‘But what if we need you to help?’
I don’t understand, and he sees my confusion.
‘Miss Adler, Tina, if I may, we’re looking for people like you.’
He makes it sound like I’ve got some sort of illness, and perhaps I do, but I still don’t completely understand.
‘The FBI is recruiting people who can go after cybercriminals. Hackers.’
‘But I’m a hacker,’ I say before I can stop myself.
‘That’s why we need you.’
He makes it sound so noble.
I want to ask him what he knows about me. How much Zeke has told him. Because Zeke must have told him about me, if I’m here. But something nags at me.
‘How did you know where I was?’
Agent Tilman smiles, and I try to see the trap in it, but it seems sincere. He cocks his head toward my hand. I’m still holding the phone. It dawns on me then. Zeke seems to have a thing for GPS. ‘You tracked me,’ I say.
He nods.
Does Zeke know about this? Does he know that he’s not the only one who could track me? And what about Spencer? Zeke knows that Spencer has been with me. Spencer is far more vulnerable than I am, and Zeke would never reveal his location to the feds.
Unless Zeke didn’t have a choice.
The thought makes me take pause.
‘Why should I help you?’
Agent Tilman nods thoughtfully. ‘We know who you are, Miss Adler.’ The way he says it convinces me that he certainly does know, which concerns me. ‘If you help us, if you are willing to work with us, certain incidents can be forgotten.’
I wonder if he knows about the bank job or if he’s talking about me shooting Zeke all those years ago. I was the reason Zeke had to go underground; he had to have told them some story about it. I’m not going to give voice to any of it.
‘What, exactly, do you want me to do?’
‘Are you saying yes?’
I’m not sure I have a choice, so I say, ‘Maybe.’
He studies my face for a second, and I force myself not to look away. His eyes settle on my cheek, where the bruise is. Before I can catch myself, I reach up and touch it. It’s still tender.
‘It hurts?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘What happened?’
I can’t tell him about the train. How I jumped off. I merely say, ‘I fell.’
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then says, ‘There’s someone we’re looking for, and we could use your help.’ He pauses. ‘His name is Ryan Whittier. At least, that’s the last name we have for him.’
I worry the edge of the cellphone.
‘You don’t seem surprised to hear the name.’
I shake my head. ‘No, I guess I’m not.’
‘Then you might know that he goes by the screen name d4rkn!te.’ I sit up a little straighter in my chair. I didn’t know that, but it makes perfect sense and I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots when Randy told me Ryan Whittier was a computer hacker. I force myself not to look surprised. ‘And he’s working with Adriana DeMarco. That’s a name I believe you most definitely do know.’
It all makes sense now. Adriana is the reason why they’ve chosen me for this particular job.
‘Where is he?’ I ask.
‘We’re not sure. Which is where you come in.’
‘No, not Ryan Whittier. Zeke. Zeke Chapman. Where is he? Why isn’t he here talking to me?’
Agent Tilman’s expression doesn’t change. ‘Agent Chapman is undercover with this operation. I’m afraid I cannot disclose his location.’
‘But you know where he is?’
‘If you help us, you’ll be helping him, too.’
I shouldn’t have expected him to tell me anything. I grew up with federal agents poking around my house, watching my father, my whole family.
‘What do you want me to do?’
FORTY-SEVEN
Until now, Agent Tilman has maintained a steady expression, but I can see the relief in his eyes.
‘We want you to go online and draw d4rkn!te out. See if you can get him to come out of hiding, wherever he is. See if there is a real link between him and the DeMarcos.’ He pauses. ‘And anyone else.’
It’s the way he says it that makes me think he does know about Spencer, what Randy told me. He can’t know that I know anything about that, though. I wonder how much Zeke has told him about my involvement with the skimmer and my own search for d4rkn!te.
‘You want me online to find d4rkn!te? Can’t Zeke do that?’
‘Agent Chapman isn’t the only one involved in this operation, Miss Adler. Something like this takes a real team. You would be part of that team, with your one job to do.’
He’s put me in my place. I’m merely a hacker for hire.
‘Do I get paid?’
‘You will be compensated.’
‘And afterward?’
‘If you’re successful and interested, we might be able to arrange an agreement.’
Zeke tried to get me to work for the FBI six months ago. He thought I should go legit. Is this his backhanded way of doing that?
I push the thought aside, weighing my options, which seem rather limited right now. ‘I need my own laptop,’ I tell him.
Agent Tilman cocks his head at the laptop in front of me. ‘You can use that one.’
‘It doesn’t have what I need.’
‘How do you know that?’ The way he says it intrigues me despite myself.
I reach over, grab the laptop and open it. ‘I’m not sure what you all think I can do,’ I say, but I know exactly what I need to do, since I don’t have the RAT. I have to try to trace him through the chat room.
And then it strikes me why Zeke told them about me. He knows that Spencer and I have been watching d4rkn!te through a remote access Trojan. He thinks I can track him through it. But what Zeke doesn’t know is that the RAT was on Spencer’s laptop, not mine, and Spencer has somehow managed to vanish into thin air with all three of the laptops.
Agent Tilman leans over, his elbows on his knees, and I begin to navigate to the forum. ‘You have to be careful.’
He doesn’t have to tell me that. The DeMarcos have a hit out on me. I wonder if he’s aware of that, then decide that he is. If Zeke was telling him about me, then maybe he mentioned it, maybe that’s the reason he gave for me to be on the run, rather than hacking into a bank and stealing millions. Zeke really can’t talk about that, either, since he was part of it.
Maybe I should be more frightened of the consequences of being here, but the longer he talks to me, the more I think that it might be OK.
Something he said pops into my head. I attribute the delayed response to the fact that I’m still a little bit in shock about being here. ‘You want to know if there’s a link between d4rkn!te and the DeMarcos?’ I ask.
‘That’s right.’
‘If d4rkn!te really is Ryan Whittier, the proof is right here.’ I tap the top of the laptop.
He frowns, and with only a few keystrokes, the photograph of Madeline and Ryan and Adriana is on the screen. I turn it around so he can see it. But he’s not impressed.
‘We need to find something online, proof that they’re in business together,’ he explains. ‘We know that they know each other.’
‘You think they’re in business together? Not Ryan working for DeMarco?’
Agent Tilman’s expression hardens. ‘Ryan Whittier doesn’t work for anyone unless it’s in his own interest.’
‘I heard he’s a terrorist.’
My words sit between us for a few seconds. His expression does not change.
‘Where did you hear that?’ he asks matter-of-factly.
I have no idea if Zeke has told him that we’ve been in contact online, so I merely shrug and turn the laptop back around. The Tor and VPN software is up to date. The laptop probably belongs to the cybercrime team. I could find out easily if they’re watching what I’m doing, but I don’t bother. I’m certain that they are.
This is a test.
As I look through the software on this particular laptop, I see that Agent Tilman was right. There are things on this laptop that I could only dream of hacking into. I seem to have access to a lot of FBI software – software that can get past encryption and databases that I wish I had time to explore.
The bookmarks turn up a link that looks familiar, and when I click on it, I’m on the homepage of the carding forum. This shouldn’t be a surprise. If what Spencer said is true, Zeke is an administrator and he’s FBI. As Tilman said, there’s a whole team working on this.
I type in the user name and password that I used before and begin to lurk. I don’t spot d4rkn!te anywhere, though. Agent Tilman is watching me, and I squirm a little under his gaze. He notices and gets up.
‘I’ll go get some more coffee. Would you like some?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
He leaves the room, but I know I can’t really be alone. Can I? I look for signs of cameras, but that’s silly. Of course, they would be hidden, tiny enough so no one is the wiser. I might be able to locate them, but what’s the point? As I sit, feeling the FBI’s eyes on me, I begin to question everything again. Why would Zeke expose me like this? Why not let the FBI use its own resources to find d4rkn!te? Zeke tried to keep me on his ‘team’ in Miami; he knows how much I hated it.
I toggle to another screen and sign into the chat room. The familiarity of it wraps itself around me and I begin to relax a little as I lurk.
Suddenly, I see him. But it’s not d4rkn!te. It’s Tracker.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls.
A quick check tells me that this is almost the end of the John Donne poem. Is this Zeke? I don’t trust it; it would be too easy for someone to have read our previous messages and caught on, just like with the French phrases. But still, I wonder. I type the next line of the poem.
It tolls for thee.
Meet me for some Chinese.
What is he talking about? And then it strikes me: he wants to meet at that Chinese restaurant. But how does he know I was there? I flash back to tucking my cellphone number in the owner’s hand. But would he share it with Zeke? I glance up at the door. Agent Tilman still hasn’t returned.
Another message pops up.
See you in an hour. Come alone.
And then he’s gone.
FORTY-EIGHT
I shove the laptop onto the table without closing the cover. The door swings open, startling me, and Agent Tilman is standing there, coffees in both hands.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
For a moment, I am tempted to lie. I’ve spent the last seventeen years lying, and it’s easy for me. But I hear myself say, ‘He wants to meet.’
‘Who? Is it Ryan Whittier?’
I want to believe it’s really Tracker – Zeke – but I honestly don’t know. ‘It might be Zeke,’ I admit. I tell him about the John Donne poem, how we’ve managed to identify ourselves to each other.
Agent Tilman looks dubious. ‘But you’re not a hundred percent sure that it’s him.’
‘You never know who’s on the other side of the screen.’ The statements were cryptic, and I wouldn’t expect Zeke to give himself away. I say as much. But something is bothering me.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
‘If he told you to find me, why is he reaching out to me like this? Why does he want to meet? And why is he saying I should come alone? Doesn’t he know that I’m with you?’
It’s his turn to look uncomfortable. ‘No, he doesn’t know.’
‘What’s really going on here?’ I don’t like the sound of this.
‘That phone you have is his.’
I can feel it in my back pocket. ‘That’s right. He gave it to me.’ And I begin to understand. ‘You were tracking him. Not me. But I’m the one you found at the hotel. You don’t know where he is, do you?’ His search of the hotel room makes more sense now. He doesn’t know about Spencer, but he thought it was possible Zeke was with me. ‘Do you think he’s in trouble?’
‘When did you last see him?’ he asks, ignoring my question.
‘Six months ago,’ I answer honestly.
‘So how did you end up here?’
I decide to be as truthful as I can, without bringing Spencer into it. ‘D4rkn!te was posting pictures of me, sending them to Zeke online. He was stalking me and I think threatening Zeke. I had to leave town.’ I don’t bother telling him where I’d been and he doesn’t ask. ‘I saw an article online with a picture of Zeke. He was in Paris. I decided to come here to see if I could track him down. I thought maybe he was in trouble.’ And it seems that I was right.
He frowns, mulling over my story, and finally says, ‘OK. I’d like you to meet him – or whoever has contacted you. But to be on the safe side, let’s do it my way.’
That’s how I end up in a small room with a woman agent taping a wire to my torso. ‘We’ll be able to hear everything,’ she says. They’ve told me that this is in case it’s not Zeke, although I have a feeling they’d do this even if it were, considering. My experience with hackers is that they’re not dangerous, but d4rkn!te does worry me. He’s the one who was posting the photographs of me, and whether he was my actual stalker or not, it’s still a threat against me. Not to mention that he’s apparently a terrorist and working with a woman whose father has a hit out on me.
‘So if d4rkn!te is a terrorist, exactly what does that mean?’ I ask Tilman when we emerge.
He frowns, not understanding my question.
‘Is he the type who’s going to shoot up a restaurant? Is he going to drive a car through a crowd? Is he going to have a bomb?’ My voice gets softer with each word, until I’m whispering.
Agent Tilman hesitates a moment. Finally, ‘You’ll be fine.’
It’s not very reassuring. I hold onto the idea that d4rkn!te – Ryan Whittier – is a hacker. A cyberterrorist is more likely to launch a denial of service attack on a network of computers than kill someone.
They make me test the microphone, which is tucked in my bra.
‘We’ll be right there with you,’ Agent Tilman says when they’ve decided everything’s working, and he hands the cellphone back to me.
I’d almost forgotten about the phone, but when they were wiring me, I took it out of my back pocket and gave it to the woman agent, who doesn’t seem all that curious about me. Does everyone know who I am? Or am I merely one of many who they wire up and send out to catch the criminals?
They are following me, but I don’t see them. They’re invisible, just like whoever was stalking me in Charleston, taking pictures of me. The metro rumbles to a stop. It’s incredibly crowded, and I force my way through, the wire tugging at my skin, pinching it. I stumble up the stairs and come out into the sunlight. I blink a few times, get my bearings. The restaurant is just up a block or so. As I cross the street and approach it, my eyes dart from side to side, wondering who is FBI, who is watching me.
Maybe that’s why I’m not afraid, because I know I’m not alone.
I step inside the Chinese restaurant and the owner gives me a tentative smile. He recognizes me from yesterday.
‘I have not seen your friend,’ he tells me.
‘That’s OK,’ I say.
‘Are you here to eat?’ he asks.
I glance around the restaurant and see that it is as empty as it was before. I wonder how he stays in business. I’m aware that I’m breathing even easier now, since it’s clear that whoever wants to meet isn’t here yet.
The owner is hovering.
‘Yes, please,’ I say, and he leads me to a table off to the side. I make sure to sit facing the door. The tape on the wire tugs again at my skin and I squirm a little, trying to get more comfortable. I order some shumai and noodles and a beer. He scurries to the back, leaving me alone.
I fiddle with the cellphone for lack of anything else to do, and when the restaurant door opens, it startles me. A couple comes in, and the owner materializes and brin
gs them to another table far enough away from me so we can all have some privacy. I glance back at the phone. The picture of Madeline, Ryan and Adriana pops up when I open the search engine app. I hadn’t closed it out. I study it a little more closely, but it still doesn’t tell me much except that they all know each other.
‘Oh, yes, your friend.’ The restaurant owner sets two plates of food in front of me. He’s looking at the phone screen out of the corner of his eye.
I frown. ‘No, that’s not my friend. But that’s the woman who was with him,’ I remind him.
He frowns. ‘Yes, and that is the friend you showed me before.’
It takes me a second before I realize that I’d shown him the picture of Ryan Whittier before the one of Zeke. And something dawns on me. ‘This is the man who met with her,’ I say, pointing to Adriana, ‘here?’
A broad grin crosses his face. ‘Yes, yes, that’s him.’
It wasn’t Zeke. He hadn’t met Adriana here. But Ryan Whittier had. That would explain why Zeke wanted the skimmer on the ATM at the corner. Ryan might live around here, or at least he’s staying around here. It’s probably not so much about getting the card information – we already know that it’s bogus, since it’s the same as the Spencer Cross card – but knowing when Ryan might be in the vicinity.
‘Ryan Whittier met with Adriana DeMarco here,’ I say out loud, even though the owner has left my table and is now taking the couple’s order. Agent Tilman is listening, though, so he’ll know what the exchange is all about.
As I think about it and nibble on the shumai, I begin to feel the first twinge of fear. I don’t think it was Zeke who set this meeting up. My hands begin to shake, and I drop a soy sauce-drenched shumai in my lap. I only have the beer, and the owner has again disappeared, so I head to the restroom for some water to wash my jeans. It’s just past the door to the kitchen, within sight of my table. When I go inside, I quickly lock the door behind me.
The stain is not as bad as I thought, although after scrubbing with a little cold water, it looks worse. Nothing I can do about that, so I wash my hands and run them through my hair, the curls bouncing back around my face. I reach underneath my shirt and feel the wire. They can hear me, but I can’t hear them. It’s a little disconcerting. I take a few deep breaths and pull the door open.
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