by James Swain
“What did I do now?”
“Nothing. It’s what you did before. Try running a strip club without a bouncer. My customers are all over the dancers, touching them in the wrong places. I’ve already had two of the girls quit.”
“Want me to send someone over?”
“Is he big and muscular?”
“No, he’s actually average size, but he’s good in a fight.”
“I don’t want a fight! Fights are bad for business. A bouncer must be menacing. The customer looks at him and thinks, ‘I don’t want him messing with me,’ so the customer behaves himself. If the bouncer isn’t here, the customer turns into an animal. Does that make sense?”
“A guy with a baseball bat will do the same thing.”
“A baseball bat.”
“Have a guy sit on a stool with a baseball bat leaning against the wall. I knew a bar where they did that. There were never any fights.”
“That is not bad advice. What do you want?”
He explained the situation, hoping Sergey would have a solution. The Russian did not disappoint him.
“This should not be too hard,” Sergey said. “We know the password for the phone was Fendi123, which is a combination of letters and numbers. The letters are the name of a pet, and the numbers are sequential. More than likely, the password for the VideoVault app is also a combination of letters and numbers, most likely a name and a sequence of numbers which are easily remembered. You have already tried Fendi123 and also Cassandra123, and neither worked. What is the significance of the name Cassandra? Do you know?”
“It’s the name of a woman the owner of the phone has a thing for.”
“So you believe her name is probably the name in the password.”
“That’s a good assumption.”
“I would agree. When men use names in passwords, the names are either of a favorite pet or a woman. That leaves us with figuring out the numbers that follow the name. Usually, people use their birth dates because these numbers are easily recalled. This is not the case with criminals, who tend to use combinations of numbers that are known only to them. If you can get that number, you will have an excellent chance of hacking this app. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another dancer who wants to quit.”
Sergey said something that sounded like a curse, and the call ended. He told himself the Russian would get over it and called Karissa. He got voice mail and left a message saying that it was urgent. A half hour later, she called him back.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said.
“I’m still at work and just took a break. What’s up?” she asked.
“I found an app on Zack’s cell phone where videos are stored, but it’s password protected and I can’t get in. Zack likes to use a combination of names and numbers in his passwords. I think the name is Cassandra, but I can’t figure out the number. Did Zack ever share with you any special numbers?”
“Try six, eight, seven, nine.”
“What’s the significance?”
“Zack’s older brother perished in a car accident. They were close. His brother’s birthday was June 8, 1979. Zack used to drive a Lincoln Continental that had a keypad entry system. That was the password he used, six, eight, seven, nine.”
“You’re sure those were the numbers?”
“Positive. I saw him punch it in enough times. What kind of videos do you think he has stored on his phone?”
“I’m guessing they’re pornographic videos of young girls.”
“Will he get in trouble if you’re right?”
“If the videos are sexual in nature and the girls are underage, I’ll turn the phone over to the sheriff’s office and they’ll have him arrested. I’ll keep your name out of it.”
“I know you will. Call me if you have any more questions.”
“I will. Thanks for the assist. You’ve been a great help.”
“Goodnight, Jon. Be safe.”
He ended the call. He put his own cell phone into his pocket, then picked up the new cell phone that lay at his feet. It had timed out, and he typed in “Fendi123” to bring the screen to life. He scrolled through the apps until he found the VideoVault icon and clicked on it. The landing page filled the small screen. He clicked on the password box, and a keypad appeared on the lower portion of the screen. He typed in “Cassandra6879” and hesitated before hitting the “Sign On” button.
He took a deep breath. It was late, with hardly a light in the sky or down below. It was just him and the darkness. If he’d learned anything in the military and later as a cop, it was that evil was real and darkness was its playground. He needed to be careful when he stepped into the darkness, because if he wasn’t, evil would envelop him, and he’d never be the same.
He hit the button and gained entry to Zack Kenny’s account. He was one step closer to learning the truth. There were a dozen videos stored in the secure area. Each one had a title, and they all began with the name “Cassandra” and ended with an exclamation mark. CASSANDRA SAYS HI! CASSANDRA LEARNS TO DANCE! CASSANDRA TAKES A SHOWER! CASSANDRA DISCOVERS LOVE! Just reading the titles made his skin crawl, and he clicked on the first video. It was called CASSANDRA PLAYS COY! A few moments later, the video began to play. The lighting was muted, and he strained to see a young girl lying naked in bed. Her face looked terribly familiar.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
CHAPTER 22
CASSANDRA PLAYS COY!
A naked teenage girl of no more than fifteen years of age lay beneath a filmy sheet, fondling herself while talking to the camera, inviting the viewer to come visit her. Sensual music played in the background like a siren’s song, the setting a cheap hotel room. The furniture gave it away. Queen-size bed, flat screen TV, coffeepot on a shelf above the minifridge—all of life’s essentials crammed into four hundred square feet of living space.
The video had been shot in the early morning. Rays of sunlight fought their way through the blinds. On the TV, Family Guy was playing, the baby cartoon character named Stewie spouting politically incorrect things to the screen. The teenage girl pulled down the filmy sheet and exposed her breasts. She pinched one of her nipples and let out a little laugh. Her skin was olive-colored, and her eyes were big and innocent. It was hard not to get aroused, and he turned away.
“Jesus Christ,” he said again.
The girl in the video was Nicki Pearl.
She didn’t look exactly the same as the teenager he knew. The girl in the video wore makeup and heavy eyeliner and had her hair styled. But there was no doubt it was her. Same wide eyes, same high cheekbones, same bee-stung lips. It was Nicki.
Her hand dropped, and she started to masturbate. Her moans were low and harsh.
Leaving the cell phone on the arm of his chair, he went to the balcony, and stared into the darkness. He heard her reach orgasm, and he shook his head. She had pulled the wool over his eyes and her parents’ as well. Fooled them into thinking that nothing out of the ordinary was going on when in fact she was making porno videos on the sly.
He didn’t think Nicki was involved on her own. He guessed Tyler Steeves, the boy from her school, was a better videographer than he seemed because he didn’t want to get caught making and posting pornography. It would have been easy to blame him, but the sad fact was, Nicki appeared to be enjoying herself.
But maybe he was wrong. Maybe Tyler was a Svengali who’d cast a spell over Nicki. It was not uncommon for charming boys to persuade impressionable girls into doing things that they would never consider doing on their own. Maybe Tyler had slipped her drugs at a party and taken control of her.
He told himself that Nicki was a victim. She was a sweet, innocent kid, and would never have gotten involved in making porn on her own.
He went to his chair and retrieved the cell phone. The video was over, the screen dark, and he scrolled to the next entry. He needed to watch all the Cassandra videos, and find evidence of Nicki being drugged or coerced. Then he’d go to see her parents, get them to press charges a
gainst Tyler Steeves, and force him to take the videos down from the porno sites where he’d posted them. Tyler was responsible for predators like Zack Kenny stalking Nicki, and he was going to pay for his crimes.
The greatest lies are the ones we tell ourselves. He was convinced that Nicki was a victim. The facts didn’t support it, but sometimes the facts were wrong. He’d been around her enough times to form an opinion, and his opinion was a positive one.
The third video was titled CASSANDRA TAKES A SHOWER! and watching it changed that opinion. To say that he’d been deceived was an understatement. He’d been thoroughly conned. Nicki was a willing participant in the video, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. The video was exactly as the title suggested. It showed the teenager taking a hot shower while recording a video of herself with a cell phone on a selfie stick. While steaming water sprayed her naked body, she sensually rubbed soap suds across her breasts and crotch while talking obscenely to the camera.
“Want to fuck me?” she asked. “I bet you do. I’m waiting here for you.”
The shower lasted for a few minutes, and so did the teasing. When she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower stall, her cell phone briefly scanned the bathroom. The door was closed, and she was alone. There was no teenage boy egging her on. It was just Nicki and her cell phone.
Nicki took the cell phone off the stick and propped it against a soap dispenser on the sink. The move was practiced, like she’d done it before. Standing naked in front of the vanity, she dried herself off with a fluffy towel and continued to taunt.
“What’s taking you so long? Can’t you see how horny I am?”
She was good. Her delivery was smooth, without an ounce of self-consciousness. Like she’d done it a hundred times before. She dried her hair with a blow dryer and brushed it out. Picking up her cell phone, she reattached it to the stick.
“Bedtime,” she said. “Are you ready?”
She walked into an adjacent bedroom. She turned the stick and used the phone to lead the way. There was no one else in the picture. The bedroom was dimly lit, and he stared at the shadows, desperate to find an accomplice. There was none.
A shaded lamp sat on the bedside table. It was the room’s only source of light. She turned it on and off a few times with her free hand and finally left it on. The bed was a king with a wooden frame. Attached to the frame was a metal contraption similar to a fishing rod holder on a boat. She slipped the selfie stick into the holder and clamped it into place so the cell phone was pointed at the bed. Pulling back the bedcover, she lay down on the top sheet so her body was exposed to the screen.
She started to play with herself. A door opened, and a dark-skinned man of Middle Eastern descent made his entrance. He was in his midthirties and trim, with the body of a runner. He climbed on top of Nicki and they began to have intercourse. It made Lancaster’s stomach churn, but he continued to watch, hoping an accomplice would pop up in the shadows and save him.
No luck. This was a solo effort.
He watched the remaining Cassandra videos. Each video ended with the same Middle Eastern man coming into a hotel room and having sex with Nicki.
He rubbed his face with his hands. He tried to imagine her parents’ reaction when he showed these videos to them. It was going to be awful.
He went inside and found his charger. The Droid was running low on juice, so he plugged it into an outlet in the kitchen and then fixed a rum and coke. He rarely drank to get drunk, but this was one of those special occasions. His reality had been shattered, and he needed to calm down. He took a long gulp of his drink and shut his eyes.
This was going to end badly. The Pearls had hired him to save their daughter, when in reality there was no way to save her. The Cassandra videos were out there in cyberspace, and any twisted soul could get his hands on them and fantasize over having sex with Nicki. He supposed the Pearls could sell their house and go into hiding and wait a few years for Nicki to grow up, but what kind of life was that? It would be like being in the witness protection program, only the Pearls wouldn’t have the government watching their back. They’d be on their own and always fearful.
He supposed there were other options. The Pearls could pay to change Nicki’s appearance through plastic surgery. She could be given a new face and would be able to go out in public and not be stalked. South Florida was a haven for cosmetic surgery, and her parents would have no problem finding a qualified surgeon to do the job.
But what if Nicki said no? What if she refused to go into hiding or let a plastic surgeon cut her? Nicki had a dark side, and there was no telling how she’d react. Confronting her in front of her parents was going to be hard.
He topped his glass off and went into the bathroom and washed his face with hot water. He was no stranger to porn—it was hard to surf the internet and not see a naked woman—but watching the Cassandra videos had made him feel dirty, and he guessed it was because he knew the performer. He cared about Nicki and wanted her problems to go away, but the damage had been done, and there was no going back.
He was startled to see that he’d emptied his glass, and he returned to the kitchen and fixed himself another drink. The cell phone sat on the counter still plugged in. It was 75 percent charged, so he disconnected it and went into his study. He needed to download the videos to his laptop for safekeeping.
He connected the Droid to his laptop with a USB connector. The VideoVault app on the Droid had timed out. He typed in the password, hit “Enter,” and was taken to Zack Kenny’s account. He decided to start from the top, and download each video in the chronological order that they were stored on the app.
His eyes grew wide. The screen was blank. He used his finger to move around the page, thinking he had been taken to another landing page. No such luck. Kenny’s account was empty. The Cassandra videos had been erased.
CHAPTER 23
FIVE DAYS IN PARIS
He cursed.
Without the Cassandra videos, he could neither confront Nicki nor tell her parents what he’d found. Without proof, it would be his word against hers, and he felt sure that she’d deny the whole thing. After all, hadn’t she denied any involvement already?
He knew what was going on, only he couldn’t prove any of it.
When he was home, he often did things the old-fashioned way. Taking a legal pad and pen out of a drawer, he wrote down everything he could remember about the Cassandra videos. He started with their titles, then next to each title wrote down the specific things he’d seen on the video, such as the furniture in the room, the clothing Nicki was wearing when the video began, if there was music playing in the background or a TV show, and anything else that came to mind. Each of the videos had been dated and were one to six months old. The oldest videos were at the beginning, and he took a stab at their exact dates. The rum wasn’t helping his memory, and he forced himself to concentrate.
Finished, he threw the pen on the pad. There was no doubt in his mind what had happened. While checking out the apps on Zack Kenny’s phone, he’d done something suspicious while navigating one that had raised a red flag. The app’s manufacturer had sent Kenny an email alerting him to the skullduggery. Kenny had realized he’d been hacked, and used his laptop or iPad to go to his VideoVault account and erase every damaging file as fast as he could.
Lancaster had screwed up. He should have downloaded the Cassandra videos to his laptop instead of watching them first on the newly purchased Droid. But he’d let his curiosity get the better of him, and had paid the price.
He picked up the legal pad and went onto the balcony. He moved his chair up to the railing and sat down. The stiff breeze blowing off the Atlantic felt good against his face, and he stared at his notes. Something was bothering him, and after a long minute the discrepancy hit him. In the CASSANDRA SAYS HI! video he’d spied an episode of Family Guy playing on a TV set in the background. That would have been normal in any part of the world except the Middle East. As a SEAL he’d performed covert missions in Ye
men, Somalia, Iraq, and Syria. Before entering these places, he’d been indoctrinated in radical Islamic culture. One of the things he’d learned was that books, magazines, and TV shows produced in the West were forbidden in those countries. A Muslim caught watching The Big Bang Theory on a cell phone might get his hand cut off.
The Pearls had lived in Dubai for five years. Dubai was more tolerant than most of its neighbors, but tolerant was a relative term in the Middle East. He didn’t know if Western television was available to ex-pats living there or not.
He took out his cell phone. It was three in the morning and not a good time to be sending text messages. But he needed to know, so he sent Pearl a message. Before he started asking questions, he wanted to be sure that he had his facts straight.
Sorry for the late hour. Are you up?
Pearl was a surgeon and often on call. He was hoping that Pearl kept his cell phone on a bedside table, and that it wasn’t muted.
Jon? What’s going on? Pearl replied moments later.
I’m working late. I need your help.
Fire away.
When did you move here with your family?
Why is that important?
The story that Pearl had told him about his family’s move to the United States wasn’t jiving with the dates on the videos. Perhaps he hadn’t heard Pearl right the first time. He needed to nail this down.
Let me ask the questions. When did you move here?
Three months ago.
The oldest Cassandra videos had been downloaded to Kenny’s VideoVault account six months ago. That meant they’d been made while Nicki was living in Dubai with her family. Or maybe Nicki and her mother had moved here first, before her father.
Did your family move at the same time? he texted.
I don’t understand your question, Pearl replied.
Did you all come over together? Or did Nicki and your wife come earlier?
We came at the same time. Will you please tell me what’s going on?
He didn’t know what was going on. All he could do was keep going and hope the truth presented itself to him.
