Predator's Game, page 17
part #6 of Scott Wolfe Series
“No,” Storc replied after a few moments of silence. “Nothing but library computers and a computer lab.”
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What’s this about?”
I took a deep breath and let it out along with some of my disappointment. “Bailey was receiving calls from the school periodically until right before Christmas break…then he started getting calls from cell phones in the Charlotte, North Carolina area,” I said, feeling a little boxed in due to the lack of results on my hack. “He still gets calls from that area periodically, even now in prison.”
“Do you need to go down there…to check out the school?”
I shook my head at the question I’d been asking myself. That would be a real time killer. “It’s a long shot for INTEL. I’d rather focus on trying to get information from Harbinger’s laptop, but so far even that hasn’t given us anything.”
“Except a hundred and twenty-five million dollars.”
“Yeah…except that.”
There was a moment of silence as I contemplated my next move. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
“No,” I said finally, firmly. “I’ll see if I can rope in another asset to help.”
“Who?”
“Mark Gaines,” I replied, lowering my voice almost unconsciously. “He’s the only one I’m certain won’t be handing information over to Langley.”
“How are you going to find him?” Storc asked. “Isn’t he off grid?”
“Not totally off,” I replied, wondering how my contact might be received. “He left a way for John to reach him if anything developed.”
“Gotcha. Okay.”
“I’ll see you in an hour or so,” I said. “Later.”
“Later.”
I dropped my phone into the passenger seat and stared at the road ahead of me. As soon as my mind was quiet, it began to drift toward the meeting with Nance. I touched the bandaged wound at my temple again as I hoped the encounter would lead to a fix for my brain damage.
“How have you stayed hidden for so long, Nance?” I muttered. “That must take a lot of discipline.”
Then again, he’s had the head of a respected Biotech firm as his personal manservant for fifteen years or more…that’s a rare commodity.
I breathed in and then sighed out in frustration. How did I not see this coming…and how do I get close to Albert Emrick?
I shook my head. “Focus on the mission,” I said before grabbing my phone and browsing to the Houston Craigslist page. I searched through the missed connections, going back to Monday’s ads, the day Mark would have posted a flag if he were still on the grid. I found it within seconds.
You were on a street corner with a red cowboy hat and a shiny silver pony. When you come back to town, we should see the rodeo together.
I chuckled at the unusual and ridiculous use of key words in his post marker. Like a red flag on the side of a mailbox, signal phrases let anyone looking for an operative know he was on the air and available for contact.
Craigslist used an excellent blind messaging system. Perfect for anyone seeking anonymity while still desiring some connection with the world. I clicked reply, using an anonymous e-mail address from a library server in Ohio, and then I typed out a message.
…you left without saying good-bye. Monkeys only jump as far as they can see, and yours is blind. Too bad about Momma, but she said to say hello. Some secrets are best left wrapped in 128-bit encryption. Tag, you’re it.”
After typing a throwaway number at the end, one that would route to my phone via proxy servers, I sent the message and set my phone down. It had been less than a month since he went off grid, but since his Craigslist tagline was posted Monday, it was obvious he was open for business if we had information for him. The reference to 128-bit encryption would let him know the number was an encrypted line. I only hoped he wasn’t put off by the “Monkey Wrench” reference and ignored the message—that would put a crimp in my timeline.
“Come on, Mark. Don’t forget I saved your ass at Christmas.”
**
5:15 p.m.—U-Store It storage units, Falls Church, Virginia
I was back in my chair in front of the system Storc had set up for me. Despite the ache in my temple, I was plowing through lines of data from Harbinger’s computer on one screen, and I had an active phone company call log search running on the other.
Kathrin was in the other room sulking because I wouldn’t tell her where I had been or why I left without letting her or Storc know—I had told her it was personal. For some reason, it seemed like more of an insult to her stated that way than if I had lied. Next time I would lie.
“Eleven,” I muttered.
“Eleven what?” Storc asked from across the room as he monitored the flow of funds from the European bank accounts.
“Eleven calls to Bailey from the Charlotte area since just before Christmas, from six different cell phones,” I replied.
He grunted in acknowledgment. He was still a little put off that I wouldn’t tell them where I’d been either, or why I showed up hours later with a bandage on the side of my head, refusing to explain.
“I went to Loudoun,” I said, loud enough for both of them to hear.
Behind me, I heard the rustle of cushions in the next room. Storc turned and looked at me with sympathetic eyes. He knew my mom was institutionalized there. “Granger?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered, doing my best to sound sad and remorseful—and that wasn’t a lie.
“That’s all you had to say, man,” he said with a sincere and understanding tone.
“What’s Granger?” Kathrin asked, coming back into the server room.
Please, Storc, tell her so I don’t have to lie any more than I already have.
“That’s the ‘facility’ his mom lives in,” Storc said.
A second later, Kathrin’s arms enveloped me from behind. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I replied, patting her hand. No, please don’t apologize…
My phone buzzed a proxy connection notification before the conversation got more awkward. I pulled away from her and reached for it.
Secure, I realized. Before answering, I activated a trace route to see if it was a clean call. The pings died after the tenth hop. “I have to take this,” I said as I put the phone to my ear.
“Mom’s pie shop,” I answered.
“I thought Mom would answer,” came Mark’s voice after a short pause.
“Mom’s out with the flu, only us monkeys here running the show.”
More silence.
“I wouldn’t have contacted you if wasn’t important,” I said after a couple of seconds.
“What do you want?” He was not in a good mood.
“Greg Bailey,” I said.
“Last I heard, he was stuffed into a cage in Colorado,” Mark said, referring to the ADMAX, the Federal maximum security prison.
“Good. You’ve been keeping up with current events.”
“I can’t help you. I don’t know how to get to Bailey,” he replied, clipped.
“Wait. Don’t hang up!”
More silence.
“I can get to him, but it won’t do any good unless we know how he was flipped,” I said.
“Again, I don’t know why you think I can hel—”
“Just listen to me.”
After a second’s pause, “I’m listening.”
“We traced his money…there was none,” I said. “That means there was another pressure point.”
“Go on.”
“He used to get periodic calls from a private school in Augusta…that all stopped just before Christmas, and he suddenly started getting twice weekly unregistered cell phone calls from the Charlotte area,” I replied.
“Baynebridge?”
“That’s what I was thinking, but I don’t know what they have on him,” I said. “There’s no record at the CIA of family for him.”
“That’s no surprise,” Mark replied. “A lot of operatives keep family out of the official record.”
“Do you know if he had any kids?”
“I didn’t know him that well,” Mark replied. “Why don’t you ask Momma?”
“I’m trying to avoid making any official inquiries.”
There was another short pause. “What’s happened?”
“There’s a leak in the section. I don’t want to go into more detail than that.”
“You don’t think it’s Momma, do you?”
“No. No, no. But Momma is still on convalescence and is not herself these days,” I replied, alluding to deeper issues.
“Understood…but I still don’t know what I can do for you.”
“I was hoping you were close enough to Augusta to verify the theory before I waste any of our limited resources on an operation…I know you aren’t actually in Houston.”
Silence again. He really didn’t want to help.
“How’s the belly wound?” I asked, reminding him I’d saved his life a few weeks ago.
He had called me on Christmas Eve to help him because he couldn’t think of anyone else with an Agency connection to contact without possibly giving himself away. My subtly unsubtle flipping of circumstances would remind him he owed me.
“You’re an asshole,” he muttered.
“It seems to run in our family, brother,” I said, grinning as the hook sank in.
“Encrypt a message with the name of the place I was staying when you picked me up at Christmas as the password,” he replied, the bitterness in his voice softened slightly by the resignation. “No spaces.”
“What e-mail address should I send it to?”
“I’ll reply to your message from Craigslist. Use that address.”
I pulled up my anonymous e-mail account on the computer and waited for a Mark’s reply e-mail. When it dinged, I opened it. “To the guy who broke my nose.”
No text, just the subject.
“I got it,” I said. “I’ll send you the encrypted file within the hour.”
“How time sensitive is this?” he asked.
“You know what you were looking for when we met?”
“Yeah.”
“We found it all, and now it’s disappearing at a rate of about twenty-five million per hour.”
“How much time does that give you?”
“Not sure…they could run out of money while we’re talking,” I replied, ticking the urgency up in my voice a bit to knock him in line.
“So you need this now.”
“If you’re in a position to do it now,” I replied. “Otherwise, I’ll have to stop my data tracking and go down to check it out myself.”
Silence.
“Like I said, I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” I added.
“Okay, but this squares us.”
Not even close. “You betcha.”
“Send me the INTEL you have. I’ll post a new message to the Charlotte Craigslist under the e-mail subject I just sent you if I find anything.”
“Roger that,” I said. “Thanks, DJ.”
He hung up without saying good-bye. I’d wait until later to remind him I was after the guys who killed his sister if he started to drag his feet with me.
“Who was that?” Kathrin asked.
“Mark Gaines,” I muttered as I bundled the package to send Mark.
“The one who was in prison?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Is he going to help?”
“I think I can get him to tag along,” I replied as I zipped up the INTEL package and encrypted it with the name of the RV Wholesaler lot in Ashland, Virginia, where I had picked Mark up at Christmas.
After sending it I turned and smiled. “Done.”
“You’re good at that,” she said. “Convincing people to help you.”
I winked at her.
“You’re good at that too,” she added.
“What?”
“The…” She winked.
“It’s a compulsion.”
“Don’t stop on my account,” she said before leaning in to kiss me. “It’s sexy…I like it.”
seven
February 10th and 11th
6:50 a.m. on February 10th—U-Store It storage units, Falls Church, Virginia
Storc shook me by the shoulder, waking me. “The message board alarm just went off on your computer,” he whispered, being respectful of Kathrin’s slumber.
I nodded and got out of bed, carefully unwinding my arm from behind Kathrin. She opened her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a message notice.”
She nodded and rolled over in the small bunk. I stumbled over toward the computer before dropping down into the seat like my legs had failed me. Storc put a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. The smell alone improved my condition.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling sincerely as I pulled up a browser and went to Craigslist for Charlotte, North Carolina.
Under Rants and Raves there was a new posting to “The guy who broke my nose.” I smiled and shook my head.
I took a sip of my coffee before clicking the link: “To the guy who broke my nose. We need a face-to-face. Things aren’t what they seem here and if everything is to be forgiven, you’ll need to open your eyes to the broader possibilities.”
That was too cryptic to contain any real information. Mark must have found something complex. I pulled my phone out of my messenger bag and opened a secure VoIP connection to Mark’s number.
“Como?” Mark answered, sounding groggy.
“It’s Monkey Wrench,” I replied.
“Right…okay, here’s what I found out,” he said after clearing the croup from his throat. “Bailey’s daughter was at a private girl’s school down near Augusta, Georgia until just before winter break. The school was closed by the time I got down there last night, so I had to go in after hours and check the attendance records myself.”
“What’d you find?”
“There was apparently a death in the family mid-December, and an aunt and uncle came to get her in the middle of exams,” he said. “Except there’s no aunt and uncle and there was no death in the family.”
“Kidnapped,” I muttered, pressing my lips together tightly. “That means they’ve had her for almost two months.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve gone after family to get what they want.”
A tug of regret in my chest reminded me that Mark’s sister, her spouse, and her child had been murdered in an attempt to stop Mark from digging into the Combine accounts.
“I think we can pretty safely assume what happened next. The school calls ended around the same time the other calls started because the ‘proof of life’ calls kept Bailey on task.”
“That’s what I thought as well,” Mark replied. “The trail goes cold there.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “If they killed her, then Bailey would have no reason to stay quiet, especially in prison.”
“So she’s probably still alive and being kept somewhere…but we have no way of knowing where.”
“Not necessarily… The new calls are on burn phones but there were cell pings on three of them within tower range of Baynebridge headquarters.”
“How does that help us?” he asked, sounding tired.
“We have to assume the regular calls are continued ‘proof of life’ contacts, which means we have the numbers of the cell phones that have been in the presence of Bailey’s daughter.”
“Then we can track the phones?”
I shook my head. “There’s no GPS on the phones. I’ve already tried,” I replied. “I can get to within a five-mile range or so from the cell pings, but even that doesn’t help us if they’re moving her around.”
“Do you want me to stake out the downtown with a cell scanner and see if I get a lucky drive-by?”
“That won’t work either,” I replied, working through the problem in my head as I spoke. “They’re using encryption apps like this one.”
“What then?”
I took a deep breath before deciding on a course of action. “I need access to the Baynebridge entry logging system.”
“I don’t understand.”
I smiled at his willingness to say that. It meant he was interested enough in the operation to understand it rather than just nod and try to shoot me down.
“The logging system records entry and exit from the Baynebridge facility,” I said. “If we match the timestamps on all the calls that were within the range of their headquarters to the entry and exit logs, we can narrow down a list of targets.”
“How small a list do you think?”
“I don’t know, maybe ten to twenty,” I replied. “I can’t be sure until I look at the logs. But more than that, I can check their personnel list against contract assignments. If the phones, entry logs, and assignment list line up, we may be able to pinpoint the identity of the team that’s holding Bailey’s daughter.”
“Then do your hack wizard wand waving and get me some names,” he replied, sounding more awake after that encouraging news. “I’m ready to move as soon as I have a target.”
“I can’t from up here. Baynebridge has their internal logging, entry logging and security system behind their internal firewall,” I said. “I can’t hack it from the outside without the firewall codes.”
“Something you can’t hack? They’ve stepped up their game.”
“I’ll need to get into their headquarters,” I replied, ignoring his jab at my hacking skill. The truth of the matter was that I probably could hack their new firewall…it would just take more time than I was willing to expend.
“Ha!” Mark scoffed. “It would be easier to get in to see the president without an appointment.”
“I didn’t think it would be easier…just faster.”
“You need to pause for a second and think about what you’re asking,” Mark replied, already sounding like a naysayer. “Biometric entry, facial recognition software on all cameras, armed response teams on standby, and airport-grade entry checkpoints.”
“So basically the first week of training at Peary,” I replied, smiling.
