by Jeff Siebold
Cruz looked at him.
“You should also know that one of the Mara’s who tried to kill me here in Phoenix is suddenly anxious to talk,” said Zeke. “Just to throw some urgency in the mix.”
* * *
“There’s no way to track her,” said Luis Cruz. He was sitting in an interview room at the Federal Correctional Institution in North Phoenix, surrounded by his attorney, a Federal Prosecutor, three prison guards and Zeke Traynor. A small camera on a tripod was standing discretely in the corner with its red light glowing.
“You mean Susan Del Gato?” asked Zeke.
“Sure. I’m not sure anyone knows where she is right now.”
“But you know how to reach her,” said Zeke.
“Well, I know how to get a message to her.”
“We’re listening,” said Zeke.
“You’ll take the death penalty off the table?” Cruz reiterated. “Leniency?” He looked around the table.
The Federal Prosecutor, a short man named Anthony DeForest, looked at Zeke, then at Cruz and nodded.
“Let’s draw up the papers, then,” said Cruz’s attorney.
* * *
“It’s an electronic dead drop,” said Luis Cruz. “Simple, but effective.”
Zeke said, “Where and how?”
“Like I said, it’s simple, actually. It’s a ‘help chat room’ on the web, with encrypted access to sign in. It’s got a lot of old chatter about Windows 7 and hard drive formatting, that sort of thing, and it looks like an abandoned site. But it’s not,” said Cruz. “It’s how we communicate when we’re apart. We leave a general message there.”
He’s not lying, Zeke thought, watching Luis Cruz’s movements. He may not be telling the entire truth, though.
“Does she check it often?” asked DeForest.
“Maybe every couple days,” said Cruz. “It depends. She hasn’t heard from me for a while, though, so she probably thinks I’m dead or in prison.”
“I imagine she checks it from a public computer,” said Zeke, thinking out loud.
“Yes, usually,” said Cruz. “Maybe an Internet café where she can rent time on a computer. Make us invisible. Something like that.”
“If you suddenly post to the chat room, it might make her suspicious,” said Zeke.
“It might,” said Cruz. “Or she might believe that I got out of here. She’d probably be careful, though.”
“OK,” said Zeke. “Tell me about your codes.”
Luis Cruz looked confused for a moment. “What?”
“If you’re communicating like that, you’ve got to have code words for emergencies. Like ’stop’ or ‘run’ or even a word to confirm that it’s you sending the message,” said Zeke.
“There aren’t any codes,” said Cruz, suddenly blinking and looking away.
He’s lying, thought Zeke. “Sure there are. If you went to this much trouble, you’d have an ‘abort’ code. Either a word or phrase…or possibly the absence of a word of phrase.”
Cruz looked around the table.
“You realize it’s you or her, now,” said Zeke.
DeForest nodded. “This agreement isn’t any good unless you cooperate fully, Luis,” Deforest said. “If not, I’ll just tear it up. If you lie, and she escapes, the deal is off the table.”
For the first time, Cruz looked shaken. His attorney leaned over and whispered something in Luis Cruz’s ear.
“IOS,” said Cruz. “The abort code is IOS. Anywhere in the communication.”
* * *
“I’d suggest something plausible and simple,” said Zeke. He was talking with DeForest, the Federal prosecutor.
“That’s your expertise,” DeForest said. “You should get the Feds involved at this point.”
“It was a US Marshals bust. We have a call into their offices,” said Zeke. “And we’ll need to go forward carefully.”
In the end, Zeke got Marshal Brown on the phone, and they talked through the jurisdictional issues.
When they were done, Zeke said, “OK. Let’s set something up.”
* * *
The message was terse. “I need help with a Windows problem. Anyone available?” And it was signed, ‘Bear44.’ The message became a part of a thread of online chats about operating system diagnostics and repairs, many of which were ancient in terms of today’s technology.
The message sat alone and unanswered for two days, monitored by members of the US Marshal service’s cyber team. Then there was a terse response: “I can help. What version are you using?”
* * *
“That’s a standard response,” said Luis Cruz. “Acknowledgement, and she’s asking what I need. She’ll check in a couple times a day, now.”
“That’ll speed things up a bit,” said Marshal Brown. “OK, let’s set up a meet.”
“The message would be, ‘Windows 7. Having trouble accessing the UI code. Thanks for offering.”
“And it translates to…?” asked Brown.
“I want to set a meeting with her this week,” said Cruz. “And asking where she is.”
“OK, we’ll send it.”
“If she’s nervous, she might disappear. We want to tell her that I’m OK, safe. So say, “Been working on this myself for a week, but I’m stuck.”
“I’ll have it sent.”
* * *
“She came back with this message,” said Brown. “Root is C++. Are you fluent? I have another project that’s taking longer than expected, but I’ll try to help. Traveling this week, though.”
“She’s finishing up a job. Luis Cruz says it’s most likely a hit,” said Brown when he’d reached Zeke. “Says she’s telling him she’s not around here, and she’s on a job. He’ll have to wait to get together with her.”
Zeke thought for a minute. “OK, if she’s not in Phoenix, then she’s either in Boston or D.C. coming after me again, I suspect…”
* * *
“Sarah’s OK?” asked Zeke as he stepped through the threshold. He’d arrived at Sarah’s temporary apartment and Kimmy opened the door to his knock, Jerico in her right hand, pointed at the floor.
“She is,” said Kimmy. “We’ve been playing it cautious, ever since you called with the information about Susan from Luis Cruz.”
“We haven’t found her yet,” said Zeke, by way of update. “They’re still monitoring the chat room.”
“We’ve been playing cards and working on this jigsaw puzzle,” Kimmy continued. Sarah was sitting on the couch while looking at her laptop when Zeke and Kimmy walked into the spacious living room.
“Anything odd going on? Any reason to worry?” asked Zeke.
“Not really,” said Kimmy. “It’s been pretty quiet.”
“You’re not visiting the office again until we catch Susan Del Gato, right?”
“That’s the plan,” said Sarah.
“According to Luis Cruz, that may be difficult. We have a message out to her from him, and she’s responded. But it could take a while. She said she’s not in Phoenix. Luis said he thinks she’s traveling, on a job somewhere.”
“A job to kill someone?” asked Sarah. “That could be me…”
“Or me,” said Zeke. He paused a moment, thinking.
“Do you two have any intuitions about this?” Zeke asked. “Anything happen recently?”
“There was one thing,” said Sarah, remembering. “It didn’t make any sense.”
“What was that?” asked Zeke.
“Well, I got a call from AAA about my car. They wanted me to take a survey about the service call.”
“Service call?” Zeke asked.
“The woman who called said something about a lock-out, and she wanted to ask me about the service I received. A survey. It must have been a mistake,” said Sarah.
“When was this?” asked Zeke.
“Yesterday,” said Sarah.
Zeke and Kimmy exchanged a look.
“They had your name and number?” asked Zeke.
Sarah nod
ded. “From my account information, I guess,” she said.
“Have you had any trouble with your car?” he asked.
“No,” said Sarah. “I haven’t driven it in the past week. Kimmy’s been driving when we go out.”
“OK, do you know if the AAA operator had your correct member number?” he asked.
“Actually, yes, I got my card out of my wallet to confirm it with her,” said Sarah. She looked confused.
Kimmy said, “So, someone called AAA using your membership ID, and asked them to unlock your vehicle. Has the car been moved?”
Sarah said, “No, I saw it yesterday when we went to lunch at the mall. It was in my parking space.”
Sarah was wearing a crimson sweatshirt with ‘Harvard’ written across the front, a matching pair of sweatpants and white sneakers. She had little makeup on and her hair was tied in a ponytail.
“Someone wanted access to your car, Sarah. Either to search it, or to steal it, or maybe something worse,” said Zeke.
Sarah thought for a minute, then shook her head. “I’ve been a fool,” she said. “I should have seen it right away.”
“This killer’s a pro,” said Kimmy. “We were just lucky that triple-A called you on your registered phone number. If they’d called back on Susan’s phone, we’d never have known.”
“It could have been an accident,” said Sarah. “Or a mistake.”
Zeke shook his head. “Susan sent Cruz a message that she’s not in Phoenix, and she’s on the East Coast finishing up a job. I thought she might be after me, but now I’m thinking it’s you, Sarah. She may be here in D.C. tracking you.”
“So, what do we do?” asked Sarah.
“Let me have the keys. I’ll head downstairs and take a look at the car. You two should go for a ride, take Kimmy’s car and get out of the area,” said Zeke.
* * *
As soon as Kimmy and Sarah had exited the building, Zeke approached the Camry and looked in the windows. He didn’t touch anything. If it were an explosive device or some kind of booby trap, it could possibly be set off by motion, or by unlocking the car door. Can’t be too careful, he thought.
There was nothing visible through the car windows. Zeke checked all the way around the vehicle. Everything appeared normal.
But a check under the car revealed what looked like three sticks of dynamite with a small battery taped to them, strapped to the undercarriage under the driver’s seat.
Car bomb, he thought. Simple, effective and deadly. Zeke knew that such devices caused an explosion that would ignite the fuel tank, magnifying the explosion and destroying any evidence.
Slowly, he eased away from the car, stood up and called Kimmy. Then he called a contact in the D.C. FBI office and reported the bomb.
Chapter 21
“Look, sometimes I drink too much and my mouth gets me in trouble,” said Hank.
The woman said nothing.
Hank was sitting in a metal chair in the apartment of the dining room he shared with Judith Henderson. His wrists and ankles were taped to the chair with duct tape and there was a brown leather belt wrapped around his neck.
“Look, I didn’t do anything on purpose. I just got mad and started venting. At the bar, you know?”
He was terrified and almost incoherent, Susan noticed.
“What did you tell them?” she asked him.
Hank had seen an angle, and approached Eddie George asking for money. Blackmail, actually, threatening to tell the authorities about the student loan money, and Eddie’s part in arranging the scam. Eddie George had told Jobare Worthington, who told Freddy Hanson. Freddy shared this information with Benito Diaz.
“I won’t say anything else. I was just drunk and mad. It was stupid,” he continued.
Yes, it was, thought Susan Del Gato, threatening to expose them. She said, “It’s OK, Hank.” And she stepped behind him.
Franticly he twisted, looking over one shoulder, then the other, trying to keep her in view. His secured wrists and ankles kept him in check.
Susan took the end of the belt and tightened it. She wrapped it around her hand, made a fist, and pulled harder.
Hank, still frantic, started to yell. Susan hit him on the top of his head with the cast iron frying pan, hard, and then she took her time.
* * *
“It seems like it’s been months since I was here,” said Tracy Johnson. She and Zeke were sitting on the deck of his Cape Cod rental, watching the waves break gently against the shore. It was early evening, and the weather was cooling off. The full moon was already visible in the southern sky.
Zeke sipped a glass of red wine and said, “I know. But it’s only been a couple of weeks.”
Tracy said, “I hoarded my vacation days to make this trip. I even borrowed a few from next year.”
“They let you do that at the Secret Service?” Zeke asked. “They’re flexible.”
Tracy smiled. “I know people,” she said cryptically.
They were silent for a minute. Then Tracy said, “You’re like a cat.”
“The nine lives?” Zeke laughed.
She nodded. “First the eight Mara’s in the Phoenix parking lot, then the assassin in Cambridge. And that was all within the same month, wasn’t it?”
Zeke nodded, looking at the sea. “Nothing too much to worry about,” he said.
“Do you think they’ll try again? Whoever’s behind the attempts?”
“Don’t know. But we’re being careful,” Zeke added.
Tracy set her drink down and sat back in her chair. The light breeze from the south washed across their faces and brought with it the smell of salt and ocean. The sounds of the waves lapping were relaxing. The tension melted away.
“I’m so glad I’m here,” said Tracy. “This is so nice.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Zeke, wryly.
Tracy’s eyes were closed. “Mmm,” she said.
“We’ve got work to do,” he continued.
Tracy said nothing. Then she opened her eyes and stood up. She walked to Zeke and leaned over his chair until their noses touched.
She smiled a wide smile. “Not tonight,” she said. “Tonight is a special night. I have plans for you.”
Zeke smiled and kissed her upper lip. He pulled on it gently with his lips and then kissed her again.
“Be careful what you ask for,” Tracy whispered.
He nodded slightly, slowly. “We should go inside,” he said.
“What’s inside?” she asked, teasing.
“You’ll see,” he said.
* * *
Susan Del Gato sat in her car and watched. It was difficult here, because the streets were narrow and private, and there was no good place to park and watch the house. She couldn’t quite see the front door from this angle, and she felt vulnerable in this spot.
She watched for a moment, calculating, and then decided that the exposure wasn’t a good risk in this small, wealthy Cape Cod neighborhood. Carefully, she started the rental car, a green Range Rover, and eased away from the curb back toward Barnstable.
She parked on Main Street in front of Tim’s Books and, window shopping, wandered down the street. She knew there were cameras, but her floppy hat and dark sunglasses obstructed her face enough to make her feel anonymous.
The trick was to find a way to watch this Zeke Traynor without giving herself away. She thought she’d had him once, in Cambridge, but they had anticipated her presence. That didn’t happen very often. Now, a quick strike while they expected her to be in hiding could make up for it. She found a coffee shop, ordered a cup and started planning.
* * *
“I’m from the security company,” the man said. He was a tall, black man, neatly dressed in workman’s clothes wearing a shirt with “Cape Cod Security” stenciled over his pocket. “I’m Byron,” he continued.
“How can I help, Byron?” Tracy asked.
The man looked at his clipboard, and then at the house number next to the door. “I h
ave a work order for this address, for a Zeke Traynor,” he said.
“Can I see your ID?” she asked.
Byron slipped the laminated ID card from his pocket. Tracy checked it carefully. Then she nodded. “Zeke’s not here right now. We’re renting,” she said. “So the owners may have placed the order.”
Byron said, “This is for a system check and a software upgrade. We sent out an e-mail about the software upgrade, offered it for free. The owner probably authorized it.”
Tracy said, “Do you know where the system is?”
Byron looked at his paper again. “It’s in the kitchen,” he said.
“Come on in,” said Tracy.
They walked across the cottage to the kitchen. Appropriately, Aerosmith’s “Looks Like A Lady,” from the album Permanent Vacation was playing in the background. Tracy opened a couple cabinets, then found the equipment.
“Is this it?” she asked.
“That’s it,” said Byron. “This won’t take long. Your Internet will be down for, oh, five minutes, tops.”
Tracy’s laptop was open on the kitchen table where she’d been sitting. “OK, time for a break, I guess.”
While Byron upgraded the equipment, Tracy took a cup of hot tea out onto the deck and watched the ocean roll in and back out. I’d never get tired of this, she thought. Or of Zeke.
A few minutes later, Byron stuck his head out the sliding glass door and said, “All done.”
Tracy nodded and turned back toward the house.
“Could you sign here, please? Just saying that I was here, and the work was done,” he said, handing his clipboard to her.
She signed where he indicated, handed it back and said, “Thanks.”
He walked to the door.
“Sure. Have a nice day,” he said, and he let himself out.
* * *
“You were successful?” asked Susan.
“Yep, planted an infrared video camera and an audio device that will monitor the entire cottage. Military grade, wide angle lens, body heat activated, all that. The best money can buy,” said Byron.
