Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  Lee dropped the subject and reminded me we had to go to the airport and pick up Misha.

  “Get Sam too,” I told him. “I’m feeling we’ll be moving on Misha’s information right away.”

  “Gear?”

  “Bring a spare weapon for Misha; we don’t know if he’s carrying a sidearm. Make sure we each have cell phones, radios and laptops. Spare magazines, night vision equipment, bulletproof vests and ask Doc to check the medical kits are fully stocked.”

  As soon as that left my mouth, I remembered Mac lying in a pool of his own blood.

  Lee nodded, his face contorted with what I guessed to be the same memory.

  “Got that.”

  “Misha contacted us directly? No one in the office knows about this meeting tonight?”

  “I’m not aware of anyone other than operational Delta A knowing he’s even flying in.”

  “I don’t want anyone contacting the office until this is over.”

  “I’ll pass it on.”

  “Have I got time to shower?”

  “Yeah, go for it. I’ll put a call through to Sam and get our gear stowed.” Lee picked up my laptop and left the room. He tapped the case. “I’ll have a quick go at this too. The ping should be done shortly.”

  Great, that’s both my work and my personal laptop acting like bitchy teenagers, inviting strangers over and having a party at my expense.

  Thirty

  Have You Seen Your Mother Baby?

  “How reliable is this information?” Lee asked from his position near my right arm.

  We’d been lying on the cold ground for nearly an hour with no sign of anything or anyone. God I love stakeouts, especially in the wee small hours of a Sunday.

  “As good as it can be, my friend,” Misha replied with customary politeness.

  He’d looked like seven kinds of hell when we picked him up at the airport. I didn’t think he was doing a lot of sleeping.

  “This is the place they’re using, yes? They’re holding kids here?” Sam asked from my left.

  “My source says this is it. This is the dockyard. They ship the containers from here?”

  “Yes, it is,” I replied. I lifted my night-vision binoculars and scanned the area ahead of us. There were upward of forty containers, sitting in rows. These were outgoing, already cleared and sealed by customs. I saw nothing. I turned the binoculars and my eyes toward the gate, the only gate. The containers were due for loading and if they were going to stash people in them, it would have to be within the next hour.

  “Conway, are you well enough to do this?” Doc asked.

  “Yes.” No, that’s why you are here.

  “We haven’t had time to talk. Is there something I should know?”

  “BPPV,” I replied. It was unnecessary to expand on it.

  “I thought so. I’ll stick with you, just in case.”

  An engine started.

  “What’s that?” Lee asked, peering into the darkness.

  “Look up,” Misha said.

  A crane boom moved and we could see the small red lights along the boom. Bless night-vision binoculars.

  “A gantry crane, over by the far fence,” I said. “We may have something.”

  Lee used his binoculars. “They’re moving a container out of this area.”

  “Could be swapping it out.”

  “Makes sense, these are cleared and sealed. It would be easier to swap a container than to traipse children through the port.”

  Welcome to the party.

  I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called in a request. Thermal imaging from a satellite. Sam tapped at keys on his laptop.

  “You got the link yet?” I asked and shoved my phone back into my pocket.

  “Almost.”

  “Can you make the container they’re moving into the yard your focus?”

  “Got it. We have heat signatures from the container.” He stared at the screen. I watched his lips move as he counted. “Six.”

  “Any chance they’re shipping livestock?” I asked. It pays to check these things.

  “Not from here. If that is what’s going on, then Port Authority will take a dim view,” Lee said.

  “Call in for backup, and let’s do it. Sam, you and Misha take the car and hit the crane. I want whoever is in that thing. Lee, Doc and I are going for the container.”

  Looking through my binoculars, I counted how many rows and containers we needed to pass to find the correct one. Once down there, we’d have no visual.

  “Wireless. Stow the laptop in the trunk, let’s do it.”

  I stood up, brushed dirt off my jacket and released my gun from my holster.

  Lee and I moved several feet away from each other and both spoke into our microphones. “Sound check.”

  The other three voices came back loud and clear.

  “Meet you on the other side,” Sam said.

  We took off running. Keeping low and moving fast wasn’t that easy. We slid down the bank to the hurricane wire fence. Lee pulled wire cutters from a backpack.

  “Let’s hope this fence is off,” he muttered glancing at the high voltage warning. He started cutting wire away from the bottom. We needed to peel back enough for us to slip through. I’d asked the company to cut the power to the fence. Still, in the back of my mind, I expected Lee to be twitching and peeing himself any second. It was a great relief that he wasn’t, and hadn’t.

  He grabbed the cut section and lifted it back. I slid under first, followed by Doc.

  It didn’t take long to drop the section back, mark it, and find ourselves lost in a dark maze of huge shipping containers. We ran and hoped it was the right direction. There was no chatter coming through from Sam or Misha.

  “Sam, where are you? Over.”

  “At the crane. Over,” he replied, his voice a steady calm whisper.

  “Let Sam take him, Misha,” I said. “This is our turf. Over.”

  “I am having his back. Over.” Misha replied.

  Lee chuckled.

  “Thank you. Over,” I whispered back.

  I was running short of breath, our pace bordering on frenetic as we searched for the container. Somewhere east of us we heard sirens.

  “How many rows Ellie?” Lee asked. In the dark, we couldn’t see each other properly. I knew he’d turned back toward me, because his voice was clear.

  “Fifteen. I think we were in line with the container when we came down the hill.” I turned back hoping to see the small hill. All I saw was another looming dark shape that blocked the starlight.

  Noise erupted in my ear. I stumbled bumping into Doc.

  “Here, take my hand,” he said. I could see something dark extended in my direction.

  “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  “Conway, take my hand.”

  I groaned inside, sucked up the urge to snap off his head, and took his hand

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Don’t push it.

  The noise continued. Misha’s voice, Sam’s voice and two unknowns; machinery moving. Gunshots.

  We hurried on, slightly slower but possibly more determined. Over my earpiece, I heard another voice, this time it was unexpected.

  “Ellie. Have eyes on you. A hundred yards straight ahead then stop. Over.”

  “Roger, Caine. Over.”

  Lee began counting as we ran, using our strides to measure. I didn’t expect Caine to turn up on this. I was glad to hear his voice, real glad to hear his voice. Misha and Sam acknowledged someone. I ignored them to concentrate on the container that materialized in front of us.

  “This it?” I asked, hoping Caine would confirm, which he did.

  Lee did a quick check around the container. He ran back and grabbed my arm.

  “This way.”

  We were at the wrong end.

  “Caine, any movement? Over.” Lee asked.

  “Affirmative,” he replied. “One person is moving. Over.”

  “Let’s hope they’re
not expecting us,” I whispered. Lee inspected the lock. There was only one way to open it. He pulled a detonator from his belt.

  “Fire in the hole,” he whispered.

  Doc threw his arm over me and pulled me aside. There was a small flash and loud noise. The lock blew apart.

  Caine’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Six stationary signatures, one moving. I repeat you have seven heat signatures, one is moving. Over.”

  Doc took the left, I took the right. We trained our weapons on the doors.

  Lee pulled open the doors, going with them out of the line of fire. I shone my flashlight into the darkness. Lee appeared beside me.

  “Raise your hands,” he called. “Walk toward us.”

  A lone figure moved into the beam of torch light. Nothing else moved. Lee grabbed the woman by her wrist and spun her to face the container door. The metal clanged as he pushed her against it. He hauled her hands behind her back and cuffed her without speaking.

  I entered the container, shining the light up and down the interior. I spoke to Caine, “We need ambulances. There are six kids in here. Over.”

  “Copy that. Over.”

  Doc knelt beside one. “They’re unconscious.”

  I looked around. In the far corner, I found a medical kit and an area obviously for the woman.

  “Send up a flare Ellie, it’ll help the paramedics locate you. Over,” Caine said.

  I trotted out of the container and hauled a flare from my belt. Lee stood over the woman. She was face down on the concrete. I broke the flare and threw it a few feet away. Within minutes, running feet sounded, heading toward us.

  Misha’s voice came from somewhere close by.

  “The crane operator, he didn’t make it,” he said as he came into view.

  “This was a good tip, Misha,” I replied, shaking his hand.

  “You have the children?”

  “We have six and the escort.”

  “They are well?”

  “It looks like it. Doc is with them now.”

  His face broke into a beaming grin. “We do good.”

  Doc’s voice cut in over the microphone, “None of these girls are older than ten or eleven. Transporting them to hospital now. Over.”

  “Copy. Are you going with them? Over.”

  “As long as you are okay,” he replied. “Over.”

  “Affirmative. Go. Conway out.”

  “Walk with me …” I said, taking Misha’s arm. I knew my team and Caine could hear us. “There is a strong military connection, including surveillance. What do you know?”

  “We are focusing on the children, my friend. Let the military work on the rest.”

  He did know something. His façade of the cool FSB agent didn’t fool me.

  “Tell me!”

  “You know he is a terrorist. This is a matter of international importance. Not our concern.”

  “It is our concern. Our people are caught in this …”

  “Our focus is the children,” he replied with calm insistence.

  “It is, but we seem to be caught in something military,” I replied. “What do you know?”

  “There is talk of weapons purchased from North Korea. There may be a link.”

  “Hawk?”

  “He is using the funds from the sale of the children to purchase weapons.”

  “What sort of weapons?”

  “Nuclear.”

  ‘Holy crap!’ I heard the others whispering in my ear. I paraphrased and asked, “Who’s working on this?”

  He shook his head. I knew he could hear them too.

  “Misha?”

  He shrugged. “I cannot answer.”

  Thirty-One

  Any Other Day

  The dark start to Sunday left a bad taste in my mouth and the stitches annoyed me. Sitting at my desk at work didn’t help the trouble I was having with the whole nuclear weapon thing. Not that I didn’t think it was possible, because I knew it was. Misha’s disclosure also made more sense of the spook aspect. If they were looking for missing nukes then surveillance in our operation was justified. Still, the polite thing to do would’ve been to read me in. I didn’t quite understand what they expected to find by placing Rowan under surveillance.

  Maybe someone had a crush.

  What irked me was that Hawk had obviously taken a lot more kids than we knew about. To make the sort of money they needed, he must’ve been poaching kids from all over the world for a long time. So, why was Hawk so determined to engage us in his game? Was he trying to throw everyone off the nuclear trail?

  Finding the kids alive and well was wonderful. This time I felt as though we’d pulled the rug out from under him. I believed he didn’t expect us to find these kids.

  It bothered me that Misha couldn’t or wouldn’t say who exactly was tracking Hawk.

  I tried to take my mind off the previous night by checking my email.

  A message from Rowan almost made me fall off my chair; the chat room situation was obviously bothering him and he’d done some nosing about on his own.

  He’d sent me a copied section from a chat room and an invitation to stop by and have a look for myself. Something did interest me about the conversation and I surmised it was what made Rowan pull it out. One of the participants appeared to be a young teenager and was desperate to talk to Rowan. She was jailbait and she was apparently freaking out over something that had happened to her. The conversation pointed more to a fan-type-fantasy scenario. She wanted an excuse to be rescued by one particular person. It didn’t matter that Rowan was old enough to be her father. Maybe she didn’t have a daddy. The more disturbing element was the reaction of a guest in the room, especially when the guest eventually logged out and came back as a supposed band member.

  As Rowan pointed out in his email, the person who posed as Rowan, wasn’t Rowan. I could clearly see Rowan sitting in the room sidebar, using the same girl’s screen name he used when he first showed us the room. Sure, it’s possible to be in a chat room as two different people, just use different browsers. I hoped Rowan didn’t know that.

  Despite the drama queen aspect of the room, and the look-at-me-I’m-so-needy thing the little girly had going, I detected something else, something far more sinister. I recalled the email from Hawk. This was a good hunting ground.

  I emailed Rowan and said we were looking into it. Then called out to Lee and asked him to get someone from cyber to run some ping and trace software on the occupants of the chat room in question. Running a ping and trace would tell us if anyone logged into the chat room as two different screen names. It’s easy to cheat and use different browsers but harder to use multiple ISPs. I also asked if they had someone who could sit in the room to gather intelligence. That made me smile. I’d seen precious little intelligence on display in the excerpt of the transcript I’d just read.

  Seemed there was a whole lot of stupid going on. It wasn’t like the conversations I had read the night before. They had a more defined adult tone; now I was sure Hawk had used either Maddie Hayes or Dave Addison as his screen names then. This time the predator used names of band members.

  “What’s so interesting?” Lee asked.

  “Someone pretending to be a band member in a chat room with underage children; you do the math.”

  “Nice. You think this could have something to do with Hawk?”

  “Judging by his email and considering what went down at the Christchurch concert, it could be. It could be but this feels wrong.”

  “Feels wrong?” Lee asked. “This is the same chat room he knows we are monitoring?”

  “Yeah, but the kid is older than he usually likes. And he doesn’t use band member names. Her profile says she’s fourteen,” I said – acutely aware that Carla was about to turn fourteen and that Hawk had already suggested he was going to grab her.

  Lee agreed. “That doesn’t fit his profile; he’s always liked them younger and twelve has been the oldest so far.”

  “Have Cyber check it out a
nd if it’s unrelated but sinister, they can hand it over to one of the dedicated Innocence Lost task forces,” I told him. It’s good to have a plan. The FBI Innocence Lost National Initiative was founded in 2003 and by October 2009 had recovered eight hundred and eight-six children.

  “You think it’s unrelated, don’t you?”

  “I do. Tell Cyber it looks sinister.”

  “I’ll get Cyber in place A-sap.”

  “Thanks.”

  A question arose that could not be avoided. Did we have a list of all the venues the band played since Hawk came into our lives?

  The answer was no, but I knew where to get one without tipping off anyone to my train of thought.

  Wikipedia.

  It was a simple matter of typing in the tour name and I found all the venues including the pre-tour shows. There was nothing in the DC area, or Virginia, in the period of the Butterfly Murders.

  Hawk must’ve gathered victims solely from the Foundation, until we ran him out of town.

  Too much heat.

  Just as I thought the use of the Christchurch concert may have been a one-off, I came across a list of European concert venues and dates for the Drifter tour Grange were now on.

  It was bad. Munich, Hamburg, Stuttgart and Frankfurt in Germany, Brussels in Belgium, Helsinki in Finland, Oslo in Norway, then Copenhagen in Denmark; from there the band flew to Australia and on to New Zealand.

  There was a moment of disbelief as I scrabbled through the files until I found the information from Misha about missing kids in Europe. They matched.

  Hawk was following the tour.

  My phone rang. When I answered, I heard a familiar voice.

  “You busy?”

  “Not really, waiting on some feedback is all.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Thought you were at home in New York.”

  “I am.”

  “And I’m in DC,” I replied.

  Obviously, dinner was out of the question.

  “Do you think it’s possible that someone is using the band’s name to prey on kids?”

  Ah, so that’s why he rang.

  “Anything’s possible. I’m having it checked out. We’ll find out what’s going on within the next twenty-four hours.” What was I going to do? Tell him over the phone?