Zeke takes a deep breath. ‘He doesn’t have the money yet. He still thinks you know where it is.’
‘But that other Tracker told p4r4d0x that he did have the money.’
‘Maybe he was lying.’
His words surprise me. ‘So maybe he’s setting up p4r4d0x?’
‘Anything could be going on.’
I don’t even want to speculate. There are too many things at play right now and too many questions.
‘Tell me how you got Ian Cartwright’s cell phone number,’ he says when we are on the Rickenbacker Causeway, headed back to South Miami.
‘What makes you think I didn’t hack into the carrier?’
‘You won’t answer the question.’
Busted. ‘I may have done a little social engineering.’
‘You could get charged with impersonating an FBI agent.’
I stare at him. He knows what I did. ‘Why did you even ask? Anyway, how did you find out?’
‘Adriana DeMarco called the field office. She asked for Agent Nancy Lyon, and when she found out there wasn’t anyone by that name, she threw a fit. She’s a little bit of a princess, your sister.’
I ignore his comment. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I get a call if there’s something to do with DeMarco. His daughter calling and saying that an agent called her warrants a red flag.’
‘So she admitted that she gave me Ian’s phone number?’
Zeke chuckles. ‘No, she didn’t admit that, but you just did. Hey, don’t get me wrong. It was a good move. But why didn’t you just get the number from the carrier?’
Good question.
‘It’s OK if you want to know more about her,’ Zeke says. ‘I understand.’
Although he understands a lot more than I wish he did, on this I don’t know that he does. I don’t even understand it. Why did I call her? I have no answer except that perhaps I wanted some sort of connection. It also told me something that she did have Ian’s number.
I don’t say any of this to Zeke, though. Instead, I ask, ‘So how do you find your hackers?’
He gives me a sidelong glance, then says, ‘Online in the chat rooms. How else?’
Except for Daniel. Daniel, who was handpicked by his father to join this team. Why? Why would Ian turn his son over to Zeke? There’s no love lost between them; Ian only does things that will benefit him. I’m more convinced than ever that Ian is behind all of this. And then I have another thought.
‘Daniel. The wireless router.’ My head is spinning; I’m having a hard time getting the words out.
He knows what I’m thinking. ‘You got into someone’s computer with the router, but you think that computer was hacked. You were watching a shadow.’
I’d hacked the hacker.
TWENTY-NINE
‘We need to get back in there,’ Zeke is saying.
‘The router’s dead.’
‘So we find a charger.’
‘And how long will it take to power it up?’
‘Then we get a new one.’ He makes it sound so easy.
‘And put it in the same place?’
Zeke nods. ‘Someone’s trying to hack into a computer in Tony’s house. You set up the router so the network was automatic for anyone online?’
‘Yeah. But I think you have to order those things by mail.’
Zeke gives me a lopsided grin. ‘Tina, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m FBI? I can do anything.’
I make a face at him. ‘What if Daniel’s p4r4d0x?’
‘We don’t know that Daniel is p4r4d0x. Maybe he’s Tracker.’
‘But if we believe the conversation, then Tracker tried to kill Tony. Daniel’s been here, right, the whole time? And I’m not sure I can see him as the one who tried to kill Tony DeMarco in New York.’
Zeke shrugs. ‘What if the whole thing is made up? What if the conversations are fabricated?’
I hadn’t even thought about that. Maybe I’m too quick to believe the worst rather than believe that maybe someone’s messing with me. With us. ‘What’s the point of that?’
‘To lure you out? Like the shadow did last summer? Whoever is doing this knew about the bike shop at the Cape. This is as much about you – about me – as it is about DeMarco.’
‘It might only be about me.’ He looks confused, so I continue. ‘Tony’s not dead, right?’ He shakes his head, frowning, trying to see where I’m going with this. ‘Whoever was hired to kill him—’
‘Didn’t succeed,’ he finishes. ‘Which means DeMarco might not be the target after all. It’s you.’
‘Or us. Look what just happened.’
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then says, ‘But he didn’t finish us off. He could have slammed us into a tree. Why didn’t he?’
I have no idea, but then I realize something, something Zeke had said earlier. ‘Because he doesn’t have the money yet.’
‘Exactly.’
Although we’ve sorted this out, and I’m pretty sure we’re on the right track, I begin to get that ominous feeling again. This place is not safe for me. ‘I have to get out of town,’ I say softly.
For the first time, Zeke doesn’t disagree with me, which means he’s drawing the same conclusions I am. ‘You’re right. You and I can work anywhere.’
‘We’ve already figured out it’s Ian.’
‘But we need proof.’
I’m perfectly willing not to take this any further. I know how to disappear; there are plenty of places I can go where I won’t be discovered. And bringing Zeke along is not part of any plan I’ve ever had.
I can see, however, that he’s not going to let me go without a fight. He’s got another card up his sleeve, too.
We’ve pulled into the parking lot behind the apartment building, but when he stops the car, he doesn’t make a move to get out right away. Instead, he says, ‘That hit was traced to you – and to me. You go into hiding now, you’ll never be able to get out. We catch Ian, we prove to DeMarco that you weren’t behind the hit, and you’re free.’
I’d almost forgotten about that. ‘OK, fine, sure. But I really don’t want to go back in there.’ I indicate the apartment.
‘Talk to Daniel. See if you can get anything out of him. I’ll get my stuff, you get whatever you left behind, and we’ll head out.’
He’s not going to let me off the hook, even though I really don’t know what I’m going to say to Daniel. Resigned, I turn and head toward the apartment building, my backpack slapping against my side. Against my better judgment, I pause and turn around when I realize he’s not right behind me. He’s wheeling the bike toward me.
‘Can’t keep it in the car,’ he says simply, and we go up the stairs and head to the apartment. I open the door and let him through with the bike. He leans it against the wall as I step inside. Jake and Charles are still hunched over their keyboards. It’s quite possible that they have not even moved since I was here early this morning. Heather wears headphones as she stares at her screen. Empty cans of Red Bull are littered about; the scent of popcorn is in the air. No one looks up or acknowledges that we’re here.
Zeke taps Jake on the shoulder. Jake looks up, lifts up one side of his headphones.
‘Wassup?’
‘Where’s Daniel?’
He shrugs. ‘Not my turn to watch him.’
Zeke doesn’t even bother with Charles. He approaches Heather, who sees him and shoves her headphones up over her ears so she’s wearing them like some sort of crown.
‘Daniel?’ Zeke asks.
She shakes her head, gives me a sidelong glance. ‘He left.’
‘For where?’
‘I don’t know. Said he had something to do.’
Zeke and I exchange a look. It’s the middle of the night. Although it’s perfectly normal to be here at this hour, it is not normal to have ‘something to do.’ Other than this, anyway.
‘You sure he didn’t just go to bed?’ Zeke tries.
Her hands are on the h
eadphones, ready to move them back down over her ears again. ‘No. He left. Got a ride.’
Zeke’s face grows dark. I can sense his exasperation with Heather’s cryptic responses. ‘With who?’
For the first time since we entered the room, she looks straight at me, and then back at him. ‘He got a text and left. Said he’d be back.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know – couple hours ago?’ Now she does lower her headphones and goes back to her screen, but she is still watching Zeke – and me. She’s not that discreet about it. I’m doing the math in my head. Daniel left about the same time that car was idling outside my motel room. Zeke looks as if he’s not finished with the interrogation, but I tug on his shirtsleeve and indicate he should follow me. I can feel Heather’s eyes on us as we let ourselves out.
‘What’s up?’ Zeke asks when we’re in the hallway, heading toward the other apartment.
‘You can’t do simple math in your head?’ I roll my eyes at him.
When we get inside the apartment, the bicycle in tow, I take the laptop out of the backpack. The program that I used to track Ian’s cell phone is still bookmarked. I hit a few keys, and there it is. The location of Ian’s cell: at his house.
‘That’s not really a surprise,’ Zeke says, but it’s clear he’s formulating some sort of plan.
I get tired of waiting for him, though, and say, ‘If you can get your hands on one of those wireless routers, we can go set up another network. See what he’s up to.’
He’s already in his room, packing up his bag. I go into the bedroom and find the couple of T-shirts I’d left here earlier and stuff them into the backpack. Back in the living room, I scoop up the laptop and shove it inside, too. He’s waiting by the door, his cell phone to his ear, murmuring something into it.
‘We’re all set,’ he says, shoving the phone into his jeans pocket and closing the door behind us.
We move quickly down the stairs and past the fountain, the parking lot lights beacons in the night. But just as we are about to emerge from the courtyard into the lot, headlights flash. Zeke grabs me and pulls me back into the shadows. We peer around the wall and watch as the black car pulls to a stop. The door opens, and Daniel emerges. He’s going to have to walk right by us to get upstairs, so I shrink back, ready to try to find another hiding place. But I stop when I hear his voice.
Ian’s voice. Telling Daniel he’ll walk him up.
THIRTY
The computer program showed that the cell phone was at the house. Not here. I’m confused. But I don’t have time to think about it because another thought creeps into my head. Ian probably knows that I’m in town, but I’m not ready for that encounter yet, especially after what just happened. And even though Zeke wants me to have a heart-to-heart with Daniel, this clearly is not the time. It seems that Zeke is on the same page. He indicates I should follow him, and we hug the wall as we head around the courtyard. A door is just up ahead, and Zeke turns the knob, pushing me inside, his finger to his lips, indicating I need to stay mum.
He’s got the door open a crack and is watching. I lean against the wall, my eyes adjusting to the dark. We’re in the laundry room; a line of washers and dryers are in front of us in a row, like soldiers at the ready.
I barely have time to register it, though, when Zeke yanks my arm and we are running through the courtyard to the parking lot. The car’s lights flash as Zeke hits the key fob to unlock the doors. We climb inside, and he peels out of the lot.
‘Heather will tell them that we were giving her the third degree,’ I say when we get to the South Dixie Highway. ‘She’ll tell them that we just left.’
‘She doesn’t know where we’re going.’ Zeke’s eyes are trained on the road as he grips the steering wheel. The car weaves from lane to lane, around the other few cars, going through yellow lights, putting more distance between us and Ian. I twist around in my seat and look behind us, almost expecting to see Ian’s car, but of course I don’t. There are not many cars on the road, though, so I worry that Ian will catch up with us regardless.
It reminds me of something, however.
‘The car that was behind us – the BMW?’ I say. ‘If it was Ian, then he had Daniel in the car with him.’
That sits between us for a few minutes. I’d like to think that if Ian’s going to come after us, he wouldn’t bring his teenage son along.
We’re driving parallel to the monorail, and then suddenly we’re veering left, underneath it. The seat belt is tight against my body; the back of the car feels as though it’s hydroplaning.
‘He must have left his phone at home,’ I say to break the tension.
‘No shit, Sherlock.’
‘But who leaves his cell phone home?’
Zeke’s head snaps around to look at me. ‘Maybe it’s powering up.’
‘He could power it up in the car. You don’t think he’s on to us, do you? I mean, maybe he talked to Adriana. She could have told him that she gave his number out. I mean, she did call the FBI about the phone call she got, and she probably trusts him a lot more than the feds.’
His silence tells me that he thinks the same thing. I made a huge mistake getting the number from her rather than just hacking into the phone company records.
We’re on Bird Road, then to the right, driving the grids. I peer into the side-view mirror and don’t see anyone behind us now. The houses are dark. Only a couple of sets of headlights pass, and the palms overhead cast shadows on the pavement. We’re somewhere in Coral Gables, that’s all I know, squat stucco houses with red clay roofs lining the street.
Zeke turns down another street, then pulls into a driveway of one of the small houses. He cuts the engine, and I open my door at the same time he opens his.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Stay here.’
No one is around; shadows creep along the surface of the house. All the houses on the street have neat, tidy yards with palm trees and flowering bushes. This one is no different, except that there is something over the front windows; there’s no glow from a TV and no light seeps through. ‘I’m not staying in the car,’ I say, starting to get out.
He leans over and opens the glove box, takes out a gun. I’m so startled that I don’t speak for a moment. Who exactly lives in this house that he’d need a gun?
He slams the car door shut and sticks the gun in his back waistband.
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ I ask, finally finding my voice and cocking my head at him. ‘I mean, what if it goes off? You could injure yourself.’
‘Would you care?’
‘Seriously, Zeke. Don’t you have some sort of holster?’
He ignores me as he walks up the driveway, following a stone path around the back. I do a little jog to keep up. There’s a door at the side of the house; the curtains in the windows are drawn. Zeke knocks; the knob turns and it opens. Zeke indicates I should follow. We slip inside.
It’s a kitchen – very modern, with expensive-looking stainless-steel appliances, dark cabinets, and granite counters circling the room. An island sits in the middle with a couple of chairs on one side. The figure who let us in leads us into the living room, which spreads out the width of the house. But there are no sofas or chairs or fancy artwork on the walls. Four computer screens sit side by side on a long table, keyboards and wires cluttering the space in front of them. From the number of screens, I would have expected more than one person manning them, but I would have been wrong. He is a wiry fellow with a short ponytail fanned out on top of his head. His hands and feet seem too large for his body. He could be thirty or he could be fifty; it’s anyone’s guess.
‘Tina, Spencer. Spencer, Tina.’
Spencer gives me a small salute, and I nod, a little taken aback that Zeke has used my real name in the introduction.
They huddle together, and I run my fingers across the keyboards. The screens are dark, but when I hit a key, one of them springs to life, and I scan the code. It’s a jumble, until I see something familiar and lean for
ward to take a closer look. I glance over at them. They are facing away from me, whispering to each other. I take advantage of the moment and lean over the keyboard, my fingers moving swiftly, my eyes on the screen, watching the code as it scrolls. There. I hear Tracker’s usual question in my head: What do you see?
I don’t have time, though, to delve deeper, because Zeke clears his throat right behind me. I twirl around, like a child caught stealing a candy bar at the drugstore. Spencer has an amused expression on his face; his eyes meet mine and I catch the small smile at the corner of his mouth. He knows that I know. So does Zeke.
‘Did you find it?’ I ask Spencer.
He shakes his head. ‘Not yet. But I will.’
He’s been looking for the bank account, the one I put that two million dollars into after the job. The one no one could find. This is work that Zeke’s team hasn’t been commissioned to do, and I wonder how much Spencer is getting for it. Is he an outlier of the team, someone like me, who has a bigger purpose than searching for Tony DeMarco’s deep web site and proof of his criminal activity?
‘Come on, Tina,’ Zeke says.
I want to stay here. I want to help Spencer, see if we can find that bank account together, see if the money really does still exist, like ‘p4r4d0x’ and ‘Tracker’ said in the chat room.
‘How did you find this?’ I ask Spencer, ignoring Zeke.
‘It’s all still there; it’s just digging it out.’ He is eyeing me curiously now. ‘How did you do it?’
He’s asking how I transferred the money, how I got it out of the bank accounts and put it into all those other accounts. I force myself not to look at Zeke. ‘I had help.’ Why isn’t Zeke helping Spencer? He knows where that money went; he told me how to do it. Except that one account. The one no one found.
The one that Spencer is about to hack into.
THIRTY-ONE
He doesn’t know what’s there. He hasn’t gotten inside. If what Zeke tells me is true, there isn’t anything there. The account is a ghost, much like its creator. But what if it’s not? What if it does still exist? My fingers itch for the keyboard; I have to know.
Betrayed Page 13
