Into the Specter

Chapter 5

The printer is jammed again. Flip's trying to print out his report and the paper is stuck. God damn it, he thinks. Why can't they just get a new one? Six years he's worked here and the same printer that rips papers seventy-five percent of the time has been with him through it all.

He signed up for the police academy three years after returning from his two-year-long service in the Marine Corps. Now, at 31, he's a detective thanks to his talents in undercover work. He got promoted to detective after a successful operation when Ron transferred to his division. That was three years ago, and they've been partners ever since. Mostly drug operations and the occasional gang-related murder since then. Not very many detectives to go around at the CSPD and they've had their hands full.

A rookie walks into the break room. Flip snaps out of his glare at the printer and walks out. He'll get Ron to print it later.

Two weeks since the 'ghosts', as Ron now calls them from reading headlines in the UK. Flip doesn't think they should have such a cool nickname. But he lost that argument over beers at Harvey's last Friday night.

He walks over to his desk. A stack of papers and folders litter it. Two empty styrofoam coffee cups are by his keyboard. Ron looks over his computer and greets him.

"You hear back from Evidence?" asks Flip as he sits down. Two flannels are hung on the back of his chair. "Yeah, they found some traces of saliva," Ron says in an excited tone. "Though, running it through databases will take forever, especially since they're international. But it doesn't match any of the employees."

Flip feels a glimmer of hope. They're the only investigation to gather even a shred of evidence. No fingerprints, no footage, and no witnesses have seen their faces. Nothing. "Good, you still running through the footage of the diner?" They're sharing the workload of going through the security camera recordings since the investigation is at a current standstill. Chief wants to pass it on to the FBI but the two of them are determined to see it through to the end.

"Yeah, I'm on the camera facing the parking lot now," he says. Ron brings both of his hands to clasp behind his head and sighs. It's quiet in the station. The clicking of keyboards is all Flip hears as he leafs through the file on the perps.

The folder is even thinner than some of his older investigations. Considering they're wanted internationally he was expecting a whole mountain of information. Files from the CIA, FBI, Interpol and the BND only add up to a few dozen pages. He's read through them three times.

The banks are seemingly random. They never hit the same company twice. Footage from the days leading up to a heist has been useless. There's no way of knowing what the suspects look like and they can't compare hours of footage from fourteen different banks to see if reoccurring people are scoping out the place. The only reason Ron and Flip are doing it is through sheer stubbornness that they'll find something. The group is compared to ghosts on the media. They leave no trace, never make demands of the police, and haven't killed any hostages.

What's odd is that even when they have broken into the main vault, which they did at ten locations, there's never much missing. Well, not much compared to millions of dollars. He wonders why they're choosing quantity over quality. They're passing up millions in favor of getting out quickly. So they can hit more than a dozen banks? It doesn't add up to him.

He looks to the whiteboard. A couple of pictures are tacked up. Suspects connected to other heists and assaults. Murderers with no remorse in their eyes. Some of them don't even work in groups but it's the best list the FBI had to offer.

Ron lurches forward in his seat.

"Flip." He clicks his mouse rapidly.

"Flip, come here," he says.