Bitcoin Bandits

by Chris Kale

  “This is about the case?” Wyatt asked. “How? Are you in danger?”

  Thomas paused, not sure what to say. So, he decided on the truth, since he was asking for such a big favor. “Yes,” he said finally.

  Wyatt paused. “What kind of danger?”

  “The bad kind.” Thomas scratched his face and looked at the loaded Beretta on the passenger seat. “I have to do this one thing on my own though. It has to be me, and I have to do this on my own. But if I don’t call you back in 88 minutes, send him where I am. That is when something will be really wrong.”

  “What does this have to do with the case,” Wyatt asked. “Tell me that much.”

  “Someone is in trouble,” Thomas mustered the ability to say. “Someone else who knows how to get the Bitcoin, and they need my help.”

  “Does this have to do with Niklas Wolf?” Wyatt asked in a troubled, slightly shaky voice.

  “I can’t say,” he replied, again eying the gun as the glow of the sunlight reflected off its shiny, black barrel.

  “Why not?” Wyatt asked. “If you know where he is, we need to let the local authorities know at once. He’s a killer. You’d be a fool to go after him, if that’s what you’re thinking of doing. Listen to me now, Thomas, if this has anything to do at all about this guy, you need to stop what you’re doing. Take a deep breath and think about this. Niklas Wolf, we’ve been digging up info on this guy since the warrant was released for his involvement in Joon’s murder. Ex-Black Ops, a mercenary in Syria, used to be an enemy of the United States in the war in Afghanistan. This guy’s straight up an assassin, like out of the movies. Don’t be stupid. Let the police deal with him.”

  “Like I said,” Thomas replied quickly, “I don’t know if it's him. But there is a chance, and I have to do this on my own.” He looked at the clock in the car. “Eighty-six minutes.”

  “I can’t let you do this,” Wyatt said, “not because I’m your boss, because I’m your friend. This is foolishness.”

  “Well, do what you have to do,” Thomas said, “and I’ll do what I have to.”

  Another long pause as Thomas sped down the road, racing toward the Han River.

  “I’m not waiting that long,” Wyatt said. “Give me a better time.”

  He looked at the clock again, and then the GPS. Twenty-seven minutes to get there, and another twenty to get Freyja. The police can arrive after that. Yes, that’d be fine. After all, I still want him caught for Joon’s death.

  “Fifty minutes,” Thomas said.

  “Forty-five minutes, then,” Wyatt said in a worried voice. “Thomas, I hope you know what you’re doing. The missing Bitcoin isn’t important enough to risk your life over.”

  It is to Freyja.

  “Like I said, it’s more than that, someone else is in trouble,” Thomas said, now with the Han in view, its rippling waves shining in a brilliant white light. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “What do I tell Ron? Just the coordinates?” Wyatt said. “You said he won’t be surprised?”

  “If I don’t call back,” Thomas said, “tell him to bring the cavalry.”

  “You’re really bad at not making me worry about this,” Wyatt said. “I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this bullshit. I should have Ron after you for this, throw you in a fucking cell and throw away the key until you’ve come back to your senses.”

  “Wyatt. . . thank you. Thank you.”

  “Be careful, Thomas. Forty-three minutes.”

  Thomas ended the phone call and raced the car over the sparkling-crystal waters, the hum of the engine running through the car as it shifted gears.

  He grabbed his phone with the GPS running on it, and after pressing a button, he said, “Call Sarah.”

  The phone rang several times, and eventually ended on his daughter’s voice greeting, asking for the caller to leave a message.

  Oh, Sarah, of all times, you could have picked up this once.

  He heard the beep after her voice.

  “Uh, Sarah, hi, it's me. Listen, I’m uh. . .” What do I say? “Listen, I love you so very much, and I’m sorry I wasn’t part of your life for a long time. It was selfish of me, and I resent it every day. But there’s something going on right now that I’m involved in, and I’m trying really hard not to be selfish. There’s someone in trouble. She reminds me of you, actually.” A rare tear fell down his cheek. “I wish I could go back and change who I was, but I can’t. I can only try to be better now. I am better. I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in years, and it's hard sometimes. But this thing I have to do, well, I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I keep thinking of her, and you, and I want to help. I want to be a part of your life again. I want to see my grandson; I want to see Adon.”

  Another tear fell, which he wiped away with his sleeve.

  “Sarah, there’s a small chance this is goodbye. But I don’t want it to be. I want to be a family again. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you, but I hope this is a step in the right direction. I don’t want to be isolated anymore. I don’t want to feel lonely, and I don’t want you to grow up without a father, and Adon a grandpa. If we speak again after this, you just have to tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’m so sorry for not being there for you. I’m so sorry, but I’m here now, and I hope I’ll be here after what I have to do now. Sarah, I love you, you’re still my little girl, and tell Adon I love him. Give him a big hug and kiss from his grandpa. I hope to call you again, but if this is goodbye, then. . . goodbye.”

  He hung up the phone and looked at the GPS with blurry eyes. Fifteen minutes until the destination. Fifteen minutes to arrive at hell’s gate.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Those soulless, blue crocodile eyes glared into hers. He wore no expression on his face, he looked like it was all business as he stood before her, shirtless and dripping with sweat. The veins in his biceps ran down the entire length of his tattooed arms, ending with his hands nearly clasped into fists, yet more like ready to grasp onto something, eager to wrap their fingers around something—and squeeze.

  Panic overwhelmed Freyja as she fought with the bindings around her wrist, as she felt the droplets of blood roll down her skin and fall to the drain beneath her. The sort of panic one might feel in that moment before a car wreck—one of those bad ones on the highway—where in that instant, you know you fucked up, and there was absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. Time slows to a crawl. You are stuck in that situation, and there is only one possible outcome—the crash. Your body tenses, and you prepare for what you know is going to be bad—your mind races, flashing the people you love before you. And then boom—the crash. . .

  “You know why you’re here?” Niklas said, still expressionless, his tone grim, and his mouth turned down on both sides.

  She shook her head, trying to hold the tears back. All she was thinking about was that she should have stayed home—home in the peaceful city—safe behind her computer. That was her world, not this real one. This time she’d gone too far, she should’ve stuck to busting fraudsters, she’d even warned Thomas at first about getting involved in this one, and in the end, she couldn’t take her own advice.

  “You know why you’re here,” Niklas said, still with his heavy hands hanging at his sides. He must have just been working out up there, she thought. “I know who you are. . .”

  That nauseous welling of bile that was forming in her stomach nearly shot up into her mouth at the sound of that. She realized she wasn’t breathing.

  He took two strides forward and gripped the duct tape with his fingers, and she could smell his musty sweat as he ripped the tape from her mouth. He threw it to the ground.

  “You’ve quite the reputation,” he said, now showing his white teeth with a grin. His eyes narrowed, never leaving her. “CryptoCunt. . . such a nasty word for such a sweet, young thing.”

  “Fuck you,” she said, suddenly bursting out of that panicked state she was in. She felt the strength of her mother in her then, a tough, ex-mili
tary, Nordic woman. She’d never let someone bully her, even if he was about to kill her.

  “I like that,” he said, making his way toward the table.

  It was then that she saw what was attached to his hip, she hadn’t seen it before this, but now a new worry shot into her. Attached to his hip, in a leather scabbard was a knife—the knife—long and finely crafted. It was probably the knife he used to torture and kill Joon Chang-Min.

  “There’s a couple of reasons you are here,” he said, glancing down at the three items on the table. “First of all, I need to know the seed phrase. You tell me that now, and it works, and I’ll set you free. After all, some bastard betrayed me, so I’ll be leaving the country forever soon.”

  She didn’t respond, she was only trying to figure out a way to break free of the bindings while he wasn’t looking, but they were tight—impossible to break through with nothing sharp. Freyja wasn’t daft to the fact if she did break free, she might be faster than him if she made her way up the stairs. But she had no idea where she was—she was in the lair of the beast. She could attempt to attack him; aim for the eyes or testicles, but the man hulking before her was a killer—a real killer. Freyja didn’t know if an eye poke would keep him at bay for long.

  “So. . . what is it?” He ran his fingers over the hammer on the left side of the dimly lit table.

  “I don’t know it, not all of it, otherwise I would’ve moved it,” she said.

  He nodded. “Yes, that does make sense,” he said. “Or—you know it, or how to get the hidden word, and you’re going to tell me now.”

  “I told you, I don’t know it,” she said.

  “Hmm,” he groaned gutturally, “well, the second reason you are here is that I’ve wanted to meet you for so long now, it makes me quite happy to meet you in person. You see, a couple of the ones whose lives you ruined—they were my clients. And all that money they took, they still have. They keep their assets safe in Malta or Puerto Rice. I assume they’d agree to pay me more than that measly Ethereum reward.”

  “But you’d still let me go if I knew the seed phrase?” she asked.

  His blue-eyed gaze shot back to her. “So, you do know it?”

  “No,” she said flatly. “It sounds like I’m only as close as you or whoever you are working with are. . .”

  His fingers released their grasp of the hammer and moving to inches in front of her face, he squatted, staring into her eyes. He was attempting to read her.

  “You don’t know the last word of the phrase?” he asked grimly, his tone low and heavy.

  “No,” she said, meeting his gaze with the most strength she could muster.

  He snickered, looking down, and then sighed.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said as his head rose, and he looked into her eyes again. He stood up tall and straight then, unsheathing the Rambo-like knife from its scabbard with the slow draw of steel against leather. He flashed it in front of her eyes, its cold steel reflecting the warm light of the kerosene lamp on its sharp edge and rigid teeth on its back.

  “I swear I don’t know it,” she said, with her eyes wide as she stared into the light of the blade.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “You know it feels like only yesterday that I was standing in front of Bob June as he didn’t give me what I wanted. You know, I wasn’t supposed to kill him. That’s probably why they turned on me, but I get a little—carried away when I don’t get what I want. Are you going to give me what I want, Freyja?”

  The fear pushed past her inner strength then, and she realized now that she was most certainly going to die.

  Thomas, where are you? I’m scared. I need your help. I don’t want to die.

  “You see, with people,” he said. “Torture is a pretty simple thing, you can either go with the basics; start slow and work your way up, or you can go after what’s really important to people. For instance, if someone is vain, a few superficial cuts can do the trick. If they realize they’re going to have to live with scars on their face, they’ll tell you their deepest, darkest secrets.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. The only thing that was running through her mind was that she wanted to see Thomas burst through that door at the top of the stairs. But he wasn’t there. She was utterly powerless against the mercenary standing before her.

  “Why I’m telling you this, is because even with how beautiful you are, I don’t think you’re vain—at least not in the physical sense. I’ve got a pretty good ability to read people. And no, your vanity comes behind a computer, that’s where you feel you're most beautiful—your most powerful. That's the real you. . .”

  She didn’t know exactly what he was eluding too but she quickly found out.

  Niklas moved to the back of her chair, and cut the binding from one of her hands, which she quickly brought forward. But a strong grasp grabbed her right wrist quickly, gripping it tightly. It sent a searing pain through the cuts, as the grip alone felt as if it could snap it. He moved to stand in front of her again.

  “I suppose you could use dictation to type into your computer,” he said, “but that’d be pretty difficult with coding.” With his hand still gripped around her wrist, he used his thumb to extend her thumb out. The knife rested easily in his other hand as he glared at her with those emotionless, dark eyes. He was the predator, and she was the prey. There was no reasoning with this animal. He wasn’t doing this because he had to. He was doing this because he enjoyed it, because there was something broken, deep down inside this man, possibly from the day he was born. Freyja felt complete helplessness, and that's when she finally let the tears fall.

  “Please don’t,” she couldn’t help but say. “I don’t know the seed phrase. I swear to whatever god you want me to swear to.”

  “Don’t bring God into this,” he said coldly, as he slid the knife to the base of her thumb. She could feel the sharp steel slice easily into her skin. It was so sharp it didn’t even hurt. “Right now, it's just you, me, and this here knife. So, sweetie, why don’t you just tell me the last word. That's all I want, just that one, measly little word, and you can leave right now.”

  It was racing through her mind then, should she tell him? Or, would it even be enough? What if she told him the truth that she believed one of the physical USB drives from his condo held the last word? Would he believe her long enough for her to prove it?

  “So, what’ll it be?” he asked. “One word, for one digit?”

  “I—I don’t know the word, but I may know how to find it,” she said slowly, if only trying to stall him from the inevitable. “If you let me go, I’ll help you find it. At least, I think I can.” She of course knew she’d never give this man the secret, but if she could buy enough time. . .

  Niklas’ eyes narrowed once more, and those nasty, sharp white teeth shown out of the corners of his mouth. Next, she felt the searing, burning pain of hot metal as the muscles in his shoulders bulged. She looked down in horror as the knife slid through the joint of her thumb as if it took no effort to do so. As the knife left, he released his grip of her wrist, standing back with the bloody blade hanging at his side.

  She held up her hand close to her face, and in a shocked gaze, looked at the four-fingered, thumbless hand as the blood ran down her arm. Freyja looked down at the thin piece of flesh lying motionless on the dark ground. She wondered how many times she’d used that thumb to flick the spacebar on her computer in her life.

  The tears ran down her cheeks, and she then knew for certain now she was going to die.

  “I don’t want to play games, Freyja,” he said. “Tell me the word, or it’s going to be a long night for you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Having driven on the gravel road for a mere few minutes, he now pulled up onto the edge of the driveway, still slightly hidden behind a grove of thick brush. His phone said, ‘you have arrived at your destination,’ as he killed the motor of the rental, and gulped heavily.

  Thomas could make out the hous
e—a stone, square, one-level building with an almost flat, metal roof. Aside from the scant flutter of bird wings off in the distance, it felt as if there was a presence to this place—as if nature knew to stay away, for something was inside this building—something to be wary of.

  Thomas was sweating—really sweating. The armpits of his shirt were soaking, even with the AC in the car blasting beforehand. Before he left the vehicle, he grabbed the Beretta, and checked the clip—it was full. He checked the chamber, it was loaded. The gun was ready to fire, all it needed was the safety to be flicked off, and with a pull of the trigger, he knew the explosive sound of the gun would ring out. He didn’t know if he should take the safety off now or not. After all, he could be wrong about this place, and he wasn’t a complete professional at guns and gun safety. He’d never taken the course people went through in the movies where cops train on shooting the bad guys by cutouts of people appearing from behind buildings, and there was always the rookie cop who shot the woman holding the baby. He left the safety on for the moment.

  Exiting the vehicle, and leaving the door slightly ajar, the hot sun beat down on his head, and he felt the cold steel of the gun turn warm in his clammy hands. His heart was pumping wildly. Warm blood coursed through his chest and arms, and he could feel his face turning flush. For all the reasons in the world he didn’t want to find Niklas in this building, he would never want to meet such an evil force, except if Freyja is in there. She needs him then.

  Creeping low behind the scratchy brush, Thomas found the house surrounded by scant, thin trees that rested motionless with the lack of breeze. He grasped the Beretta in both hands, eying the place. The windows were draped from the inside with thick, dark curtains. Not seeing any surveillance system from the outside, he made his way around the brush, edging the tree line, making his way around the building to its backside.