Point of Control

by L. J. Sellers

  “When you have something solid, call me. I can be in that area in ninety minutes. Don’t go in without backup.”

  “I won’t.” Unless she had to. There was no reason for him to know she wasn’t technically assigned to the case anymore. “If you hear from Garrett, let me know.” She hung up before he could ask questions she would have to lie about.

  On the drive to Ellensburg, it rained steadily, and she hated every dark and dreary minute. The crackers kept her stomach from growling, and she checked her Yahoo email on her phone every ten minutes, hoping to find a bounce-back message from the malware email to the Mexican business registry. Once that came in, she would stop and find a public computer—if there was such a thing out here in the sticks.

  The farther she drove, the more rural the landscape and the more she worried about internet access. Even through the rain, she could see the forests thin out and become scrubbier. The undergrowth changed too, from lush ferns to ugly little bushes. Once she was over the Cascades, the clouds parted and the rain stopped. Thank god. As the sun peeked through, she got her first decent look at the midstate landscape. A wide, flat plateau, with patches of desert pine trees and more mountains in the distance. The occasional house appeared along the frontage road, often with a truck parked in front. It was a habit to notice details and take mental pictures of everything, but she could barely concentrate on her surroundings. She called Garrett again, but still no response. She couldn’t help but think he was out there in the mountains somewhere, locked in some shitty space, maybe being tortured occasionally to frighten his mother into working faster or revealing more.

  Bailey shook it off. If that was what empathy felt like, she was glad she didn’t experience it with anyone else. Besides, he’d only disappeared that morning, so she was right behind the kidnappers. She only hoped she didn’t regret driving out here before she had all the information she needed. If she couldn’t access the internet, she could call Havi. Bailey noticed a sign announcing that Ellensburg was only ten miles away. She would stop for coffee and, hopefully, a little hacking.

  A few minutes later, she drove into Ellensburg, a quaint mix of old brick buildings and newly built franchise eateries, with a river bisecting the town. She used her phone to find a Starbucks and was soon in line for coffee and wifi—the lifeblood of a field agent.

  At a corner table, while she waited for her grande Italian roast to cool, she checked her Yahoo email. The bounce back from the malware had landed. Yes! But she couldn’t open it on her own laptop or do any snooping from here. That could come back to bite her. She needed another public-access computer. A library. She asked for directions and found it five blocks away, with only one wrong turn.

  An older building with a musty smell, the library was nearly empty and she had the tiny technology room to herself. Bailey signed into her Yahoo account and opened the bounce-back email, which contained the password Octavius91703. Probably the birthday of the clerk’s son. The email included a link, which she clicked, and it took her to the business registry database. A dialogue box appeared, and she logged in with the hacked password. Depending on the level of security employed by the Mexican government, she might get frozen out immediately because the system didn’t recognize the computer or she might only have a few minutes before it demanded she answer some security questions.

  From the landing page, she clicked Foreign Corporations, then keyed C&M Investments into the search bar. A single page loaded with basic information in rectangular fields. The owner was listed as Jia Chen. Who the hell was she? Bailey’s grip tightened around her coffee cup. She’d been so sure she would find one of the executives of the startup phone companies. She googled the name Jia Chen and came up with only a few sites and images, none of which seemed connected to her investigation. Was the name an alias? Jia, or someone, had gone to considerable trouble to mask the purchase of the mining company. But why? Antitrust laws? Or was he or she hiding something at the property and didn’t want to be associated with it on paper?

  Havi didn’t answer when she called, so Bailey sent him a text: Find a Jia Chen connected to this case. Criminal record? Marriage license? Anything!

  She scanned back through her call log and reconnected with the number from the state business office.

  “Nolan Fredrick. How can I help you?”

  “Agent Bailey again.” She kept her voice down, not wanting to draw the attention of the librarian on duty. “I found the owner of the holding company. Jia Chen.” She spelled out both names. “Does she own any other businesses in Washington?”

  “Give me a minute to search.”

  Bailey finished her coffee while she waited, and the acid burned in her stomach. She needed real food, and soon.

  “Sorry,” Fredrick said, “but she doesn’t.”

  “What about personal property?”

  “I’ll have to get into the property tax files, and that could take a minute. Can I call you back?”

  “Please do.”

  Nervous that her lead could turn out to be a dead end, Bailey kept busy while she waited. She clicked on the first Google result for Jia Chen and discovered she was a prolific porn actress. Bailey quickly closed the site and opened the next one, a Facebook page for a student at a Florida university. Bailey’s phone rang and she clicked her earpiece to silence it. “Havi?”

  “Of course.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The most famous Jia Chen is a porn star with a specialty in bestiality.”

  She ignored his amusement. “Yeah, I discovered that. Any others who might be connected to metallurgists or device manufacturers?”

  “I found a marriage license for Jia Chen and Shawn Crusher. Now she goes by Jia Crusher but uses the same social security number.”

  Score! “That’s it. Thank you.”

  “What’s the connection to the kidnappings?”

  “Shawn Crusher is the CEO of ZoGo, a burner phone manufacturer based in Mountain View, California.”

  A pause while Havi processed it. “Does the mine produce the rare earth metals he needs?”

  “Probably. Or at least he believes it will. Can you find out where Shawn Crusher is? Maybe track his credit cards or cell phone?”

  “You know you need a warrant for that.”

  She wasn’t on the case and couldn’t produce one. “We don’t have time. I just need a general location.”

  Havi sighed. “I’ll try. But the AD has me looking for safe houses where the North Korean cryptographer might be staying. That has to be my priority.”

  “I think Crusher has Lee Nam too, so helping me is just as critical.”

  A moment of silence. “You’re seldom wrong, so I’ll toggle back and forth.”

  “Thank you!”

  She hung up and called the manager at the state business licensing office. “Hey, Bailey again. I just discovered that Jia Chen also goes by Jia Crusher, so please look for any personal property she might own.”

  “I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I’ll get back to you.” He abruptly hung up.

  Had she pissed him off or was he just busy? It didn’t matter. She had to find the Palisades Mine and covertly check it out. If the property had a building that could be used to house people, she figured it had an 80-percent chance of being the location of the victims.

  Logistic and legal questions came to mind. Would she call Agent Thorpe for backup? Did they need a search warrant to go in? What were the consequences if she or they didn’t find the victims on the property? Bailey would work around whatever was thrown at her—she always did. But what about Dana and Garrett Thorpe? She couldn’t fail them. She’d connected with Garrett in a way she’d never experienced before, and she wanted to see how it played out. Not to mention that Dana and Garrett were good people and she wanted them to be alive in this world. After seeing the body of Nick Bowman, she knew their survival odds decre
ased rapidly every day. Maybe every hour.

  The clock was ticking on Lee Nam and Jake Austin too. As a North Korean prisoner, Austin was probably doomed. The actor was an idiot for traveling there, regardless of his motives. On the other hand, Lee would probably survive the longest of the megalomaniac’s captives. But if they couldn’t find him in time, or convince North Korea that the US government wasn’t responsible, what would Kim Jong-un do next? Bailey checked the time on her phone. How many hours did they have left?

  CHAPTER 37

  Monday, March 23, 12:55 p.m., Washington, DC

  Jocelyn wiped the sweat from her forehead, put on her jacket, and headed out of the studio. Salsa dancing during her lunch hour three days a week was a new routine, but so far, she loved it. And she’d lost five pounds. If only she could stick with it. Her job would get in the way eventually, though. A noon meeting, a lead that had to be followed up immediately, or simply getting behind on paperwork. They could all sabotage her efforts. But she was determined to not let a single slipup derail the whole effort.

  In her car, she changed back into her sensible black work shoes and checked her hair in the mirror. Not that anyone else could tell the difference between her good hair days and bad ones. She opened a granola bar and pulled out into traffic, hoping she’d given herself enough time. After five calls over the weekend, she’d finally connected with Zach Dimizaro’s roommate and set up an interview with him for this afternoon. She didn’t want to be late and give him an excuse to blow her off.

  At the Georgetown apartment, she pounded on the door, trying to be heard over the music playing inside. At least it was classic rock and not something that made her want to scream. Finally, she pushed open the door and yelled, “Detective Larson, DC police!”

  A twenty-something man jumped up from the couch as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod. He reached for the laptop he’d just shoved aside and clicked off whatever he’d been watching or listening to. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  “Sorry. You’re Noah Cramer?”

  He nodded.

  “We have a meeting scheduled, remember?”

  He cocked his head, then laughed. “Actually, I’d forgotten.”

  Sheesh! Did anyone under thirty respect the police anymore? “Can we sit down at the table? I have some questions for you.”

  “Sure.” Cramer shuffled toward the small dining area, his body even shorter and thicker than hers.

  “Do you work in technology too?” She followed him and sat down.

  “Of course. I’m an app designer with Zion. That’s where I met Zach.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Three years.” Cramer’s expression shifted, and his voice got quiet. “I can’t believe Zach’s dead.”

  Time for the main event. “Where were you Sunday night, March fifteenth, between six and eight p.m.?”

  Cramer’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? You think I killed Zach?”

  “It’s certainly possible. Where were you?”

  The roommate rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not possible. I’ve never hurt anyone. I don’t even like to kill bugs.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “But I’ll check my calendar.”

  Jocelyn suspected the gesture was staged. She’d searched Zach’s bedroom two days ago with the manager standing by. The apartment held a collection of mismatched furniture, minimal cookware, and some action-movie posters. No women lived or visited here, and Cramer probably didn’t have much of a social life.

  “I had dinner with my parents that night,” he said after a minute. “I was there from five thirty to eight thirty or so.”

  Jocelyn asked for their contact information, then moved on. She would circle back to his possible involvement after she checked the alibi. “Did you see Zach Sunday?”

  “Yeah, we were both here for the afternoon, then left around five. We’ve been working overtime for months.”

  “Did Zach mention where he was going or who he was meeting?”

  “He said he was having a drink with a potential investor.”

  Someone connected to the chip? “What investor?”

  “I think Zach referred to him as Max, but I don’t know his last name.”

  Jocelyn wrote it down. Her first real lead . . . and it wasn’t much. “What kind of business deal did Zach have going?”

  “He wanted to start his own app business.” Cramer took a sip of the coffee he’d brought to the table. “Zach was a brilliant cryptographer, but he was bored with security. His real passion was financial apps for amateurs.”

  “He and his work were well known, then?”

  “Oh yeah. He gets recruitment offers all the time.” Cramer flinched. “I mean he did. But like I said, he was tired of encryption.”

  “What exactly was he working on?”

  “At DigSec he’d coded an unhackable algorithm for mobile devices.”

  Nothing new there. “Who would want him dead?”

  The young man sat back and shook his head. “I have no idea.” After a moment, he continued. “I mean, someone might kill to get their hands on the encryption software, but it wasn’t his. Everything he produced at DigSec belonged to the company.”

  Time to be blunt. “Would Zach steal it to sell?”

  A long pause while he stared down into his cup. “A year ago, I would have said no. But things changed for Zach after the DEA tried to recruit him.”

  “The DEA?”

  “They needed someone with mad skills to crack open drug-dealer cell phones they’d confiscated. Coders who create security software make the best security hackers.”

  “But Zach turned them down?”

  Cramer cocked his head again, then scoffed. “Some hackers who’ve been busted and owe the government go to work for the alphabet agencies, but most coders aren’t interested in putting people in jail.”

  Had he forgotten who he was talking to? “Did the DEA pursue Zach, or pressure him?”

  “No, they just moved on.”

  “So why did things change for him after that job offer?”

  Cramer kept his eyes on the coffee cup. “Zach realized he hated encryption and wanted to do something else. So he started working on a financial app and looking for investors.”

  The roommate was holding back—something connected to why Zach might have stolen the software from his employer. “What else? Was he in financial trouble?”

  Cramer shifted in his chair. “To test his app, he bought and sold stocks and tried a few other risky investments. Zach lost money and got into debt with one of the online traders.” He sighed. “He needed cash, and he was desperate to quit his job so he could work for himself.”

  “Who would he sell the encryption software to?”

  “I don’t know. Zach didn’t talk about it.”

  “What about the investor you mentioned? Would he buy it?”

  Cramer shrugged. “Maybe. But he said the meeting was about starting his company.” The roommate suddenly jumped up. “I don’t want to discuss Zach anymore. I’m starting to think I didn’t really know him, but it’s weird to talk shit about him now that he’s dead.”

  “I’m trying to find his killer. You want justice for him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what else to tell you. His funeral is tomorrow, and I have to go pick up his mother at the airport.”

  Jocelyn was glad she hadn’t been the one to make that call. Telling parents their child was dead was the worst. She stood and handed him her card. “I hope you’ll call me if you think of anything helpful.”

  Heading out, she wondered who she should call at the Drug Enforcement Administration. It would be interesting to find out what the DEA knew about Zach Dimizaro and to learn more about why they’d tried to recruit him.

  At the door, she stopped cold. All those recruitment offers
Dimizaro had received. What if he’d accepted one of them? Had he been secretly working for another agency or company?

  CHAPTER 38

  Monday, March 23, 1:30 p.m., Palisades Mine, Washington

  Dana’s mind drifted in a dreamlike state, but she couldn’t sleep. She’d had another seizure that morning while brushing her teeth and woke up on the bathroom floor with a significant bump on her head. The medication they’d provided wasn’t working, but she didn’t care. She almost wished she’d died from the head trauma. She would not finalize the synthetic or give the creepy masked man the formula. The risk was too great that he would tweak it and use it for bombs—or sell it to someone even more evil.

  She remembered his threat to kidnap Garrett. Would he really do it? More important, would she give in to save him? How could she rationalize possibly letting thousands of people die just to save one life? If they brought him here, Garrett was just as doomed as she was. Her captors’ facial coverings were her only hope that they might still let her go. Yet she knew that hope was an illusion. They wanted her to believe it, to be willing to do whatever it took to gain her freedom.

  The sound of footsteps coming down the hall made her involuntarily curl into a ball. She cursed her own weaknesses. But depression wasn’t something she could control or override. The footsteps came closer. More than one set. Someone was with the keeper! Please, don’t let it be Garrett. As the key turned in the lock, she rolled over to face the door. It wasn’t the keeper. The thin man in the ski mask stepped into the room, then moved to the side. In the doorway stood Garrett, hands bound behind his back and a gag over his mouth. His eyes were filled with shame and anguish.

  It was all she could do not to charge the masked man and assault him. He was smaller than the keeper but more dangerous. She could tell by the intensity of his eyes. “Let him go!” she shouted, her voice weak. “He’s not involved in this!”