by A. S. French
‘What?’
‘Someone took my phone that night, remember?’
‘What are you calling me on now then?’
‘I got a new one.’ Her laugh tickled her ribs. ‘You’re slipping, Detective.’
‘Okay. I’m adding it to my contacts. What have you and Campbell done this morning?’
Astrid told him of the trip to see Maggie Delaney. ‘She needs checking out by a doctor.’
‘I’ll organise a visit for her and Angie, though I guess the kid won’t thank us for it. How are your fingers?’
She cradled the mobile in them. ‘I’ll survive.’ Then she thought of something else. ‘We need to check if Caitlin had any email addresses as well.’
Moore blew hot air down the phone, and she pictured his cheeks going in and out like a deflated balloon. ‘I’ll add that to my growing list. What are you and Campbell doing next?’
Astrid glanced at Eleanor, curious to know why the Officer hadn’t told her she was married.
‘I’m going to interrogate someone.’ She ended the call before he could ask who she meant. Then she gave Campbell her widest smile. ‘Are you ready for another clue, Eleanor?’
‘About your mysterious grave in Rochester?’
‘You haven’t been cheating on the internet, have you?’
Eleanor scowled at Astrid. ‘Yes, because I’ve had lots of spare time for that. Just give me the clue.’
‘The woman I’m going to see once had affairs with Charlie Chaplin and Greta Garbo, but not at the same time.’
Campbell drove away as that thought collected with all the others in Astrid’s head.
And somewhere in there, she heard her sister laughing.
12 Gun Fury
‘How long have you been married, Eleanor?’
Domestic bliss was an alien concept to Astrid. America went by them in a flash outside, great swathes of emptiness followed by trees and vegetation. They weren’t heading to where they’d enjoyed some afternoon delight not so long ago. It seemed the policewoman lived on the edge of a forest.
‘Robbie and I have been together for ten years. We met in the force, and then he moved into protecting and serving the few over the many.’ Astrid detected a hint of disappointment in her voice. ‘This used to be his parents’ place until they passed away. I keep telling him it’s too big and we should move into something smaller, but he can’t let go.’
Astrid knew what she meant about the size of the house as she stepped out of the car. It was enormous, like three log cabins glued together with two extra floors above.
‘What was that apartment we went to the other day?’ Already it seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘That was a friend’s house.’ Now she understood why there’d been no signs of a significant other there.
Astrid followed her inside.
‘This must be a nightmare to clean.’
The lights were on when they went in. The place was warm, as if someone had left the heating on. Astrid saw a print of Klimt’s The Kiss on the wall as they went into the living room. The house was bigger than a cop like Campbell could afford. The US Secret Service obviously paid more than their British counterparts did. Not that she was bothered or impressed with money, just surprised how well Campbell lived. It made their interlude the other day even more unusual.
Campbell closed the door behind them. ‘Have the painkillers kicked in yet?’
Astrid was unsteady on her feet, hand reaching for the wall as they stepped into the living room.
‘What painkillers?’
‘I crushed some into the drink you had at Delaney’s.’
‘Are they sedatives?’
Eleanor grabbed her arm and led Astrid upstairs.
‘The doc and I thought it best you got some rest as soon as possible.’
Astrid’s legs turned to lead, her eyelids refusing to stay open. They reached the top of the stairs and Campbell took her into a large bedroom. She sat on it before falling.
‘You didn’t have to go this far to seduce me, Officer Campbell.’
‘Perhaps later, Snow, when you’re capable of consent. If you wake before I return, there’s food in the kitchen and a bottle of wine in the fridge.’
Astrid was about to say something sarcastic when the lights went out.
It was dark when she woke, disappointed to be wearing her clothes. Once the fog lifted from her brain, she felt great. She slid out of bed and flexed her bandaged fingers. Strength had returned to her hand. She wandered down to the kitchen and raided the fridge, taking some cheese and a plate of cold chicken into a large living room. She placed the food on the table, nibbling at the cheese as Caitlin Cruz’s words came to her again.
‘I’ll not be…’
Not be what? What was it she didn’t want to be?
And why haven’t I told Moore or Campbell what I’ve remembered about my earlier meeting that night with Cruz?
She was picking at the chicken when she noticed the laptop on top of the cupboard. Astrid grabbed a chair and pushed it against the wall. She climbed onto it and reached for the computer. Dust swirled everywhere when she took it down, rushing up to her nose and into her lungs. She sneezed and coughed at the same time as she placed the machine on the table.
There was no cable for it, so she turned it on and hoped for a fully charged battery. The tiny electronic light at the front flickered through red and yellow before settling on green. She breathed a sigh of relief, running her bandaged fingers over the touchpad. She was amused to see the web browser’s home page was the site for the Department of Defence and guessed it was Robbie Campbell’s machine.
If he found out, what would bother him more? The fact I’ve used his Secret Service computer or slept with his wife? Perhaps they have an open marriage. Who am I to question them?
What she was about to do could get the Campbells and her into a lot of trouble. But she did it anyway. She cleared the DOD web address from the browser and typed in the ten numbers for the trafficking website, amazed to see it still active. Had the national cyber-attack stopped the FBI from shutting it down? She considered that as she opened another browser and searched for the domain name ownership and the hosting organisation of the site. It was easy information to find: the server was in Russia, which didn’t surprise her. The person who’d registered the website name and transformed those digits into www.buyalife.com was one Jim Morrison of California. People really were strange.
She right-clicked onto the page to find the source code, scanning the HTML to discover anything useful. If she’d been at home or back with the Agency, there would have been hacking tools she could have used for this, but being out on her own made it more complicated. Tracing the credit card payments would take time and, she expected, would lead to shell companies and dead ends.
Astrid settled into the chair and finished the rest of the food. If she took the next step, it might lead to dire consequences for Campbell and her Secret Service husband. Hacking into the trafficking website would leave a trail to the laptop once the FBI got around to investigating it. She flexed her damaged hand and tried not to think about the hundreds of photos she’d seen on the site. Then she forced herself to picture those people, the motivation she needed to type in the code.
Little aches swam through her hands as her fingers danced over the keyboard. The Agency might have honed her hacking skills, but her education in that world had started well before she joined them. She put those talents to good use, though it took her forty-five minutes to break through the website’s defences. Once that was complete, it didn’t take her long to find what she wanted: the website creator’s digital signature. She knew from experience most creators of illegal websites, even the worst criminal types, were too vain to leave their work anonymous.
It was a name she didn’t recognise.
Medusa.
Outside the house, a large crack of thunder heralded an onslaught of rain. It battered the windows, screeching like harpies desperate to get inside.<
br />
She stared at the name again: Medusa. It had been six months since she’d travelled through the catacombs of the internet, and new people appeared and disappeared just as quickly in the underground digital universe, but she knew a guy who knew a girl who knew a girl who could help her. She cleared the tab and typed again, heading into the dark web, playing at Alice sinking through a looking glass that reflected the worst things in society.
She checked her dark web email account, deleting the messages one by one once she’d seen what they offered: plenty of hard-core illegal drugs; trafficked military weapons, including automatic rifles, grenades, RPGs, ammo, and body armour; stolen identities and fake birth certificates; hacked PayPal and bank accounts; counterfeit drivers’ licences and phoney citizenship documents; forged money; bomb-making materials; and prostitutes or escorts.
The list of hackers was in a different place to the last time she’d visited, but she found it eventually.
Astrid scrolled down and settled on Phoenix. She figured one Greek myth might be in contact with another, and she’d employed Phoenix’s services before. She sent the message and waited for the reply. Phoenix could be in any time zone anywhere globally, but Astrid knew how glued to their screens these hackers were.
While she waited, Astrid checked the rest of the house. The weather outside was apocalyptic; it was as if giant fists were battering against the building. She peered out of the kitchen window as raindrops bigger than plates dived into the swimming pool. If it carried on for much longer, the back yard would flood.
She wandered into the living room, admiring the Pre-Raphaelite paintings on the walls, with Dante Gabriel Rossetti hanging next to a John Everett Millais. A sixty-inch flat-screen TV stood at the rear, joined by an expensive surround sound system which she guessed connected to every digital device in the house.
There was a sizeable metallic coffee table in the middle of the room covered with glossy magazines. On two sides were shelves filled with books, everything from paranormal romance to high-octane space fantasy. Astrid ran her fingers across the spines, unsurprised to find thrillers mixed in with a selection of true crime titles. There was also a row of titles about US intelligence agencies.
She returned to the kitchen, but there was no message waiting for her on the computer. Astrid took a massive knife from a rack and sliced an apple in half; it was sharp enough to cut through bone. As she finished eating part of the apple, she received a reply from Phoenix.
The same payment as usual?
She used her good hand to type.
I’m away at the moment. I’ll pay you when I’m home or will owe you a favour.
The screen was unmoving for forty-two seconds precisely.
What kind of favour?
Anything you want.
There was no delay this time, and the hacker on the other end of the underground digital world provided her with what she’d asked for. According to Google Maps, Medusa’s address was about an hour’s drive from where she was. That surprised her; she’d expected them to be in the Middle East or North Korea.
She typed her thanks before logging out of her account. She cleared the web browsing history from the computer to save the Campbell’s from stumbling into something they shouldn’t.
Astrid reached for the knife to put it away, using her bandaged hand but not gripping it properly. It clattered to the floor as a massive dollop of rain smacked into the kitchen window. She bent to pick up the blade as something crashed through the glass. She turned her head, expecting an invasion by a branch as a grey circular object flew towards her and bounced off the table. She knew what it was before it hit the tiles.
Smoke erupted from the bomb and into the kitchen as she pushed her face into the floor. The bandage on her hand covered her nose and mouth, but she still smelt the stink of the gas. She didn’t have time to gather her thoughts as two booted feet came into the room and her eye line. She recognised the material as thick black Gore-Tex nylon used for combat. Astrid gripped on to the blade, but if the intruder wore similar over their body, she wouldn’t get the knife through the fabric.
She didn’t know how many invaders there were, but there was no chance of escape while she was on the ground. It was a split-second decision, springing up to throw the other half of the apple at the guy’s head. His reflexes were slow but automatic, his hand reaching up to swat the object away. Astrid knew it was going to hurt, but she had no choice. Placing her palm and damaged fingers onto the top of the table, she used its stability to swivel her hip and leap at the intruder.
Fuck!
Rivers of pain sprinted through her hand, her leg twisting in mid-air to catch the side of the rifle as he aimed it at her. The gun clattered to the floor as she landed and brought up her other leg to kick him backwards and into the cooker. His head caught the overhanging cupboard, knocking loose a square of flesh from between the helmet and his jacket. She lunged forward with the blade pointed towards him, aiming for that gap below his chin. That’s when she stood on the apple and her foot slid from beneath her, her body bending one way as he knocked the knife from her. It clattered to the tiles as he grabbed her.
He thrust Astrid into the side of the table without slowing. It jabbed her in the gut below her bruised ribs before he twisted her around and pushed her into the cabinet. Plates and cups crashed over her and broke across the floor, following her down as she fell. A Laurel and Hardy salt and pepper set bounced off her jaw and added to her growing list of bruises, cuts and injuries. At this rate, they’d be replacing most of her if she ever made it to the hospital.
But that was the least of her worries. Her breath flew out of her as the trespasser dragged her up by the hair and tossed her across the other side of the kitchen. Her shoulder bounced off the fridge, and a group of magnets smashed to the floor. The man punched her damaged ribs, bringing his arm around and pulling her up again. The gun was in his other hand as she clutched on to a Batman fridge magnet and thrust the end into the gap in the mask where his flesh peeped out. She pushed it in as far as she could, like sticking her fingers into jelly.
Blood sputtered out as someone ran through the living room towards her. She reluctantly left the knife and the rifle to run to the back door. Bullets spattered around her as she threw herself into the rain. She landed on her shoulder, and a jolt of pain punched at her bones. Astrid rolled to the side and behind the bushes. The only light outside was that skimming off the top of the pool from the moon.
She peered through the gloom and into the mud and bushes, searching for anything to use as a weapon. All she found was an empty mug.
One set of booted feet landed next to the pool. She hoped there were no more. Her throbbing fingers pressed into the mug as he moved to where she was hiding. Astrid threw the mug as far as she could over the water, so it bounced across the pool and hit the other side. The gunman turned that way and sprayed the spot with bullets. She pushed up and hurled herself at his legs, sending them both crashing into the pool.
Water dived through her mouth and up her nose as she dragged him down. He writhed and kicked against her, trying to bring the rifle into her head but finding only liquid. She let go of his legs and grabbed at his throat, pulling off his helmet and staring into his panicked face. He was bigger than her, but she had the proper leverage, her knee pressed against his chest. As he grasped at his neck, she thrust her fingers into his eyes, feeling them explode as she dug her nails in deep. The liquid turned crimson around them as he thrashed against her. After about a minute, she let go and swam for the top.
She pushed her head through the water and sucked in oxygen, her lungs straining against her chest. She twisted to the side, expecting to see more intruders but finding nothing. Astrid scrambled out of the pool as noises came from the house. She didn’t know who it was, so she rushed in the opposite direction, climbed over the gate and headed into the woods.
Astrid ran through mud and grass as the torrential storm pounded down, getting wetter than she had in the pool.
The rain obscured her view, so she was unsure if anyone had followed her or not. Somewhere above her, the sky cracked in half, and the smell of fizzling electricity swam through the air. She swept damp fingers across her face, watching the bandage come apart over her hand. Bits of the material drifted from her bruised flesh and sank into the wet ground. Nature kept on hammering at her as if its sole intention was to wash her from the town.
She stumbled behind a tree and clung to it, the damp wood biting into her skin. Her breathing was laboured, her lungs fighting against the water trying to smother her senses. The branches afforded her respite from the weather, meaning she could see more than five yards in front of her for the first time since fleeing the house. Her feet sank into the soggy soil as she glanced down to see the worms struggling to the surface and wriggling over her shoes. Below her were the nightlights of the Campbell house. The rain lessened and she got an unobstructed view of the windows at the back, counting the shadows moving around inside; she thought there were two of them, but couldn’t be sure.
Astrid pressed into the tree and discarded the last of the bandage, dropping it into the mud near her feet. She had no weapons, a painful hand, and the rest of her body throbbed like a fresh lightbulb plugged into a socket. Inside her overactive mind, she unfurled three maps for her current situation: run in the opposite direction until she found help, stay in the trees and wait for her attackers to leave, or return to the house to confront them. The final option was the least likely to succeed, but that also made it the most attractive.
Someone’s going to pay for what’s happened to me in this town, and I might as well start with whoever’s in there.
She stepped out of the trees, her feet crunching through dead leaves and broken branches as the storm suddenly stopped as if an unknown creator had flicked a switch off.
Great. Now I won’t even have the cover of nature to hide my approach.
It didn’t deter her. She scanned the ground for the biggest branch on offer and scooped it up. She shook the dirt and the insects from it and felt the weight in her aching hand, already knowing the fresh stitches were falling from her fingers and she’d need to make another visit to the hospital once this was over, as long as she was still alive.
