Infringement (2 page)

“I understand. Like I said, it doesn’t sound like anything based upon what little info the caller provided, but I’ll run a check. You said this guy’s name is Stanton, David Timothy?”

“That’s right. His date of birth is July 22, 1982, and his address is 9292 Parkside Ave., Apartment B.”

Declan wrote down the information. “Do you know whether it was the same caller both times, Detective?”

“That’s my understanding.”

“Did the caller leave a call back number or any way to contact him, or her?”

“Him,” Detective Norman replied, “and no, nothing.”

“Did he say what his relationship to Stanton is?”

“Nope. He just gave us what I’ve given you and expressed his concern about Stanton’s general disdain for congress, the president and essentially everything related to the government. I suspect he’s a neighbor or co-worker. Like I said, I’m passing this to you guys because we’re required to, but I’d be surprised if anything comes of it.”

“I’ll run him through our systems and records anyway, and talk with Costello. Because of the first call, we should at least have a report in our system. I’ll look into it and get back to you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Have a good night.”

Declan set his notes from the call on top of his computer keyboard, again picked up his backpack, and headed out for the night.

_______________________

But for the blue screen on the high definition monitor, Stanton’s apartment was pitch black. He inserted a homemade black video game DVD into his computer and waited for the program he’d developed and programmed to boot up. After ten seconds or so, the blue screen turned black and the title “ABADDON – The Destroyer” appeared on the screen in an intentionally ominous red font. Below the title was the word “Play”, which he clicked on and picked up his game controller.

The title screen graphically faded completely into red, which gradually dripped off the screen, like blood, revealing a digitally animated black Ford SUV slowly driving into a busy parking lot. The driver of the SUV, the game’s hero, parked and sat for a few moments, watching the last few well-dressed animated characters hurry through the lightly falling snow into a large white stone building. The sound of chiming bells came through loudly over the muffled chatter of the other game characters remaining in the parking lot.

The clock on the console of the hero’s SUV read 5:00, then 5:01, then, a minute later, 5:02. The digital hero simply sat in his car, watching the snow fall outside, until the clock finally read 5:10, at which point he stepped out of the car. The game’s hero was a tall, buff, imposing figure, dressed in a sharp black suit. He was ruggedly handsome, and, by design, very reminiscent of Daniel Craig’s James Bond.

Using the game controller, David Stanton took control of the game’s hero, Abaddon, and walked him to the back of the SUV, where he clicked a button on the controller which prompted Abaddon to open the rear door. Three black duffle bags sat in the back. With a click, the character opened one. Another insert screen popped up, featuring a timer, which the digital hero set to 5:26, and then zipped the bag back up. With another click of the controller, Abaddon reached in and quickly slung the other two black bags over his shoulders, and closed the back of the SUV.

He walked briskly across the parking lot to the rear of the church, where he waited until 5:17. At that point, Stanton’s hero made his way to easternmost of the three main building entrances, removed a key from his pocket and locked the deadbolt from the outside. He then looped a chain through the door handles, and locked it. Abaddon then moved swiftly to the entrance on the opposite side, repeating the same process, and went back to the main double door entrance at the building’s center. Stanton clicked the controller again, and Abaddon locked the deadbolt to the center doors and threaded a third chain through the two door handles and locked it together with a padlock.

Abaddon quickly made his way to the back of the church. When he reached the back entrance, he removed his coat and opened the bag, from which he took out a black tactical vest, loaded with four ammunition magazines and a 9mm semi-automatic. After putting on the vest, he pulled out two AR-15 semi-automatic rifles, one with a 60 round magazine and the other loaded with a 100 round drum magazine. Finally, he removed a black magazine belt, containing four additional 60 round magazines, which he strapped on below the vest.

Finally ready, he opened the rear door slowly and quietly, then slipped inside and locked the door behind him. The sounds of a choir singing “Oh Come All Ye’ Faithful” came clearly through Stanton’s computer speakers. Digital Abaddon stood in the hallway directly behind the main sanctuary, a few feet away from a closed door which provided direct access to the pulpit.

Stanton’s fingers caressed the controller as he consciously steadied his excited breathing. He felt the adrenaline surging through his body, until he finally maneuvered his digital hero through the door and onto the pulpit in the midst of the service. He quickly spotted the pastor and his assistant and with a flurry of taps on the controller and “rat-tat, rat-tat, rat-tat”, took them both down. The sound of gunfire rang through the sanctuary and he immediately turned his full attention to the congregation in the pews and opened fire indiscriminately. The animated congregation scrambled in all directions, falling left and right while a red counter in the upper left of the screen, which had begun at zero, kept count of fatalities. Stanton deftly moved Abaddon from side to side, shooting down the men who tried to rush him on the stage. He moved from one side to another, firing in a semi-circle at the characters rushing for the locked exits. Screams flowed out of Stanton’s computer speakers, mixed with the “rat-tat, rat-tat, rat-tat” of his assault rifles. The fatality count quickly reached 38 and continued to climb with each round fired: 39, 40, 41, 42.

Stanton tried his best to look at the faces of the people as Abaddon mowed them down, but in his zone he saw them merely as targets, which when hit, raised his fatality count. He didn’t care who they were, he took aim and fired at anything moving whether man, woman or child. As he manipulated the deadly and menacing Abaddon down the main aisle of the sanctuary, firing at those lying on the floor between the pews, he looked at the fatality count and realized he was close to his record. He intensified his focus and fired to his left, hitting a running adult male in the back of the head, 88. He fired at two teenage girls in colorful dresses trying to run ahead of Abaddon in the aisle, 89 and 90. A man tried to grab his hero from behind, but Stanton quickly turned him around and hit the man with the butt of the AR-15, knocking him to the floor. “Rat-tat, rat-tat”, fatality 91 and a new record.

December 18
^th

Declan woke up with a slight headache and looked at his alarm clock to see that it was already ten minutes past seven. After a quick shower and a brief stop for his daily coffee, he made it into the Bureau field office about an hour later. He briefly looked over his notes regarding David Stanton from the night before and set them aside while his computer booted up.

Once his system was up, he checked his emails. Finding nothing pressing, he looked over his scribbled notes on David Stanton again. Declan ran Stanton’s name through the FBI’s National Crime Information Center, or NCIC, database which turned up nothing. He then accessed the FBI’s Terrorist Screening Center, or TSC, system and found no records on a David Timothy Stanton.

Declan picked up his phone and called an inside extension. After a few rings, a voice on the other end answered, “Costello.”

“Costello, hey, it’s Declan Parker.”

“What’s up, Parker?”

“Nothing, just following up on a call I received last night before I left. It was about an anonymous complaint on a Stanton, David Timothy. Ring a bell?”

“A bit.”

“The detective said an earlier call was made and info given to you. Something about radical ideology and the potential for domestic terrorism.”

“Yeah, I do remember that. It was an anonymous call about some alleged right-wing wacko or other.”

“Something like that,” Declan replied.

“I ran the guy through our systems and he came back clean. Nothing in TSC or NCIC, so I let it go.”

“I just did the same thing and he came back clean again.”

“There you go. I wouldn’t waste much time on this one, Parker. You’re not going to uncover the next Unabomber or anything here.”

“Wasn’t expecting to, but thanks.”

“No worries. By the way, if any other calls come in on this guy, just direct them to me. I’ll deal with it.”

“Will do.”

After hanging up with Special Agent Costello, Declan thought for a few minutes, looked over his notes again, and wanting to be sure he’d done a diligent job before determining nothing was there, decided to check and see if any background checks had been run for Stanton within the past two years. He typed Stanton’s name and date of birth into another system, which then checked them against yet another FBI database for prior searches in the NICS (short for the National Instant Criminal Background Check System), the nationwide system used for conducting criminal background checks on individuals attempting to purchase firearms.

After a few seconds, his search came back with two matches. An NICS check was run on David Timothy Stanton, DOB 7/22/82, on December 22, 2012 and again on April 19, 2013. Declan then ran a search through the FBI’s national database of registered gun owners and quickly located Stanton as the registered owner of two Colt AR-15 Tactical Carbine semi-automatic rifles, purchased and registered in December 2012 and April 2013, respectively.

“Interesting,” Declan said to himself.

_______________________

“Good morning, Pastor.”

“Good morning, David. How are things today?”

“No problems so far.”

“Looking forward to the holidays?”

“Very much.”

“Excellent. It’s a wonderful time of year. Have a good day.”

“You too, Pastor.”

Stanton carefully maneuvered his dull gray janitor’s cart into the men’s restroom just outside the sanctuary and took his time, meticulously cleaning the sinks and mirrors and disinfecting the urinals. He slowly and methodically mopped the tiled floor, careful not to deviate from his left to right, back to front pattern.

Almost two hours later, after knocking politely to verify it was unoccupied, he rolled his cart into the women’s restroom and followed the same deliberate routine, first cleaning the sinks and mirrors, then the toilets, and finally mopping the floor. When Stanton had finished with the women’s restroom, he parked his cart out of the way in the main foyer, and walked back to the parish office to pick up his sack lunch and his iPad.

As was his habit, Stanton sat on the plush ivory sofa next to one of the two large windows in the main reception area. He ate his lunch slowly, watching the bundled up children playing on the small playground at the church elementary school across the parking lot. He watched the children intently, listening to their laughter and the joy in their voices. He envied their energy and carelessness and, without being entirely cognizant of the feeling, he longed to be one of them. When had he ever felt that type of freedom, that type of joy? In truth, he acknowledged that he never had, particularly not when he had been a child. Stanton sat staring at the school kids, who looked to him so filled with joy and so blissfully unaware of the miserable painful lives led by so many other children in the world. He remembered such kids from his own childhood, the ones he would have given anything to trade lives with in order to escape the hell in which he had been forced by God to dwell in each day. He both hated and envied their happiness and longed to try again, to go back and live a life untouched by suffering; however, life was what it was. Stanton was who he was, and there was only one way back, which was, ironically, to move forward.

When he’d finished his lunch, Stanton turned on his iPad, logged onto the administrator’s page of his still offline website, and walked quietly into the church sanctuary. Once inside, he clicked on the “live feed” link and in a few seconds saw the four high definition camera views of the sanctuary fill his touch screen. He initially saw himself in two of the camera views and was very pleased. The clarity and color of the picture in each frame was excellent. The buffering was sufficient to stream a consistent and fluid video feed. Stanton walked throughout the sanctuary, being sure to avoid his “stage”, the pulpit, and was thoroughly satisfied with the camera angles and quality. With his test finished, he turned off his iPad, put it back into his backpack in the church office, went back to his plastic gray janitor’s cart, and resumed his work.

_______________________

After a group meeting on another matter headed by John Bleeker, the field office’s Special Agent in Charge, Declan grabbed a quick bite to eat and refocused his attention on David Stanton when he got back to his desk. He wasn’t entirely sure where to look next, but due to the fact that Stanton owned two AR-15’s, which wasn’t in itself illegal as they were purchased prior to the federal semi-automatic weapons ban, he just couldn’t let the matter go as nothing.

Declan pulled up Stanton’s motor vehicle and drivers’ license records and photo. The face in the photo looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he would have seen it before. He printed a copy of Stanton’s drivers’ license: David Timothy Stanton, Height: 5’7”, Weight: 190 lbs, brown hair, brown eyes, no restrictions, not an organ donor. A black 2004 Ford Explorer was registered to David Stanton, license plate HRW 247.

Declan thought for a few minutes, then heard the familiar voice of Kevin Cameron, a career agent in his early fifties who was Declan’s friend and de facto mentor, pop up behind him, “Whatcha working on?”

“Uh, I’m trying to get some information on a call I got last night before I left. Costello looked at it before and nothing comes up in TSC or NCIC, but I did find two grandfathered pre-ban AR-15’s registered to this guy.”