Stephen Cannell - Final Victim

"How's my Anglo brother?"

"He's under arrest and on his way back to Washington, so I guess you could say he's pretty shitty."

"I know. He was by here yesterday. He looked tired and confused. Claire's death hit him hard. But he didn't say nothing about that killer, or busting Chacone outta Federal prn. I got that offa TV this evening."

"Vic Kulack from Internal Affairs came down with a warrant for pursuing an investigation against orders."

Gonzales laid down the magazine, and his face formed into a scowl. "Kulack is a low-life. He's the reason I'm hooked up to this damn machine. Kulack's been working overtime on Johnny. He doesn't like the fact that Lockwood gets results, that he gets newspaper ink, that the agency brass loves him. All these years Lockwood gets invited to the ball and gets to eat off lace doilies. Kulack gets invited to the outhouse, eats off toilet seat covers. Now, I guess he figures he's even."

A nurse came in to check the levels on the dialysis machine. After a minute, she left. Ray Gonzales studied Karen openly. "It was too bad about Claire," he said. "John was still carrying a big torch for her. Don't often see a man pining over his ex-wife with that much sincere energy.

All through Operation Girlfriend he was talking about getting together with her again."

Karen nodded. Her eyes showed him nothing, but she felt a tinge of sadness at that remark.

"You didn't come down here 'cause you wanted to watch my blood get cleaned," Gonzales said, bringing her back, "or because you wanted to catch up on John Lockwood's past. You got another reason?"

"You're pretty perceptive, Ray," she said.

"Cut the bullshit let's hear what's really on your mind."

So she sat in the chair facing the bed and told him her plan.

His nipples were on fire. He faced the computer in his barge and endured his stinging flesh. The TV news said that Lockwood had been transported to Washington for a Friday morning nine-o'clock hearing at the Department of Justice. The Rat had cracked the DOJ computer and obtained a valid username/password by fone-phreaking a DOJ agent's modem call into work. He brought the DOJ Administration Building's menu of Building Services up on the screen.

2300 Constitution Avenue

Washington, D. C.

Central Computer Menu

H)VACPhysical Plant, Misc

HeatingDWP

VentilationGas

Air ConditioningEnergy Mgmt. Systems

Energy StarMaintenance Sched.

S)ecurityB)uilding Services

Access Control amp; AccountingPA/Music

VicCam MonitoringElevator Sched/Control

LockdownCommon Area Lighting

AlarmsEnergy Star

C)ommunicationsE)mergency Services

PhonePublic Safety

DataAutoAlert

RadioHelipad

PagingPower Backup

He selected the "Security" sub-menu. The DOJ in Washington was housed in a "smart" building, and everybody in the Justice Department had a "smart card" which they inserted in a slot when they entered. He chose "Access Control amp; Accounting," which showed the names and times of everyone entering and exiting the building, as well as certain high-security areas. Lockwood had entered the building at eight A. M. It was now quarter to nine. The Rat exited the security access log and chose "Emergency Services" from the main menu. A sub-menu appeared, and he chose "Public Safety." Up onto the screen came a list of sub-headings:

Police F)Ire

Medical

S)eismic

He selected the "Fire" option, then scanned the map of the fire suppression systems of the DOJ Building on Constitution Avenue. Most of the old buildings had CO2 or water sprinkler fire systems, but The Rat had found something interesting when he'd gone hunting in the system yesterday. On the bottom floor of the building, he had discovered a room labeled "Paper Files." It took up half the sub-basement, and it was where correspondence and memos that had not been transferred onto diskettes were stored. The room had become the center of his plan.

The hearing was in a small conference room on the ninth floor of the Department of Justice Administration Building. It was beautifully decorated: deep-green carpet, silk wallpaper, hunting prints in lacquered frames. The nine o'clock hearing started ten minutes late.

Laurence Heath had walked over from Customs two blocks away, and now sat at the oak conference table next to Bob Tilly and across from Vic Kulack. They were all waiting for the U. S. Prosecutor, a narrow-shouldered man named Carter Van Lendt.

"This guy really dropped the basket," Kulack said to fill the empty air as Heath's gaze fell on him. "He thinks he can just do whatever he pleases. I've got a file on him two inches thick. Damn thing looks like the Georgetown phonebook."

"Why don't we wait for Van Lendt?" Heath said without emotion.

Then the door opened and DOJ Prosecutor Carter Van Lendt entered the room, carrying some brown manila files. "Hi. Sorry I'm late. Had to clean up a mess on a case in pre-trial." He sat down and dropped his armload of folders on the conference table. He hunted for the one that said "Lockwood" on the tab. Then he looked up and smiled thinly. "Lockwood and Alex Hixon are in the next room. Wanna bring 'em in and get started?" Van Lendt said, as he put a tape recorder in the center of the conference table.

"I've got something I wanna say first," Kulack said, and they all turned to him.

"Is this for the record, Vic?" Van Lendt asked, reaching to turn on the tape recorder.

"No, hang on a minute, not yet. Before we start, I just want you to know where I'm coming from." He looked at them for a theatrical moment. "It's no secret I want this guy cashiered, and it's no secret I want him to do some hard time. John Lockwood operates outside the purview of this agency. He treats the agency guidelines like they're shit-"

"Okay, I think we got the gist of it, Vic," Heath said, agitated. "This is supposed to be a hearing where both sides are present. Let's stop loading the deck and get Lockwood in and do it for real."

Kulack plowed ahead. "I'm just saying, you let a guy like this break rules, run roughshod over agency policy, and then call him a hero, you can't expect the new guys coming up to think we stand for anything. Lockwood is supposed to be some kinda Customs legend. But I think he's a fucking disaster. I just want you to know I'm looking to max him out."

"Are you through now?" Heath growled. "Can we get Lockwood in and do this for the record?"

"Sure."

The Rat selected the "VidCam monitoring" option from the "Security" menu. The selection of cameras was now on the lower left quadrant of the screen. This was one of the new breed of buildings which routed video images around its network for video-conferencing. The security system used the network too for monitoring all the security cameras. The system had cameras everywhere, even in the elevators. The Rat punched them up, one at a time, scanning shot after shot of corridors full of agents carrying armloads of folders here and there. He watched elevators crammed with people coming to work. He wasn't sure where Lockwood was, so he kept surfing the sixty or so shots, looking.

For his plan to work, he needed to know exactly where Lockwood was. He hunkered over his screen, sweat dripping off his rib cage and between his feet. Then he punched up the ninth-floor hall. A door opened. Lockwood and another man stepped out. He watched in fascination as the two men walked down the hall.. "

The conference room door opened and Lockwood stepped into the room with his Federal Law Enforcement Attorney, Alex Hixon. Hixon was a precise man of forty with short, rapidly receding brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He moved to the head of the table and sat, Lockwood taking the chair beside him. They all exchanged looks and nods, but no salutations.