The plane landed and Gareth disembarked. He hurried to baggage claim, where he waited for his duffle. A rush of adrenaline accompanied the realization that he hadn’t even called a friend, let alone his boss, to say he’d be gone for a week. He knew that merely sending someone a text might cause suspicion. Such an irresponsible move was out of character for him, but his friends knew him too well, and he just couldn’t talk to any of them while under such duress. So he sent one text, to his immediate superior, reasoning that if he did manage to get back to London, maybe he’d still have a job. Within ten minutes he had received a favorable response and was walking out of the terminal. He stopped outside and looked around for any sign of a person who might have been sent to pick him up. People walked around him every which way, and he began to think he was on his own and transport would have to be by taxi.
Just then a man inched up to him and asked, “Well, Logan, glad you made it.” Gareth said nothing. The man spoke again. “Cat got your tongue, mate? Surely you remember me.”
Of course Gareth recognized him, but he looked down at the ground, obviously disturbed to see the man again. “You never gave a name. I didn’t expect to see you here. Once you were through threatening me that night in the pub, I hoped I wouldn’t have to see you again.”
The man let out a derisive laugh and said, “The name’s Linus. I’m your transport to Pamplona and the guy who’s gonna keep an eye on you ‘til your keeper takes charge later. Then I’m off— back to London.”
At that point Gareth had little choice but to acquiesce. He followed the man to a nondescript car, threw his duffle into the back seat, and they both climbed in. Once enclosed without ventilation, he instantly became aware of the man’s musty odor. He hadn’t noticed it in the pub that night. His bald head looked greasy, as did his stringy brown hair. Gareth wondered why a man would be wearing a coat made for the London damp on such a warm day in Spain. He wondered if Linus was an alias, not that it mattered. As they left the parking lot he rolled down his window to let in fresh air. He wondered if he would have to search for a room on foot, or if plans had been made for him. They rode in silence for a while before the man told Gareth where he would be staying. He felt a bit of relief at not having the search for accommodations added to his state of anxiety. Linus named Gestión Alojamientos and said he knew there would be a room available. Gareth was also told that right after he checked in, there would be a meeting at the bar next door.
The clerk said a room was available only because the guests who had booked it didn’t show up. He went up to the room, threw his belongings on the floor and sprawled on the bed. His head was throbbing from lack of sleep and the ongoing stress of not knowing what to expect. After a while he got up, threw cold water on his face, went downstairs and outside to find the bar. Two doors down from the guesthouse a sign extended from the wall flashing ‘Bar’ in red neon. Gareth went inside and stopped to scan the room, not knowing whom to look for other than Linus. He was spotted sitting at a table by the wall along with another burly-looking man who had his back to Gareth. He walked over to them and they motioned him to sit. They introduced themselves as Linus and Lenny. No last names were offered, although they knew all about him.
Lenny said that he had only five minutes and that he had to get back to his guests. He told Gareth that part of his job would be to relieve him as caretaker. Adrenaline shot through Gareth’s body as he realized that the guests had to be Olivia and her ex-sister-in-law, and that his worst-case scenario seemed inevitable. He was given an address and told to report there no later than six o’clock in the morning, bringing his own food and water.
As he began to get up, Linus reached over and grabbed his arm. “You’re not going anywhere yet. What makes you think we’re finished with you?”
Gareth sat down again and said, “Sorry. I thought we were finished.” His demeanor was submissive, but inside, he was seething.
This time Lenny spoke. “You haven’t heard about the most important part of your duties. It’s time for you to apply some of your tech-savvy to move things along.”
Gareth answered, “I don’t understand.”
“Your baby brother has a big mouth. He seems to like talking about you—bragging about you—to anybody that will listen. He should be more careful. He told my cousin all about you. Turns out you two made the perfect pair for our purposes.”
Linus let loose with a belly laugh that Gareth found disgusting. He was fed up with being strung along and asserted himself by asking straight out what they wanted. Lenny explained that he was to send an untraceable email to an address he would be given. It was to be done from an Internet café in Pamplona. He was told to send it around the world if he must, but it had to be done within the next two hours. They asked him for his email address and told him that the item to be sent would be sent to him first. He was to access his account then copy and paste it onto a new email and send it on as directed. There was to be a blind copy sent to another address, that of their boss. Linus handed him a piece of paper on which was written the ghost account address, the boss’ address, and that of the main recipient.
Gareth was still somewhat confused, and questioned the men further. “But even if it can’t be traced, I need an address for the sender.”
Lenny leaned forward, elbows on the table and shoulders hunched. He spoke in a low and impatient voice. “I’ve set up an account under an alias with a small provider—known for their discretion. It’s paid for through an account under the same alias. So use that and stop asking questions.”
“Your plan isn’t foolproof. There are people who can follow the course of an email and trace it to the source. It just takes a while—maybe a couple of days. It could be less if the recipient involves their security administration—or Interpol. I can do this, but I can’t work miracles or guarantee how long you’ve got before someone finds the source.”
Linus just sat back in his chair with a smirk on his face and said, “Well, you’d better hope you’re good at miracles because you know what happens if you fuck it up.”
Gareth had run out of reasons to stall and told them he knew how to proceed. There was no choice but to guarantee he would do his best. In his profession, tracing communications that skip around the globe in anonymity was an important part of his job. He was given the address of an Internet café and also given another unnecessary warning. Both men got up at the same time and plodded out of the bar. Gareth stayed there, staring at nothing, until the barkeep told him either to order or leave. He had no appetite for food or drink and returned to his room where he fell face down on the bed, planning just a few minutes rest before dealing with his task. Exhaustion and the need for escape quickly brought sleep.
Within an hour he startled awake and remembered what he had to do. Gareth scooped up his wallet and room key then rushed down to the hotel desk, where he inquired about the address he had been given. It was only a five-minute walk, and soon he was seated at a corner table with a cup of black coffee and a computer screen ready to take him online. He accessed his Internet account and then his email. There it was: the fake account, the email text, and the attachment he was meant to send by a circuitous route to the woman whose daughter was at great risk in a foreign country.
* * *
Hugh McKinnon concluded the meeting with his two old acquaintances from Interpol and headed back to the museum. He had telephoned Paris to see if anything had happened, but was told no, that they were still waiting. It was slow going in the afternoon traffic and he was short on patience. He then decided that the slow crawl of traffic would give him the opportunity to mull over in his mind all that had been discussed. They had come up with several scenarios for making the criminals believe that Paris would do as they asked. Yet he had to ask himself why she would cooperate if there were no danger to anyone—no good reason to acquiesce. Everything depended on the call, if it would be a call and not another tape. He stopped at another traffic light and fidgeted in the seat, his hands gripping the steer
ing wheel too tightly.
The office was quiet. Ben was playing games on his phone. Ana was perusing the shelf of art books in Paris’ office, while Paris sat at her desk with eyes glued to the exhibit paperwork. She was anxious for Hugh to return, anxious to find out what their options would be. When they heard the sound, all three looked up from what had been occupying their attention. It was the familiar sound alert from Paris’ computer, informing of a new email. Her first instinct was to ignore it, but Ben urged her to view its content. In spite of the attachment being from an unknown sender, it had not gone to the Spam folder. In a job such as hers, emails often came from senders relevant to her work, senders whom she did not know. Therefore, her spam filter could not be set to a high level.
Paris stared at the screen, hesitating to open the email, until Ben said, “No one needs more suspense. Open it, Mum. It could be nothing—just work related.”
She did as he said, and after a moment of perusing the content she moaned, “No, no, no … this can’t be true.”
Ben walked around the desk, put his hand on her shoulder, and looked at the screen. “Did you see that there’s an attachment?”
He didn’t wait for her reply, just reached forward toward the keyboard, opened it and waited for the download. In a few seconds a photo appeared. His sister was sitting on an old mattress in handcuffs with her hair in tangles and her clothing rumpled. Her face was filled with terror. Beside her in partial view was Valerie, his ex-wife. They could see that she was also handcuffed and filled with fear. Paris continued to utter words of denial—that it was a trick. Ana hurried to their side and all three stared at the frightened and disheveled women in the photo.
Ben began to read the text aloud. “We have your daughter and the woman who was with her. This is the surprise we had for you—a surprise that should make you cooperate. You know how it works. If you want her back still breathing, you’ll do what we tell you.”
Paris interrupted, “But I still don’t know what that is. Oh my God, what will Hugh do when he sees this?”
“Dad will know what to do. He should be here soon. But let me finish reading. Maybe what they want is in this email.” Paris stopped talking. Ana squatted beside Paris’ chair and gently rubbed her arm in an effort to calm her. Ben continued to read. “Within an hour you’ll get a call at your office with specific instructions. And don’t bother trying to trace the call. You know about burner phones.”
The three looked from one to the other, trying to take in what was happening. Ana went to Ben and wrapped her arms around him, saying softly how sorry she was and that she would do anything to help bring Olivia home safely—Valerie as well. Ben stiffened. Ana stood back and waited for him to speak.
“It’s all clear now. I was the one. They originally wanted to abduct me to be the bargaining chip.” He looked at Ana and continued. “We wondered why the attacks happened. It’s just too fucking easy these days for people to learn all about you—sorry for the language, Mum. All this technology is a mixed blessing—like doing research on our family from top to bottom. Mum, you must be very necessary to whatever they’re up to.”
Paris spoke in a near whisper. “I’ll do whatever they ask—anything. My poor baby girl… I can’t stand the thought of her being so frightened.”
Ana turned to Ben, a confused expression on her face. “You said attacks—plural. Why didn’t you tell me there’d been another one? What happened and where and how did you get free?”
“You’d had enough of my problems. I would have told you eventually, but I just wanted to get you out of town—get us both out of town. It wasn’t a lie, just a sin of omission.”
Ana shook her head and walked back around the desk to sit down. She knew that this wasn’t the time to face off about details or not being told.
* * *
Gareth left the café and headed in the direction of his hotel. He was greatly troubled by his actions and questioned if he should have been stronger, called their bluff about the risk to his brother. He pulled out his mobile phone and called the number he had been given. He now knew that the threatening voice giving him orders over the phone had been Lenny all along. Once he confirmed the email had been sent, his time was his own until the morning. A block or so from the Gestión he detoured down the street to his left and began to look for somewhere to eat. He entered the first café he came upon and took a small table by the window. A diminutive old woman with a craggy face shuffled over to take his order. He knew nothing about Spanish food, so pointed to a couple of dishes listed on the menu.
She nodded then pointed to a wall covered in wine bottles and beers before asking, “¿Lo que para beber?” He asked for a beer, and she walked away as she had come.
While waiting for the food he became more and more consumed by the events and imagining their possible conclusions. He looked up at the old woman as she set his meal on the table, and in that instant Gareth realized what he must do. After washing down the last of his tortilla and roasted tomatoes with the last swallow of beer, he went to the counter to pay for his meal. Pausing on the sidewalk he contemplated his next move. He needed an Internet café, but not the same one he had used. His long legs quickly carried him the two blocks to a main street, where he hailed a taxi and asked for another Internet café in another neighborhood. The driver understood the key words in his request and nodded as he pulled away from the curb. They must have gone a mile before the taxi stopped opposite just the right kind of place. He thanked the driver for his help by way of a generous tip. The plan was still formulating in his mind, and he hesitated for a few moments before entering.
As he pushed through the swinging door he noticed that most of the computers were occupied. He scanned the room, saw one free station along the left wall, and hurried to claim it. Once seated, he accessed the Internet and went to Google, where he established an additional email account using his alias. Maybe Olivia had mentioned him to her family. Probably not, but maybe they would recognize the name. He still had the recipient’s email address—the one used for his previous task—and this email would go to the same address, directly, and without fear of it being traced. It would be short—just a few words— and he hoped they would quickly figure out Olivia’s location and find a way to help her.
He began to type: Olivia and friend—Pamplona Spain—captives—much danger. He didn’t sign it. They would see who sent it. His greatest fear was that no one would take it seriously. Yet the right people could trace it quickly—he was counting on that. As he clicked ‘send,’ a shot of adrenaline coursed through him, followed by the brief feeling of contentment that comes from doing the right thing. He got up, paid for his time on the computer, and decided to walk off some of his anxiety. After being lost briefly, he arrived at his lodgings and welcomed the chance to lie down again. Scenarios ran through his head as he imagined the varied and unpredictable reactions his second email could be causing at that exact moment.
* * *
Paris McKinnon folded her arms on the desk, put her head down and closed her eyes. She was exhausted from the waiting and the eventual bad news they had received. Now there was more waiting—for the phone call that would define what was required of her. Ben and Ana had gone out to wait in the hallway, hoping to give her a rest from talking and a chance to calm down. The news of her daughter’s plight had sucked away her strength. She felt like a rag doll unable to sit upright. Her body wanted to fold in on itself in an effort to escape the stress. She made the effort to take deep measured breaths and control the horrid thoughts that continued to pop into her mind. That minor ritual for survival was interrupted by the computer’s familiar sound, informing of another message. She sat up abruptly and accessed the inbox. She didn’t recognize the sender’s name, but considering the situation, she opened it without further thought.
The words jumped out at her, and she was instantly gripped by fear. She didn’t get up to go to the door, just yelled to Ben. The door opened immediately, and in a trembling voice she said,
“There’s another email—just a few words. It’s about Olivia—from someone named Clive Warren. Come and read it!”
Ben went to the computer, Ana close behind. They both leaned over Paris’ shoulder and read the words aloud. “Olivia and friend—Pamplona Spain—captives—much danger…” He stopped talking, put his hand on his mother’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Ana did the same. Paris was still as a statue. All three were silent, thoughts racing. “Mum, this could be the break we need to start looking for her.”
Paris spoke, her voice almost a whisper. “Maybe it’s just to give us false hope. Maybe they’re playing with us—just being cruel.”
Ana had been quiet, not wanting to interfere, but it was time to share her thoughts. Very gently she said, “Or it could be a Good Samaritan—or someone who no longer wants to be a part of whatever is going on or is meant to happen.”
Ben began to pace around the room. “There are any number of possible reasons for this. It could be a ruse, or a cruelty, but just in case it isn’t, I have to do something. I’m going to Pamplona—as fast as I can get there.”
Ana could see a fury building in Ben. He would be a loose cannon in Pamplona, and if by some chance he encountered her abductors, his emotions would likely get him killed. There had to be some sort of order to the undertaking. She knew it was imperative that it appear as if Paris was doing just exactly as she had been ordered. The telephone call with instructions had not come yet, but it could at any minute. Nothing should be done until then. Ben was Olivia’s protector and it would be beyond difficult to keep him at bay until the right time. She had made one decision that was irrevocable: He would not go to Spain without her.
Ben was still pacing when the phone rang. Paris startled, sat up straight, and reached for the phone. She hesitated and let it ring three times before answering. Ana saw her lick her lips and breathe deeply before speaking.
Good Deed Bad Deed : A Novel Mystery Page 21
