Vanished

by Karen E. Olson

  I am so busy tossing this around in my head that I haven’t noticed Spencer has disappeared. I circle around, trying to locate him. I finally spot him standing in line to get tickets. I sidle up next to him.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ve never been up there,’ he says.

  I twist around and look up, the massive wrought-iron lattice tower looming overhead. ‘Me, neither,’ I admit. Tiny dots that are actually people are climbing the stairs. We are in the line for the elevator. I consider being up there, exposed to whoever is after us, trapped.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Spencer says as we move forward a little in the line. He doesn’t seem worried at all. He actually looks relaxed. He leans closer and whispers in my ear: ‘We’re surrounded by people. This is probably the safest place to be right now.’

  Maybe. I’m not completely sold, but I don’t leave. The number of people, however, while shrouding us, might also be a detriment. I pull my backpack around to my front and make sure all the compartments are closed. Pickpockets are a problem, and I certainly don’t want them getting their hands on my forged documents or the envelope with Zeke’s skimmer. Which reminds me …

  ‘Is there any indication where we’re supposed to install this skimmer? Did you see anything else in the envelope?’

  Spencer shakes me off. ‘Not now,’ he hisses.

  We wait in silence, until finally we reach the booth and pay for two tickets to the summit of the tower. We weave through the throngs of people and go to the next line, the one for the elevator. This one is almost as long, as the elevators are not very large. When we are finally ensconced, I watch the ground slip away beneath us, then look up as we ascend. I have a moment of déjà vu, but it might be more that I always wished my grandmother would take me here.

  When we finally reach the first level, we get out. I spot a small snack bar, but before I can alert Spencer to the fact that I’m hungry, he’s already heading out to check out the view. I reluctantly follow him, thinking that a cup of coffee might be a good idea. I blink against the sun, but then the view comes into focus.

  It is spectacular. The city lies in grids below, the streets lined with the old buildings. Spencer begins to circle, and I lag a little behind, until we’re staring down at the Jardins du Trocadéro.

  Spencer’s saying something, but it’s windy and his words catch on the air and float away before I can hear. I step closer.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a message in the phone.’

  I feel something in my hand; he’s pressing the cellphone into my palm. I’m not quite sure why we couldn’t do this while we were waiting, but I’ll humor him.

  He’s right about the message, but it’s not a conventional text. It’s been written in the notes app: rue Meslay and rue du Temple.

  I know that area. It’s near the Place de la République. It’s not far from where my grandmother lived, if my memory is correct. But it’s been so long that I don’t remember exactly what’s at that corner. I do remember walking to the markets, and there are restaurants and shops within a few blocks on Temple.

  ‘So we’re supposed to trust him and put this skimmer on an ATM and see what happens?’ I ask, making sure to keep my voice down, even though no one else is paying attention to anything except the view.

  Spencer shrugs.

  I only want to find Zeke. I don’t want to get involved in whatever he’s working on. Spencer’s uncertain about this, too, I can tell.

  ‘Should we do this?’ I ask.

  Spencer takes a deep breath and shrugs again. ‘He wouldn’t involve us if he didn’t have to.’

  He’s right about that, but it means Zeke’s got trust issues with the FBI, if he is, in fact, running the carding forum for them. ‘The problem is, we don’t know what’s going on,’ I say. ‘I would be a lot more comfortable about this if we did.’

  ‘You and me both.’

  There’s a tone in his voice that makes me take pause.

  ‘What’s bothering you?’ I ask.

  Spencer shakes his head and takes my elbow, steering me inside, near the snack bar. He stands so close that anyone looking might think that we are lovers.

  ‘I think it’s a setup.’

  His words take me by surprise. ‘He’s setting us up?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I mean.’ He hesitates as he considers what he’s going to say. ‘For some reason, he can’t install that skimmer himself, which is why he wants us to do it.’

  I get that, but there’s something else.

  ‘We put that skimmer on that ATM, and it’s going to capture all the information on every card that’s used to take out cash.’

  I know where he’s going with this now. ‘You think that there’s one particular person who’s going to use his card and that’s the information that Zeke’s waiting for.’

  Spencer nods. ‘And whoever it is can’t see Zeke. Which means he knows who Zeke is.’

  ‘And he might know that Zeke is FBI.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Do you think it’s d4rkn!te?’

  Spencer shakes his head. ‘Dude knows who you are. He’s been sending pictures of you to Tracker. No, it can’t be him. Tracker wouldn’t put you in that situation.’

  I try to piece this together. ‘But what about that woman on the houseboat? He gave her the envelope. He could have easily asked her to install the skimmer. Why me?’

  He’s not paying attention, though, as he turns the cellphone over in his hand. ‘Why the cellphone? Why not just the skimmer? He could have gotten us the location through the chat room.’

  Spencer’s right. ‘Can I see it?’ I hold out my hand, and he gives me the phone. There’s no security code that keeps anyone from getting inside, which is odd, too. I scroll through the apps and, on a whim, decide to open them one by one.

  And when I open the music app, it’s suddenly clear.

  I know exactly why Zeke chose me. Chose us to do this.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The music app doesn’t contain any music. It’s a banking program, with options to transfer funds from one place to another. It’s sort of like a bitcoin wallet, but when I think of it in conjunction with the skimmer, it makes a lot of sense. Someone will put his debit card into the skimmer and it will automatically record all of the card information in this app. And from here, it’s possible to transfer any and all of that information to a pre-determined designated location. Exactly where that is, I don’t know right now, but between Spencer and me, it might not take long to figure it out.

  ‘I think it’s time to get going,’ Spencer suggests. I don’t point out that this little excursion was his idea, although the view from up here is something I’m glad I’ve experienced. Despite my love for my grandmother, I’m feeling a little resentful right now that she never brought me here, to share her city from such an impressive vantage point. Sometimes touristy things are well worth it.

  We head toward the elevator, past the souvenir shop with the kitschy refrigerator magnets and replicas of the Eiffel Tower. As we descend, I begin to wonder if we shouldn’t just head to the Marais, which is where Zeke wants us to go.

  ‘We might as well,’ I say, making my case to Spencer. He’s more interested, though, in trying to figure out how the app works first. ‘Maybe if we see it in action, it’ll make more sense,’ I argue.

  ‘You know what that means, don’t you?’ he asks.

  I do. It means we put a skimmer on an ATM and then we watch the card information flow into the app. Something nags at me, though, about this. ‘How does this usually work?’ I’m not sure why I’m asking Spencer, but it seems like something he’d know.

  I’m right.

  ‘Usually the information’s stored in the computer in the skimmer, and then someone retrieves the skimmer with everything on it. But this setup is a little different. It looks like it might be set up with Bluetooth, which means the information can be downloaded wirelessly. I’d have to check out the skimmer a little more c
losely, but with the phone app, that makes sense.’ Spencer runs a hand through his hair, and he frowns. ‘I’ve never seen it set up with an app, though. The card information isn’t going directly to a server. It has to be manually transmitted from the phone app, which makes the person wielding the phone pretty powerful. That person would make the decision whether to download the information or not.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘It’s possible Tracker wrote the software code himself, which means he’s pretty valuable to whoever he’s working for, whether it’s the FBI or someone else.’

  I let that hang between us for a few moments. ‘Someone else’ could easily be Tony DeMarco or one of his minions. I’m still trying to fit it all together: the ATM; Tony DeMarco’s car; the article on the Internet about Ryan Whittier being missing and the search for the mysterious witness.

  We may have traveled across the ocean to find Zeke, but we still have more questions than answers.

  If he did develop this app, then Zeke is very likely setting someone up, because it’s clear he can pick and choose which information gets passed along.

  As we get out of the elevator, I indicate that we should walk toward the Champs du Mars, which spreads out beyond the Eiffel Tower. People are sitting on the lawn, strolling along the dirt paths that run parallel to each other, sitting on the benches. It’s a beautiful spring day and everyone’s enjoying it. Except, perhaps, us.

  We walk along the path, ignoring the panhandlers who are trying to get our attention.

  ‘That app indicates Zeke might be able to download the information and save it before sending it along to whoever he’s working for,’ I tell Spencer after I’ve sorted out my thoughts. ‘If he sends it at all.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Spencer taps his fingers against his thighs as we walk. ‘I’m going to reach out. Now that we have maybe a little bit more information.’

  ‘Do you think your “friends” might know something?’ I ask, making air quotes with my fingers.

  He rolls his eyes. ‘My “friends”’ – his air quotes are a bit more exaggerated than mine – ‘probably most definitely know something.’ He shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m not sure if it’s to stop the tapping, but it was making me nervous, so I’m glad about it.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be giving him away if you start asking about this? I mean, if he’s the only one with the app and someone knows him and knows about it, they might put two and two together and then he could be found out as FBI.’

  He hasn’t thought about that. I can tell by the way his expression changes. We both realize that we’re caught between a rock and a hard place. We don’t want to give Zeke away to anyone, but we need more information from the inside.

  ‘What about d4rkn!te?’ I ask. ‘Do you think you can get some information about him out of your people? Maybe they’ve seen him around and know who he is. You said you saw him in the chat room, but you never interacted with him. Maybe some of your people have.’

  ‘My people, as you call them, won’t give up names. You should know that.’

  I do, and I’m sorry I’ve asked. ‘I’m feeling a little desperate. I want to know what’s going on with Zeke. Make sure he’s not in any trouble.’

  ‘You and me both,’ Spencer says curtly, but then he takes a deep breath. ‘Sorry, Tina. I really need a toke. I can’t think like this.’ He reaches into his pocket, but I put my hand on his arm before he pulls out a joint in the middle of a public park.

  ‘You can’t do that here.’

  He cocks his head at a group of teenagers hanging around a bench up ahead. ‘Tell them that.’

  I am about to say that they’re not getting stoned but, as we get a little closer, I can smell it. ‘You’re an American,’ I say. ‘It’s not the same thing.’ I don’t point out that he’s a fugitive, that if he’s caught he’ll end up in prison for a very long time. I don’t point it out because I don’t have to.

  He doesn’t care. He lights up and takes a drag, a wide grin spreading across his face. I start to walk away; I’m not going to get caught. I’ve spent years successfully avoiding prison. I’m not about to spend my first days behind bars in Paris.

  He catches up with me a few minutes later. I can smell it on him, which makes me paranoid. He has no such problem, though. The tenseness has melted away, and he’s definitely more himself.

  ‘You need to chill, Tina. Let’s go see how this skimmer works with this phone,’ he suggests.

  THIRTY-TWO

  It is not a straight shot to our destination. I lead Spencer back into the park and we walk down to Place Joffre, heading to the École Militaire metro station. We can get the 8 line in the Pointe du Lac direction to get to République. I check the map inside the station to make sure we’re going the right way. We don’t say anything to each other the entire journey. I am incredibly aware of the skimmer and the cellphone in the backpack. I have no idea what’s going to happen when we get to our destination, but I am again taken by the fact that what we’re about to do is illegal and I can’t afford to get caught. Neither can Spencer. I glance over at him to see if he’s having doubts, too, but he’s got earbuds in his ears and his head is bobbing to whatever rhythm he’s listening to. It’s nice to know that he’s relaxed, but I feel an unexpected surge of annoyance about it. After spending so much time alone, there has been way too much togetherness in the past days. I begin to wonder what would happen if Zeke and I actually had time to spend together. As far as I know, he’s been alone, too. Would we drive each other crazy? Would we crave time alone, sabotaging any attempt to have a real relationship that’s in person and not just online?

  I’m still deep in thought when we finally reach République. The roundabout that circles the Place de la République with the statue of the symbol of the Republic, Marianne, is busy with traffic. I try to orient myself, but it’s been too long. I was last here as a child and saw things from a much shorter point of view.

  Spencer is looking at me expectantly. Again, the annoyance rises, but I push it back down. It’s not his fault, since I did tell him that my grandmother lived in this neighborhood. I find myself staring down rue du Temple.

  ‘This way,’ I say, far more confidently than I actually feel. A wave of nostalgia overwhelms me as we cross the street, but it’s quickly replaced by sadness because I can’t remember exactly where my grandmother lived. Everything looks the same in all directions.

  And yet suddenly it’s there. At the corner of rue Meslay and rue du Temple. An ATM.

  Spencer and I exchange a glance. The ATM is out in the open; people are walking by on the sidewalk. I look up and see the camera trained right on it. Zeke had been wearing a hoodie, at least. We don’t even have hats. I suppose I could use my scarf to hide my face, but that could draw more attention than not.

  ‘This might be a little harder than we thought,’ I say, aware now that we’re standing here, staring at the ATM, which in itself could create suspicion. I grab Spencer’s arm and steer him to the intersection. A patisserie is across the street. ‘Come on.’

  The scent of bread causes my stomach to growl. My breakfast was a long time ago, and with everything that’s gone on today, we haven’t exactly had time for food. But now, I am having sensory overload and I want to buy and eat every pastry I see. Spencer seems to be experiencing the same thing, but it’s probably more the weed with him.

  We buy a couple of fruit tarts, a bag of croissants and a couple of café au laits, sipping and nibbling as we step back outside.

  ‘Your French is really good,’ Spencer says with his mouth full.

  I’m not going to explain again to him why that is.

  We eye the ATM across the street, but we haven’t figured out how we’re going to do this yet.

  ‘Maybe we could pretend that we’re getting money out and we can slip it on,’ I suggest. It seems too simple somehow. Too easy. But then there’s the problem of the camera that’s trained right on the machine. In the movies, the bad guys use black spray paint on the camera le
ns, but we don’t have spray paint, and anyway, it’s too high up. Neither of us is that tall and a ladder would be suspicious.

  Spencer’s nodding. ‘That could work, but what about the camera?’ He’s a few steps behind; it’s probably because he’s stoned. I’m surprised he can do what he does online, because coding does require a little bit of concentration. But if that’s the state he’s used to being in when he’s hacking, then I suppose it doesn’t matter.

  ‘Maybe you can use your scarf,’ he suggests. ‘Wrap it around your head.’

  It might be our only option. Spencer can’t do this. Even if we were able to buy him a hoodie, like Zeke had, if his image is captured on camera, he will be recognizable. He was at one time on the covers of a lot of magazines because of his international cybersecurity company. Someone will know who he is. I, on the other hand, have not been in the public eye. The photographs of me before I disappeared are a mere shadow of what I look like. I was in my early twenties; faces change, and the glasses do help.

  No. It has to be me. I explain this to Spencer, and he’s nodding, although he does have a concern.

  ‘You’ve never installed a skimmer, have you?’ The way he asks this makes me suspicious that he knows exactly how to do it, but I don’t want to know why or how. ‘Where is it?’

  I shake my head. I don’t want to do this right here, on the sidewalk. We need a place to go. I spot a Monoprix up the block. I cock my head toward it. ‘Come on.’

  You can buy anything at a Monoprix: groceries, clothes, books, toiletries. Spencer follows me past the shampoos and conditioners, back to the escalator. We ride up to the level where clothes are on display. There aren’t a lot of people here, so we maneuver between the racks toward the back, and I pretend to be very interested in a sweatshirt as I take the skimmer out of the backpack. ‘Tell me what I have to do,’ I whisper.