CHAPTER 7
“Ocean Avenue” —Yellowcard
Sasha took a picture of her food, then tapped on her phone. Her public demeanor was far more cheerful and commanding than he was used to. It reminded him of the time she’d publicly accepted the Junior Super Corps’ award for finding drugs in Central Park when she’d had no part in doing so.
“Having lunch with a friend from a volunteer program,” Sasha said into the phone, then hit send. Several of the other patrons—notably a table of twentysomething women—definitely noticed her taking pictures. Of one the women jabbed a thumb toward Sasha and whispered something. A guy on a lunch date was trying and failing miserably not to undress Sasha with his eyes, and his date was well aware.
“I hope that wasn’t geotagged,” Mike said.
“It’s not,” Sasha replied, tapping at the phone. “And there’s a team that goes over my social media and anyone that geotags my location they get it pulled down.”
“Your food’s getting cold,” Mike said, cutting into the enormous burger.
“It’s a salad,” Sasha said. “Can I take your photo?”
“Sure,” Mike said, holding up the enormous burger in front of his face. “Go for it.”
“Seriously,” Sasha said.
“Okay,” Mike replied, setting the burger down and raising a thumb. Now the table of women were glancing at him and gossiping quietly.
She checked the photo and raised an eyebrow.
“Have you ever considered modeling?” she asked.
“You’re joking, right?” Mike said.
“Mike is the friend of mine from the after-school volunteer program,” Sasha dictated. “He’s homeschooled so we could get free for lunch.”
Sasha’s social media voice was eloquent and well practiced.
“I passed my GED,” Mike pointed out.
“You don’t do social media at all?” she said, still glued to her phone.
“No,” Mike said.
“Why not?” Sasha asked.
“Social media is like . . .” Mike said, then paused and thought how to explain. “Back in the Victorian era, carts would go through the streets filled with gin. People would buy it for very cheap in pint glasses and drink it straight.”
“Seriously?” Sasha asked.
“Seriously,” Mike said. “The Royal Navy had a grog ration. Every afternoon around dinner they’d dole out the rum ration with a squeeze of lime in it. The lime was to prevent scurvy, which was smart. But the rum ration was a pint of a hundred and fifty-one-proof rum.”
“Oh, my God,” Sasha said. “That’s pretty powerful, isn’t it?”
“Very rarely sold anymore,” Mike said. “But it used to be a standard proof. As a society for a very long time, alcoholism was just common. It wasn’t even considered alcoholism. It was just how you lived. People who weren’t alcoholics were considered weird.”
He took it as a minor miracle that she actually still looked interested. He’d expected to lose her at “Victorian era.”
“John Adams was the first secretary of the Navy and when he stated that US Navy ships were to be alcohol free everyone in the world assumed they’d never be able to operate. ‘Who would serve on ships without a grog ration?’ It’s still standard in certain fields. Politicians are mostly functional alcoholics, which explains most Acts of Congress.”
She genuinely smiled at the joke. Some of the women at the neighboring table were actively eavesdropping. It was so strange to keep someone’s attention during these diatribes, much less gain more attention.
“Back in the ooold days,” Mike said, “water was a pretty questionable substance. Good, pure water was rare in cities. With aqueducts having become a lost art, most of it came from contaminated wells. You were better off drinking beer or wine. It was less likely to kill you. People got used to that.
“Then came distilled alcohol and they just went nuts.
“Serious and endemic alcoholism existed right up to Prohibition. That’s really the only thing that killed it in the US and then slowly elsewhere. Lots of areas it’s still common. Russians?”
Still smiling, Sasha shrugged. “Okay, great history lesson, but where are you going with this?”
“I view social media that way,” Mike said. “It’s an addictive substance that has most of the world paralyzed. The world’s addiction is just considered normal. ‘What do you mean you’re not constantly on social media?’ is like ‘What do you mean you don’t consume at least a quart of hard alcohol an hour? How can you survive without being drunk all the time?’ We’re not programmed with defenses for the endorphin hits we get. We are not well suited to this world. So, I’m like one of the early Temperance League. I’m a Quaker. I just foreswear social media.”
“Okay,” Sasha said.
“You’ve sort of got it under control,” Mike said, taking a bite of burger. “But look at poor Laura. Women are particularly susceptible to it. It’s about building social capital and women have always been more about social capital than economic capital. But it’s an addiction, a disease.”
“I get that you don’t like it,” Sasha said, “but you’ve got a bunch of likes already.”
“Really?” Mike said, trying to look around her phone, then chuckling. “Whatever. There is one benefit to it, though, and that is that it’s reduced gatekeeping on information. Reduced it, not eliminated it.”
There was a momemt of silence as both ate a few bites of their food and retreated into contemplation. Their audience got bored and returned to their own conversations.
“What are you going to do about the Electrobolt thing?” Sasha asked softly, keeping one eye on the phone as she ate. “There were some really nasty things said about you that were objectively untrue.”
Mike thought about whether to answer the question.
“Essentially, I’m dealing with one thing at a time to the best of my ability,” Mike said. “Right now, I’ve got the suit against the Corps as well as the inheritance suit. That’s enough on my plate.”
“Why did you switch law firms?” Sasha said. “Really. I get that he’s your dad’s friend but Josh is pretty put out. Or do we need to put the masks back on?”
“The majority of the inheritance is Fieldstone stock,” Mike said. “Just announcing that there was a potential heir caused the stock to drop. There was more than a billion dollars cut off of the value of the company in a few hours. It may recover but it was a hit. Just inheriting means that I’ll have to sell about half of it to pay taxes. Maybe more. Financial companies don’t like big sells and analysts know that it will have to be sold if I inherit. So, there’s a lot of pressure for me not to inherit. You get that?”
“Yes,” Sasha said.
“Guess who the number one client of O’Connor, Causey, Early and Bruck is,” Mike said.
“Fieldstone?” Sasha said.
“Got it in one,” Mike said. “They’re a good firm. And they would insist that that’s not a conflict of interest. Pull the other one; it’s got bells on it.”
“I get that,” Sasha said with a sigh. “Why the hell are teenagers having to worry about all this?”
Mike shrugged and casually glanced at the table of women. One had been gawking at him and quickly looked away.
“You know one of my favorite songs?”
“So far I’m going for ‘Because the Night,’ the Cascada version, or ‘Memory’ from Cats,” Sasha said.
“Both good,” Mike said. “But, no: ‘Ocean Avenue,’ by Yellowcard. Do you know it?”
“The one about how they were sixteen and stayed up all night talking?” Sasha said. “That one?”
“Yep.” Mike half sang the first few lines. “That’s the life I’d prefer to live. Just . . . being sixteen. Thirteen still, in my case. If I even could comprehend that life. But what really gets me is that that particular life is gone.”
“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Sasha asked.
“The song’s set in LA,” Mike said. “If you’re sitting in a place on Ocean Avenue hanging out late at night, you’re probably going to be pestered constantly by street people looking for some money to get a fix. Attacked. Hassled by somebody who wants you to denounce transphobia or white supremacy or that dogs are better than cats. Don’t go walking on the beaches barefoot, either: needles.”
“It’s not that bad,” Sasha said. “Not in parts, anyway. I’ve been to LA.”
“But down near the beach?” Mike asked.
“It’s . . . pretty bad,” Sasha admitted.
“Ever been to Fiji?” Mike said.
“Are you picturing me part naked?” Sasha asked.
“No . . . ?” Mike said.
“Are you picturing me all naked?” Sasha asked with a menacing glare.
“I don’t have to picture you naked, Sasha,” Mike pointed out. “I’ve seen it and it’s very nice. Seriously. Ever been to Fiji?”
“No,” Sasha said, looking mildly confused. “Why?”
“Want to go?” Mike said. “We’ve both got some free time. We can get married on the beach.”
She laughed again and smiled that beautiful smile of hers. “You just don’t stop, do you?”
“Joking,” Mike said. Liar! “It’s on my bucket list. I want to learn to scuba dive. I want to go see a tropical reef. Growing up in the ghetto, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive. There were things I decided I was going to do if I ever made it out. I’m out. I want to start doing them. I didn’t learn to ski or snowboard in Montana, though I did get lots of practice on a snowmobile.”
“You went snowmobiling?” Sasha said.
“A tale I shall tell thee, O Light of the East: My grandfather is a character with a capital Errr . . .”
“This has been fun, but I’ve got to get going,” Sasha said a little over an hour later.
It had been fun. He’d gotten her to laugh at least four times. They would have many children who would be both smart and beautiful.
“What do you think about what I was talking about when we first got here?” Mike said.
“I’ll check it out,” Sasha said. “But where—”
Mike held up his hand and pulled out a slip of paper. Then he put on his mask and gestured for her to do the same.
“There,” Mike said. “Fly at least part of the trip.”
“I was just planning on walking in,” Sasha said, muffled.
“If you fly, you’ll break any tails,” Mike said. “Just wear normal clothes and fly a couple of blocks. That way they’ll lose you. If you’re tailed. You shouldn’t be but the mask thing is sort of obvious.”
“That will sort of tell the people tailing me that I’m a super,” Sasha pointed out. “As well as, well, everyone around me.”
“Wear a mask for when you take off and land,” Mike said. “Don’t land right by the building. Just to break the tail. The people tailing you will know anyway.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sasha said.
“I’ve got the tab,” Mike said, picking up the bill. “Holy smokes! What was that Wagyu beef?”
Two days later, Mike opened the door to his apartment and waved Sasha inside. She was wearing a delightful halter top and tight jean shorts.
“Hey,” Sasha said, looking around the condo. “Nice.”
“Thanks,” Mike said. “Probably not as nice as yours but it’s the nicest place I’ve ever lived. This is my father, Derrick Sterrenhunt.”
“Mr. Sterrenhunt,” Sasha said, nodding.
Derrick had hurried into the room when Mike had opened the door. He was covered in a light sheen of seat from a workout.
“I hear you don’t shake hands much,” Derrick said.
“I can but it’s . . .” She waggled her head. “When I’m around people who insist I just make my hand like a handshake and don’t actually clasp. I can do it if I’m really careful.”
“That must be difficult,” Derrick said. He glared at Mike. “Anyway, I didn’t realize we were having company. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go clean up.”
“So, can we talk?” Sasha asked. “I checked what you were asking about.”
“Dad’s read in,” Mike said. “But we probably should go to the office. It’s a bedroom but it’s where we’ve got the office. Is that okay?”
“Are you going to get handsy?” she asked.
“I like my face the way it is,” Mike said. “But you’ve got to leave your phone . . .”
“You get the bed,” Mike said, sitting down at the computer. The bedroom was a windowless interior. “And I’m not going to get fresh. You’re about to meet professional Mike.”
“Professional Mike exists?” Sasha asked.
“What did you find out?” Mike asked. “Give me the whole thing.”
“I can’t believe I actually flew in regular clothes,” Sasha said, shaking back and forth slightly. “But I wore my mask out from the house. I’m right around the corner from here. Did you know that?”
“My dad picked the condo,” Mike said dismissively. Though I might’ve suggested the neighborhood. “Did you complete the mission?”
“Yes,” Sasha said. “Wooten Security.”
Mike turned to the computer and brought up a search engine.
“Spell that,” Mike said.
“Wooten Security,” Mike said. “President, Jared Kindred. They provide a variety of professional support to the modern executive apparently.”
“What’s that mean?” Sasha said, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m going out on a limb and say they aren’t about cards and keys,” Mike said, going through the website. “I’m going to guess dirty-tricks group. This is a mass of corporate double speak. It essentially tells you nothing.”
“So . . .” Sasha said.
“So . . .” Mike said. “This is going to take a while. You wanna stick around?”
“I wanna find out what’s going on, yeah,” Sasha said.
“You might want to hang downstairs, then,” Mike said. “I’m going to be a while.”
“Okay, got it,” Mike said, walking into the living room while looking at his pad.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Sasha said, laughing. She was relaxed on the couch with a glass of water and snacks laid out on the coffee table. Derrick was in the adjacent chair.
“I’ve got a very good relationship with Cecelia and Sir Ian,” Derrick said, shrugging.
“Mike, your dad is fantastic!” Sasha said. “He’s actually got funny golf stories! I usually hate golf stories.”
“I have noted that,” Mike replied. “Where are we on electronics?”
“We’re clear,” Derrick replied. “What did you get?”
“Wooten Security is a Delaware LLC that was incorporated nine years ago,” Mike said, looking at his notes. “But here’s the thing: it didn’t begin functioning until three months ago. Before that it was just a shell. They moved into that office two months ago. And Jared Kindred does not exist.”
“So, who is he?” Sasha asked.
“Jost Alnes,” Mike said.
“You’re joking,” Derrick said. “Here?”
“Yes,” Mike said. “Over on East Seventy-ninth Street. In New York terms, we’re practically neighbors.”
“Who is . . . Jost Alnes?” Sasha asked.
“Former Norwegian Navy Ranger officer,” Derrick said. “What we would call SEALs. He was accused and convicted of stealing and selling state secrets. Escaped custody. Disappeared.”
“Another large-reward guy,” Mike said. “Interpol Red Notice. FBI most wanted. Some of those state secrets were ours. Notably things like our Navy’s Baltic Plan in the event we had to take on the Ruskies as well as communications, codes, et cetera.
“Since then, he has been selling the secrets, and his capabilities, to the highest bidder. How he got into the US is a good question. He’s on every most-wanted list. May be a normal but he’s a much more dangerous guy than Cannibale or Death Strong.”
“Then we report it to the Corps,” Sasha said.
“There’s a problem with that,” Mike said, looking over at Derrick.
“What’s the problem?” Sasha said, looking somewhere between agitated and confused. “Mike, we sort of came out okay going all Junior Super Corps one time. We’re not going to if we do it again.”
“The problem is, the people he is working for have the FBI penetrated,” Derrick said. “If you report it to the Corps, they get a warrant from the FBI. The instant his name goes on the database, he disappears.”
“That’s the problem,” Mike said. “And, yes, this would get us in serious trouble. Just wait . . .”
He thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Does it make any sense at all that Electrobolt was in charge of us?” Mike said.
“It never did,” Sasha said. “What’s that got to do with an international criminal?”
“The same people who were pulling the Secretary’s strings on that are connected to this,” Mike said. “And you’re going to have to take my word on that. But I’m serious. This isn’t just about the billion dollars. This is about things much larger. The best thing to do is just to grab him out of his office. Fly up and grab him.”
“I can do that but . . .”
“It will seriously piss off the people who pull the Secretary’s strings,” Mike said.
“You’re assuming the Secretary has her strings being pulled,” Sasha said. Her expression said his might have touched a nerve. She’d probably spent her young life admiring California Girl.
“How else do you explain Electrobolt?” Mike asked.
“He was popular with senators?” Sasha said, a little defensively.
“Who do you think he’s talking about?” Derrick replied. “You probably haven’t looked at the board of the Trust. Senator Drennen’s brother-in-law is on it. He gets paid five thousand dollars a month just to turn up from time to time and approve the management trustee’s decisions.”
“And if you think the honorable senator isn’t getting a cut of that, think again,” Mike said. “Then there are the charities that she and other senators and congressmen are associated with—meaning siphon off cash—that the Trust contributes to. Right now, my inheritance is a slop fund, and all the little piggies have their noses in it.”
“We don’t have to move on it immediately,” Derrick said. “We know what’s going on and we know where they are. We can run them for a while and see what comes up.”
“But we don’t know how long they’ll stay,” Mike said. “If they pull up stakes they’ll vanish without a trace. Alnes has been very hard to pin down. I wasn’t expecting Alnes. When you went there, what exactly did you do?”
“Um,” Sasha said. “I checked the directory for what was on the ninth floor, then went up there. But then I sort of made like I was lost and went up to the tenth. There’s a modeling agency up there and I sort of talked with them a little, gave the impression I maybe wasn’t totally satisfied with my current agency. Then I left.”
“So, you had a cover,” Mike said.
“Good job,” Derrick said.
“Thanks,” Sasha said. “Just seemed like the thing to do. So, what are we going to do?”
Mike sighed as his phone buzzed.
ta: Bag him. Need him off the table. Operations order TBD.
“We’re going to bag him,” Mike said, putting his phone away.
“Isn’t this the sort of thing we’re not supposed to talk about around electronics?” Sasha said. “’Cause you made me put my phone up.”
“Yours isn’t secure,” Mike said. “Mine is secure except to certain people. Who want to bag him. Would you mind not getting the reward this time?”
“I’m fine with that,” Sasha said. “I’m doing okay money wise.”
“Good,” Mike said, looking at Derrick, then back at Sasha. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Maybe,” Sasha said.
“You’re from Missouri,” Mike said. “What are your politics?”
“I’d rather go to Osseo as well,” Sasha said. “You’re a lot more right-wing than you try to let on, aren’t you?”
“I’m not entirely comfortable with either side,” Mike said. “I’m an old-fashioned liberal, which these days makes me to the right of Attila the Hun. And to the right these days that makes you just another liberal. My cousins can’t get that I’m okay with trans in general. The left can’t handle it when I point out that if you’ve got a Y chromosome, you’re not a woman—shouldn’t, e.g., be in women’s sports. Which puts me out in the nowhere. But at least I can talk about it with people on the right. You can’t with progressives.”
“They’re way too close-minded,” Sasha said. “Yeah, I’m pretty much the same.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “And virtually no selfies on your Instagram.”
“I don’t like selfies,” Sasha said.
“Do you happen to know Daryl Haubenstricker?” Mike asked.
“Not all famous people know all famous people, Mike,” Sasha said.
“Okay,” Mike said, frowning.
“But, yes, I do,” Sasha said. “He’s a nice guy. Is he tied up in this?”
“He is a nice guy,” Mike said. “You know he runs a program to find children who are being trafficked?”
“Yes,” Sasha said, curiously. “I’ve contributed to it. Please don’t tell me it’s some kind of evil front.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Mike said. “It’s the real deal.”
“And you know this how?” Sasha said.
“OPSEC,” Mike replied.
“What?” Sasha asked.
“It means I’m getting to the point that I have to stop talking,” Mike said. “But the point is, the reward money will be going to a very good cause. I don’t think we’re going to be directly involved. Though . . . we might. You might, anyway. Hmmm . . .”
“What are you thinking?” Derrick asked.
“We still owe that FBI guy,” Mike said. “This would be an even better collar.”
“What FBI guy?” Sasha asked.
“I’m not even sure,” Mike said. “But to take Alnes it would be safest to use a super. And if that was when you were patrolling with Patrick . . .”
“I’d sort of get credit for the collar, but I wouldn’t get the reward,” Sasha said.
“The problem is we’ve got to prove to a reasonable level that it is Alnes,” Mike said. “And that is going to require some finesse. He’s probably using temporary prints or had them wiped. Which means DNA.”
“Which means you’re going to have to set up surveillance,” Derrick said. “Or someone is. And the moment you put his DNA on CODIS, he’s gone.”
“Then we don’t put it on CODIS,” Mike said. “We get a sample, and we get it tested offline. Then we do a visual comparison from CODIS.”
“Where do we get the sample?” Sasha asked.
“Well, we could do an elaborate surveillance,” Mike said. “Or we could just do it the easy way.”
“What’s the easy way?” Derrick asked.
“Black bag his office,” Mike said. “His office chair will be covered in DNA.”
“Black bag?” Sasha said.
“Break in,” Derrick said. “It’s literally a security company, Mike.”
“And what do you want to bet that his ninth-floor office window is not alarmed?”