by P. D. Martin
The other option is that Ling is ill, maybe dying, but to my relief he doesn’t even mention that possibility.
“She’s being held in a barn. Here.” Rhode points to an aerial photograph of the ranch house and surrounding buildings. “I’ve just had confirmation that the other heat signature is still in the main house. Here.” He points to the front of the ranch house. “So, our plan remains the same. Anderson, Dusk and Carter will drive up to the house and distract the suspect, while we come into the property from this back road here.” He runs his finger along a line on the photograph, a dirt road. “We’ll go straight for the barn and the hostage, and on our signal you—” he nods his head in our direction “—can make the formal arrest.”
While the SWAT team is decked out in their usual gear, Carter, Dusk and I wear casual clothes with vests underneath. This way, Petrov will have no warning that a team is taking over his property. If we really do have the president behind bars, there’s no way he could have warned DialM or any of the other members. He wouldn’t have had time before our grand entrance. Which means as far as DialM and NeverCaught are concerned, the game is still on.
“Okay, let’s go.” Rhode rolls up the maps and photos and gets back into the front of the van. We pull away and they stay put to give us a couple of minutes’ lead.
Five minutes later Dusk, Carter and I are turning into the dirt driveway of Petrov’s property. The place is well kept, with high wooden fences splitting the front area into several large paddocks. A statuesque black horse with a small white patch on its nose watches our approach and then starts running next to the car, stopping only when the paddock ends.
The driveway takes a sharp left and snakes its way up to the house. The residence is quite simple, especially considering Petrov’s earnings for the past twenty years. The wooden house looks like it’s been recently painted, and a wide veranda extends across the front and the left-hand side. A wind chime hangs over the two steps up to the veranda and sways in the breeze. It’s the perfect image of a peaceful ranch. Before we bring the car to a halt, a man steps outside onto the veranda.
It’s the man from my vision and as soon as I see him my body reacts, my heart racing and anger swelling inside of me. A slim build, Petrov wears black pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and it strikes me as rather dressed up for sitting around watching television or whatever else he was doing inside. Just like in my vision and on the sketch Powers and Jonathan drafted, he wears small, wire-framed glasses. We pull the car to a stop and approach him.
“Can I help you?” His voice is friendly, welcoming, and, like Heath, he shows no sign of concern or guilt. I wonder if my FBI badge will change that.
I go through the practiced routine of showing my credentials and announcing myself as FBI, keeping my voice flat and neutral. He doesn’t seem surprised or perturbed by our presence.
“So, in what way can I service the Bureau?” He smiles.
I pull the warrant out of my pocket. “We have a search warrant. For your house and all the associated buildings.”
“What?” Now he seems surprised, but still not concerned. “What for?”
“We have evidence that indicates you’ve been holding an Australian woman by the name of Ling Gianolo hostage.”
“What?” he repeats, then he laughs slightly. “Why, that’s prepos-terous!”
“Really?” With one hand behind my back to hide a clenched fist, I move toward the house. “If you’d like to step inside, Mr. Petrov.”
“Certainly, anything I can do to help you, or this poor young woman.” He looks around, showing me the first chink in his armor. “What did you say her name was?” He forces a casual tone into his voice.
He’s trying my patience. “Ling.”
“Yes, Ling.”
“If you’d like to help, you can show us to your computer.”
“I’m afraid I’m not very computer literate. I did purchase a laptop recently, but I think I may have broken it.” He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m not into computers at all.”
“Do you like movies, Mr. Petrov?”
“That’s a curious question, my dear.”
“It’s Agent Anderson, Mr. Petrov. The question relates to this investigation, and you know it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but in answer to your question, yes, I like some movies.”
“How about an Alfred Hitchcock one called Dial M for Murder?”
“That’s a classic. Of course I know the film.” He smiles. “I’m glad you know of the original, not that remake. Especially given your youth.”
I smile. “It’s a good movie, but I quite like the Noir films that include a femme fatale.” I widen my smile and keep eye contact, ready to observe his reaction. “Where the woman is a bit of a Black Widow.” I pause. “You’ve heard of the spider, yes?”
He keeps the smile plastered on his face, but I can tell it takes more effort now. “Yes, I know of the spider.” He retreats into the house and we follow.
Inside, the place is pristine and old-fashioned. The walls are painted white, with photographs of horses scattered around the place and the furniture looks mostly antique, old-world English. He takes us through to a back room and unlocks the top drawer of a large wooden desk. He pulls out the laptop, but as he hands it to us, a small stream of smoke comes from the back of it. We back away from the hissing sound.
“What the…?” Darren stares at the computer.
Petrov smiles, a more genuine smile now. “Like I said, I think I broke it.”
Booby trapped it is more like. Heath must have installed a fail-safe on the computer, something Petrov triggered—maybe a button somewhere? The good news is Petrov is definitely surprised to see us, which means Heath didn’t have time to log on and warn him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Our computer forensics team will still be able to read the hard drive.” I don’t know if I’m bluffing or not, but either way I don’t like the look on Petrov’s face. By now his feathers should be more ruffled. Unless he has a plan…at the moment he thinks he’s only against the three of us. He doesn’t know that the SWAT team is currently searching the barn, presumably about to discover and rescue Ling. Once they’ve got Ling out, we can formally arrest Petrov for her abduction.
I focus on Petrov again, not Ling. What would I do if I were him? I put myself in the perp’s shoes, just like I do whenever I draft a profile.
Petrov moves toward his desk and I bring my right hand closer to my gun. I know what I’d do if I thought I was facing three people who knew way too much.
I decide it’s time to let him know that we’re not alone. “Mr. Petrov, we’ve—”
But it’s too late. In one swift movement he lunges and reaches into his desk. Everything goes into slow motion.
Petrov pulls a gun out, but my hand is already close to my Smith & Wesson. I pull it out of the holster.
Darren and Dusk are both pulling out their weapons, but Petrov’s got the jump on them. He aims his gun at me, the person who can take a shot at him now, right now.
“Stop!” I cry. But he’s not going to stop.
The sights of my gun are lined up, aiming for his chest. I hesitate for a millisecond, wanting to somehow confirm that my instincts are right—that if I don’t fire right now, he will. But there’s no time—
I squeeze the trigger and drop down so I’m on bended knee, ready to take another shot.
My first bullet hits him in the chest, but not right in the heart. The bullet would have blown a lung, but probably isn’t fatal.
His eyes widen from pain and shock and his gun lowers, but he doesn’t drop it. He brings his weapon upward again…
Shit!
Now Dusk and Darren are both aiming their guns at Petrov. He must know he hasn’t got a chance. If he’d got his shot off first, got me, then maybe he’d be able to shoot fast enough to get Darren and Dusk, but now he’s got three guns trained on him.
It doesn’t stop him. Th
e gun keeps coming back up, and he readjusts his aim, targeting me again.
I start to squeeze the trigger, ready to release my second shot, when the gun to my right goes off—Darren.
It’s almost as if I can see the bullet streaking its way across the room and toward Petrov’s heart.
Bingo. Petrov drops the gun and falls to his knees. He hangs in limbo for a second and then falls forward. His eyes are still wide open and he stares past us to the door.
I hear footsteps, running, and I swing around. Two SWAT team members enter the room, guns held high, ready to take a shot.
Darren and I look at each other in shock, and relief. We’re the ones standing and Petrov’s the one on the floor.
Dusk knocks the gun away from Petrov so it’s no longer within his reach and the SWAT guys lower their weapons.
“The girl?” I look at the SWAT guys, hoping one of them will have an answer for me.
“Rhode sent us up here as soon as we heard the shot. The team was just about to enter the barn.”
I run…past the SWAT guys, out the front door, down the veranda steps, and then do the three-hundred-feet dash to the barn. I push the door open and seven guns swing around in my direction.
“Sorry.” It sounds lame; I should know better than to run into an area the SWAT’s in charge of, but now all I can think of is Ling. Maybe if we’ve saved her, if we’ve got here in time, it will make up for me failing Brigitte and the others.
The guns go back to their original position, covering the entire barn even though heat signatures indicated only one person in this area. You can never be too sure.
Rhode gives me a look, and then drops to his knees. He uses one hand to clear away dirt from a trapdoor. I move in closer. Ling’s down there.
Rhode motions to his nearest team member and nods at the door. The guy raises his rifle and points it at the trapdoor. Rhode lies on his stomach and slowly, gently opens it a couple of inches. He’s checking for booby traps, but my guess is the door is safe. Petrov never thought it would come to this, never thought he’d be suspected, let alone caught.
My patience wears thin in the next few minutes, as Rhode checks the trapdoor from every angle, and even looks around it for trip wires. I consider telling him that Petrov isn’t the type to set up a trip wire, but I hold my tongue out of respect for Rhode and what he does. This is his specialty and I wouldn’t like anyone telling me how to profile, so why should I tell him how to secure a room?
Eventually, Rhode is satisfied and pulls the trapdoor all the way open, while his SWAT team continues to cover the barn. I move closer, keeping my gun drawn, just in case.
The trapdoor leads to a steep wooden staircase. Rhode goes down the stairs, gun first, hunched over so he doesn’t hit his head. One other SWAT guy follows him, and I’m hot on their heels. I can barely see past the bulk of the two heavyset men, but within a few steps Ling comes into view. She’s cowering in the corner of the old-style bed, her hands covering her face. She’s heard us on the stairs and assumed it’s him. God knows what he’s done to her.
“Ling,” I say, knowing a female voice will reassure her.
She instantly looks up and her crumpled face relaxes ever so slightly. Her shoulders drop, but she can’t manage a smile—I don’t blame her. She moves toward us, but is restricted by the chains. Even this doesn’t dampen her obvious relief. Two men with guns and a woman.
“I’m FBI, Ling. Is this room safe for us as far as you know?” Safe… what a bad word to choose on my part. It certainly hasn’t been safe for her.
Ling seems confused by the question.
“Did Petrov booby trap the room?”
She shakes her head but points up the stairs, and directly above my head. I look up warily—the Webcam.
Shit! How did I forget about the video stream? I see a switch and flick it. There’s only one member of the club who could be watching, NeverCaught, and now we’ve announced our presence to him.
35
We load Ling into the ambulance and as soon as the doors shut I call Gerard, just like I promised I would.
“Gerard, it’s Anderson.”
“Yes?”
“We got her. She’s okay.”
His voice relaxes. “That’s awesome news.”
I can hear Jonathan’s voice in the background.
“Yes,” Gerard says, obviously not to me. He tells me to hang on and I listen as he tells Jonathan that Ling is okay. No doubt Jonathan will be as relieved as Ling was when I told her Jonathan was safe. That he’d escaped.
“Sorry, back again now.”
“Any tech news from your end?” I ask.
“We found the Web server. I tried to call you about half an hour ago, but your phone was off. I was right, someone has been moving the Web server. But it’s stopped and I’ve tracked it down.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“Kind of. They’re using a server in the University of California.”
“What? How the hell is the university involved?”
“Hold on,” Gerard says. “It doesn’t work like that. Lots of hackers get into a network and use computer storage space. They hide their hacks or special programs there in case they ever get caught. Then there’s not much evidence on their computer, because it’s all sitting on a server—and only they know where.”
“Oh…clever.”
“Hackers are clever. Anyway, the college server will be calling the video feeds, so now I’ll be able to trace the IP addresses of the Webcams pretty easily.”
“How easily?”
Gerard gets my drift. “Give me a couple of hours.”
“That’s what I like to hear. And what about NeverCaught?”
“Hold on a sec.”
I can hear Gerard’s fingers tapping furiously on a keyboard. After less than a minute the sound stops.
“He’s not online now. Last log-on time was about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Shit!”
“What?”
“He saw us online. He saw the SWAT team rescuing Ling.”
“So he’ll be covering his tracks. If he knows how to.”
“I think Petrov’s laptop was booby trapped because when he passed it to us the whole thing smoked and fizzed.”
“Heburnt the harddrive.” Gerard pauses. “Wemightstill beableto recover something from it,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too hopeful.
“It doesn’t matter for Petrov. He’s dead.”
“Oh…oh.” He pulls himself together. “No loss, right?”
Gerard isn’t used to dealing with death. He’s more used to credit-card scams, identity theft and online porn. This is different. It’s probably the first case he’s worked on where anyone’s died.
I reassure him. “The world’s better off.” It’s harsh, but true. “DialM, Petrov, was in his fifties… God knows how many lives he’s taken.” I never like death, regardless of the circumstances, but at the moment my biggest regret is that we can’t question him.
I let the words sink in for a few seconds before continuing. “So, how are we going to find NeverCaught? I can’t tell you how much I want to catch this bastard.”
“Me, too. Me, too.” He sighs. “If he saw you guys, he’s not going to log on again. Chances are, he’s destroyed his computer already—”
“And he’s probably destroying any other evidence as we speak.”
“Guess so.” Gerard doesn’t deal with other evidence, so his focus is on the computer forensics. “Do you think he’ll go after the women in the bunker?”
“No. Brooke doesn’t know where the bunker is and I’m betting NeverCaught doesn’t either. It was the president who was pulling all the strings. And we’ve got him.”
“Good. Good.”
“So, how can we find NeverCaught?”
“I might be able to trace back his IP address from the Web server, but I get the feeling Heath will have thought of that.”
“Okay.”
“There’s something else, too
.”
“Yes?”
“Clair Kelly’s father is here.”
“Oh.”
“He’s been hounding me for your number for the last half hour.”
“Give it to him. At least I’ve got some good news for him.”
“It’s not his daughter you’ve found.”
“No. But his daughter is better off than Ling. At the moment Clair just thinks she’s part of a reality TV show. She hasn’t been tortured for over a week like Ling.”
“No. I guess you’re right.”
I sigh, trying not to think too much about what Ling’s been through. I have to remind myself that we worked as quickly as we could. Another few hours and her parents will be here, helping her through this in whatever way they can. “Listen, call me when you get something new. Carter and I will stay in San Fran for the mo ment. Until we find out exactly where this bunker is in the Mojave. Who knows, maybe we’ll have some luck with Heath,” I say, even though I don’t believe it.
“Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up and hop in the car with Darren and Dusk. Rhode’s staying until the coroner and forensics arrive, while we head back to the San Francisco FBI field office.
I get less than five minutes to myself before the phone rings. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for an anxious parent, who also happens to be an ex-cop. Great.
“Agent Anderson speaking.”
“Agent Anderson, it’s Will Kelly here, Clair Kelly’s father.”
“Yes, Mr. Kelly, Agent Gerard told me you’d be calling.”
“So, where are we at?” He delivers the line easily—he’s said those words many times before and phrases the question more like a colleague than a victim’s father. It could be intentional in an attempt to catch me off guard, or it’s possible the cop in him never went away.
“The case is going very well, Mr. Kelly. We’ve just—” I search for a word other than killed “—intercepted one of the suspects and rescued a young girl.”
