to use it in court.”

“It amazes me what these guys in the White House get away with. George Bush listens in on unsuspecting citizens, across the nation, and Bill Clinton gives new significance to the O in Oval office. Then claims it doesn’t constitute sex.” Margaret shook her head.

“Let’s not forget JFK,” said Thomlinson.

“Kennedy was lucky. Back in those days reporters kept their noses out of the bedroom.”

“Too bad. Marilyn Monroe coulda used a paparazzi aiming a lens or two on her boudoir. Coulda prevented her suicide, or homicide if you think like a Republican.”