The Cipher

by Maldonado, Isabella

  His audience wanted a show, and he would give them one they would never forget.

  Chapter 26

  The next day

  Cipher Task Force, FBI Academy, Quantico

  Nina sat beside Wade at the circular conference table inside Buxton’s temporary office adjacent to the task force area. She looked around at the group and, for the first time, felt she belonged. Kent sipped black coffee from a US Navy mug, fogging his glasses. Breck closed her ever-present laptop and looked up expectantly. Wade laid his notepad on the table. All eyes turned toward their supervisor, who appeared not to have slept.

  Buxton rubbed the back of his neck, then twisted his head side to side. “The task force has been working through the night,” he said as soon as they settled. “I wanted to speak with the four of you directly before we go in for the first briefing of the day. The assistant director in charge caught the news last night, and he’s asking for daily reports.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to spend a lot more time in meetings and on conference calls, so I want to make sure everyone knows.”

  His index finger came down on the table in front of him. “This team has the lead. Everything will feed in and out from the four of you.”

  Breck’s brows shot up. “But I’m in Cyber Crime,” she said. “Not the BAU.”

  “We still have a lot of images to sort through, and Agent Guerrera may do more direct messaging with the unsub,” Buxton said. “I don’t want to wait while we go through channels. I spoke to your supervisor last night. With your dual background in video forensics and cyber investigations, you’re a perfect fit for this assignment. She approved a temp to the Cipher task force for you.”

  Breck’s cheeks dimpled. “I’ll do whatever I can to help bring this asshole in. Someone needs to cancel his birth certificate.” Her smile widened. “Sir.”

  “I’ve been checking the Cipher’s social media accounts,” Nina said. “He hasn’t posted anything since Boston.”

  She had repeatedly cycled through his platforms since she woke up, dreading what he would say to the world after another murder and successful escape.

  “Public Affairs is coordinating with the social media team,” Buxton said. “News channels have the story on heavy rotation. I think they’re hoping the Cipher contacts one of them directly again.”

  “Maybe he’s traveling,” Breck said.

  Wade gave her a dark look. “Maybe he’s plotting.”

  Kent picked up his mug again. “His past pattern was to leave a clue and a deadline at each scene.” He peered down at the dark liquid inside thoughtfully. “The scene in Boston had a rhyme I now believe was designed to draw attention away from where he had dumped the body. There was no clue left behind.”

  “I’m sure everyone in town searched for it.” Nina rolled her eyes. “Zarran just announced he’s doubling the reward money, so even more people will join the hunt.”

  Wade nodded. “When there’s a million dollars at stake, people will act irrationally.”

  Kent looked at Buxton. “Did we reach out to Zarran?”

  “The LA field office is at his residence now trying to talk some sense into him,” Buxton said, opening his leather portfolio. “Let’s brainstorm our next steps in the investigation before I present them to the group.”

  Wade spoke first. “I’d like to talk to Sorrentino again. We never had to lean on him hard because the case closed right after we spoke to him, but I always believed he knew more than he let on.”

  “We should catch him at his residence,” Kent said. “Last time we went to the club, a girl died very soon after. I don’t want to show our faces there. The Cipher could get wind of it and act out again.”

  Nina had spent a fair amount of time lying awake the previous night considering what she had learned on the flight from Boston. “Our working theory is that the Cipher was at the club and saw you two interviewing Sorrentino, so he framed another fighter for all of his murders?”

  “Or they were committing the crimes together,” Breck said. “And he framed his partner for the whole thing.”

  “No.” Wade’s tone was sharp enough to cut. “I went over my case files again last night. I’m more convinced than ever that the Beltway Stalker was a lone operator.”

  Wade was staking what was left of his damaged reputation on his analysis. If he turned out to be wrong about this, too, the Bureau would be done with him.

  “Let’s keep an open mind,” Buxton said to Wade. “I agree we shouldn’t go to the fight club to interview Sorrentino. Slide by his house.” He tipped his head toward Nina. “Take Agent Guerrera with you.”

  She caught Wade sliding her a look from the corner of his eye. Their first tag-team interview. Should be interesting.

  Buxton moved on to Kent. “Review the suicide note left with the body of the Beltway Stalker. Do a linguistic analysis comparing it with the communications we’ve received from the Cipher. I’d like more evidence that they are one and the same person.”

  “Roger that,” Kent said.

  “I’d like to see the file on that case as well,” Nina said.

  “I’ll see that you get a flash drive with everything on it,” Buxton said before turning to Breck. “Get with Video Forensics and review—”

  A knock at the conference room door interrupted him.

  “Come in.”

  “Excuse me, sir.” A tall, slender woman in a pale pink blouse poked her head in. “Public Affairs has been trying to reach you. They said it’s time-sensitive.” She disappeared, discreetly closing the door behind her.

  Buxton rubbed bloodshot eyes. “My phone’s been buzzing all damn night. I mute it for ten minutes to hold a briefing and look what happens.” He slid a cell phone from his pocket and let out a long, slow breath. “Four missed calls.”

  He laid it on the table and tapped the screen. “This is Buxton. You’re on speaker.”

  “Overmeyer from Public Affairs,” a baritone voice responded. “We’ve got activity on all monitored platforms from the unsub. We believe it’s legit.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s teasing a video that he’s getting ready to put out. Cyber Crime is trying to ping his location, but it looks like he’s rerouting through a series of different servers.”

  “What’s the video supposed to be?” Buxton asked.

  “He doesn’t say much, except that everyone will want to watch and that it’s about Agent Guerrera.”

  All eyes turned to her. Her mouth went dry and her palms grew clammy. What fresh hell was the Cipher planning for her now?

  “We tried to reach you sooner,” Overmeyer continued. “You might want to watch the feed in real time when he airs it. He’s supposed to be posting it on his Facebook page any second now.”

  “Thank you.” Buxton disconnected.

  Breck opened her laptop. She accessed Facebook and checked the unsub’s page. A graphic with a video feed popped up. Breck expanded the image to cover the entire screen. Four words in a bold white font stood out in stark relief against a black background. FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE.

  The letters on the screen dissolved, replaced by a video feed moments later. Heart pounding, Nina leaned closer to the monitor. A fluorescent glow from above poured down over the naked form of a young girl. She lay facedown on a steel table, her wrists and ankles secured to four metal poles, one at each corner of the rectangular surface.

  Horror crashed over Nina in sickening waves as she stared at the screen, transfixed. Revulsion gripped her at a sound she had desperately tried to push from her mind. A sound she had heard only yesterday.

  The voice of the Cipher.

  “Do you know who’s coming to rescue you?” he asked the girl tied to the table.

  Nina watched her sixteen-year-old self, body splayed before the camera. Naked, trembling, vulnerable. The girl she used to be.

  The monster loomed just out of view, his shadow touching her calves as he bent forward to whisper, “No one.”

  The gi
rl pulled against her restraints, rubbing her wrists raw.

  The monster moved back, raising his voice. “Do you know who cares that you ran away?” He paused. “No one.”

  A howl filled with impotent fury came from the girl as she thrashed harder.

  “Do you know who will cry over your grave?” He continued his relentless torment. “No one.”

  The girl turned her head to look at him, eyes blazing.

  “And do you know why that is?” This time, he didn’t wait for a response. “It’s because you are trash.”

  At his deep chuckle, a tear slid down the girl’s cheek.

  Nina swallowed a hot blast of bile climbing the back of her throat. She’d had no idea the Cipher had recorded what he had done to her. No camera had been visible in her line of sight. Now millions of people were about to watch her torment. Worse than a public execution, it was public defilement. The private anguish she had hidden for years was about to be exposed for the world to see.

  And everyone would surely watch.

  Just as her team was riveted to the screen now. Just as she was. No one could look away from the horror unfolding in front of them.

  The monster entered the screen from the left. Tall and broad shouldered, he dwarfed the slight girl lying on the table like a butterfly pinned to a board. Keeping his back to the camera, he wore a black cloak, a hood pulled over his head.

  When he raised his arm, a large hand encased in a blue latex glove extended from the wide sleeve. He bent down to touch the girl’s bare back.

  “These are beautiful,” he said. “Still fresh.”

  He traced a finger along rows of angry red welts and raw lacerations. “Tell me how it felt when the belt lashed your back.” His voice dropped to an accusatory whisper. “Did you cry?”

  The girl said nothing, trying to shrink away from his touch.

  “I wish I had been the one to bestow them on you.” He slowly dragged his fingertip down the length of her spine as he spoke, stopping to caress an older pale white scar running crosswise underneath the fresh marks. “But I have my own plans for you. For the rest of your life . . . even if it’s only a few hours . . . you will be mine.”

  Nina wanted desperately to turn off the laptop. To slam it shut. But that would be like closing her eyes in the face of a gun pointed directly at her. The bullet wouldn’t stop because she wasn’t watching it penetrate her flesh. It would keep going. Boring into her heart. Tearing her to pieces.

  “Do you want mercy?” The voice was smooth, a velvet caress. “Beg me. Perhaps I will take pity on you. You are quite pitiful, after all.”

  The memory of that moment flooded through Nina, pulling tears into the corners of her eyes. She knew what came next.

  The monster stepped back, the click of a lighter audible in the silence. Then his other hand came into view, a lit cigarette held casually between his fingers.

  “P-p-please,” the girl said.

  “Oh, no, little throwaway. That’s not nearly enough. Maybe you don’t understand your situation. You need to try harder. Perhaps this will make it clear.”

  The man touched the glowing tip to the center of her left shoulder blade. The girl thrashed and screamed.

  The screen went blank.

  Words appeared in bright white, contrasting with the inky background as before.

  IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT, CLICK THE “LIKE” BUTTON. WHEN I RECEIVE 1,000 LIKES, I WILL SHOW THE NEXT 60 SECONDS OF THIS VIDEO.

  Every eye in the room swiveled from the screen to Nina. Revulsion was stamped on their shocked faces. She had seen the look before when police officers and social workers inspected her wounds, and she knew what she would see next.

  Pity.

  Alternating currents of rage and humiliation swept through her. The walls closed in around her. Suffocating her. She had to get out. To escape.

  Breck reached out to her with a trembling hand, eyes bright with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  Nina halted her with a raised palm. “Stay away from me.” She glared at the others, shooting to her feet. “All of you, just stay the fuck away from me.”

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  She flung open the door and bolted from the room.

  No one tried to stop her.

  Chapter 27

  Twelve minutes later, Nina left the locker room at a dead sprint, desperate to escape the claustrophobic confines of the building. Her feet turned toward the trail of their own volition, giving her direction and purpose.

  The infamous FBI obstacle course dubbed “the Yellow Brick Road” consisted of 6.1 miles of wooded terrain through the Virginia foothills at Quantico. Anyone who successfully completed the course had to conquer physical and mental challenges along the way.

  She leaped over a tree root thrusting up from the ground and kept going, her footfalls varied on the uneven ground. Along the way, she jumped through a simulated window, maneuvered across a cargo net, and splashed through standing water. Then she arrived at the rope climb and gazed up at the jagged stone cliff high above her, calculating. Wrapping her hands around the thick corded rope, she hoisted herself up until she found a toehold in the craggy rocks. She worked her way up, pulling with her arms and pushing with her legs against the sheer rock face until her shoulders and quadriceps burned. When she got close to the edge jutting overhead, she heard a shuffle. She tilted her head back to squint at a looming silhouette peering down at her.

  Wade squatted. “You gonna climb up here or not?”

  She did not want or need company. “How did you find me?”

  “It’s where I would have gone,” he said. “I started at the end of the course and worked my way toward the beginning. Figured I’d run into you sooner or later.”

  “Go away.”

  “Come up here and let’s talk.”

  She put her foot against the rock face and pushed off, using her arms to pull herself higher. “I don’t know what kind of head-shrinking bullshit you’re trying to pull, Wade, but I’m not in the mood.” She grunted as she heaved again. “I don’t need help, and I don’t want company.”

  Wade didn’t move.

  Cursing, she pushed with her feet and pulled with her hands until every muscle fiber in her arms twitched. When the ridge was only inches above her, she looked into Wade’s eyes again. He could easily reach down and haul her the rest of the way to the top of the outcropping, but he merely watched her.

  Maybe he did understand.

  She flung an arm up to grasp the ledge above her. Gritting her teeth, she flexed her unwilling biceps until her chest flopped onto the hard surface. After a moment’s breath, she rolled her legs up and over as well.

  Still squatting, Wade gazed down at her, an impassive expression on his lined face. “I’m not here to carry you, Guerrera.”

  “Leave,” she said, gasping. “Go. The fuck. Away.”

  He pointed toward the main building. “I’ll leave if you go back in there with me.”

  She sat up. “Why do you care what I do?”

  “Because I’m the only other person who wants this guy as bad as you do.”

  She let out a derisive snort. “So it’s about you.” She got to her feet and brushed the dirt from her hands. “You’re about to get dragged through the mud again over the Chandra Brown case, and you want to make sure you get the right guy this time.”

  When he flinched, she knew her barbed words had found their mark. In her anguish, she had lashed out at the only target that presented itself. She knew it wasn’t right, knew it wasn’t fair, but she had warned him to stay away.

  “If that’s what you need to believe.” He stood to face her, a pained expression on his face.

  She relented. “I want some time to myself right now. Surely someone with a PhD in psychology can understand that.”

  He considered her a long moment before speaking. “I know it makes me a total asshole to say this, but I can’t give you that. We need you on t
he team. Now. Buxton thinks you’re compromised. No agent has ever been shown being tortured and then gone out to investigate their torturer.” He dragged a hand through his hair in what she was coming to understand as his characteristic sign of frustration. “Shit, Nina, I’ve been in the Bureau longer than Buxton, and I’ve never seen anything like this. I can’t blame him for sidelining you, but I believe he’s wrong.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That you’re no longer in a position to interview witnesses, suspects, or anyone else.” He crossed his arms. “You’ll assist the investigation from your desk back at the Washington field office. No more field work.”

  Buxton had made good on his threat to bench anyone on the team who proved to be more of a liability than an asset to the investigation. They stood in the middle of the forest, eyes locked. She recalled their conversation on the return flight from Boston to DC. Wade had been the one Buxton had targeted yesterday, and she’d argued to keep him on the team because he was the only other person in the Bureau who wanted to go after the unsub as much as she did.

  Now Wade had used the same reasoning on her. And it was true. He had endured the public shaming and humiliation she was about to face. The unsub had irrevocably damaged both of them.

  Wade was not the enemy, but her outburst had damaged the tenuous alliance forged between them aboard the jet. She continued to regard him. He hadn’t stalked off when she insulted him. Hadn’t retaliated with a verbal assault of his own. She’d done her best to get rid of him, yet here he stood, looking at her with those inscrutable gray eyes.

  “Chandra Brown wasn’t the only bad call I made two years ago,” he said in a soft voice. “I was also wrong about you, and Buxton is making the same mistake now.”

  She asked the question that had burned in her mind since the day Shawna told her the truth about her hiring. “Why did you red-stamp my psych eval?”