"How can I help you today, ma’am?"
"Hi, I’m trying to find someone. Would it be possible to talk to someone in admin?" I smile, trying to soften my ridiculous request.
"Who are you looking for?"
"I’m looking for a guy named Dan . . ."
I cringe inwardly, while he presses his lips together, waiting for me to provide the rest of the information. Problem is, I don’t have any.
"You’re looking for a guy named Dan," he says. I notice this is not a question. It’s a statement. "And does this Dan have a last name or rank?"
"Well, that’s kind of the thing. I don’t actually know his last name . . . or his rank." I smile again, hoping to get this guy on my side. He can cause me all sorts of problems up to and including detainment, if he deems my behavior suspicious.
He steps closer and peers into the backseat of my car. Then he meets my gaze. "Ma’am, are you aware that Dan is probably the most common name in America? My dog is named Dan. Are you sure you’re not looking for someone’s dog?"
I sigh and glance at my rear view mirror. Another vehicle is coming. My window of opportunity is closing. "Yes, I’m sorry, I know this sounds a little strange, but I need to find someone named Dan. He—he has a nickname." This’ll be good. "It’s . . . Dan the Man?" I wince.
He straightens. His nostrils flare. He probably thinks I’m playing a prank on him, ergo playing a prank on his beloved branch of the U.S. military. But I have to find this guy, offended parties or no. I have to save someone’s life. I lean out of my car window and look up at the cadet. "He could also be known as Danny?"
Well, that ends my tour of Camp Pendleton.
He instructs me to turn around and leave the premises post haste, which I proceed to do. Before I reach the freeway on-ramp, I pull over and look at my long list of destinations for the day. Then I sigh and lay my head back on the headrest, overcome with the reality of my mission. I could go to every place on my list, but I’ll face the same problem. Calvin Cadet will meet me at every entrance gate and point out the obvious state of affairs: there are millions of men in the U.S. Military, named Dan.
But what am I supposed to do? This is all I have. One life hangs in the balance, maybe more. So with no other option, I sit up, put my car into gear, and drive on to the next stop.
I experience what I can only summarize as ‘same-same’ with the following four stops. Calvin Cadet is proving to be rather unhelpful. Time for a change of tactic.
I’m driving over Coronado Bridge, death-gripping the wheel, keeping my eyes glued to the dotted white lines as I soar over the skyline and return safely to terra firma.
At the base of the bridge, I drive through the unmanned tollbooths and follow the GPS directions to the Naval base. This time, though, I have a plan. I decide to park in the nearby neighborhood, walk onto the base—okay sneak—and ask around.
It’s risky, otherwise known as a big gamble, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t get past the sentinels.
All the Calvin Cadets so far look like recent high school graduates polished up like chess pieces. These boys are also a little cagey looking and militant, working very hard to do the right thing, score some brownie points, and stay under the radar. Better do the best I can to stay under their radar.
It’s a sunny Friday afternoon with a weak sun and light breezes. White puffs of clouds scuttle across the bright blue sky. I’m hoping Calvin Cadet will be in a little bit of an end-of-the-week haze, daydreaming about the upcoming weekend.
The streets on Coronado Island are charming and well maintained. The lawns are impossibly green and immaculate. I find myself wondering where the municipality gets their endless source of water. Cheerful blooming trees dot the neighborhoods, along with SoCal’s renditions of Cape Cods, Colonials, and stucco plantation style homes.
I pull up next to a gated one-story home with a cactus garden for a front yard and hurry down the sidewalk toward a security hut on base about a hundred yards down the road, trying to look calm and casual.
As I approach, I watch another Calvin Cadet wave through a few vehicles and return to his hut. A group of three people in front of me, one military and two civilians, walk toward the entrance, past the hut, and make their way to what looks like an admin building. I decide to do the very same thing. But just as I walk past the traffic boom, I hear Calvin bark, "Ma’am?"
He’s talking to me of course. I keep moving.
"Ma’am!"
As casually as possible, I tail civilians into the building. Right before I slip inside, I glance behind me and see Calvin dip his head toward the walkie-talkie attached to his epaulet, eyes glued on me. He’s calling for backup.
I don’t have much time. Backup is on the way. I push inside the admin building and rush up to the counter.
"Excuse me, sorry," I say to the woman sitting behind a computer monitor. She’s in full uniform, hair pulled up slick and tight under her brown cap. There are some insignia sewn on her sleeves, and some medals pinned to her chest lapel. "Hi, I’m looking for someone named Dan. Do you think you might be able to look him up?"
"Dan? Do you have his last name?"
Ah, yes. That. "No, I don’t. Sorry."
She shakes her head a little dubiously, but soldiers on, ready to query her database. "Okay, can you tell me his rank?"
"I don’t know that either."
"Do you know his company?"
"Ah . . . no."
She takes her hands away from the keyboard. "Ma’am, you’ll need to provide a little more information. Can I see your pass?"
She means my security pass of course, the one that I don’t have. I make a show of trying to dig it out of my purse. "Oh, you know what? Actually, here it is." I hold up Nikki’s new business card. "I forgot I wrote down his number on the back of this card. I’ll give him a call. Thanks so much." Smiling, I leave, stealing a quick glance toward Calvin Cadet, noting with dismay that he’s still talking on his walkie-talkie.
I rush to the nearest group of men in uniform. "Hi, sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Dan," I say to the first one. "It’s important. He has a nickname. Dan the Man." I glance back at Calvin. "Do you know him?"
"That’s not much to go by," a man replies.
Another one chimes in. "Is this something serious?" He seems interested in helping.
"Yes, I mean, no. Not yet. But I need to get a message to him."
Both men shake their heads. I move on, stealing another backward glance, and see two young men walking toward me. They’re here to escort me off the premises or arrest for me for trespassing.
I hurry to the next cluster of uniformed men. "Does anybody here know Dan? Dan the Man?" They look confused. So I move onto the next group and the next, not caring if I look like a crazy person. Well, okay, I care a little, but the image of Kill List’s deadly prediction drives me on.
OCCIDO. Slay. MOX. Shortly.
I accost another group before the security detail catches up to me. Both men take a hold of me, one on each side, hands encircling my wrists like iron manacles.
"Please don’t arrest me. I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just need to find someone named Dan. Dan the Man. Please help me," I say to the gentleman on my left.
Dan the Dickhead? The words ring loud and clear in my mind.
Astonished, I look up at my captor. He’s short, maybe five foot eight, stocky, so blonde his hair is almost transparent, and he has acne scars flaring along his jaw.
"You know him . . ." I say.
Blondie looks like he’s been caught shagging a sheep. "Huh?" he asks, scowling. "I don’t know him for shit."
Stop breathing so hard, Captain Cadet. You’re stealing air from the rest of society!
Sir! Yes sir!
"You do know him."
He keeps his gaze locked on our destination.
Asshole.
"You—you think he’s an asshole." And all the color drains from the young man’s face. Blondie slows down. The other o
ne keeps up the momentum. Soon we’ll be at the security gate, where Calvin will mete out his punishment. "Please," I say to him under my breath. "I need to get a message to him. It’s important."
We arrive at the gate and Calvin stands there, arms crossed, looking none too happy.
Time’s up. Game’s over. After all the risks I took to find Dan, I failed. I look again at Blondie, imploring him to help me. "Tell him he’s in trouble, okay? Tell him to stay away from a girl named Erin."
And before he hands me off to Calvin, Blondie leans over and whispers fiercely in my ear. "His name is Dan Evans. And he is an asshole."
25
ERIN
Gia is giving me the shits. She’s a little too motivated for her own good. Why can’t she just stick to her pet shop life? Ringing up customers, selling them overpriced "accessories" made with organic free-range sustainably sourced materials woven on a loom by seven virgins? I hate those sanctimonious animal-loving idiots with more money than sense.
It’s a dog! I want yell every time I see a ‘pawrent’ presenting his or her smelly, slobbering canine with a doggy cake and posting pictures of their fat over-indulged ‘furry baby’ dressed up in some barf-inducing birthday bandana. Those people need help. Can’t they think of anything else to spend their money on? Like starving children?
What a monumental mistake it was to go around and try to drum up some business for the nail salon. I didn’t exactly plan on abducting Gia’s dog when we met. That was pure luck on my part, giving her Sarah’s phone number. Well, I better get my game face on because I can’t afford to screw this up.
Christ. How did she find my house? That was a shocker. Seeing her standing there, poking her head in my garage.
Time to get going with my ‘Befriend Brynn’ plan. Pick up the pace. Lay my trap. Get her on side with me, and maybe even, talk to the police. Wouldn’t that be a boon?
Brynn was another unexpected complication: finding out Dan has a girlfriend. I had to think quick on my feet that night. Thank God she’s a gullible fish. Made my job a lot easier. What does Dan see in that breadstick?
Anyway, my plan has a time component so that I don’t come across as creepy because when I showed up at her yoga class, Brynn looked like Penelope backing away from Pepé Le Pew.
So I decided to let a little time pass before moving into phase two, but Gia is messing with my plans.
What is she up to? Her finding my house was definitely a close shave, and I’m feeling a cold wind blowing on the back of my neck, where my long locks used to flow.
She’s a psychic, apparently, and she did pick up on Dan when she came in for her manicure. So I can’t underestimate her. Of course, she’ll sleuth around for more information because she’s trying to help me.
Well, I need to hurry up and help myself, before she ruins everything. I hope I scared her into submission with my online review and the threat I left on her dumb dog’s collar.
Someone is going to die, she predicted. Anyone with good sense would pipe down after that prediction. Get back to their regular life and leave me the fuck alone. Not Gia! Lucky me.
I need to keep my thumb on her. You don’t get to where I am without understanding the nature of people, without heeding your own instincts about them. And my hunch tells me that she’s going to try something else, a heroic Hail Mary to save this unknown person’s life and solve her delicious little mystery.
Well, I’ll have to cut that off at the knees. Unfortunately for her, she called looking for Jack. All part of my plan. Now I have her cell phone number. Tracking people through their cell phones is a little bit of an internet myth. There are a lot of apps that promise the Valhalla of trickery, but they don’t really deliver. If I want to track an Android user, I have to physically load an app onto the target device. If I’m after an Apple user (like Brynn), I need to get them somehow cough up their iCloud password. Good luck with that.
There are other websites that promise to track the location of an individual by triangulating cell phone tower information for a small fee. But you can’t be completely stupid, even if you are desperate. Why would someone put their credit card information into a tracker website that promises to deliver on a shady illegal deed?
The only reliable way to track people via their cell phones is to thoroughly break the law. And in order to do that, I need to find my clever Bangladeshi buddy on the dark web. It’s scary what he can do with a shabby computer and an internet connection.
When we first met, we had chatted very briefly about the world of data mining. He calls himself a data broker and says he can get his hands on literally any piece of information that I’m willing to pay for, or erase information, which is how I made his acquaintance in the first place. I needed someone to clean up the search engines, wipe the stain of my misdeeds off of the digital pages. He did a good job, and I paid dearly for it, but it was money well spent, I think, though now I’m not so sure.
He also advised me to create a plethora of social media profiles to confuse anyone who tried to find me. Squid Ink he called it, blowing a big puff of black misinformation in someone’s face every time they try to look me up. That took some time and some creativity to make up so many different people, but I managed it in the end.
But right now, I just need to track Gia’s location. So I fire up my VPN, then my Tor browser and navigate to a forum where he usually hangs out. Then I leave him a message and close out my browser.
A few minutes later, I get a text message from a seriously random number, one of his burner phones probably, the identity scrambled across a VPN.
Yep?
Hey Raj. Need to track someone. Same deal as before.
.0089 BTC per
I tabulate the conversion: almost ninety dollars per request. Ouch. Prices have gone way up. That’s not exactly happy news, but what price am I going to pay if I lose?
Ok, I reply, along with Gia’s cell phone number. I get back on my computer, turn on my VPN again to mask my computer IP address, load up my browser, log in to my Bitcoin wallet, and send over the amount. All paid, I text. Then I wait.
A couple minutes later, a text message comes through with a screen grab of the I-5 freeway south, a blue dot plotted just south of San Clemente. I sit up straight. Gia is in San Diego . . . hunting down Dan?
Shit!
I’m hustling now, balancing on one foot and then the other as I slip on my shoes. I’m dashing over to the kitchen counter and grabbing my purse, and then I’m out of the garage entryway door and fishing out keys from my purse, while I hop in the driver seat and jam the key fob into the ignition. Before the garage door rolls up completely, I ram the car into reverse, roaring out of the garage, and skimming the roof of my car on the bottom of the garage door. I cringe as the scraping metal rakes across the roof of my car, but I don’t have time to stop and check the damage. I jam my finger onto the garage door clicker and drive away.
It’s a bright sunny day. That means traffic is going to be a bitch. Rush hour has gotten earlier and earlier. Three in the afternoon used to be a nice time to cruise down the freeway, but little knots of red taillights are already flickering on about half a mile down the road, where cars are starting to bunch up. Great.
While I tap on the brakes, I think about Gia. What the fuck is she doing? Is she really headed to Dan’s house? How could she have figured out where he lives? All she knows is his nickname! Did she intuit something from the spiritual world? Did some angel on high waft down from the heavens and plop Dan’s address into her palm?
Maybe she’s just headed down to San Diego for a day at the beach. I can feel my shoulders begin to relax a little and slowly ease away from my ears. Yes, that makes sense. She’s in San Diego visiting friends maybe. There’s no way she could have found Dan.
I haven’t quite worked out my plan with Brynn yet. I need her on my side. I need her to testify against Dan. I had hoped to take my time and ease into her life. After I went to her yoga class, I promised myself: no more strange co
incidences. Things need to unfold between us naturally, even though I’m going to engineer every interaction.
Maybe this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I reach over and dig around in my bag, making sure my secret weapon is still in there. It’s a gift for Brynn. Cost me a small fortune. Call it an investment.
I decide to guard the critically important spot, Dan’s house. I’ll park just down the street, out of view, and make sure Gia spends her day at the beach, working on her tan or whatever, and that she heads straight home after she’s done.
Pray I get there in time . . .
26
GIA
Dan Evans. I could have kissed that young cadet, but I didn’t dare. Calvin Cadet and friends interrogated me for nearly an hour and dutifully recorded my particulars. They said they’d let me off this time, because somehow I convinced them that I wasn’t working for a terrorist cell organization, but next time they’ll take up the matter with the police.
Well, there won’t be a next time because Dan’s time is running out. As I drive back over the bridge, I wonder at what kind of crazy lives inside that perky package of a girl and the hell she plans on unleashing.
Once I reach the other side, I pull over and look for his home address. Nikki taught me that trick. Pretty much everything that relates to real estate is a matter of public record. Turns out public records are conveniently located online.
There are exactly five addresses in San Diego where ‘D. Evans’ resides. It’s late afternoon by now, but I hope there’s enough daylight left to visit each address. I hop back on the freeway because I have business to do, and very little time left to do it.
Keep Me In Sight Page 12
