by Jordan Dane
He continued, “These unique addresses are created and managed by the Internet Assigned Numbers Authority or the IANA.”
“Can we cut with the alphabet references? I think I’m developing a tumor.”
Seth ignored her and went on.
“Superblocks in cyberspace are kind of like real estate. They can be subdivided into smaller lots and distributed to various Internet providers. What I’m trying to say is, it’s gonna take time to dig through the spiderweb of info he left behind.”
Seth looked her in the eye and kept going.
“Even if I narrow it down to a real network and registration, we might be dealing with a server out of the country that allows anonymous e-mails. If I was working it, that’s what I’d do. If the U.S. government can’t coerce another country to cooperate, what are the odds we’re gonna do any better in getting a physical address on Baker’s organization? It’d be like fishing for Moby Dick with a cane pole.”
When he started to talk about real people and fishing analogies, she interrupted him.
“Harper? Let me worry about concocting a fish story. If you give me the phone numbers to contact these cyberspace realtors and I can talk to a live human being, I’ve got skills you haven’t seen yet. Trust me, I’ll get what we need if I have to speak Swahili.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” It was his turn to smirk. “Any woman who’d bulldog a moving SUV earns my respect.”
“That’s about the nicest thing any man has ever said to me. Thanks, Harper.”
“But here’s the bad part. Baker knows we’ve got his shit.” Seth turned toward her. “While I’m dicking around with this, I’m afraid he’s shut it all down. From anywhere, this guy can make contact and change passwords, he can get the word out. Hell, for all we know, he may have already closed shop.”
Jess gritted her teeth, knowing he was right. But she did have one advantage.
“There’s one thing we can count on, Seth. Maybe this organization is international and pretty computer savvy, but I know Baker. He’s a friggin’ idiot. Most criminals are. People like him are not exactly MIT material. You feel up for the challenge?”
“To beat an idiot?”
“Worded like that, I have complete faith in you.”
“Thanks.” He furrowed his brow. “I think.”
Jess tried not to smile. “The point is, we’ve got Baker’s portal to a bigger organization. Find me the hole in his dike, Seth.”
“Ditch the dike hole analogy, will ya? It scares me.”
He hit a few keystrokes and pulled up a file.
“Before I forget, I got something else for you.” He grinned, a crooked lazy smile. “Baker had a digital photo open when he tore out of that room, something sent via e-mail. So far, I’ve got nothing on the origin of the e-mail itself, but embedded at the end of this picture file was a message. I figured these jerks wouldn’t be sharing their Alaskan vacation slides for nothing, so I looked for a reason he’d have this one open and found the embedded message. I saved it to the drive.”
Seth flipped the monitor toward her. Jess read the message on the screen. One line from a man named Ivan Andreyevich Krylov.
Delivery from AK on its way to Chicago as agreed. ETA two days.
“A Russian?” She cocked her head and stared at the screen. “And maybe a connection to Alaska.”
“Actually, I Googled the name and got some Russian fables and folklore dude. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. We’re not gonna find these guys using their real names.”
Seth shrugged and kept talking.
“On the surface, this message isn’t incriminating. Granted, the wording is a little cryptic, but for all we know, he’s addicted to the Home Shopping Network or he’s got an eBay delivery coming from Alaska. However, when you couple the way this message was transmitted in a digital photo file with the use of aliases and international IP addresses, I’d say the whole setup reaches outside the U.S. in an impressive array. At the risk of using a redundant fish analogy, I’m thinkin’ Baker may be a guppy in a very big pond.”
Jess reread the embedded message from the Russian.
“ETA two days.” She backtracked the date and looked at her watch to confirm her suspicions. “That means whatever is being delivered to Chicago is coming in today.”
If Seth was right and Baker closed up shop, this last bit of intel might be the only link she would have to his organization. This so-called shipment had been set in motion. Did the bastard have time to call it off or would this be her best shot at nailing him?
“I’ve got to play a hunch, Seth. It might be a stretch, but I’d bet money he’s bartering in human lives. The delivery may be some poor unlucky kid caught up in Baker’s web of lies.”
A worried look spread across Seth’s face. “So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know yet. I gotta think.”
A scheme started to form in her mind. Baker would still want his property back, so his laptop could be a bargaining chip. She touched Seth’s arm to get his undivided attention.
“Hypothetically speaking, I may be forced to return Baker’s property to get another crack at this guy. And that thought makes my blood boil unless I have the upper hand.” She took a deep breath. “If I knew someone really connected to certain people, could this computer-savvy guy install software on this laptop? I want to track Baker’s movement in the cyberworld from inside his own computer.”
Seth stared at her a long moment.
“I see you’ve got pliable ethics when it comes to turning the tables on Baker using my crimeware bootleg stuff. The all-important end justifies the means, is that it?”
He didn’t let her squirm long. Fighting a smirk, he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow in a good-humored challenge. What the hell could she say?
“Hey, you got me. When it comes to Baker and his perverted world, I guess my ethics take a backseat. Sue me.”
“That’s okay. I understand. I’m just sayin’…” Seth grinned, a totally wicked smile, and let it go. “Hypothetically speaking, of course, such an absolutely freaking genius could load a Trojan horse the guy would never see coming. Keystroke loggers can collect sensitive data, steal his new passwords and store them on his own system, leaving cyber bread crumbs to follow. Once Baker accesses those encrypted files I was telling you about, we’re in too.”
Seth’s eyes radiated light. This stuff really turned the boy on.
“Plus, we could add bells and whistles to allow us remote access or even redirect his browser to a counterfeit link of our choosing. He’ll think he’s logged into his site, but he’ll be talking to us. Very cool stuff. And I may have one or two other tricks I can add. Is that covert enough for you?”
“Perfect, just like you.” She pinched his cheek, and flaming red streaks shot across Seth’s face. But then she got serious. There was too much at stake to trivialize what they were about to do.
“I really need this to work, Seth. Rig his laptop with your Trojan horse. I got a feeling it’ll be our last shot at Baker.”
“I’m on it. I’ll have it done and tested before you step out that door. Maybe if I have time, I can kick in something extra.”
Seth turned his attention to the computer in his lap, leaving Jess rapt in her thoughts.
If Baker was in the process of severing his links to the old setup, the delivery to Chicago—some poor kid—might turn out to be a sacrificial lamb. She had no way of knowing where or how the “delivery” might be coming. No leads at all, except for the e-mail reference to Alaska. Hell, she didn’t even know if she could trust the intel. There’d be no way to intervene, so she had to do the next best thing.
Her instincts told her to focus on stopping Baker—for the greater good—but could she ignore the feeling that a faceless kid’s life hung in the balance? She hated how that made her feel. No doubt about it. Life sucked on a grand scale, a fact she understood better than most.
Even if Sam could work her cop magic this lat
e in the day and check the flight manifests for all inbound planes from Alaska, the odds weren’t good that her friend would have the resources to go much further. They wouldn’t even know what to look for. And if the CPD knew she was connected to Sam’s search, everything would come to a grinding halt. Besides, given the time of day and the duration of a flight from Alaska, the plane was already gone, narrowing her odds for success considerably.
She knew she was on her own—as usual.
In no time, Seth had Baker’s laptop rigged and ready to go. He packed it back into the computer bag it came in and handed it to her, the thin gloves removed.
“Call me on my cell if you think of anything else,” she asked.
“Yeah, okay.” He nodded.
Jess got to her feet and headed for the door. “You got my number, right?”
“Yeah, programmed into my cell.” He stood and followed her. His hands fumbled through his pockets, pulling out coins, cash, and a set of keys.
“Let me walk you out. I gotta meet a friend for drinks.” He shrugged and added, “It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere on the planet, right? You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but no. I gotta motor, but can I get a rain check?”
“Yeah, no problem.” Seth locked the door behind them and walked with her to the elevators. They chatted as they rode down to the ground floor, the idle chat of two people getting to know one another. For Jess, it felt good to act normal for a change.
He walked her out the building and stood on the sidewalk by the front door, but before he took off, she wanted to make a point. Seth’s part in the computer Trojan horse wasn’t over.
“One last thing. I gotta ask you a big favor.” She winced, realizing the magnitude of what she was about to ask from a new hourly employee. “I’d like you to track Baker’s activity once he gets his property back. I know I’ve got no right to ask, but—”
Without hesitation, Seth replied, “Sure, I’ll do it.”
“Wait, before you commit, you gotta know. With a lowlife like Lucas Baker, I have no idea when or for how long that will be. I’ve gotta scare him up first. You still in? Even with all the flaky hours?”
“Count on it. I’m in.” Again no hesitation.
Jess grinned and shook her head at her employee. “If you’re buckin’ for a raise, Harper, you should probably consider playing harder to get. You’re too easy.”
“And for a guy, there’s no such thing as being too easy.” Seth smirked. Jess had a sneaky suspicion the boy wasn’t talking about the almighty dollar anymore.
“Before I forget…” She grabbed her cell phone off her belt loop and thumbed the menu to her contacts page. “Give me a phone number where I can reach you. Now that you’ve volunteered for duty, I’ve got to reach you twenty-four/seven.”
He gave her his cell number and she keyed it into her phone.
“I’ll stay in touch. And thanks, Seth. You’re a good man.”
She tugged at a loose strand of his hair, and her show of affection sent a blush across his cheeks. In return, he rewarded her with a quirky grin and a shrug. Cute. Damned cute.
With Baker’s laptop slung over her shoulder, she left Seth to carry on and headed for her car, mulling over her situation. Her mind raced with things beyond her control. Under the circumstances, Baker would be laying low, not hanging out at his usual haunts. It would now be a major waiting game—waiting for him to contact her or hunting him down again. Only this time he’d be warier and harder to find.
Hell, what choice did she have?
And from the looks of her apartment, the guy had anger management issues. Baker was beyond pissed. She had a feeling trashing her place was only the first installment to his payback. It wouldn’t be so bad if this was only a head-on collision between her and Baker, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. Other lives would be at stake, and that thought weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. Whatever was going to happen, she had to pull her part off clean.
As Jess crossed the street with Baker’s laptop slung on her shoulder, she squinted into the late afternoon sun, unable to shake the image of Baker’s angry face. Even in broad daylight the man triggered a deeply rooted jumble of rage and degrading fear in her—an all too vivid taste of her past. She knew she’d have to find a way to control such feelings or he would have the upper hand.
With other lives at risk, she had to come out on top. And instinct told her time was running thin. Real thin.
CHAPTER 7
Payton drove to a building at the junction of the Talkeetna Spur Road and Parks Highway where the state maintained a small troopers’ office only fifteen miles from Susannah’s place. He couldn’t get his mind off the mysterious Anchorage schoolteacher who’d driven Nikki out of town. Taking a kid in the middle of the night, without the knowledge of her mother, was completely irresponsible. No way the woman could claim the incident was one big misunderstanding. What would compel a complete stranger to do such a thing?
But his more immediate problem would be Trooper Dan Fitzgerald.
How could he convince the man to trust him—to allow him to accompany the troopers when they talked to this teacher? He quickly came up with a simple plan. When they entered the troopers’ office, he would let Joe Tanu take charge. It made perfect sense. It was Joe’s turf, and he appreciated Joe’s influence with an organization he’d worked with for years.
When they walked in, they were greeted by a familiar voice.
“Hey, Joe. Figured we’d see you sooner or later.” At her desk behind a counter, Bernice Fleming looked up from her dispatch duties. “Sorry to hear about Nikki, Payton. Susannah and her daughter sure got their share of trouble.”
Bernice shook her head. The older woman’s face was a mix of concocted sympathy and the righteous superiority of a regular churchgoer.
Payton didn’t want to talk about Nikki with Bernice. He had no patience for it. For whatever reason, the woman thrived on other people’s misery. Some folks were like that. Given the woman’s reputation, the implication he heard in her voice was that his niece had probably brought this on herself and Susannah played a hand in it, though he also knew that his hangover had tainted his perspective.
“Thanks, Bernice.” It was all he could get out.
With the incessant pounding in his head, anything from his mouth echoed like a bass drum inside his skull, triggering other painful twinges. He caught a sideways glance from Joe, who picked up on his mounting irritability. In his understated manner, Joe zapped him with a heavy dose of “stick eye.” His friend had practically invented the disapproving look.
Payton shrugged and heaved a sigh.
Let Joe handle this part, jackass! You’re in no condition to play nice.
A handful of folks in town still treated him like a celebrity, leaving him with the empty ache of knowing he never measured up. Bernice Fleming was one of those people who probably thought she meant well, but the way she expressed her sympathy, it seemed she straddled the fence between good intentions and the idle curiosity of a rumor monger gathering intel and a good head of steam. He had no time to sift through the merits of her intentions. Truth told, he preferred outright hostility, something he could deal with, like a beefy lineman hungry to humiliate a cocky young quarterback on a one-way ego trip.
“I suppose a second time doesn’t make it any easier,” Bernice went on. “How’s Susannah holding up?”
“Well, how would you—” He stopped and reigned in his attitude, then took a deep breath before he continued. “She’s doing the best she knows how.”
What the hell? Like a mother would ever get used to her daughter running away?
He knew she was fishing for the real dirt behind Nikki’s disappearance and pushing his buttons to get it, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. No one else needed to know the nightmare of his sister’s pain.
Even living in Alaska, where a guy’s idiosyncrasies were considered normal and his past was respected as private, most folks in Ta
lkeetna went out of their way to speak their minds about him. And he’d brought the same attitude down on his sister by default. For some reason, both their lives were fair sport. And contrary to the norm, many folks had an opinion.
He’d gotten used to it, but Susannah had been an innocent bystander. She deserved better.
His own downward spiral had sucked his sister in—guilt by association—but he received the worst of it by far. To his face or behind his back, it didn’t matter. Most people openly looked upon him as a major disappointment—quite a fall from the celebrity they’d heaped on him not too long ago. Now, he was nothing more than a drunk, a brawler, and a failure. He could see it in their eyes—and his own when he looked in a mirror.
People saw what they wanted to see. He guessed he was no different.
But if Joe hadn’t come along today, he wasn’t sure how much help he’d be to Susannah. He’d worn out his welcome with the local law.
“You need to speak to Trooper Fitzgerald?” Bernice stuck to protocol with the formal title. Her question had been directed to Joe, but she kept her eyes on Payton.
“Yes, we do.” Joe nodded.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, then stood, her chair squeaking with the effort. From behind the plexiglass window, she stepped toward them and rested her elbows on the worn Formica countertop that separated the secured offices from the waiting area.
“He’s on the phone. No telling how long he’ll be.” She forced a smile. “I got some coffee brewing, fresh. Can I get you boys a cup while you wait?”
“Not for me.” Joe shook his head. “Thanks, Bernice.”
Payton did the same, mumbling a distracted reply under his breath.
“You almost missed him. He’s heading to Anchorage, but I’ll slip him a note to let him know you’re waiting. Just have a seat.”
After Bernice ducked behind a closed door, Payton glanced back toward the visitor chairs. With the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he couldn’t imagine sitting while the trooper got off the phone. His impatience had taken a firm grip.
Pacing the small room, he found his eyes unable to settle on any one thing. Flashes of Nikki’s face plagued him, along with erratic sound bites from their last conversations. He’d been so rapt in his own misery, he hadn’t spent much time with Susannah or Nikki; something else to fuel the fires of guilt.
