Skye increased her pace just slightly and jumped sideways onto her chair, the momentum sliding her over in front of the center console. There she entered the password, the sound immediately falling away, the house almost reverberating with silence in its wake.
“Thank you!” Raz called from upstairs, his voice filled with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Not hearing much movement up there!” Skye replied, raising her voice to be heard as she worked her way through the security protocol she had designed herself for situations such as this.
The goal of the system was fairly simple, meant to be a virtual tracking and alarm profile. It was attuned to watch for mention of her, Raz, Jazmine, or any of their aliases, whether the transgressions be a credit check or an FBI file request.
Whenever one of them was pinged, the alarm went off and the group relocated, learning to travel light and fast, the only things they owned between the three of them being the two blow-up beds upstairs, a dented van outside, and the bank of electronics she was now seated in front of.
Of that, none of it was something that couldn’t be destroyed and left to waste at a moment’s notice, that very thing having occurred more than once.
Having behind-the-veil access to bank records the world over meant finances were never a problem, though they kept such discretions to an absolute minimum.
Having enough concentrated computer savvy in the house to run Silicon Valley for a week made getting set back up a breeze as well.
The plan was one they had agreed to when they started working together, a no-questions-asked approach that took place whenever something came up, regardless of what was going on.
“Alright,” Skye whispered, rolling the top of her head from side to side, hearing her neck let out a series of pops in response, “let’s see who we pissed off today.”
Above her, indications of movement began to sound out, the usual creaks and groans of an aging house letting her know that her counterparts were finally rousting themselves to life.
Moving directly into the warning depository, Skye found a single line entry waiting for her, the words blinking in bright red. Maneuvering her mouse, she clicked on the hyperlink, a new box coming to life before her.
Given the oversized expanse of the monitors, the message was nearly the size of her head, staring directly back at her.
“Google search coming from Downer’s Grove Public Library?” Skye asked aloud, her eyes squinting up slightly in confusion.
In the last five years, she had been checked out by virtually every government agency and private security firm in the country. Every time they had tried to cloak their movements behind a series of false fronts and firewalls, trying to make it look like the searches were springing out of the ground fully formed, without an origin point to speak of.
This was a first.
“That can’t be right,” she muttered, minimizing the window before her and going into a secondary program. From there she was able to pull up the IP address for the library, entering through the backdoor into their system and clicking quickly through each of their machines.
In total there were twenty-one in the small branch library, six that were exclusive to staff and fifteen that could be employed by card holders.
Skye found what, or rather who, she was looking for on number ten.
Starting with the list of previous searches, Skye saw that whoever was on the other side had started with Google, something so basic she was almost offended. There was no way anything of use had been found there, Skye having gone to great lengths to scrub every last mention of herself from the general web.
From there the search had been equally clumsy, the user going to Facebook and LinkedIn before trying classmates.com and ancestry.com.
Definitely not someone with much computer skill or reason to be feared.
“Google covers all those sites, dumbass,” Skye said, her voice detached as she gave up following the search history and checked into the computer’s program list, finding what she was looking forward to and bringing it up before her.
Accessing a webcam was not something she generally tried to do, namely because it created a momentary two-way connection that was plainly seen, leaving her susceptible to whoever was on the other end. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing, but nothing about the person’s actions thus far seemed to indicate they would have any idea what was going on.
It was possible it was merely a trap meant to lure her out, but of the people capable of doing that, none would be willing to do so from a computer terminal in a public library.
A new window opened on the screen beside her, the image nothing more than gray fuzz for a few moments before coming into focus.
Sitting on the opposite end of the transmission, his face twisted up in thought as he pecked at the keyboard using only his two index fingers, was a man Skye was certain she had never seen before. Appearing to be somewhere around forty, he had auburn hair shorn close on the sides, the top a little longer and curled back into itself. A few days of stubble covered his jaw line, belying blue eyes.
Just beneath it, running from his left ear lobe down toward his collarbone was a wicked tangle of furled skin, scar tissue standing bright pink against his tanned skin.
Skye recognized the look in an instant.
“Damn it, another soldier.”
In a quick series of keystrokes, Skye took a screen shot of the man and saved it to the desktop. From there she opened a new program and fed in the image, waiting as it tapped into a facial recognition system ran by one of the security firms that routinely tried to find them.
Not quite as robust as the government’s database, it was infinitely easier to gain access to.
Besides, something told Skye this guy was definitely going to be in the system.
“What’s going on?” Jazmine asked, the stairwell creaking under her weight as she walked down. A moment later she emerged beside the bank of electronics, one of the mattresses and a stack of blankets cradled in her arms.
“Looks like he’s back,” Skye said, staring at the screen, waiting for the results of her search to come back to her.
“Him?” Jazmine asked, walking up behind Skye and scrutinizing the picture on screen. “Have we seen him before?”
“No, but we’ve seen his kind,” Skye said, pausing to glance over her shoulder. When it was apparent Jazmine had no idea what she was hinting at, she added, “I didn’t mean this guy in particular, I meant him him.”
“Oh,” Jazmine said, her mouth opening just slightly, before adding, “Oh!” as realization flooded in.
“Yeah,” Skye said, “which is why we need to move.”
“Jesus, how many times is this now?” Raz asked, spilling down off of the stairs and stopping beside them, his hair disheveled, sleep still crusted in the corners of his eyes.
Bringing back up the image of the man staring unknowingly at them through the webcam, Skye ignored the question. Even if it wasn’t rhetorical, she was going to treat it as such.
“Not minutes, but not hours either. As soon as I find out who this guy is, we need to be out of here.”
Chapter Eleven
The trip to the library was a total bust, the full extent of my computer search skills returning exactly zero usable data. If Skye Grant really existed she was a ghost, beyond the reach of Google, social media, and every basic search function on the planet.
Not that hiding from me was probably any great shakes, but it still spoke to a level of paranoia that seemed to jive with the images of the girl in the photos.
Again, assuming Skye Grant was a real person, and that she was the girl in the photos.
The only thing of value the library did provide was a dumpster out back that was beyond the reach of any security lights, well past the range of any cameras that might have been out front. Pulling up broad side next to it, I removed the two bricks of cash and the cell phone from the bag Celek gave me and stacked them atop the file before throw
ing the rest away and driving off.
Already they most likely had more than enough images to tie me to whatever they wanted, but any little bit of counteraction I could use against them, I had to take advantage. There was no telling where those guns had been, what crimes they might already be connected to.
If anybody were to ever spot them on me, there was no way I could even present a decent story as to where they came from, let alone supply a permit.
The black clothes I could do without, the ensemble looking like something from a bad movie, a cliché that was so overwrought I would rather not even consider it.
The cash was also probably marked, at the very least the serial numbers taken down, ready to be flagged the next time they showed up in the system. If at all possible I would avoid using it, keeping it only if it became absolutely necessary, and even then only in private transactions.
It was clear from the items in the bag and the instructions in the envelope that it was expected that I would go to the address listed with guns blazing under cover of darkness. Apparently I would either sneak my way through the back like a burglar or bust in the front door like a SWAT officer and work my way from room to room, muzzle flashes and the smell of cordite the only signs to mark my passage.
I had no intention of doing either.
With the late day sun just beginning to wane, I pulled out the bottom photo from the stack, tearing it free from the metal hasp holding it in place. A small chunk of the image came away as well as I placed it on the seat beside me, staring down at it just long enough to get my bearings before setting a course due north.
Whatever traffic there had been that afternoon had swelled considerably, the late day rush showing no signs of letting up. Despite moving perpendicular to the general flow, cars still moved in a painful crawl, red brake lights lined from front to back in an unending snake.
Seated behind the wheel, I thought of calling Rae, of telling her where I was and that I was okay. Again I dismissed the notion, knowing our mutual deference to talking on the phone, even more the strong detestation we both harbored for checking in or being checked on.
If there was news to report or I needed something, I would reach out.
Not before.
Shoving the thought aside, I bent at the waist and retrieved the McDonald’s sack from the passenger foot well, working my way through the three remaining cheeseburgers in record time. Over the course of the afternoon they had gotten cold, the cheese congealing and the beef hardening, but I paid neither any mind as I forced them down, more for the energy I would later need than for any pleasure I derived from them.
To complete the meal I fished out a bottle of Gatorade I kept behind the front bench seat for use while working on the ranch, the thick red liquid warm, bordering on syrupy. In four long gulps I sucked it down, my body perking slightly from the infusion of calories as I continued to inch my way toward my destination.
In total a drive that should have taken a half hour took me closer to three times that, the sun sitting just above the horizon on the left by the time signs pointed me off the road into Elk Grove. Never before had I heard of the place, but judging by the dearth of cars accompanying me from the freeway I got the impression it was the kind of suburb that was used more for industrial purposes, the number of residences lagging far behind.
For the first time since leaving the library, my speedometer crept above thirty as I wound my way through the streets, circling in on my target.
There were multiple ways I could approach the scene, the ones that Jacoby and Celek would suggest having already been considered and cast aside. No way was I going to try some sort of forced entry, nor was I going to do so in the middle of the night.
Despite whatever contraband or images they might try to tie me to, I had still not done anything illegal, and if I could keep it that way I would.
I could try to force some sort of ruse, claiming I was a pizza delivery guy or UPS. Just as fast that was discarded as well, the mental image of me trying to pull off either falling somewhere between ridiculous and infuriating.
That left only a simple straight ahead approach, pulling directly up to the place and knocking on the door.
Most definitely not something Celek would approve of, but the most I was willing to concede, at least for the time being.
Lifting the map before me, I used the ambient glow of the city lights to illuminate the image. My gaze dancing over it, I picked out roughly where I was and made two quick lefts, leaving behind a series of low-end gas stations and eateries and coming onto a residential street that looked to have been built in the ‘60s, that also being the last time any of the properties saw the slightest bit of home repair.
Sagging front porches seemed to line each of the places, many having spots of mold on the roof and paint flaking from wooden siding.
Not what I would have imagined for a high-level international hacker, but falling directly in line with someone that was working to stay as invisible as it seemed Skye Grant was.
With a flick of the wrist, I tossed the map to the side, watching as house numbers rose in even increments, finally finding my destination halfway down the street, wedged between a pair of empty lots. Standing no more than twenty feet back from the street, it had a rusted chain link fence encompassing it and a faded yellow paint job that first needed updating in 1992.
Each of those details I saw and processed in a matter of seconds, pushing them aside as I seized on two matters that were far more important.
First, the plain concrete driveway running up the side of the property was completely empty, and second, there was not a light on in the house.
“Come on, Celek, you guys send me on a goose chase here or what?”
I made no effort to hide my presence as I eased to a stop in front of the place, my head turned completely to the side, taking in the house. In quick order I assessed what little I could, feeling my pulse rise as I inventoried everything in the truck.
Even though it appeared nobody was home, no part of me wanted to approach empty handed. I was not yet willing to accept that it would require anything near what Celek had tried to bestow upon me, instead opting for the simple folding knife I kept in the truck at all times. With a 4” blade, it was always razor sharp, easily hidden in a pants pocket, capable of being wielded in a split second.
Beyond that, I opted to go completely empty handed, my breathing rate also climbing as my stomach seized tight around the mess of grease and sugar I had forced down an hour earlier. As I climbed from the truck I felt a ripple pass quickly through my stomach before everything settled.
Just as fast as the discord had arrived it departed, replaced by something that I had not felt in years. A calm feeling began in my chest, emanating out into my limbs, bringing with it a sense of confidence.
The last time I had felt anything even close to it I was still carrying a rifle for a living. Having it arrive now, as I passed through the front gate of a non-descript house outside of Chicago, was something I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted.
Not now, or ever again.
Forcing my steps to remain slow and even, I moved up the front walk and onto the porch, raising my hand to knock before pulling up short, my eyes fixed on what stood before me.
Chapter Twelve
The man’s name was Laredo Connor Wynn, born March 4, 1974, making him forty-two years old. The facial recognition software had found him pretty quickly, the search set to start by looking through the US military databases of both active and retired personnel.
His background read much like the others, having enrolled into the army directly out of high school, working his way up through the ranks for six years before being recruited into special operations, where he served another nine as a part of Delta Force.
Coming as no surprise to Skye, huge chunks of his time there was redacted, thick black lines removing entire paragraphs in one fell swoop, leaving just enough behind to ascertain that he had spent some time in Asia.
Also coming as no surprise was the fact that he had been injured badly during his time there, the report stating that he came in contact with an IED while on patrol. Injuries listed were several and severe, including three broken ribs, a cracked clavicle, and a nicked jugular vein that nearly bled out before he was able to be secured, the injury matching up with the scar she had noticed on camera.
At thirty-three, after his third tour, just one short of being eligible for a guaranteed pension, he took an honorable discharge. From there the trail became much more scant, having put most of his money and a small inheritance from the death of his parents toward a working ranch in west Texas.
There hadn’t been a lot of time to continue the dig, but Skye felt reasonably certain by the moment they packed up and left that there wasn’t a whole lot left to find. Like many of the others they had come in contact with, it seemed he had gone into the military full of hopes, dreams, and patriotism, had washed out some time later with a strong desire to just be left the hell alone.
What seemed to keep pulling them back in, especially putting them in her orbit, was something she had not quite yet pinned down, though she had a pretty good inkling of what the answer to that question would reveal.
The night vision camera they had left affixed to the top corner of the front door picked Wynn up the moment he stepped inside the front gate. Unlike the others, he was dressed in normal attire and parked right along the street, making no effort to conceal himself. With both hands in plain sight he walked directly up toward the house, not once breaking stride or doing anything out of the ordinary until he noticed the front door standing open, the house dark inside.
“Well then, this is different,” Jazmine said, peeling back the top half of a beef jerky wrapper and moving in closer beside Skye to get a better view of the laptop. Under such close quarters, the smell of salted meat and the sound of her chewing both became extra pronounced, each pulling up a small amount of annoyance in Skye.
Thriller Box Set One: The Subway-The Debt-Catastrophic Page 37
