John Braddock - The 24th Name: A Thriller

The 24thName,

Part I

by

John Braddock

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Copyright 2018 John Braddock. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction and of the authors imagination.

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All statements of fact, opinion, or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) or any other U.S. Government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying U.S. Government authentication of information or CIA endorsement of the authors views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information. This does not constitute an official release of CIA information.

Chapter 1

When I knocked on the door, a guy pulled it open and blinked into the sunshine. He shaded his eyes and found my face. No girls? he asked.

He thought he knew me, which happens a lot. Im mostly average. A little taller. More scars. But overall, mostly average.

I look like a lot of guys. Including somebody this guy was expecting.

I took advantage and pushed the door open. The guy backed up into the hallway. I closed the door behind me.

In the darkness, he saw his mistake. Youre not Rick.

He was confused. Probably like most days. You would think if you liked drugs youd be in a place where there wasnt as much sunshine as Florida. Maybe Seattle. Maybe Chicago. But no, Florida was the drug capital of America.

For a while, it had to be proximity to coastline and ease of transportation, which kept the costs low. But since the 2000s, drugs were more likely to come in pills than in powder. And they were more likely to come from a truck than a speedboat. But maybe guys like this knew they would eventually find themselves passed out and sleeping outside. Most days, its better to sleep outside in Florida than Seattle or Chicago.

Before knocking on the door, I didnt know what kind of scam they were running. But I knew it involved women. So I looked up the most popular female baby names in Florida in the 1990s. In 1990, it was Ashley. In 1991, it was Ashley. All the way until 1998, it was Ashley. Then Emily took the top spot.

To give the guy focus, I started with Ashley. Wheres Ashley? I asked. Not threatening. Not angry. Just curious. And a little hopeful. Like there was an opportunity for him if I found Ashley.

All he said was, Youre not Rick.

To move things forward, I agreed with him. Im not Rick.

He seemed relieved to hear that. Like until that moment he wasnt sure who he was looking at. Like he wasnt sure if reality was what he was seeing. Now, he was more confident.

He shook his head confidently. Theres no Ashley.

What about Emily? I asked.

What first you wanted Ashley. Now you want Emily? Fear jumped back into his eyes. Then he saw an opportunity. You want a blonde Emily or a dark-haired Emily?

The Emily whos my sister, I said.

Confusion returned. I think I should call Rick.

You should call Rick, I agreed. How long will it take him to get here?

The guy picked up his phone. He lives next door.

Rick took thirty seconds to arrive. He was overweight and sloppy with a piece of donut stuck in his dark stubble. It was a little insulting that the guy thought I looked like Rick, but thats what happens when youre mostly average.

Rick didnt come alone. He had a guy with him who looked like he had just been told to put down his video game controller and grab his gun. His eyes were jittery with excitement and his fingers were twitching. He ran his hand over a bulge under a coat that no one was wearing in Florida this time of year.

Rick started with the same question everybody was asking since I arrived in Florida. Are you a cop?

I answered with a question. Who are you, Rick?

The landlord, Rick said. This is my place.

Im not a cop, I said. Wheres Emily? She was living here a month ago.

I dont know, he said. People come and go.

Can you check your records? I asked.

He stared at me. Just did. No records.

Heres the funny thing, I said. Emily said she found a place where she didnt have to pay rent. In fact, she got paid to live where she was living. Five hundred bucks a month. Which she thought was great. But that creates a problem for you. It makes you something other than a landlord, doesnt it? That makes you her employer. You have employment records?

Rick threw up his hands. Listen, whoever you are. Shes gone. She moved on.

Where did she go?

When you work as a spy, networks are everything. You leverage networks on your side, and you work to identify the networks on the other side. Networks are like a spiders web. Its why they first called the internet the world wide web. Networks are nodes connected by strands. Nodes get their meaning from the Latin nodus, which means knot. Nodes are where strands are tied together.

When nodes are people, theyre where the power lies. Powerful people gather information and resources from the strands. They make decisions. They distribute resources. Nodes are the most important part of a network, but nodes dont come first.

If you want to penetrate a network, you dont start with the nodes.

You start with the strands. Because strands move around.

Strands go between nodes. They travel. One day, theyre connecting two nodes. The next day, theyre connecting two different nodes. All that travel means strands are easier to find. It also means they know a lot.

A strand is how the CIA found Bin Laden. Bin Laden was a node connected to the other nodes in the Al-Qaeda network. The strand connecting them was a courier. To find the node, the CIA had to find the strand. The game for almost ten years was: Find the strand connecting Bin Laden to the Al-Qaeda network. Find the courier, and you find Bin Laden. Find the strand, and you find the nodes.

When youre trying to figure out what a network is doing, you start with the strands.

Rick didnt move too much. He didnt connect much. Which meant he was a node, not a strand.

I took a step closer and said again, Where did she go?

Rick shook his head. I dont know.

Another step closer.

The overgrown gamer with the gun took a step closer to me. Now, we were all three tight and close together.

I said, I know how it is, Rick. Youre the guy getting paid to pay other people. Thats middle management. Middle management is stressful. You need to keep two groups of people happy all the time: the people below you and the people above you. Its why middle managers get overweight and eat donuts and have heart attacks: too much stress. And then a guy like me comes by. I might be a threat to the people above you or below you. Or both. You want to protect your people. I nodded at the gamer with the gun. Like Dingle McHuckleberry here. I respect that.

Dingle reached inside his coat, but Rick stopped him and asked again, Who are you?

Just a guy looking for an Emily, I said.

The druggie behind me said, He was looking for Ashley earlier.

No Ashley is here. No Emily either, Rick said.

They were here, I said.

Rick shrugged. Were a sober home. Licensed by the state. We help young people through the phases of addiction. Were a clean operation. Youre welcome to look around.

Thank you, I said. I will.

Rick was right. It was a clean operation. A look inside the first two rooms off the hallway showed nicely made beds and sheets with floral patterns. On the walls were dark posters of rock bands wearing makeup. No discarded needles on the floor. No mold problems. Maybe Rick paid for a maid service. It was clean.