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"My goddamn newly renovated office!"
Ron surveyed the trashed office, feeling his blood pressure spike. He seriously wanted to pull out his .44 Magnum and put a bullet through the skull of whatever asshole was responsible for this mess.
Although Inspector Jack claimed he knew nothing, Ron rushed to the Federal Building as fast as possible, because the Bureau had primary jurisdiction over incidents like this, and all intelligence would flow there first.
"Ron, what the hell are you doing here again? I told you, I don't know squat!" Jack's office door burst open. He was about to unleash a stream of profanity, but when he saw it was Ron, he just shook his head in exasperation.
Considering they'd just teamed up against the CIA, he managed to bite back his curses.
"I just want to know who the fuck destroyed my newly renovated office!" Ron angrily slammed his loaded Glock onto Jack's desk, murder in his eyes. "And then I'm going to send that psychopath straight to hell!"
"Look, I'm sorry. Even though my first instinct was the same as yours, this really doesn't look like a terrorist attack." Jack pulled a still-warm document from the fax machine and dropped it on top of Ron's pistol.
Ron snatched the document off the desk and started reading. "The FAA says the planes were being redirected on orders from air traffic control, and nothing else was wrong? Bullshit! That's the lamest explanation for an aviation disaster I've ever heard!
Are you sure terrorists didn't take over the control tower and force them to redirect those flights?"
"I'm absolutely certain. In fact, our people have the tower locked down tight. There's nothing suspicious there. This looks like a simple human error by a controller. Jesus Christ, this is insane!"
Jack sighed, slumping back in his executive chair.
Ron still couldn't buy it. "That's really it? Have you investigated the controller who made the mistake? For instance, have there been any large, unexplained deposits in his bank accounts? Or any expensive assets suddenly appearing under his kids' names?
And pay special attention to whether he's been hitting the casinos in Vegas regularly. Degenerate gamblers will do anything to cover their debts, and those casino bosses in Sin City aren't exactly known for their honesty. We need to audit every one of their financial records."
Jack looked like he'd seen this coming. A series of electronic beeps came from the fax machine behind him. Jack pulled out another document, didn't even glance at it, and tossed it directly at Ron.
"Here you go—our background check and preliminary interview with the air traffic controller on duty during the collision. I figured you'd ask these exact questions, so I had them rush a copy over."
Ron quickly grabbed the freshly faxed document and started reading, his expression growing more troubled.
Based on his profile, this was your typical middle-class white-collar worker—seemingly normal, even suspiciously so for Los Angeles, a city crawling with temptation.
He was an ordinary middle-aged guy, college-educated, no bad habits, briefly served in the Army before getting hired by the airport. Besides his wife, who'd died years ago, his only family was a daughter with a history of drug addiction.
The daughter had also died two days ago from an overdose, choking on her own vomit. Yet the middle-aged man hadn't taken any time off—he'd kept working.
The report included the investigating agent's assessment. He suggested that his daughter's death two days earlier might have affected the controller's concentration, causing him to zone out at work and make this fatal error.
However, Ron's attention was drawn to the word "drugs" in the report.
"Jack, can I find out what drug this controller's daughter died from? Is it the same stuff I've been tracking?" Ron's eyes sharpened.
Jack casually pulled an ashtray from under his desk and set it down, lighting up a cigarette but not bothering to smoke it.
"You could check with Hank over at DEA. My guys say you've worked with him before." Jack took a deep drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke, disappearing behind the haze. "I don't get it. Even if it's connected to your investigation, so what?
This has nothing to do with the plane crash. As far as I'm concerned, this case is closed. It's obvious this whole thing was caused by a grieving employee who lost his daughter and a heartless corporation that wouldn't give him bereavement leave."
Ron shook his head.
"Maybe it's over for you, but for me, this is just getting started. If I had to blame someone for destroying my office, it would be the scumbag dealer who sold drugs to his daughter. And there's something very interesting here—haven't you noticed, Jack?"
Ron said with a knowing smirk. Inspector Jack's curiosity was piqued, and he scrutinized the information again, especially the section about the victim's daughter, but still couldn't see the connection.
"What are you getting at?"
Ron rolled his eyes. With deductive skills like that, it was amazing Jack had made it into the Bureau. But for the sake of future cooperation, he patiently explained.
"You need to pay closer attention to the daughter's profile. She used to be a 'junkie' but was later forced into rehab by her father—the guy responsible for this disaster—and she got clean. Generally speaking, while relapse is common with former addicts, that's not unusual.
But she was street-smart, right? When an experienced user shoots up, don't they know to position themselves safely before going under? Like lying on their side? Or having a friend watch them?"
"But what does this have to do with the drugs you mentioned?" Jack was still confused.
"I think she got hooked on some new, more potent shit, and the timing of her relapse is very interesting. According to her father's statement, it coincides exactly with the first wave of this high-purity stuff hitting the streets again."
"That just proves her dealer had good connections and could get the newest, strongest product on the market. What's your point? How are you connecting these two unrelated incidents? We need evidence for everything."
"Of course, because of this." Ron pulled a page from the file and showed it to Jack. "I've seen this punk who was renting her apartment. I think his name was Jesse. If you'd been paying attention to DEA intel, you'd know this guy was already on Hank's radar because of the same drug."
(End of Chapter)
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