The Spy Who Whistled

“Suicide. Committing suicide is your answer?”

“Not for me. For him. Why would McKinney put himself in such a position?”

Scotch turned away from the monitor and looked at Pen.

“Why would he put himself in such a position...” Pen repeated in an effort to cue Scotch into finishing his thought.

“McKinney was on to something. Something big.”

“Clearly.” Pen sipped her coffee. “Did he usually take such risks?”

“In his early days, but by the time I was brought in he was a firm believer in calculated risks. Thoroughly planned out, calculated risks. If he was on social media he had a plan, a good one, and he knew all of the players.”

“All but one.” Pen responded.

“You’re reading my mind now. And you said we weren’t partners.” Scotch said with a grin.

Pen bit back a growl. “Could you just get to the point?”

“You have no sense of spontaneity do you?” Scotch turned back to his computer, hiding one tab and pulling up another. “Here is our first bread crumb.”

Pen stepped forward to read over Scotch’s shoulder. “Whistle.”

“It’s a social media app where users post things they found, restaurants, movies they liked, comments on trending events etc… Posts tend to be short, 250 characters or less.”

“Long whistle, short whistle, Wolf whistle?” Pen asked.

“A long whistle is 101-250 characters, a short whistle is 100 characters or less.” Scotch explained.

“The Wolf whistle?”

“Is the equivalent of an internet stonker.”

“What?”

“Something large, impressive, or...” Scotch looked at his lap, turned to Pen, and raised an eyebrow.

“An erection? Really?” A brief smile crossed Pen’s lips. “You Brits pretend to be so proper and then create this.” She commented continuing to study the screen.

Scotch shook his head. “This app originated and is currently operating out of the Bronx. Sorry darling but this one is all American.” The spy countered using his American accent.

“Why was McKinney using it?”

Scotch sipped at his espresso, his eyes shone with secrets to be shared, “To talk to other spies.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Which is probably why they were doing it. It was crazy; more importantly no one is expecting it. If no one is expecting it then no one is looking for it.”

Pen shook her head.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t.”

“Look at this.” Scotch pulled up another tab. “These are the discussions that McKinney had been having on Whistle during the last two weeks.”

“I am looking for what?”

“You’re a smart woman. I think you’ll find it.” Pen perused McKinney’s Whistles. “These people are talking about dog parks.”

“What are they discussing specifically?”

Pen looked at Scotch. “I have to say it? Out loud?”

Scotch nodded. The spy had a twinkle in his eyes.

“The best poop spots.”

“Go through it again. What else do you see?”

“Play dates for their pets, where to dispose of dog waste bags, the fees for not following the rules, who to call if you find a dog that is without an owner in the park.”

“No my dear Pen that is not what they were discussing.” Scotch announced as he rose from his seat. “Look at the accounts of the users that he’s talking to. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pen took his chair, studied the accounts briefly, and waited. When Scotch returned she said. “We have an @IF20 and an @JB7.”

“And…?”

“@IF20 is an international property dealer and @JB7 is an ambassador of a country that I’ve never heard of.”

“Take a look at the activity on their accounts.”

“There’s just a bunch of information about dog parks.”

“Exactly. You have an international property dealer and an ambassador and all they talk about is dog parks? No restaurants, no vacations they enjoyed, no properties for sale, no announcements of any new treaties...” Scotch pointed out.

“No pictures of their dogs. Did McKinney have a dog?” Pen asked.

“He was allergic. There you have two people who if their accounts are accurate would travel a lot and not have much time to take their dogs for walks.”

“They would hire someone else to do it.”

“Now you’re catching on.” He sipped on a fresh cup of espresso. “Would you like me to tell you about the numbers?”

Pen rested her chin on her hand as she moved back and forth between various accounts studying the numbers. “Um...no.”

Scotch moved to the leather chair and waited.

“These are fake accounts. The number of accounts the users are following is much higher than the number of followers the accounts have. If these were the accounts of a international property dealer and an ambassador they should have thousands if not hundreds of thousands of followers.”

“Some high profile users have over a million followers.” Scotch pointed out.

“Really?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“How much time do people really have to spend using these apps?”

“When was the last time you didn’t see everyone looking down at their phones?”

Pen blushed a little.

“You’ve never noticed?”

“I”m a chemist. I’m always working and it’s usually in the lab. When would I notice something like that?”

Scotch shook his head. “These were posts listing meeting dates, times, and places. They also showed amounts due for the exchange of items or information.”

“Twenty dollars?”

“Look at it again. Two zero decimal point zero zero. A. Two thousand dollars American. The reader moves the decimal down two spaces and adds two zeroes behind it. The initial is not the first letter of a name.”

“It’s the country the currency originates from.”

“Very good Pen, very good.”

“What’s the plan?”

“It’s only been a few hours, we have no idea which of these followers knows that McKinney is dead or if any of them do. I’m going to leave his account open and see if anyone comes looking for him. In the

mean time, we have another account. This user is following all of McKinney’s contacts both the followers and those he was following.”

“How do you know any of his contacts are going to be interested in following the new account?”

“I studied them. Sex of the user, country of origin, occupation, outside interests and I think that I have come up with something that is irresistible.” Scotch clicked and revealed their new endeavor.

Pen studied the account. “Brittany ‘The Pen’ Abercrombie—Travel Writer!” An American In Paris. Looking for fun, adventure, and romance. Where did you get this picture? This is a negligee picture from the other night.” Pen rose from her chair. “I knew there were cameras in here but I hoped it was something that you turned off when you entered the apartment and found the perimeter secure.”

“It is a lovely picture.”

“I am practically naked.”

“You are wearing the robe. You can’t see anything. Not really.”

Pen raised an eyebrow.

“Look at it closer. It’s not revealing, it just accentuates your curves.”

Pen does not respond.

Scotch looked into Pen’s eyes. “Trust me, I tried everything and all I saw was fabric.”

“You tried everything?”

“The more I explain things the worse I’m doing.”

“I can’t believe you put me out there like this. All of that talk about digital footprints being suicide for a spy.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Use a generic picture of some random woman.”

“And put her in danger? Pen I am surprised. Aren’t you the one who keeps insisting that you aren’t a spy? If Pen, you are, in fact, not a spy, you shouldn’t be in danger.”

“This is dangerous.”

“Yes but you’re with me. You can count on me to be lazy enough to never let anything happen to my Pen.” Scotch looked at Pen. “I hate looking for things. It’s important to always have a good pen at the ready. Look at your first Whistle.”

Hi. I’m Brittany! I’m a sexy, fun, single woman interested in experiencing all that Europe has to offer an adventurous cousin from across the pond.

“You forgot something.” Pen said. “You forgot ‘call me for a good time.’ The only thing that you’re going to attract with this Whistle is slimy oversexed men with overinflated ideas about...about...how well they’re endowed.”

“I don’t think so. Brittany looks like a sweet woman that I would like to get to know better.”

“Perverts. You’re going to attract nothing but perverts then you’re going to have set up a new account.”

“I’m a spy. I have experience using many levels of communication. This is going to be easier than sorting through my winter wardrobe.”

Pen looked at Scotch.

“Mum insisted.”

Pen turned to watch the screen as the number of responses to her Whistle steadily climbed. “Twenty-four hours. After twenty-fours of dealing with these perverts you are going to be begging me to help you set up a new account.”

“The rush will be over in forty-eight hours. McKinney’s killer will be found by the end of the week.” Scotch countered.

Pen rose from her seat. “The responses are climbing rapidly. You have 1200 new followers. I suggest you sit down. You’re going to be here a while.”

 *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.