Betrayed

by Karen E. Olson

I know I’m being ridiculous. I tell myself the site must be wrong. It can’t be accurate. Maybe Ian and Amelie weren’t at South Beach. Maybe he’s not here right now. But I haven’t convinced myself.

  Ian knows where I am. How, though?

  What if it was the router? What if the person who was on Tor was Ian? Maybe Daniel has been showing his father around the Internet. What if he managed to trace my IP address through the router back here? If he did, it’s possible he doesn’t know it’s me; it’s just some hacker.

  There are too many ‘what ifs’ and not enough viable explanations for anything.

  I take a step away from the door and that’s when I hear it: the crunch of gravel. I freeze. In my head, I picture Ian creeping around outside my room. I am not afraid of him, but I definitely do not want to be found. I glance over at the laptop. Did I disconnect the router program? I’m sure I did. I took care of the GPS feature, but what if there was more than one? Zeke could have easily installed something that I might not have discovered. He is still better than I am, as much as I hate to admit it. But if I was traced through a GPS in the laptop, rather than the router, then whoever is outside is somehow connected to Zeke. Maybe it is Daniel. He’s the only link I know between Zeke and Ian. Except for me.

  I think I’m so smart, but I’m standing in the dark, afraid to move or I’ll be discovered when I am already exposed. I might as well go outside and confront him.

  I reach for the doorknob, but snatch my hand back as the car engine roars on the other side of the door. Even though the car has started, it doesn’t sound as though it’s going anywhere; it’s idling in place.

  I move swiftly over to the table and lift the laptop cover enough so I can see the screen. I’m very aware of the light it casts, but I have to check.

  The cell phone dot is still blinking in the same place.

  If it’s Ian, he should just knock on the door, let me know that he’s on to me, that he knows where I am. Confront me. He had no problem doing that when he showed up on Block Island.

  I’m being silly. Why am I cowering in the dark? He knows I’m here; I have to be on the offensive, not the defensive. I straighten up and walk over to the door. Before I open it, I pause at the window, my fingers pulling the fabric aside slightly as I peek outside.

  A sleek black car that looks like the one I’d seen earlier at Tony DeMarco’s, the one that Ian and Amelie got into, is in the parking lot. I can’t make out who’s inside; it’s too dark. But it’s got to be Ian if it’s the same car.

  The hell with this. I put my hand on the doorknob and turn, flinging the door open.

  Just as I step outside, the car takes off, skidding across the lot and down toward the main entrance. I watch the red tail lights until it disappears into the night.

  I’m not quite sure why he left. What was the point of sitting outside, watching my room, and leaving only when I finally came out?

  Unless that’s the point. He is only doing this to unnerve me.

  I stand outside and consider my options. If he knows where I am, I should either go back to the apartment or find another place to hide. I’m uncomfortable with going back, especially since I’ve witnessed the conversation between Tracker and p4r4d0x. Until I can confirm that Zeke is or is not the Tracker I saw in that chat room, I don’t think I can see him without letting on that I’m suspicious.

  When I head back inside, I bump into the wheel of the bicycle that’s leaning against the wall. I study it for a few seconds, weighing my options. I have to keep it. It’s my only transportation. I don’t want to borrow anyone else’s Uber account or waste money on a taxi when I’ve got a decent way to get around.

  It would be ironic, though, if I’m arrested for stealing a bicycle.

  I eye the laptop, suspicious that I have not completely gotten rid of any GPS tracker. There could easily be a second one.

  Now that I’m more focused, it doesn’t take me long to find the tracker software that Zeke installed in the laptop. It’s clever, how the software avoids detection by being in the firmware. I am momentarily impressed. I manage to disable it and tell myself that I have to stop thinking he’s smarter than I am. By doing that, I’m allowing him more power over me than he deserves.

  I check the cell phone GPS site again, and I watch the blinking dot as it maneuvers the island’s streets, ending up back where I suspected it would: at Tony DeMarco’s house.

  I quickly stuff the laptop into the backpack and swing it over my shoulder. I grab the bike helmet on my way out and leave the key on the windowsill. I don’t bother locking the door; there’s nothing to steal.

  It’s the middle of the night. I’m not sure about my destination. It wouldn’t be safe to go back to the mainland at this hour on a bike. I think about the beach at my old house, how I would lie on a chaise longue for hours soaking up the sun, listening to the soft crash of the waves against the sand. I was lazy then; if I wasn’t on the beach, I was in my room on the computer in the chat rooms. I had no direction, no life. Ian and I would go to the clubs; he’d come back with me. My father never indicated that this was a problem for him, but now, in retrospect, I wonder about that. I wonder how he viewed my lifestyle. By then he was busy conning his clients out of their money, but he had built a business; he had created a life’s work and his daughter was living the life of a party girl. No worthwhile employment, no direction.

  I shake off the thought. It’s water under the bridge.

  I begin to doubt that it was a good idea to leave the motel. I am biking in the middle of the night, an easy target if Tracker and p4r4d0x have somehow discovered where I’ve been. If I’d stayed, at least I could have locked the door, hidden. I am not thinking straight. By bringing me here, Zeke has unleashed too many memories that have distracted me – not to mention stirring up an uneasiness about how I am still attracted to him while not being sure whether I can trust him. I crave more answers, and I am suddenly overcome by the need to have Internet, another reason to have stayed at the motel.

  I navigate Crandon Boulevard, and as I begin to pass the Key Colony Plaza, I spot a familiar logo. Starbucks. It’s long closed, but its Internet might not be.

  There are a few steps, so I climb off the bike and bring it up with me. They’ve left tables outside, with the chairs sitting upside down on top of them, the umbrellas closed. I look at the street, and a few cars pass, but I think it’s dark enough that no one will notice me if I stay to the back.

  I pull a chair down off a table and take the laptop out of the backpack, happy that I’d powered it up so it’s ready to go. The light from the screen startles me, and I glance around to make sure no one is around to notice.

  I am right about the Internet; it’s free, and all I have to do is agree to its terms. Whatever they may be. I know that public Wifi isn’t usually private, but there’s no one else here so the risk is worth it. I sign on to my VPN and find my way to the chat room. I create yet another screen name. I don’t have to remember it; I’m only going to use it this once.

  But before I can do anything else, he steps out of the shadow and I freeze.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, Tina?’

  I should have known he’d find me. ‘Nothing,’ I say. I sound like a belligerent child. I wish he didn’t affect me this way, especially when he catches me off guard.

  Zeke takes a few steps toward me, until he’s standing right on the other side of the table. ‘You’re not going to ask how I found you?’

  ‘Probably the GPS you put in the laptop.’

  He grins. ‘I had a feeling you’d find it.’

  ‘Then why put them there at all?’

  His expression grows dark, and he leans over, putting his hands on the table. ‘Because I knew you’d run.’

  I ran, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m not inclined to explain it to him, though. I don’t know that he’d understand this. It bothers me that he knew I’d take the laptop. That he’d rigged it with the GPS, taking
for granted the fact that I wouldn’t leave without it. I hate the idea that I’m so predictable, that he can guess my every move.

  He’s watching me closely, a frown etched in his forehead. ‘What do you mean, them?’

  I shrug.

  ‘You said “them,” not “it.” Was there more than one GPS on the laptop?’

  A chill shimmies down my spine. ‘There were two,’ I say softly. His reaction causes me to believe him, that he didn’t know there was more than one. I tell him where I found both.

  ‘The second one was in the firmware?’ He’s shaking his head, running his hand through his hair as he thinks about that. ‘I used a standard GPS. I didn’t do that.’

  We stare at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘Who had access to it besides us?’ I ask.

  ‘No one.’

  But he’s wrong. ‘This is the laptop that was at the bike shop, right?’

  He knows now what I’m thinking. That GPS code was installed before the FBI found it.

  ‘Jesus, I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I was all over that thing,’ he says, almost to himself.

  ‘If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t easy to find. Although I thought you were pretty clever to do it that way, and now I guess the clever one isn’t you at all.’

  ‘No, the clever one is the person who set us both up.’ He stares me down. ‘You need to come back with me.’ He takes my silence as an invitation to keep talking. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Used to what?’

  ‘Working in that room with them. Working with them. I had a hard time at first, too.’

  I really hate it that he does understand. That he knows exactly how I feel at all times. He is what I’m running from more than anything. I like being alone. I’m used to my own company. I’m not lonely.

  No. I’m lying to myself. I am lonely. I miss my friends. My real, flesh-and-blood friends. Steve, Jeanine, Veronica. Again I wonder if I can go back now. Now that I’m not really a fugitive. It’s not that I was never myself with them; in a way, I was more myself with them than with anyone else. Even Tracker.

  Zeke is waiting for some sort of response from me, but I’m too wary of him. I still don’t know if he’s the Tracker I saw online with p4r4d0x. I shiver involuntarily as I think about their conversation. He could take me out right now, kill me and walk away.

  I take stock of my surroundings. The plaza is closed; no one is around. Only a few cars have passed on the street below the steps. I am in the shadows. I have no protection here; I am vulnerable.

  He straightens up and holds out his hand. ‘Come on.’

  I don’t move.

  ‘Seriously, Tina, you have to get over this. You have to come with me, come back.’

  ‘Why, exactly?’ Every muscle is taut; I’m ready to run if he makes even one more move toward me.

  ‘Because I found something online.’ His tone is guarded, as though he isn’t sure how much to say, until he says it. ‘The person who’s pretending to be me, pretending to be Tracker – he’s after you.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’

  I shrug.

  ‘You don’t think it’s me, do you? That I’m that Tracker?’

  I wish it weren’t so dark so that I could see his expression more clearly, his eyes. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘It’s not me.’

  I scramble to my feet so we are face to face. ‘Tell me, then, why the FBI doesn’t know who you are.’

  ‘What do you mean? What did you do?’ He takes a step back and folds his arms across his chest.

  ‘I called FBI headquarters. They said they didn’t know who you are. She said she checked with other offices, and your name never came up.’

  ‘So you think I’m lying?’

  The words hang between us.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t done that.’

  ‘Because it’s true? You’re not really FBI?’

  He stops and faces me. ‘I am FBI. But I told you, I’ve been undercover.’

  ‘I didn’t think you still were.’

  He reaches around behind him, and instinctively I back up. He holds out his hand.

  A shiny gold badge sits in his palm.

  ‘Where’d you get that? Cracker Jack?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  I don’t expect him to grab my other hand, turning it over. The weight of the shield sits heavy in my palm. I run my fingers across the raised letters. It feels real. I want to believe him. I want to believe that he has nothing to do with the Tracker I saw online with p4r4d0x.

  Still, I hesitate.

  ‘If this doesn’t convince you, then how about this?’ he says, pulling out his cell phone and punching in a number, handing it to me before he hits ‘call.’

  I take it, but I’m not sure what he’s doing.

  ‘Call,’ he instructs. ‘Ask for Agent Tilman.’

  Tilman? That was the name of the FBI agent who questioned me in Falmouth. Zeke’s nodding. ‘Yeah, it’s that Agent Tilman.’ He grins. ‘How do you think I managed to take a piece of evidence to Miami?’ He means the laptop. The one that’s sitting on the table in front of me. ‘You don’t trust me, I get that. I don’t know if I’d trust me, either. But I’m asking you to. I need you.’

  It could all be a set-up, but against my better judgment I begin to dissect the situation. If he were truly the Tracker I saw online with p4r4d0x, he’s had plenty of time – and privacy – to kill me right here. No one would be the wiser.

  ‘I need you to be honest with me, Zeke,’ I say softy. ‘I saw a conversation online. Between Tracker and p4r4d0x.’

  His expression changes slightly, but he’s standing in a shadow so I can’t read it.

  ‘I thought so. I wish you hadn’t seen that,’ he says.

  I stop breathing and feel as though he’s punched me in the gut. He is the Tracker I saw.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘No, no, that came out wrong.’ He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, looking around to see what my best escape would be. He reaches his hand out, and I duck underneath it, circling around him, going toward the steps that lead back down to the street. I glance at my bike. Can I get to it?

  He’s too quick, though, and he grabs my arm. I drop both the phone and the shield as I try to wrench free, a small cry coming from somewhere deep in my throat. He’s got me now, his arms around me, tight; I can’t get free. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he whispers in my ear.

  It’s too late for that. I am more frightened than I ever have been. I struggle against him, but his hold on me is too strong.

  ‘It’s not what you think. It wasn’t me.’

  I don’t say anything, just wait for him to finish me off. How will he do it? Will he strangle me? It seems easiest. I haven’t noticed a weapon.

  ‘I’m not going to kill you, Tina,’ he says then, suddenly setting me free. I take the chance and run over to the bike, fumbling with the helmet which I had hung on the handlebars. I can’t steer it like this, and the helmet falls to the pavement with a thud. I drag the bike around me until it’s between us; he’s cornered me. I shove the bike at him, and he catches it, forcing me back against the side of the building with it until I am completely trapped.

  ‘I shouldn’t have to prove myself to you. I got you out of Canada; I brought you here. No one knows where you are, and that’s because I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. I know someone’s out to kill you. I know you were framed. I was, too – remember? There’s someone online impersonating me. Impersonating you.’ He’s accentuating the last word of each sentence, making a point, trying to get through to me.

  And then: ‘Seeing you confuses me,’ he says softly.

  It is not something I have expected.

  ‘I have loved you since I was fifteen.’ His voice catches on the words as though it doesn’t want to let them go.

  I find my voice. ‘You don’t even know me.’

  He gives
a short chuckle. ‘Tina, we know each other better than anyone else. We are the same person.’

  ‘If you know me so well, then just let me go. Let me be. Let me disappear again. Tony DeMarco won’t find me. I’m not afraid of him.’ As I say it, I realize it’s true. I’m more afraid of Zeke right now.

  ‘I can’t do that, Tina,’ he says.

  My entire body is shaking. I grip the bike to try to get control of myself.

  ‘I’m not going to kill you,’ he says slowly, louder now, as if I won’t be able to hear him otherwise. ‘I saw that conversation, too. We were probably both in there at the same time.’

  ‘You’re saying you’re not the Tracker who said he tried to kill Tony DeMarco? That you haven’t really found that bank account? That you aren’t going to kill me, too?’ The volume of my voice rises with each question, until I realize I’m shouting.

  ‘No, no, and no,’ he says. ‘I don’t know who put out that hit on DeMarco, and I have no idea where that bank account is, and I really don’t want to kill you. I’m only trying to find out who my imposter is. While I was watching them in the chat room, I was doing everything I could to nail down the IP addresses, but I couldn’t find them.’

  ‘So why did they tell me at the FBI that you didn’t exist?’

  ‘Because I don’t. Not to anyone calling the main number, anyway.’ He chuckles. ‘You’ve got to improve your social engineering skills if you want to get further than that.’

  I already know that, so I don’t respond.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ His tone is so tentative.

  I don’t know. My head is reeling, and I ask the first thing that comes to mind: ‘You couldn’t trace the IP address? What did you try?’ I don’t believe that with all my doubts about him, the fear that’s overwhelmed me the last five minutes, I focus on this.

  He notices. ‘See, Tina? That’s the way you and I are. My god, I was kissing you and you switched gears so fast, but I didn’t even care because what we do online is what we do and nothing stops us.’

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I ask, mostly to myself, but I say it out loud. I look him straight in the eye. ‘You really could kill me right now.’