The Photographs
By
Lee Gimenez
October 5, 2012. Underground bunker, Afghanistan/Pakistan border.
Omar picked up the photograph and scanned it into his computer. He sent the digital file to his source at the newspaper; within minutes it would be posted on-line. God willing, it would be plastered on tomorrow’s cover of the Times. He looked at the people pictured in the photo and smiled. It had been a long struggle, but the end was in sight.
October 6, 2012. FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
Allison picked up the phone—on the other end was her boss, Special Agent Sanders.
“Seen the paper this morning?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t….”
“Get your butt in my office right now; we’ve got a crisis on our hands.” Then he hung up.
“Bastard,” she said into the dead phone.
She went to his office and walked in. As soon as she sat down in front of his desk, he threw a copy of the day’s paper at her. On the cover was a picture of Presidential contender, Susan Harris. The photo showed her shaking hands with the leader of Hamas. Hamas was the number one terrorist organization on the State Department’s watch list.
“It’s a month before the election…this is going to sink Harris’s campaign,” Sanders said. “Harris is saying this is a doctored photo, that no such meeting took place.”
Allison studied the photo. At first glance, it looked real enough.
“This is your specialty, Allison. Analyze it and see if it’s real or not.”
Allison picked up the paper and stood up. “I’ll get right on it. But there’s one thing I need to talk to you about….”
He looked up, an annoyed look on his face. “Well?”
“I know you don’t like me, but you need to treat me with respect.”
His face turned red and he balled his fists. “You’re right, I don’t like you. I wanted Smith for the Digital Forensics job…but upstairs wanted you…so you I got. Now, just do your job and get the hell out of my office.”
She turned around and left, slamming the door on her way out.
She scanned the picture into her computer and projected the image on the wall size monitor in her office. It was either real or the best fake she had ever seen. The Bureau had noticed an increase in almost perfect fake photographs over the last couple of months, mostly coming from the Middle East. Several had already created problems for politicians, but this one had the potential to create the most havoc. Susan Harris led in the polls and was favored to win the presidency.
Allison took a magnifying glass and looked at the photograph closely. Just then, her assistant, Lisa, came into her office.
“The famous photograph,” Lisa said. “Everybody’s talking about it….”
Allison pointed to the photo. “Look at the eyes…a person’s irises are circular but will appear elliptical as they turn to the side…on this photo, both sets of eyes don’t show any evidence of digital tampering….”
“That’s why you’re the boss,” Lisa smiled.
Allison frowned. “Tell that to Sanders…he’s going to be a bear to work for….”
“Yeah, he’s a class A jerk.”
Allison ran the magnifying glass over the edges of the projected photo. “Take a look at this…the light source for Harris is straight down…but for the other person, it’s at a 45 degree angle…you can see it in the small shadows here….”
“You’re right.”
“Let’s run it through the software to double check, but I bet this is a composite photo,” Allison said.
At home that evening, Allison turned on the TV news while she was making dinner. The CNN reporter, a twenty something blonde, was talking about the Harris photo.
“The FBI issued a statement today, stating the picture showing Susan Harris, and the leader of Hamas, is fake. However, Harris’s opponent in the Presidential race, Bill Edgers, claims the FBI is involved in a cover-up. With the election only four weeks away, this issue could decide the outcome…and in other news, the fires in California continue….”
The phone rang and Allison picked it up. It was Sanders.
“Are you watching the news?” he asked.
Allison turned the TV volume down. “Yeah, I saw it.”
“There’s more bad news you don’t know about—we got a call from the Times an hour ago; they have another photo they plan on running tomorrow—it shows Harris in a secret meeting with Ayman al-Zawahiri, the number two guy in al-Qaeda.
Allison shook her head. “I’m sure they won’t run it—we just proved the other one was a fake.”
“Wake up Allison; the Times hates Harris; she’s a conservative. They’ll run it and then print a retraction later.”
“So what do we do?”
“I’m sending a team out to find the source of these pictures. It’s the only way. Pack for a week’s trip and drive to Andrews Air Force Base; I’ve made all the arrangements. You’ll be going with a team of Army Special Forces. You leave in three hours.”
“But…I’m not a field agent.”
“Tough…just handle it.”
“Don’t you need me here? I’m one of the few people who can detect these doctored photos…”
“I’m the boss Allison, and I decide what’s best…start packing.” He hung up.
Two hours later she was boarding an unmarked Air Force C-5 cargo plane. On the plane she met the Special Forces team leader, Captain Lewis.
Lewis was a tall, lean man, mid thirties, with a mustache and a beard. He had a Texas accent and the attitude to match.
“Good looking girl like you,” he drawled with a smile, “I can’t believe they’re sending you on this run.”
“Me either,” Allison replied. “What’s our plan?”
“Our intel shows the photographs are coming from a location on the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan. We’ll fly into Bagram Air Force Base in Afghanistan, then chopper into the area. Since your specialty is digital forensics, you may be able to identify the equipment and their source.”
“That’s if we find the lab, you mean.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” he said. “Leave that up to us. Now get some sleep. We got a long flight ahead of us.”
October 10, 2012. Kohat, Afghanistan.
The Sikorsky helicopter flew over the mountainous terrain, the noise from its engines drowning out the voices of the crew and passengers. They had spent the last two days stopping at villages all over this region, piecing together leads on the terrorists’ whereabouts. That intel brought them to the location they were flying over now. The chopper flew over the clearing, hovered a minute, then landed. The ten man team and one woman scrambled out of it, while the chopper’s guns covered them. But the area was quiet; too quiet by far.
The heavily armed team set up a perimeter while the Sikorsky took off. Captain Lewis directed three of his men forward, to a half buried metal door just ahead of them.
“Stay behind me, Allison.” Lewis said, pointing to the door. “The lab should be down there.”
The three Special Forces soldiers approached the door and checked for trip wires. Finding none, they opened it and went down the stone steps. Five minutes later, they came back out.
“Area’s secure, Captain,” the sergeant said. “There’s no one here. Looks like they left in a hurry.”
“Damn it. Who the hell tipped them off?” Lewis said, spitting out the words. “Ok, Allison, let’s go inside.”
Lewis led the way, with Allison right behind. The lab was underground, a drab concrete bunker, with bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. A bank of computers and scanners were set up against one wall.
“Look at this equipment,” Allison said. “It’s all state of the art.”
Stacks of photos littered one large table. Most were of Susan Harris.
Lewis smirked. “This is the right place, that’s for sure.”
Allison inspected the scanners and the other computer imaging equipment. “With this, they can make first class fakes…Lewis, take a look at this digital scanner—it’s the same kind we have at the FBI—how did they get these?”
Lewis shook his head. “How’s that possible?” He picked up a black notebook from the table and leafed through the pages. Fluent in Arabic, he could make out most of what it said. “There are contact names in here, but they’re in code. Looks like several of the phone numbers are in the D.C. area.”
Allison pushed her long auburn hair behind her ears. “None of this makes sense…first the terrorists are tipped off we’re coming…then this equipment…and the phone numbers in Washington….”
Lewis put the book down and stared at her. “Washington’s a strange town…you never know where the snakes are.”
October 12, 2012. Bethesda, Maryland.
Allison pulled into the garage of her townhouse, took the suitcase from her Toyota and walked inside. It was midnight and she was dead tired. Their plane from Afghanistan had landed at Andrews an hour ago and all she wanted to do was sleep. But Sanders had told her to call him the minute she got back, day or night. She looked at herself in the mirror as she picked up the phone. She looked like hell—there were dark smudges under her eyes from lack of sleep and her hair was a tangled mess. The Army fatigues she was wearing were a couple of sizes too big, hiding her slender figure.
She dialed the number and a sleepy male voice answered. “Yeah…who’s this?”
“It’s Allison. You told me to call you as soon as I got in.”
“Yeah…yeah.” Sanders said. “I read the report Captain Lewis e-mailed in.”
“What we found was strange.”
“No doubt. Have you spoken with anyone since you got in?”
“No, I just got back.”
“Good. Your trip is confidential, so don’t talk to anyone about it. Something is going on in Washington right now...we need to talk. I’m sending a car to pick you up…they’ll drive you to the office...I’ll meet you there.”
“But it’s midnight, Sanders. Can’t this wait? I’m dead tired.”
“No, it can’t wait.”
“But….”
“Cut the crap, Allison. The agents will be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.
This whole thing is bizarre. What’s the big secret and why this late night meeting? It just doesn’t feel right.
Allison changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. She tucked her service revolver behind her back and got in her car; she pulled out of her garage and parked on the street, half a block away. She slunk into the seat and waited for the agents to arrive.
Ten minutes later, a late model Buick pulled into her driveway. Two men dressed in black got out of the car. The area was dimly lit from the streetlight down the street.
One of the men approached her front door, while the second one went toward the back; both had their guns drawn.
What the hell is this? Why are their guns out?
As soon as Allison saw the man go in her front door, she turned on her ignition, did a u-turn and drove slowly away.
Her boyfriend lived five miles away, in a townhouse overlooking the Potomac. She rang the bell and waited.
A few minutes later, a muffled voice came through the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Allison.”
Jason opened the door, while he rubbed his eyes. He bent over and kissed her. “Hey, hon. I didn’t know you were back from your trip…come in….”
“I just got in….”
Just then, the phone rang.
“Don’t answer it,” she said.
He gave her a puzzled look, and then looked at his watch. “You know what time it is…what’s going on?”
“I’m scared.”
He sat on the living room couch and his eyes opened wide. “Scared of what? What could an FBI agent be scared of?”
She filled him on her trip, her conversation with Sanders and the two men that went to her house.
“Wow, that’s some story…sure it’s not jet lag from your trip?”
Allison frowned, her voice taking a hard edge. “I’m not kidding around. It’s exactly the way it happened. I think Sanders is involved in something that stinks and now I’m in the middle of it….”
Jason smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, that’s all. Listen, let me make a call. As a lobbyist, I know some people with the Edgers campaign. I can call his campaign manager tonight. Maybe he can help.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Do you have any other options?”
Allison mulled this over. She was new at the FBI and hadn’t made many contacts there. Outside of leaving town, she couldn’t come up with a better plan.
“Ok, give him a call.”
“Great. Now let me get you some wine while I make that call.”
An hour later, Edgers’s campaign manager, Steve Nichols, arrived at Jason’s house.
Nichols was an overweight man, in his fifties, with a kindly face that reminded Allison of her uncle.
“Jason told me all about your problem and I may have a solution.” he said with a sympathetic smile.
Allison shrugged. “I’m listening.”
“Let’s go to the press and tell them everything,” Nichols said, still smiling. “Once it’s out in the open, you’ll be safe.”
“But, I don’t really know what’s going on….” Allison replied.
“I have a good contact at the Times; he can write up the story and it’ll be all over the news by tomorrow.”
Allison frowned. “But it’ll look like the FBI is covering up something, that they want to make sure Susan Harris wins the Presidency.”
Nichols smiled again. “Isn’t that exactly what’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. Didn’t you say your boss, this Agent Sanders, is trying to kill you?”
“I’m not sure.”
Nichols eyes flashed and his smile turned cold. “Listen Allison, if you don’t go to the press with me, I’ll go by myself. I’ll tell them about our discussion and it will be front page news.”
“Damn you,” Allison shouted. “You can’t do that!”
Nichols stood up and headed for the door. “It’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he said over his shoulder.
October 13, 2012. FBI Headquarters. Washington, D.C.
Allison stared at the Times headline and rubbed her forehead. She had a massive headache.
Agent Sanders walked into her office and sat down. “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked angrily. “I can’t believe you went to the press and told them this crap!”
She shook her head. “It’s complicated. Jason knew this guy from the Edgers’s campaign and I told him what happened; I didn’t want to go the press….”
“Don’t you see, Allison; you played into Edgers hand; now it looks like the FBI’s conspiring with Harris to cover up those photos…nothing could be further from the truth….”
“I got scared…you sent those thugs with guns and I thought you were going to have me killed.”
“Listen, I may not like you, but I’m a good FBI agent. I sent those guys over to protect you. You’re in danger because of what you learned on your trip. I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
Sanders closed the door to her office and sat back down. “I’ve been investigating what’s been happening in the presidential campaign. And it’s a lot uglier than you realize. That’s what I needed to fill you in on.”
“Go on,” she whispered.
“The details from your trip filled in the blanks for me; now I know. The digital terrorists, the guys in Afghanistan, are being funded by Edgers’s campaign.”
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“Just listen. These Middle East guys hate Harris because she’s strong on defense…fighting terrorism…the whole drill…so, they’ve thrown in with Bill Edgers...he’s been funding their labs, buying their equipment….”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“He wants to be President; he’ll do whatever it takes.”
Allison shook her head. “I was going to vote for him...I don’t believe you!”
“Believe it. I’ve got the proof now.”
“You do? Show me.”
“It’s not here. I don’t know who to trust anymore, so I have it at home. Come to my house tonight at 9 pm. You’ll see.”
She nodded her head. “Ok, I’ll come. But I’m not sure I trust you yet. I’m telling Jason where I’ll be, so don’t try anything.”
“Fair enough.”
Sanders lived in a large home in Virginia, just outside D.C. It was almost nine as she drove around the winding driveway to the front of the house.
She got out of her Toyota and looked around the house, watching for anything suspicious. She had planned to bring her revolver, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Walking up to the portico, she rang the bell. Strangely, the front door was slightly open; nervous, she looked around again and went in.
“Hello, Sanders?” she called out. “Are you home?”
The house was completely dark and quiet. She went into the living room and turned on one of the lights.
That’s when she saw the body.
It was Sanders—he was lying in a pool of blood, his body deadly still. She ran up to him and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Blood oozed from wounds on his chest. Oh, my God! What’s happening here?
She looked around the room and saw the place ransacked, cabinets flung open and tables overturned. Looking down she saw her shoes had smeared the white carpet with blood.
Then she saw the gun. A few feet from the body. A Smith Wesson 38 caliber revolver, with the two inch barrel. Just like her gun.
In the distance, she heard police sirens. She went over to a sofa and sat down, putting her head in her hands. What now? What’s going to happen now?
Within minutes, she heard police cars pulling into the driveway.
November 7, 2012. CNN Studios. Washington, D.C.
The blonde reporter yawned, tired from reporting on the election all night. Her producer said something into her ear piece and the camera lights went on. She smiled into the camera facing her.
“CNN is finally able to call the election. Bill Edgers has defeated Susan Harris for the Presidency of the United States. In a stunning reversal from the polls just four weeks ago, Mr. Edgers has won a majority of the popular vote and the electoral votes. We have also just received a statement from Susan Harris, conceding the election.”