Requiem, page 6
“I think so. All right.”
“So, you were an attendant on the flight?”
“Yes.”
“What did police ask you?”
“They were very interested in the demeanor and actions of the missing woman in 15B.”
“Like what?”
“If she seemed frightened or alarmed, or if there were any issues with the passengers around her.”
“Were there?”
“Not really. She asked for water, but nothing really. She had her row to herself, and there was no one near, except for the man ahead of her at the window in 14A.”
“Were there issues with him?”
“No. He seemed like a serious business type, working on his laptop. But he lowered the screen a little each time we passed.”
“And that’s it? Did the police indicate anything?”
“Well, they asked if I thought the woman might have seen something on the man’s laptop from her seat that might’ve upset her.”
“Really? Like what? Porn? Something like that?”
“They didn’t say. But I told them at one point, we thought we saw the woman taking photos in the cabin during the flight.”
“Photos of what?”
“We’re not sure, but police asked us if we thought she was taking photos of his computer. We said it was possible, but we weren’t sure.”
“Did you see anything on his computer?”
“No.”
Roha thought, then said, “Do you have this man’s name? Was he American? Mexican?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“Could you get me his name from the manifest?”
Brisa let a long moment pass before saying, “Let me speak to Maria.”
Quiroz and the woman spoke for several minutes, and then Quiroz ended the call.
“She’s scared, Sabrena. Police were strict about not revealing any part of their investigation.”
Roha understood.
“But we trust you, and a woman is missing,” Quiroz said. “I’ll work with her and our people to get the man’s name without arousing police suspicion.”
Roha took hold of Quiroz’s knee, squeezing it.
“Thank you, Maria, and please thank Brisa. This means a lot to me.”
They hugged, ending their meeting.
As she walked from the park to her Mustang, Roha’s phone rang with a blocked number. Many of her sources blocked their numbers.
“Roha,” she answered.
“Hey, it’s Madison.”
Roha recognized her friend, the forensic analyst who was working at Wanda Stroud’s house in Downey.
“Hey right back.”
“Listen, you didn’t get this from me, okay?”
“Sure.” Roha surveyed the area around her to ensure she had some privacy. “What is it?”
“They found something in San Pedro you might want to check out, and now the FBI is bigfooting the case.”
“What is it?”
“Gotta go.”
CHAPTER 17
Manhattan, New York
The next morning, Ray Wyatt joined the nearly 2,000 people boarding the Staten Island Ferry at the Whitehall Ferry Terminal in Lower Manhattan.
Taking the stairs to an upper deck, he scanned the area near a food concession, and spotted a man wearing a Mets cap and a white T-shirt with a sugar skull on it.
The man, who had a backpack at his feet, was sitting alone, looking out the window, when Wyatt took a seat next to him.
“You found me,” the man said.
Wyatt set his newly acquired laptop on the bench between them, and said, “Thanks for helping me, Bill.”
“I haven’t done anything, yet,” the man said, giving Wyatt a smile.
“Meeting me is a start. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Like I said, we need to keep this confidential.”
“Absolutely.”
Bill Garvin was Wyatt’s colleague before the deepest round of staff cuts at First Press Alliance, the worldwide wire service where Garvin headed IT support. After the layoffs, Garvin landed a position with a cybersecurity company. Wyatt had always considered him an expert.
Like everyone at the First Press Alliance, Garvin, who’d known Wyatt for years, was sympathetic to his tragedy. So, when Wyatt called Garvin yesterday seeking his help searching for Danny on the dark web, he agreed.
“But like I told you on the phone, Ray, I’m not optimistic,” Garvin said, pulling his laptop from his backpack as the ferry left the dock for Staten Island.
“I appreciate any help.” Wyatt turned on his computer.
Free WiFi was available at the terminal and on the boat.
“Log on to your computer. I’ll first install antivirus programs for you.”
Wyatt logged on. Then Garvin went online and installed the programs, which took some time.
“All right,” Garvin said. “Now, after you outlined everything on our call, I found a couple of pretty good apps to help us—one for facial recognition, and one for age enhancement. I’ll load them onto your unit.”
When the security programs finished, Garvin began loading the apps.
“Give me the best photo you have of Danny’s face.”
Wyatt provided Garvin a photo, and Garvin began processing it, in an attempt to replicate the photo McDade had shown Wyatt.
“Ray, the FBI’s technology will far exceed that of the apps I just loaded. Also, the stuff that’s available to us works better on photos of people in the 15-to-60 age range; this isn’t a precise science, so keep that in mind.”
Using the apps, it took Garvin several minutes to produce a photo of Danny at age six.
“Pretty good,” Wyatt said. “It looks similar to what McDade showed me.”
“Okay. Now, I’m going to equip your system with a program I created to run our age-progressed image through the dark web, to see if we can find the source of Danny’s photo that the FBI found.”
“Let’s do it,” Wyatt said.
“Remember, because the dark web is not the same as the conventional web most of the world uses, its characteristics are different, which means this might not work at all.”
Garvin launched his program, using the age-enhanced photo they just created to search the dark web for Danny.
An icon was flashing on a blank blue screen, showing that it was searching. A solid minute went by without a result, then another minute.
Then a new page appeared, like a lightning flash, showing a gallery of children’s faces, before it vanished. It all happened in under a second.
“What the —?” Garvin said.
The blinking icon froze.
Suddenly, the fan on Wyatt’s laptop whirred loudly, as if the hard drive was overworked. New toolbars appeared. Garvin tried closing them, but his commands were ignored.
A series of death’s-head pop-up windows began blossoming on the screen.
“We’re being attacked,” Garvin said.
Any command Garvin initiated was ignored.
“What?”
Garvin flipped over the laptop and removed the battery, shutting it down. Then he shook his head.
“I think we knocked on their door, Ray, but—”
“But what?”
“We’re not getting in.”
“Can we try again?”
Garvin shook his head.
“These guys are good, Ray. They may have just fried your laptop. I’ll take it home and see if I can fix it for you.”
“I don’t care. I’ll get another computer. We have to keep trying.”
“Ray, I’m sorry. I never thought this through. This is dangerous.”
“Danny’s out there. That’s what’s more dangerous.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but whoever’s behind this has some heavy-duty skill. I’ve never encountered something so immediately aggressive.”
“We can’t stop. We’re talking about my son.”
“I know, Ray. But there are so many risks. If the FBI caught us, we could be charged for interfering with an investigation.”
Wyatt shook his head and turned away.
“Ray, let me work on your laptop, and think about what we can do.”
Wyatt nodded as the boat’s big diesel engines slowed, and it eased into the St. George Ferry Terminal on Staten Island.
After docking, Wyatt thanked Garvin, who had business on Staten Island, and left.
Wyatt joined the crowd for the next ferry back to Manhattan.
During his return trip, dejected in his defeat, he looked at the Statue of Liberty when his phone rang.
“Ray, it’s DeCastilla. Got a sec?”
“Hey, Tony. Sure.”
“Listen, I just want you to know that I haven’t forgotten. I’m working on things. Just hang in there.”
CHAPTER 18
Los Angeles, California
As Wanda Stroud smiled from the screen, Special Agent Cal Banner took stock of her face at his desk in the FBI’s Los Angeles office on Wilshire.
She could be anyone’s mother, or grandmother.
Years ago, while in college, Stroud had worked part-time in the Downey police records department. Her employee fingerprints were still on file, and the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner’s office used them to identify her as the homicide victim discovered in an abandoned warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles in San Pedro.
Preliminary findings indicated she was shot at close range in the back of the head, evocative of an execution-style murder.
Why kill a 66-year-old widowed librarian from Downey?
Stroud’s murder, after she’d vanished from LAX upon her arrival in the U.S. from a trip to Mexico City, was a priority, and Banner had been assigned to it from the get-go. Now that it was a homicide with international aspects, Banner’s boss, Supervisory Special Agent Robin Dixon, advised him that the FBI would lead the multiagency investigation, which included Mexican law enforcement and Interpol.
“And you’re the case agent, Cal,” Dixon said.
Banner channeled the pressure.
He always did—refining it to an all-consuming, laser focus on the work, to the exclusion of everything else in his life, according to his ex-wife.
Eighteen months after his divorce, Banner had transferred from the FBI’s Chicago office to L.A. and threw himself into the job. He worked nonstop on cases, including the investigation that led to the arrests of several gang members who’d committed a string of armed robberies and shootings in Beverly Hills.
Now, after a year and a half in Los Angeles, Banner was still using unpacked boxes for furniture in his barely affordable apartment in Westwood. Last night, he’d stood at stacked boxes filled with books, eating tacos while examining every statement, report, image, and lead on Stroud, again and again.
She saw something. Something happened on that plane.
This morning, at his desk in the office, Banner finished his coffee, collected his tablet, phone, notebook, and files. He went to the large boardroom to head the first case-status meeting in the wake of Stroud’s death.
Investigators from Downey, LAX, LAPD, L.A. County, state, and federal agencies settled in around the table. On the line were detectives with Mexican law enforcement and the FBI’s legal attaché in Mexico City.
Dixon did a quick roll call of introductions. Banner made a wireless connection with his tablet to the wall monitor at one end of the room, and then got rolling.
“We’ve got a lot to cover. You have the updated summaries,” Banner began. “Since this case emerged, a lot of good work was started. We’re building on it.”
The wall monitor came to life with photos of Stroud, while Banner related known details of her homicide.
The monitor then showed the face of a man in his 50s—white hair, good-looking, serious expression—on a passport photo. His name: José Luís Garcia.
“We believe he is an attorney based in Honduras,” Banner said. “Garcia is the man who was seated in the row ahead of Stroud.”
Banner went through a montage of security camera clips and stills, tracking Stroud and Garcia through LAX to the taxi pickup zone, ending with her getting into a dark blue sedan with Garcia and his driver.
“Garcia is our key person of interest,” Banner said. “We’ve dug into his background, and the intel emerging via Interpol from police around the world is troubling.”
A slide on the monitor showed Garcia—also known as Alberto Aiza, Felix Neri, and Victor Nyllev—as having a number of professional occupations, more than a dozen aliases, and passports from several countries, including Canada, Mexico, and the U.S, where he had 10 Social Security numbers.
Brenner noted that Garcia was suspected of having worked for global money launderers in Panama, Russia, and the Caribbean, for a counterfeiting network in Europe, and for drug cartels in Mexico, Central America, and South America.
“He’s a powerful operator for some dangerous and extremely sophisticated organizations,” Banner said.
“But he’s always been an under-the-radar figure. Almost invisible, until now. Here’s what we know. He boarded Cielo Ahora Flight CA359 in Mexico City to Los Angeles, occupied window seat 14A. Stroud was behind him in the middle seat, 15B. They each had rows to themselves, with no other passengers near.”
Banner related how the flight attendants suggested Garcia was engrossed in his work, eyeing them, subtly lowering his screen whenever they walked by. Some attendants believed Stroud was photographing his screen, and that he became uneasy and snapped it shut. As for Stroud, one attendant thought she may have exhibited a trace of unease, but not unlike that of any nervous flyer.
“What about Stroud’s movements in Mexico?” Trish Morgan, an LAPD detective, asked.
“She went there for medical reasons, and it checks out, so far,” Banner said.
“What about Garcia’s movements?” Morgan asked.
“We know he boarded the flight,” Miguel Fuentes, a Mexican investigator on the line, said. “We’re endeavoring to track him prior. He may have used other identification to enter Mexico.”
“What about the car used at LAX?” Kevin Sandoval, the FBI’s legal attaché, asked over the line.
“We got the plate,” Banner said. “The vehicle was rented in L.A. through a numbered company, which led to a labyrinth of numbered companies and stolen credit cards. We’ve yet to locate the car or identify the driver.”
“What about activity on Stroud’s credit and bank cards?” Larry Cox, an agent with Homeland, asked.
“Subsequent to her return, none,” Banner said.
“Where are we with Stroud’s phone?” Morgan said. “Her phone is critical.”
Before Banner could answer, Sandoval, in Mexico, said, “Maybe a cartel’s using her as an unwitting mule, and something went wrong? What do we think happened?”
Banner glanced at his boss, and Dixon nodded for him to go ahead.
“We can speculate while adhering to the known facts,” Banner said. “Stroud was seated behind Garcia, who had his laptop open. Stroud texted her friend about a ‘weird’ happening on the plane, and Garcia left LAX with Stroud. We believe Stroud saw something on Garcia’s laptop.”
“Like what?” Sandoval asked.
“We don’t know at this stage,” Banner said.
“Having her phone would help,” Morgan said.
“Detective Chambers in Downey started the process to obtain Stroud’s phone records and data,” Banner said. “We followed that with a warrant. We’re working with Stroud’s provider on unlocking her stored data. We’ve not located her phone so far. The last signal was from the LAX area. Then it went silent.”
“Was this around the time she departed with Garcia?” Sandoval asked.
“Yes,” Banner said. “Her provider says she may have been using an online digital storage service for her data. We’re attempting to access that.”
“So, we don’t know what she saw, if she saw anything?” Morgan said.
“That may be the case,” Banner said. “But I believe Stroud saw something on Garcia’s computer, and whatever it was, it cost her her life.”
CHAPTER 19
Los Angeles, California
The meeting wrapped up.
Investigators left the room, while Banner and Dixon stayed behind discussing next steps.
“Cal, let’s try obtaining security camera footage from the company where Garcia’s people leased the car.”
“We did, but the company’s archive has malfunctioned.”
“Then we go to the host company for another shot at the footage,” Dixon said. She turned, hearing a soft knock at the open doorway. “Yes, Olivia?”
“Excuse me.” Special Agent Olivia Hinson had left the meeting but returned, glancing at her phone. “I just heard back from our cyber people, and they’ve sent us something we need to see.”
Banner went to his tablet as a secure email with attachments arrived.
“Got it,” he said.
“It’s what they found in Stroud’s digital data storage,” Hinson said. “The timing aligns, indicating that either Stroud stored it, or it was stored automatically when she arrived at LAX.”
“Shut the door, please, Olivia,” Dixon said. “Cal, put it up on the big monitor.”
Banner entered a few commands on his tablet, and the large screen on the wall displayed the first in a series of still photos Stroud had taken on the plane.
They showed the man in the row in front of her, working on his computer with a screen large enough for her to see what was on it.
“That’s got to be Garcia,” Hinson said.
The series of photos zoomed in on the images on the man’s screen.
Faces of children, uniformly framed, each labeled with a number, like a catalog.
Dixon began tapping her pen on the table as more photos displayed captured messages and snippets of sentences: adoptee…agreement…transfer of rights to adoptive parents…will obtain a decree…facilitator…fees…will secure authentic-looking records and legal documents…validating legal status as an orphan…
The next set of photos showed more communication: Correct. This week, we have solid offers for #0247 from Madrid, #6796 from Melbourne, #0055 from Johannesburg, #2095 from Moscow, #8849 from Buenos Aires, #3716 from London and #9902 from Toronto. Then: Updating price list offerings now.
