140914383X

by Raymond Khoury

  In the face of some pretty forceful objections from Kurt, we’d decided to leave our smartphones in Gigi’s car—we wouldn’t be allowed to use them, and that made them just one more thing to worry about. Kurt had prepared a stack of authentic-looking legal papers, half of which were the sole contents of a battered leather briefcase Gigi had found at a thrift store, while the other half was in a leather document wallet held by Gigi. Nothing more than props, but necessary ones. Both briefcase and wallet had been searched and passed through the fluoroscope.

  I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes after two. We needed to start by three o’clock, which would give us half an hour before Daland had to return to his cell for the four o’clock count. We’d decided not to request that Daland be put on the “out count,” which, although it would mean we could all remain in the interview room during the count, would also mean that Gigi and I would be subjected to an additional layer of scrutiny in addition to having to stress our way through the count itself without the right to leave till it was done.

  We were admitted to Eleven North, the self-contained unit where Daland was being held, and led along a corridor toward an interview room.

  Twenty yards up ahead, I tensed up at the sight of a couple of guards who were walking a detainee back to his cell. I knew exactly who it was: Vince Northwood, a white supremacist and homegrown terrorist who’d posted several death threats against African-American politicians before trying to blow up a community health center in Queens simply because it received federal funding. He’d failed—luckily—and the only reason he wasn’t going to get a second chance was because we’d arrested him. He’d been here almost three years, the trial date having been put back so many times he probably now considered the MCC his home.

  My blood turned to ice as the distance quickly closed between us. If he recognized me, we were screwed. Gigi must have noticed my body tense up because she immediately accentuated the swing of her hips and lasered a killer of a seductive curled lip on Northwood, giving him something he couldn’t afford not to look at.

  When they were within touching distance, Northwood gave Gigi a leer acidic enough to dissolve Kevlar. We drew level, which meant I was in Northwood’s direct line of sight, even though Gigi was between us. His eyes flicked up from Gigi’s ass and landed on my face. There was a moment of almost-recognition, then the guards nudged him forward. The three of them turned a corner before Northwood could look back.

  We really couldn’t afford another moment like that.

  I gave Gigi a pointed, relieved glance as our guard unlocked the interview room and showed us inside. Gigi turned to the guard. “I’ll give you a shout when we’re done with our client.”

  The guard eyed her with bored indifference, then nodded and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. It gave a disturbingly clean click.

  She turned to me. “You OK, G-boy?”

  “Loving every second,” I said.

  Barely a minute later, Daland—his silk kimono replaced by an orange jumpsuit—was led into the room by another guard, who walked the detainee to the far side of the table, then stepped back toward the wall. If Daland had noticed anything unusual about Gigi or me, he was keeping it to himself—for now.

  I held out my hand. “Mr. Daland, Ben Burnham. And this is my paralegal, Polly Harris. I’ll be representing you going forward. As you know, Simon had to move to another case, but we’re fully briefed and up to speed on everything.”

  He took my hand in a firm grip, his eyes boring into mine. I could tell he had recognized me—and that he was using the time to decide how to react. I could see his thought processes so clearly it was obvious that he wanted me to. If he ratted us out, then he’d never find out what was going on. If he played along, then he might discover what was happening, but by the time he’d come up with his own plan, it might well be too late to save the deep network beneath Maxiplenty.

  After a nerve-melting few seconds, he let go of my hand. “Sure. Simon told me about it. He says you’re a cybercrime specialist.”

  I kept my immense relief in check and indicated for him to sit. “I have some experience that should be relevant, yes.”

  Gigi and I sat down opposite him.

  I gestured to the guard. “Could you please make sure all the cameras and recording devices are switched off?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be outside.”

  The door snapped shut behind him.

  Daland leant back in his chair, waiting for us to make the first move.

  “Polly” opened her leather document wallet, took out a single sheet of paper and laid it on the table.

  Daland pretended not to look at it, but I could see he was quickly scrutinizing every inch. After a moment, he looked at Gigi.

  “You look familiar.”

  This threw me. I’d expected him to tell me he knew exactly who I was.

  Daland kept looking at Gigi. “Wonder Woman. New York Comic-Con.”

  Gigi smiled. “Wow. I’m impressed. But still, keep your paws to yourself.”

  He grinned and relaxed back in his seat. “How could I possibly forget that body?” He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment. “You made a damn fine Diana of Themyscira.”

  After savoring the memory, he finally turned to me, and all delight drained off his face. “What is this? You posing as a rogue agent to trick me into telling you more than I should? Seriously, dude. You Feds need to get over this infatuation you have for stings. Even if it did help you nab Ulbricht—a total fucking amateur, by the way—doesn’t mean it’ll work with me.”

  I knew all about Dread Pirate Roberts and Silk Road. Even if the FBI’s Cyber Division hadn’t found a backdoor into the Silk Road servers, Ulbricht—the man accused of creating it—had been so lax with his personal online security it was only a matter of time before the Bureau caught him.

  Daland was a whole different order of pirate.

  I tried a different tack. “Think about it. Would I really go to these lengths and risk you not hearing about me?”

  “You could easily have paid someone in here to tell me you’re a wanted man. Or threatened them. Northwood, for example. He and I shared some fond memories of you.”

  What was that I said about him being smart? He was so damn keyed-in it was scary.

  Daland must have noticed my unease. He could have made me suffer for longer, but instead he gave another signature shrug.

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “But that’s really what it hinges on,” I said. “Who told you—outside or in here—and how much you trust them.”

  His face was completely impassive. I had no clue whether I was getting through to him or not.

  I could hear the desperation seep into my voice as I continued. “And Polly, here. You must know how talented she is. I’m sure you’re aware of her unequivocal respect for the law, and it’s not like she needs money either, right? So how did I get her here, unless it’s down to trust?” I paused, gauging his reaction, then leaned in. “Look, you have all the power here, no question. I’m suspected of killing a CIA analyst and there’s a missing FBI agent out there they probably think I’m good for too. But you already know all that. Probably even more. But I still walked into the MCC like a lamb to the slaughterhouse.”

  I stopped for a moment and dialed down the anger. It was hot in there, and the back of my shirt was soaked. The edges of my moustache were also starting to peel back as the glue was assailed by a stream of sweat. I tried to regulate my breathing.

  I could tell Daland was now reveling in my misery.

  “Here’s the thing, Jake. We all know you could have given us up when you first saw us. But you didn’t, which means you’re intrigued enough to hear us out. So hear us out.”

  He shrugged again. “Shoot.”

  “I’ve got two head shots. Drawings, to be precise. Like by a police sketch artist. They’re black ops guys. Seriously nasty. I think they’re behind a whole bunch of deaths over the years. Assassinations. Reporters, you name
it. I need to ID them. I only know them by their codenames—their Agency legends.”

  I waited to judge his reaction. He pursed his lips in a small whistle. “‘Agency?’”

  I nodded.

  He shrugged. “Heavy. So what’s this got to do with me?”

  “I want to post their mugs on Erebus and see if anyone knows who they are.”

  I paused, studying his expression, looking for his reaction to the magic word.

  He was good. More than good. He gave away nothing. I could see him cleaning up in Vegas with that poker face without resorting to the black sunglasses and baseball caps.

  “Never heard of it,” he said.

  “Look, I know what I’m asking you for here, OK? But you have my word, in front of a witness, that I’m not here as a cop and that this isn’t some elaborate sting. This is just between you and me and no one else. I wouldn’t be here if I had any other way of doing this. You consider yourself a crusader for openness and truth and justice, right? Well, something bad is going on here, something seriously nasty that’s been going on for years and these guys are behind it. And if you get me into Erebus and someone gives me their names, I’ll be able to do something about it.”

  He still sat there, dead-eyed, staring at me.

  “Jake,” Gigi added, “this in on the level. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

  “I need the real names of these scumbags,” I pressed. “All we need is for one user to have as good a memory as yours.”

  He remained Sphinx-like for a moment, then he smirked, his gaze panning across to Gigi. “When you want to get into someone’s pants, you always remember.” He let his subtle, seductive line linger for a moment before adding, “Hiring someone to pull a trigger? Or being paid to be the one who does it? I suppose you remember that too.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?” Gigi asked him, her tone genuinely curious and not accusatory. “That people use your sites for stuff like that?”

  I shot her a surprised look—I mean, I liked her blunt directness and all, but this was borderline Aspergeresque and it really wasn’t the time for her to be bringing it up—but the damage was already done. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to phase Daland.

  “Do you blame Tim Berners-Lee for Internet porn? How’s that any different? Sure, he advocates regulation; I’ve read the manifestos. But it was always going to be too late once he opened Pandora’s browser. So should we blame him for an entire generation of teenagers who think a spit roast is perfectly normal sexual behavior? Or hold him accountable for cannibals grooming their next meal on Facebook or for ISIS recruitment videos? I just gave people a way to communicate without being spied on. By people like him.” He jabbed a forceful finger in my direction. “What people choose to do with it is up to them.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t have the time or the headspace for a philosophical debate.

  “OK, well, that’s exactly what I need . . . to communicate without anyone listening in, because the guys I’m after are part of the listeners.”

  Gigi smiled and leaned in closer to him. “If you knew even ten percent of it, you’d help us.” She gestured toward me. “He’s about as far out on a limb as it’s possible to be without dropping into an abyss of serious suffering.”

  Daland went quiet for a moment, his eyes tracking back and forth between Gigi to me.

  “I get what you need, but what do I get? Are you going to stop the traffic on Pearl, drill down through thirty feet and spring me from the tunnel while I’m shuffling off to court shackled at the ankles, chained and cuffed at the wrists and sandwiched between four US Marshals, trapped between the remotely activated electronic doors at either end?”

  I had to smile at that. The tunnel beneath Pearl Street that ran between the MCC and the Federal Courthouse was legendary, especially among the criminals and their associates on the outside who’d spent hours thinking up ways to breach it—all with zero success.

  I looked straight at him. “When this is all over, when I’ve dealt with these bastards and cleared things up, I’ll use everything in my power to help. And I mean everything, short of destroying evidence. You have my word. And believe me—when this breaks, a lot of big shots are going to owe me a lot of favors.”

  He studied me curiously. “Come on, Reilly. I know how fucked you are. The chances of you ever being able to do anything for me are so close to nothing as to be irrelevant.”

  “I have a favor or two I can pull from high up,” I told him, wondering if the fact that I had saved president Yorke’s life only weeks ago would ever count for anything.

  “So why haven’t you used them to help yourself?” He let me sweat it for a beat, then he grinned. “But don’t worry about it. I’m in if it helps score a big one against those fascists.”

  Gigi shook her head and chortled. I don’t know if she muttered something unsavory under her breath, but her lips were creased in a smile. “So how do we get in?”

  I understood nothing of the conversation that followed. In fact, a couple of sentences in, I had totally zoned out as if I were having an out-of-body experience, watching the three of us like a silent observer. I found myself questioning what I was doing there, wondering what the odds were of someone on Daland’s uber-Darknet recognizing one of the two faces that had my mind under siege. Corrigan and Fullerton had both been field agents. They had been good at what they did—which meant they would have been extremely careful about who knew their true identities. They would have traveled extensively and met with a significant number of assets over the decades, but many of those would have never known who they were really dealing with. On the other hand, I expect their profiles at the Agency were visible enough that anyone reasonably senior who’d worked there sometime in the last two or three decades would know their real identities. I only needed one of those former colleagues or assets to remember one of them. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch after all.

  Gigi put a hand on shoulder. “We’re done here, Ben. Time to go.”

  I blinked, no idea whether they’d been talking for five, or twenty-five minutes. “You got everything you need?”

  She nodded. “Like I said, it’s a thing of beauty.”

  Daland smiled. “I’ll take that, seeing as how you don’t seem too keen for me to take you.”

  Gigi couldn’t help but laugh. “You really are a total dickwad, Jake. But hey, never say never, right?”

  Daland’s face reconfigured into a hopeful, curious leer.

  I stood, walked over to the door and knocked.

  No reply.

  Knocked again.

  Nothing.

  I could feel the panic rising.

  They know who I am. They’ve been listening to everything. The only place I’m going from here is Florence supermax.

  “Guard? We’re done now.”

  I looked at Gigi. She had her mouth right up against the door, but her poise was ice-cold. Like she was expecting a waitress to bring her a flute of champagne.

  The door finally opened and the guard appeared. “Sorry about that, folks. Just stepped away for a few seconds.”

  I forced the relief off my face and turned back to Daland and shook his hand. “Hang tight, Jake. We’ll let you know about the plea bargain very shortly.”

  He held my hand firmly. “You do that.” He turned to Gigi and smiled. “Drop by any time.”

  She smiled back and followed me out of the interview room.

  As we made our way down the hall, she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Jesus, I need to get back to Kurt pronto. Role playing like that, plus all the adrenaline—I’m like unbelievably horny.”

  I didn’t reply as we continued along the corridor, starting to feel the relief that I wouldn’t allow free reign till we were both back in her Beemer and had checked in with Kurt.

  “I don’t think Mrs. Burnham would appreciate you talking to her husband like that, Miss Harris. Pull your mind back to the case. You have a lot to do.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Don�
��t worry, boss. I’ll just multitask.”

  50

  Chelsea, New York

  I sat in the restaurant opposite Gigi’s building, letting the time drift by without scrutiny, eyes unfocussed, the steady snowfall outside creating a blur of white against the night’s dark backdrop. I figured I’d hang out here at least another hour before I went back upstairs. There wasn’t much for me to do there anyway. Corrigan and Fullerton’s portraits were roaming the darkest corners of the Internet and until someone decided to let us in on who they were, all we could do was wait. And hope.

  I didn’t want to intrude on Gigi and Kurt’s downtime either—not that I’d cramped their style in any way so far. After she’d finished uploading the sketches to Daland’s online catacombs, Gigi had left me and Kurt in the large open plan area before returning not long after, fully decked out in a Wonder Woman costume—the classic outfit, she explained, not the new, post-modern black outfit she and the rest of fandom apparently hated. She’d been pretty vocal about how pumped up she’d felt after our incursion into the MCC and her digital stroll through Daland’s blackest creation, which was why I thought her costume change probably had something to do with her wanting to show Kurt he had nothing to worry about when it came to Jake Daland. The lovable bear seemed seriously rattled that his girlfriend was so in awe of Daland’s programming prowess and, even worse, that Daland had propositioned her—even if nothing had come of it—that he’d shrugged off at least two blatant attempts by Gigi at intimacy since our return from the MCC. The Wonder Woman outfit did the trick.

  Kurt was also pissed off at me too, but once he’d seen Gigi in the outfit, any lingering resentment evaporated. With a huge grin on his face, he went looking for his Green Arrow costume, which was my cue to leave the apartment.

  I was actually glad to have an excuse for a change of scene. I took a long walk, drifting aimlessly through the streets of Lower Manhattan as darkness swooped in overhead, gentle fluffy snowflakes peppering my face and my clothes, my mind still besieged by the idea that my dad could have been part of it all. I felt a cold hollowness inside me and I wondered if maybe I’d been wrong to pursue this so doggedly, maybe I should have left it alone and let sleeping dogs—especially rabid feral ones that sink their teeth into you and never let go, in this case—lie.