Vanished

by Karen E. Olson

  Yes, I write back. And you?

  I’ve been better.

  Can I help? I ask.

  This is the best thing you can do.

  I take a deep breath, my coffee now cold, the rest of my croissant uneaten on the plate. Let me be the judge of that, I write.

  There may be something you can do, come to think of it.

  The waiter comes over and asks if I want another café au lait, and I nod. I nibble at the rest of my croissant, wondering what Zeke needs of me.

  I don’t have to wait long.

  A link appears.

  What’s that? I ask.

  It’s an official invitation, is the response.

  I assume it’s not to Buckingham Palace.

  No. It’s to a carding forum.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Zeke doesn’t know that I know about the ATM skimmer. That Spencer and I already figured out that he might be part of the carding forum.

  What do you want me to do? I write.

  You’ll know once you get there.

  It’s very cryptic, but I admit to being intrigued. He doesn’t have to know that Spencer and I were trying to figure out how to get such an invitation not so long ago, and here it is, falling right into my lap. The only thing I’m a little concerned about is the illegality of it. While the statute of limitations has run out on the bank job, if I commit another crime, it’s possible it could come back to haunt me. Zeke is the one who told me what the repercussions could be, which means he might really be in trouble and somehow the carding forum is the only way he sees that I can help. He wouldn’t put me in jeopardy otherwise.

  Still, I can’t figure out how a carding forum is going to help him. But it doesn’t hurt to try. Spencer will be all over it, too.

  I wonder when he’s supposed to arrive today.

  I’ve got to go. Zeke’s words pull me out of my thoughts.

  Where? I can’t help but ask.

  Just go to the link.

  And then he’s gone.

  I stare at the screen, willing him to come back. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I make sure to bookmark the John Donne poem. I may end up using it again, since it was an effective way to identify myself.

  I finish my second cup of café au lait. Between that, the hours of rest I finally got, and the adrenaline from my contact with Zeke, I’m ready for anything. But I remember Spencer again, how he’s coming in today.

  I’ve kept my phone tucked inside the front pocket of the backpack, but I fish it out and check the messages.

  ‘Meet you at eleven at the hotel.’ Spencer’s voice sounds very far away, like he’s talking inside a tunnel.

  I glance at my watch and see that it’s almost eleven now. The waiter has left the check on the table and I count out some euros and tuck them under my plate. As I’m packing up the backpack, a shadow looms over me. The sun is in my face, so I shield my eyes and look up at the silhouette of a man in front of me. I stop breathing for a second.

  But then: ‘Nice to see that you’re enjoying yourself.’

  Spencer drops down into the seat across from me, setting his own backpack next to mine. He’s continuing with the clean-shaven look, and it even looks as though he’s gotten another haircut. I sort of miss the ponytail. He wears a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

  ‘You’re looking very Parisian,’ I say.

  He gives me the once-over. ‘Look who’s talking.’

  ‘OK, so I bought a couple of new things. We have to fit in, right?’

  The waiter reappears, a question knit into his forehead. Spencer points to my cup. ‘I’ll have one of those,’ he says.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ I ask.

  ‘What’s good?’

  I tell the waiter in French to get us more café au lait – at this point I won’t sleep again for days – and baguettes with jam and butter. He nods and moves away. Spencer is frowning.

  ‘You really do know French.’

  ‘What, you thought I only knew those two phrases Zeke and I used in the chat room? I spent summers here when I was a kid.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess I knew that, but it’s different seeing it. Hearing it. Hearing you speak.’ He’s a little all over the place, but I chalk it up to the fact that’s he’s not stoned, and that’s not his usual state.

  I give a wave of my hand. ‘Never mind that. I’ve got some news.’ I proceed to tell him about the conversation I’ve just had with Zeke in the chat room. As I speak, his eyes grow wide and he leans forward, folding his hands together on the table.

  ‘So did you check out the link?’ he asks when I’m done.

  ‘No. I was just getting ready to go meet you. I figured we could do it at the hotel.’ I pause. ‘I’m not really sure what he thinks we’re going to find.’

  The waiter comes back now, puts the coffee and bread on the table and discreetly moves away.

  ‘I can’t believe you let me order food and coffee and you’re sitting on this the whole time,’ Spencer says, but despite his protests, he puts jam and butter on one of the small baguettes. ‘Now I’m in Paris,’ he says when he’s devoured it in three bites. ‘Why can’t anyone else in the world make bread like this?’

  It seems that both of us are distracted. It’s probably the jet lag.

  ‘Why did you leave me in Baltimore?’ I ask.

  He cocks his head to one side and narrows his eyes at me. ‘Whoever was looking for us was looking for two people traveling together. I knew you’d be OK on your own, and I had a few things I had to take care of before I left the country.’

  He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m curious but I don’t ask.

  ‘Do you get a bill here?’ he asks a little too loudly, finishing the last of the bread.

  ‘Don’t be an ugly American,’ I hiss, tucking more euros in with the others I’ve already put under my plate. I stand and begin to walk away, not waiting for him. I hear his chair scrape against the pavement as he gets up and his heavy footsteps as he falls into step next to me.

  ‘Now you’re in a hurry?’ he asks.

  ‘I thought you wanted to check out that link Zeke gave me,’ I say. All the coffee and the aforementioned jet lag have made me a little snappish. ‘Sorry,’ I add.

  He shrugs. ‘Guess a few minutes longer doesn’t matter.’

  Just before we reach the hotel, though, I stop short, and put my hand out to indicate he needs to stop, too.

  ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘Are we supposed to be together? I mean, are we supposed to let on that we know each other?’

  Spencer’s eyebrows rise and he nods. ‘You’ve got a point, but I don’t know that it matters. We traveled separately. Do you think you were followed?’

  ‘Beats me.’ I haven’t noticed anyone following me, but I haven’t been paying attention. I suddenly remember the man on the metro platform, the one who for a second reminded me of Zeke, and I shrug off the memory. That was my head playing tricks on me. ‘If someone’s following me, if someone’s following you, they already know we’re here,’ I say.

  ‘That’s right. So I think it’s OK we’re staying at the same place.’ He pauses a second. ‘I’ve got my own reservation. My own room.’

  That reminds me: ‘If we’re supposed to know each other, then maybe you should tell me what name you’re traveling under. You already know I’m Elizabeth McKnight, but who are you?’

  Spencer’s mouth spreads into a wide grin, and he holds out his hand. I take it after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Maxwell Wellington. Max for short. Pleased to meet you.’

  I can’t help myself. ‘That’s not a great name, you know.’

  ‘And you know this, how?’

  ‘Because I’ve made it my business to come up with very ordinary, very forgettable aliases over the last several years. And “Maxwell Wellington,” I say, using finger quotes, ‘is going to draw attention to himself.’

  ‘I don’t think “Elizabeth McKnight” is very forgettable,’ he mutters.

  He’s go
t a point. I’d asked Tracker to get documents for me using that name when I was planning to leave Block Island two years ago. I was supposed to pick them up in New York City’s Chinatown but never got there. I wonder if Zeke’s been sitting on them all this time.

  We’re standing in front of Hotel Adele. Spencer cranes his neck and gazes at the ornate architecture. ‘All these buildings look alike,’ he says. ‘I miss Miami.’

  ‘And nothing there looks alike,’ I say sarcastically, pushing the door open. ‘Welcome to Paris, Max.’

  I head up to my room while Spencer checks in. About fifteen minutes later, I hear a knock on the door. Spencer saunters in. He’s shed the black T-shirt and is wearing one that tells me to get stoned and carry on. His hair is wet from a recent shower and sticking up on top of his head. He’s wearing a grungier pair of jeans and a pair of red high-tops. Max is gone. Spencer is back.

  I’ve got my laptop open on the bed.

  He cocks his head at it. ‘Did you click on the link?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, I waited for you.’

  His eyebrows rise high in his forehead. ‘That’s a lot of self-restraint.’

  I’m not about to tell him that I’ve been mentally paralyzed since I got back to my room. I’ve replayed my online conversation with Zeke over and over in my head as I’ve gazed out over the rooftops of Paris. I want more than anything to see him, to feel his arms around me. After all those years of a virtual relationship, I am now craving the physical one we’d only just discovered before we separated.

  Spencer puts his own laptop on the bed before opening mine. The screen springs to life. I’ve already put the link into the search bar, but I haven’t clicked on it. I reach over Spencer’s shoulder and point at it.

  ‘That doesn’t look right,’ I say.

  He peers more closely at it. ‘You say this is the link he gave you? To a carding forum?’

  ‘I cut and pasted it straight out of the chat.’

  He looks up at me. ‘You know what that is, right?’

  I do, but I wanted a second opinion and it seems I’ve gotten it.

  It’s a remote access Trojan.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Are you sure that it was Zeke?’ Spencer is asking.

  I nod. ‘Absolutely. It was him.’

  ‘If we click on this link, he’ll have access to your laptop.’ Spencer doesn’t have to tell me this.

  I think about this for a few seconds, and an idea forms. ‘Maybe that’s the idea.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘He said that if I click on the link, I’d understand. Maybe he wants to get into my laptop because he can communicate with me that way. He can use the message app and send me messages. Like the shadow did last year.’ The more I think about it, the more I think this is exactly what Zeke had in mind. Spencer and I can get into the carding forum and we can be in touch with Zeke at the same time. Zeke and I were always in sync; it was like we could read each other’s minds back when I was Tiny and he was Tracker. Why would this be any different?

  Spencer’s looking at me warily. ‘Are you sure it was him?’ he asks again. ‘Because we don’t want to let just anyone in here.’

  He’s starting to give me doubts. I’d been so sure just a moment ago, but maybe it’s like that guy I saw on the metro platform. I thought it was Zeke, but when I looked a little more closely, I realized he wasn’t.

  But he knew about the chaise lounge. Would Zeke have told someone about that? I give a sidelong glance at Spencer. He might tell Spencer, but someone else? It reminds me yet again how Zeke and I have known each other forever, but we don’t really know each other. I know more about my friend Steve on Block Island than I do about the man I love. There’s something so wrong with that.

  Which is why I have to believe this is Zeke. I have to go with my instincts, and everything inside me is telling me that it’s him. I don’t doubt for a moment that he’s discovered the way into my life again is through a remote access Trojan. For some reason, he can’t reveal himself to me in any other way.

  ‘It’s him,’ I say decisively to Spencer. ‘Let’s do it.’

  He holds up his hand. ‘One thing first.’

  I know what he’s going to say. ‘We need a bitcoin wallet. Because if we’re going into a carding forum, we might need to pay a registration fee or maybe even buy something.’ I’m feeling very uncomfortable. As much as I want to reconnect with Zeke, buying credit card information online is like stealing bank account numbers, and I’ve been there and done that.

  But a bitcoin wallet isn’t what Spencer was alluding to. Instead, he’s making sure that there isn’t anything in the laptop that we wouldn’t want anyone to find. We also need to make sure that the IP address – our location – can’t be discovered somewhere in the hardware. We need a firewall.

  Spencer’s already gotten out the portable router. In order to be protected, we have to hook into other networks; the router’s firewall will protect us by making whoever’s on the other side of the remote access Trojan think that we’re somewhere we’re not. While I don’t know that I’d mind Zeke knowing where we are, we can’t be sure that someone else isn’t also on the other side of this RAT. Better safe than sorry.

  When we’re done setting it up, we check the software. We need Tor and the VPN, but everything else gets wiped clean.

  ‘Wish I had that degausser now. I’d clear the hard drive,’ he says, referring to the machine we used in Charleston to wipe his hard drives before we escaped.

  Was that only a couple of days ago? It seems like it was forever.

  Before I know it, Spencer’s opened the link Zeke gave me. We both watch the laptop, as though Zeke is going to jump right out of it and shout ‘boo!’

  But nothing happens. Instead, we are at a sign-on page. We do have to register, and there is a fee. I shouldn’t be surprised that Spencer’s got a bitcoin wallet all set up. He sees me watching him closely.

  ‘What?’ he asks.

  ‘Where do you get your money?’

  Spencer grins. ‘I made a shitload of money a long time ago, and I’ve got a very good financial adviser who knows what he’s doing.’

  I think about his house in Charleston. ‘But it’s not in your name, is it?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Of course it’s not. He’s probably got everything protected by a company that can never be linked to him in any way. ‘But you have access?’

  The grin widens. ‘There’s no point in having it if I can’t get my hands on it.’

  I realize something now. ‘You’re not stoned.’ I’ve never seen him completely sober.

  ‘Not so easy getting my hand on weed here, but I’ve got a connection,’ he says absently as he navigates the carding forum. He glances up at me. ‘You want in?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. With my luck, I’ll end up getting caught.’

  ‘You never get caught,’ he says. ‘So I don’t even know what you’re talking about.’

  I don’t remind him that I was found on Block Island, which is why I ended up in Canada, where Zeke found me. Maybe I didn’t get caught by the authorities, but I did get caught.

  ‘We’re in,’ Spencer says, interrupting my thoughts. He scrolls through the exchanges, and I’m overwhelmed with the choices.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I ask.

  ‘We look for d4rkn!te.’

  He makes it sound so easy and, as I watch over his shoulder, it is easy. It’s like the chat room, which is all too familiar and soon we are navigating the forum, taking note of the different screen names, but we don’t see d4rkn!te anywhere.

  I reach over and pull the laptop closer to me. ‘There’s got to be a way to get into the code, find out who’s running this show.’

  Spencer gives me an amused expression, and if he had one, he’d probably light a joint right about now. Instead, he merely lets me take over. The screen fills with code, and I scan the lines, looking for any clues, but nothing jumps out at
me. I look back at Spencer, who’s leaning against the headboard behind me.

  ‘I don’t know—’

  Spencer startles me by suddenly jerking forward, his eyes wide, his mouth a perfect ‘O.’

  A message has popped up.

  You’re not going to find anything that way.

  We stare at each other, then back at the screen.

  Who are you? I type.

  Jesus, Tina.

  My heart beats faster. It’s Zeke. Where are you?

  There are some things I can tell you, and some things I can’t. Trust me. I’m OK. How are you? Is Spencer with you?

  A million emotions are rushing around inside me, and I can’t focus. Spencer notices and he types: Dude.

  You taking care of her?

  You know I am.

  You stoned? Zeke asks.

  Spencer’s reputation precedes him. Not today.

  Really?

  Really.

  Tina, you taking care of Spence?

  I put my fingers on the keyboard. Yeah. And he’s really not stoned. Can you tell us what’s going on?

  I need your help.

  For a moment, I think that Zeke has left because there’s a delay, but then he types: I need you to put a skimmer on an ATM.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A million thoughts circle around in my head and I’m not quite sure how to react – or what to say.

  Spencer, however, isn’t quite so tongue-tied. Dude. That’s more your thing, isn’t it?

  What do you mean? is the reply.

  We saw an article online about a missing kid that had a picture of you, Spencer types, so we know about the skimmer and that the police were looking for you. Who is Ryan Whittier, anyway? We know he never went to Charleston College. Do you have anything to do with him going missing or was it just wrong time, wrong place?

  A few seconds go by. What else do you know?

  He isn’t answering our questions. Spencer isn’t going to push him on it, though. Someone’s been taking pictures of Tina and blackmailing you with them. But we don’t know why.