Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  “I need to see the diplomat who was knocked out.”

  “We’re questioning him in the business center.” The sergeant pointed to a room off the lobby.

  “Thanks.” Jocelyn kept moving. She needed to get to the victim before he got tired of answering questions and shut down.

  Through the glass wall, Jocelyn saw that the room was bright with artificial light and held four computers and a printer-scanner. A formidable-looking Asian man in dark clothes sat in an office chair, his expression grim. A male patrol officer was seated across from him, leaning forward in a gesture of confidentiality, and a female officer stood near the entrance.

  “Detective Larson,” she said, pushing through the door. “I’ve been assigned this assault case.”

  Both officers turned to her. The man stood, clearly ready to hand it over. “Good luck.”

  She spoke softly, knowing the diplomat would likely hear and understand anyway. “What did you find out?”

  “His name is Dukko Ki-ha, and he came here with Lee Nam, some high-value IT expert. They’re from North Korea. That’s all he would say.”

  North Korea? Good grief. Now she hated this case too. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The patrol officers left the room, and Jocelyn sat down. She realized she was too close, and scooted her chair back. Intimidation wasn’t her style. “Mr. Dukko.” She assumed he’d given his last name first, the usual practice in most Asian cultures.

  He nodded. “Officer Dukko.”

  “You’re with the North Korean police?”

  “Military special operations.”

  The military and the federal authorities were the same in North Korea. “Why are you here?”

  “To protect Lee Nam, a cultural asset.”

  Protect? Or keep under control? “Why is he a cultural asset?”

  “He’s the best cryptographer in the world.”

  Encryption again. How peculiar. “What happened to you? To him?”

  “I was drugged and he was kidnapped.” His speech was choppy as he searched for the right words.

  “By whom?”

  “A thick man wearing makeup.” Dukko hung his head. “I failed my country.”

  “What do you mean by makeup?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. He didn’t look normal, but Caucasian faces are new to me.”

  “Would you recognize him again?”

  “Yes. Was he with your government?”

  God, she hoped not. “Please don’t think that. We’ll do everything we can to find Mr. Lee.” Now that she’d won a little trust, she leaned forward. “Please tell me everything that happened.”

  “It was—” He stopped. “What is the word? Crazy? These people ran to me and shouted. They wanted cell phones. I didn’t understand. The man with makeup came out of the restroom and shoved a rag in my face. I blacked out. That is all I know.”

  “Which bathroom?”

  “Near the kitchen. I could smell the food they were making.”

  Two men in dark suits barged into the room. One was Ross, her husband. The other agent announced his name and authority. “We’ll take this from here.”

  Jocelyn handed Dukko her business card. “Please call me if you need any help.”

  She smiled at Ross and left the room.

  What the hell did the makeup mean? A disguise? Jocelyn headed for the kitchen to question employees. Someone had to have seen something.

  CHAPTER 23

  Saturday, March 21, 5:45 a.m., Seattle, Washington

  Bailey woke early and quickly forgot her dreams, but was left with a sense of unease. She rolled out of Garrett’s bed, dressed, and went out for a walk. Clouds as dark and brooding as her mood hung low in the sky. She scanned the street, looking for dark vehicles or anything out of place. The kidnappers wouldn’t be stupid enough to try again, would they? Bailey kept one hand on her weapon.

  Keeping a brisk pace as she rounded the block, she analyzed every aspect of her investigation and hit the same dead end. Frustration and anger felt the same to her, and she wanted to punish someone for her discomfort, for her failure. A gym with a punching bag. That’s what she needed. She circled the block until she felt calmer, then entered the Thorpes’ house.

  In the shower, as she touched her own body, she thought about the sex with Garrett. The second time had been even better. Because it wasn’t just sex, she realized. It was intimacy. They’d talked about everything—but mostly music, politics, and their quirky, lonely lives. Of course, she hadn’t been completely honest with him, because it was too soon, and she was never completely honest with anyone. But no one really was, even if they claimed to be. Relationships would never survive if people said what they were really thinking. That mole is hideous. Your sister is hot! Your prosthetic is a little unsettling. Nobody told the whole truth, because it was often too hurtful for the other person.

  She held back too, not to protect her lover, but herself. That was just how she was wired. Although with Garrett, she actually thought about his feelings and wondered if he would be hurt when she left Seattle. More important, would she experience a sense of loss? She would soon find out—because it was time to leave. Staying here was accomplishing nothing.

  She was still waiting to hear from the state’s business office about real-estate transactions, and Garrett still had dozens of pharmacies to call. Maybe they would both score a lead today—one that brought their searches together and pinpointed where Dana Thorpe was being held. Bailey had until Monday before she had to call her boss and explain why she wasn’t reporting to work in the DC headquarters.

  Garrett was awake when she stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Good morning.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Come over here.” His voice and expression were compelling.

  “As tempted as I am, I’m not really a morning-sex person.” She smiled to soften the rejection. That’s what honesty cost. “Besides, we have to make progress on this investigation.” She didn’t mention his mother.

  From the look on his face, she could tell his mind had gone there anyway. “We’ll find her.” Bailey didn’t know if Dana Thorpe would still be alive when they did, but she hoped to locate the kidnappers before they dumped Dana’s body in the woods, like they had with Nick Bowman’s.

  “I’ll shower, make some breakfast, and start calling pharmacies.” Garrett climbed out of bed and kissed her as he crossed the room.

  Bailey grabbed her laptop and headed for the living room again. First, she would check the news and see what she’d missed in the last few days of travel and investigation. The top headline grabbed her attention. The story began:

  North Korean IT specialist Lee Nam was abducted from a technology-security symposium in Washington, DC. In response, North Korean supreme leader Kim Jong-un blamed the US government and threatened retaliation.

  What the hell? She skimmed the rest of the story, then clicked a link that led to a new page with an embedded video. The heavyset dictator with the weird hair—who commanded one of the largest armies in the world—stood on an outdoor stage. The camera cut to Pyongyang’s main square, where thousands of North Koreans with hand-lettered signs were shouting, “Crush America!” Some of the placards displayed crude drawings of missiles with US written on them.

  Kim Jong-un held up a hand to silence the crowd. He spoke in Korean, and an aide translated for the media. “Our world-renowned cryptographer, Lee Nam, was kidnapped by the United States government when he visited their capital to attend an educational symposium. Last month, the US sent Jake Austin to spy and corrupt our citizens. Today, the court convicted him, and he will be executed in four days if America fails to return Lee Nam.” The dictator shook a fat fist in the air. “America is a bully, but we are not intimidated! We have missiles aimed at its military bases in South Korea, and we will unleash a firestorm if the United States
disrespects our sovereignty in this way again.” The crowd burst into cheers, and the roar of fifty thousand angry people pulsed from her monitor.

  Good god. Bailey shut off the video. The man was insane. Jake Austin was a ridiculous young Hollywood action star who seemed to consider himself an international diplomat. Kim Jong-un was—or had been, anyway—a big fan of his movies and had invited Austin to a private party and tour of the country. The actor had been foolish and delusional enough to go, thinking he could influence the dictator. It had taken him only two days to offend his host and be imprisoned. Three weeks of diplomacy hadn’t secured his release. Now he was going to be killed.

  Austin’s fate meant nothing to her, but Kim Jong-un’s follow-up threat was a concern. The dictator probably saw the kidnapping as an opportunity to display military strength, and the US bases in South Korea were definitely in range. No one knew for sure whether North Korean missiles could actually hit US targets, but military officials weren’t foolish enough to assume they couldn’t. Some experts believed that a combination of a mobile rocket launcher, a miniaturized warhead, and a long-range missile could make Los Angeles an accessible target. But hopefully, the situation wouldn’t be allowed to escalate to that point.

  Bailey picked up her phone to call her boss. The bureau had to be responding to the indirect threat, and she wanted to know what was being done and who was on the team. Even more, she wanted to lead the search for the North Korean tech guy. Preventing the execution of an American citizen and cooling off a missile threat could be a huge boost to her career. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her current investigation. It just wasn’t in a megalomaniac’s DNA to stop until he got what he wanted. Other scientists would likely be taken. Even though she’d been pulled off the case, if she produced results, Lennard would get past it. The bureau rewarded agents who saved lives and put criminals away, particularly if the story made the media.

  Bailey had a bizarre thought and put down her phone. What if her unsub had kidnapped the North Korean? Lee Nam’s encryption specialty put him in a different category from either of the metallurgists, but his knowledge was still useful to cell phone and device manufacturing. In fact, encryption and security had driven major changes in the industry. The bureau often found itself shut out when they seized new phones as evidence, limiting their ability to access data at rest, as they called it. When the bad guys used anything but old-school communication networks, the FBI couldn’t even wiretap those conversations, limiting their access to data in motion as well. So far, the bureau had failed to negotiate the access issue with device manufacturers, and Congress had failed to pass legislation that would force new communication networks to build in capture capability. All the bureau could do was hire the best hackers they could afford to keep breaking the new security codes. If the megalomaniac wanted to dominate the market, he needed cutting-edge encryption technology. The North Korean might be able to deliver that, and finding him might solve her other investigation.

  She had to fly back to DC and gather all the intel she could. The trip would create an opportunity to chat up Agent Lennard, get updated, and convince her boss to give her a week off.

  Garrett came into the room, hair still wet from the shower. “Anything new?”

  The sight of him gave her a pang of emotion she didn’t recognize. Then she realized that once she left here, she might never see him again. She pushed the thought away and told him the basics. “A North Korean tech expert has been kidnapped, and Kim Jong-un has threatened to execute Jake Austin.”

  “Kidnapped? By whom?”

  “The little dictator has accused our government, but it’s bullshit. I’m wondering if the same thugs who took your mom are behind this one too.”

  “Because the tech guy has some knowledge they want?” Worry lines dug into Garrett’s forehead. He seemed to have aged in the few days since she’d met him.

  “I’m flying back to DC to find out what I can. Keep calling pharmacies and send me any names, locations, or situations that involve anti-seizure meds.”

  He nodded. “I’ll miss you.” Garrett turned and hurried into the kitchen.

  She would miss him too. But even if she never saw him again, their encounter had given her hope that she could care more deeply than she thought herself capable of. She might still have a long-term relationship someday. Bailey blinked back tears, called her favorite airline, and bought a ticket.

  CHAPTER 24

  Saturday, March 21, 8:30 a.m., Wanapum, Washington

  Shawn went for a run along the deer trail at the base of the foothills. Even though the living space in the house near the mine was primitive compared to his California home, he rather liked being out here in the quiet open space. Such a change of pace from the traffic and constant chatter of Silicon Valley. And the air was amazingly clear and fresh. Yet he knew he would grow restless if he had to be out here too long. Thurgood’s extraction process, specifically tailored to the Palisades Mine, was almost finalized.

  The unknown factor was Dana Thorpe. She claimed to be near a breakthrough, but he didn’t trust her to be truthful. She might have said it just to keep his hopes up. Or she could have already finalized the new material but, out of fear for her life, didn’t want to tell him. Maybe he would have Thurgood evaluate her work. The Australian, who was staying in the mine’s bunkhouse, knew she was down there, but was smart enough not to ask questions.

  If Thorpe was simply stalling, what would motivate her to finish the work? Without the replacement material, he couldn’t produce a new generation of cell phones on the scale he’d planned. He would stay in business while his competition struggled and failed, but surviving wasn’t enough. He’d had a taste of what real success felt like, and he wanted more.

  The trail sloped gently uphill, and his legs ached. Sweat ran down his back and temples, and he hated the feel of it. Running and swimming both worked his heart, but they were completely different exercises. Doing laps was a sophisticated gentleman’s workout, while jogging in the wilderness felt primitive, like a hunter chasing prey. He would never get used to it, but he had to do something during this exile. Drops of moisture landed on his bare arms. From bad to worse. It rarely rained in Mountain View. Another good reason to wrap up this phase and get back home.

  Shawn turned around and ran back to the house, passing an oversized metal shop before he got there. The property had been dirt cheap and it showed. The house was only eighteen hundred square feet, and he and Jia had to share a bathroom. The half bath next to the kitchen didn’t count.

  He stepped inside and cringed. The space even smelled bad. They’d pulled out the carpet as soon as they bought it, but the walls and vents still stunk of deep-fried food.

  Let it go.

  Once the kidnappings were old news, and his production line was running at full speed, they’d go back to California and buy a new home, one that was even more private.

  Jia was setting up a workspace in an alcove next to the only big window in the house. She turned when he walked in. “How long do we have to be here?” His wife had arrived late the evening before, exhausted after a long day of driving, and hated the bungalow even more than he did.

  “Three weeks at the most.”

  “I’ll never make it that long. The kitchen is ridiculous!”

  “You don’t have to cook. We’ll buy prepared food.”

  Jia rolled her eyes. She didn’t like anyone’s food but her own, plus a few high-end restaurants’. The nearest town was miles away and offered two diners and a pizza parlor. Jia would never try any of them. The mine, plus a few cattle ranches, was the main source of employment and revenue. People drove to Ellensburg or Moses Lake, sixty miles away in either direction, to shop and attend movies. He’d learned that during the two days they’d spent in the area when they bought the house and mine.

  His wife put her hands on her hips. “Now that I’ve delivered your personal stu
ff, I don’t see why I have to stay.”

  Keeping her here meant he could prevent her from being questioned by the FBI. He also knew her well enough to predict what she wanted to hear. “I need you to keep me company. I’d be miserable here without you.” Her presence made little difference to him in this environment with everything he had going on, but he wanted to keep her away from probing FBI agents. Jia didn’t know what he was up to, but she knew enough about his transactions to get him in trouble if she talked.

  She smiled. “Well, I’ve always said I could work anywhere, so we’ll see if it’s true.” She sat down in front of her monitor and opened a file.

  Shawn showered, ate a breakfast bar, and got online. His first objective was to buy Aptiom or some other anti-seizure medicine for Dana Thorpe. She was becoming a real pain, but at least she wasn’t violent like Nick Bowman had been. He’d been a terrible mistake. Shawn opened a website where he’d purchased OxyContin once after hurting himself waterskiing. His doctor, the prick, had only given him a three-day supply. He could order the medication under a different name, but the credit card could still be traced back to him. Another problem was that the pills wouldn’t ship until Monday. And where would he have them mailed? He didn’t want to use one of his real addresses either.

  Dana Thorpe probably had a bottle of the medication in her home in Seattle. Could they get away with a middle-of-the-night break-in? With no ransom demand, the FBI agents had to be gone from her house by now. Harlan and Rocky weren’t back from DC yet, so they couldn’t handle this for him. But Harlan had called, and the grab of the North Korean had gone smoothly. They’d flown out of the Beltway area immediately afterward and would make the rest of the trip today.

  Maybe he should just drive to Seattle and—no. Too risky. He might not find the medication in her house, and if he did, the bottle could be almost empty. If he was considering a smash-and-grab, why not just hit a pharmacy in Ellensburg? It would be closer and more of a sure thing. His pulse quickened at the idea. He could get there right before it closed, then bolt in wearing a ski mask, threaten the clerk with a gun, and demand a month’s supply of Aptiom.