by Mel Odom
Sid gave her a look.
“No. Really. They aren’t calling me that on the other networks.”
“Not on the other networks,” Sid admitted after a moment, “but some of the other reporters—poor souls who were evidently born without one flicker of human compassion, people who would probably not allow the use of the computer and satellite phone to a rival who was racking up story after story for the international market—”
“Other reporters are calling me that?”
Sid shrugged. “Yes, love. And some rather repugnant names I won’t, out of my own vaunted sense of civility, repeat for your delicate ears.”
“My ears aren’t all that delicate.”
“Yes, well, I’m a gentleman, you see.”
“A true gentleman would dress in a fresh shirt and not use the one that has lipstick stains.” Danielle touched his collar.
“Lipstick? Truly?”
“Truly,” Danielle said. “See? I can be compassionate. I could have let you go out among your peers with evidence of your debauchery quite literally hanging around your neck. As a further show of compassion, I won’t mention said debauchery or lipstick to anyone.”
“You are one of a kind,” Sid admitted. He reached up for the rearview mirror and turned it to check his reflection. The lipstick was bright, bubblegum pink and stood out dramatically against his white shirt collar. “Oh. Well, there is a glaring bit of evidence, I suppose. I wasn’t near my luggage when this … happened.”
“You ask me,” Danielle said, “that doesn’t look accidental at all.”
Sid ignored her barbed comment. “Or when I got your call at this dreadful hour. After seven o’clock in the morning and rain pouring straight down, I assure you they’ve put this war on hold at least for a bit. No soldier wants to fight in the rain. Especially an infantry with a heavy armor assist. Planes won’t even be flying much today. You should have taken this opportunity to catch up on your sleep.”
“Someone I know wasn’t sleeping. Bubblegum pink lipstick?”
Sid dabbed at the lipstick with a handkerchief but succeeded only in smearing the color. “I’m sure there’s another name for it. An exotic name, I’d wager.”
“Who wears bubblegum pink lipstick?” Danielle’s natural curiosity got the better of her.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“How young was she?”
“Above the age of consent.” Sid gave up on the rescue of the collar. “I must say I don’t care for your insinuation.”
“You’re the one wearing bright pink lipstick. I’ll feel free to insinuate away.”
“I’m also the one with the computer and satellite phone you wish to borrow. Again. For unknown and nefarious reasons.”
“You wish.” Danielle still felt antsy. Mystic had told her he/she/ they would be in touch with her in three or four hours. Almost eighteen hours had gone by since she’d talked with the computer hacker. She had contacted Sid Wright on two other occasions to check her e-mail. “So tell me about the bullet holes.”
“I should keep you in suspense,” Sid groused. “As you have been doing the whole time you’ve been using my equipment.”
“I asked out of politeness,” Danielle protested.
“Politeness?”
“Yes. Either it’s a story that you’ve already broken and you’re champing at the bit to tell it, or it’s a story still in progress and you’re champing at the bit to tell me it’s secret, stupendous, and you can’t tell me about it.”
“So, according to you, either way I’m to exhibit equestrian behavior.”
“An equestrian is a rider, not a horse,” Danielle said. “The word you want is equine. I’m suggesting you’re exhibiting equine behavior.”
“I know what I’m talking about,” Sid growled. “I’m sure you’re mistaken about the word choice. I’m English. We invented the language. You people mutilated it.”
“Only because the English can’t spell.”
Sid cursed.
“What happened to all those gentlemanly habits you were talking about only moments ago?” Danielle asked.
“I reserve them for ladies of breeding.”
“Young ladies who wear bubblegum pink lipstick.”
“You do make it hard for a man to do you a favor, love.”
“The bullet holes,” Danielle prompted.
“Ah yes. Well, the young lady I was with last night was helping me follow up on a lead I’d been pursuing.” Sid glanced at Danielle. “You never said where we were going.”
“Achmed’s,” Danielle replied. Every time she borrowed Sid’s equipment she insisted they park in a different area. She also kept an eye peeled to make certain none of her OneWorld NewsNet coworkers trailed her. Achmed ran an open market that was still operating.
“Fine. I know where it is. The man brews a decent pot of tea when properly motivated.”
“The lead you were pursuing.”
“An interesting story, I think. If anything comes of it, which I doubt.” Sid turned the corner near a building that had been hit more than once by Syrian artillery. Mounds of broken rock and mortar filled the lower floor where earthmovers had shoved the debris back into the building. “According to my sources, one of the independent merchants, a man named Abu Alam, was kidnapped at gunpoint yesterday afternoon.”
“In Sanliurfa?”
“No. Curiously, he seems to have been taken from his group somewhere between this city and the Syrians’ front line.”
“He’s been trading at both ends of the battlefield. I’ve heard of him.”
“Presumably.” Sid nodded and took another puff from his cigarette. “I think Abu Alam had his hand in just about every morally bankrupt way to make a profit that has taken shape in this area, before and after the conflict began. I’ve also been told that he’s kidnapped American and European women who were trapped here in Sanliurfa and sold them to the Syrians.”
“Is there any truth to that?”
“I believe so, love. Can’t have been very many or the stories would be further spread. Plus, Abu Alam tends not to leave anyone behind to bear witness against him when he conducts his little slavery operation. With the ravaged state of this city, I’m sure it’s quite easy to hide a few murders.”
“Sounds like a guy with a lot of enemies,” Danielle commented.
“Oh, Abu Alam does indeed have enemies. But he also has some loyal supporters who are doing their best to find him. He’s family, you see. The Bedouin take their family very seriously.”
“The bullet holes.”
“Exactly. I was just pursuing an interview. His people told me to go away. I didn’t. So they opened fire and shot the Land Rover to show me they meant business. I’m certain they would have shot me, and the young lady next.” Sid looked at her. “Believe me when I say there’s nothing that cuts across a language barrier like gunfire pointed in your direction.”
“You left.”
Sid nodded. “In the straightest route possible and with all available speed.”
Even despite her driving interest in Mystic and why the hacker hadn’t contacted her, Danielle was drawn into the story. “Who grabbed Abu Alam?”
“I didn’t say anyone grabbed him.”
Danielle wrinkled her nose at him. “C’mon. I’m a big reporter girl now. I know bubblegum pink lipstick when I see it, and I know that you wouldn’t be pursuing a story about a black marketer getting nabbed by one of his rivals in the middle of a war zone. The story has a more interesting twist to it than that. If you find out one of the military units has acted on a vendetta or taken improprieties to rob Abu Alam, you’d have a zinger of a story.”
Sid laughed. “You have gotten quite erudite in these matters, haven’t you, dear?”
“Yes. So give.”
“The lead I was following was given to me by a rather disreputable Eastern European man who’s been dealing with scavengers in the city. He hires people to break into empty houses and businesses and take anyt
hing of value. They load those valuables—including electronics, household appliances, and furniture—onto trucks—which are also stolen, by the way—and ship them north.”
Danielle was sickened. She’d heard stories about men like that who were doing exactly that kind of theft. The military forces couldn’t stop them because the efforts to shore up the city’s defenses took all their time. They were geared for protecting Sanliurfa from the army of predators outside the city walls rather than the handful inside.
“The interesting wrinkle in the story this man gave me,” Sid said, “is the tale of the only survivor of the attack that left six of Abu Alam’s people dead outside the city. The lingering casualty hung on only long enough to give this story to his mates.”
“Okay. I’m interested.”
“The story is,” Sid said in a quiet voice barely audible over the Land Rover’s engine, “that the people who kidnapped Abu Alam and killed his people were American soldiers.”
Danielle thought about that. Her quick mind flew through the variables. “That leaves the army Rangers, the marines, and the American soldiers serving with the U.N. Peacekeeping effort.”
“And all of those chaps have been busy since the attack the night before.” Sid threw his cigarette out the window. “It’s interesting that you divided the Rangers and the marines. I hadn’t thought to do that. But I had thought of the American soldiers serving with the U.N.”
“The Rangers and marines have different agendas,” Danielle said. “Similar, but different. They still maintain their own gear and identity inside the Ranger temporary barracks.” She pointed at the corner ahead. “There’s Achmed’s.”
“So it is.” Sid pulled to a stop in the alley beside the marketplace. He killed the engine and waited.
“Uh-uh,” Danielle said.
“I was sleeping when you called,” Sid said in a grudging tone. “I don’t really feel like walking around the marketplace. Or trudging outside and getting drenched.”
“Sid.”
The British reporter threw his hands up in mock surrender. “All right. All right.” He got out and closed the door, pulling his jacket up over his head. The sound of the pouring rain invaded the Land Rover’s cab. “Would you like anything?”
Danielle had to read his lips through the rain-spattered window. “Bagel. Cream cheese. Coffee.”
“Can’t promise. We’ve had all those power outages. But I’ll see what I can do.” Sid turned and hurried away through the rain.
Working quickly, Danielle hooked up the satellite phone and the notebook computer. She brought the Internet online and scooted over to the mail drop she used to contact Mystic.
Muckraker:>R U THERE?
The cursor blinked at her.
Muckraker:>R U THERE?
She waited long minutes. Her breath started to fog up the window. Paranoia caused her to glance up several times as people hurried by. The marketplace was enclosed and the business was already brisk. The supply of fresh goods often didn’t meet the demands of the people living in the city.
A moment later the mail-drop screen shifted radically. Panicked, knowing that the change could have been caused by someone hacking into the transmission, Danielle almost shut the link down.
Then the cursor jerked into quick motion.
Mystic:>I’M HERE.
Muckraker:>YOU HAD ME WORRIED.
Mystic:>YOU HAD REASON TO BE WORRIED. WHOEVER THESE GUYS ARE, THEY’RE GOOD.
The statement screamed at Danielle, and for the first time she realized that she didn’t know who was at the other end of this connection. Someone had killed her friend Lizuca Carutasu in cold blood, stalking her through the cybercafé and shooting her down without remorse.
Muckraker:>HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE WHO YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE?
Mystic:>LOL. PARANOIA. YOU GOTTA LOVE PARANOIA. IT’S ONE OF THE MOST ADDICTIVE THINGS OUT THERE WHEN YOU LIVE AND DIE ON THE NET.
Muckraker:>MAKE ME A BELIEVER.
Mystic:>NOW THERE’S A LOADED COMMAND. A BELIEVER IN WHAT?
Muckraker:>YOU.
Mystic:>HEY, I’M TIRED AND THINGS HAVEN’T GONE EXACTLY THE WAY I’D THOUGHT. THOSE GUYS YOU SENT ME AFTER FOUND ONE OF MY CUTOUTS. IF I WASN’T AS SMART AS I AM, THEY MIGHT HAVE HAD ME.
Muckraker:>IF I DON’T HAVE SOME CONFIRMATION IN THE NEXT TWO SECONDS, I’M GONE.
Mystic:>WOW. AND I THOUGHT I WAS THE PARANOID ONE.
Danielle made no reply. Tension built up in her. If it wasn’t Mystic at the other end of the connection, someone could already be tracking her back to Sid Wright’s computer. Granted, the sat phone made success at finding her improbable, but not impossible. All the trackers needed were two sets of gear so they could triangulate her position.
She thought about Sid’s story concerning Abu Alam, the black market dealer who might have been kidnapped by American soldiers. In a city full of strangers and warriors, whom was she supposed to trust? Not too surprisingly, Sergeant Goose Gander came to mind. Now he was a man she’d believe in, and she knew she didn’t want to do that unless she had to.
Mystic:>OK. YOU REMEMBER THE FIRST CARTOON I SENT YOU? THE ONE WITH THE WINTER THEME?
Muckraker:>YES.
Mystic:>NAME THE STRIP.
Muckraker:>YOU’RE THE ONE PROVING YOURSELF.
Mystic:>YOU NAME THE STRIP AND I’LL DESCRIBE THE SCENE.
Danielle hesitated only a moment:>CALVIN AND HOBBES.
Mystic:>AND THE SCENE WAS THE TRAFFIC ACCIDENT INVOLVING THE SNOWMEN.
Danielle smiled a little in spite of the tension. The one-panel joke had been one of her favorite Calvin and Hobbes strips. The two characters had sculpted a group of surprised and frightened snowmen and snowwomen gathered around the parked family car, and another snowman lay on the ground partially under the car as if it had been run over.
Muckraker:>I GUESS WE’RE BOTH WHO WE SAY WE ARE. DID YOU GET THE INFORMATION ON THE GUY IN THE PICTURE?
Mystic:>YES. THIS GUY HAS A REAL HISTORY. AND HE’S DEFINITELY A BAD GUY. YOUR EMPLOYER HAD A TON OF INFORMATION ON HIM.
Muckraker:>YOU SAID YOU ALMOST GOT CAUGHT.
Mystic:>I’M GOOD. REAL GOOD. I WAS SNOOPING AROUND YOUR EMPLOYER’S FILES. SOMEONE WORKING INTERNET SECURITY TUMBLED TO ME, ALMOST GOT ME AND FRIED MY MACHINE. BEFORE I KNEW IT, SOMEONE WAS AT THE DOOR OF THE LOCATION OF THE CUTOUT I WAS USING. HE BROKE INSIDE AND HAD A GUN IN HIS HANDS.
The story immediately reminded Danielle of what had happened to Lizuca. How fast did these people operate?
Muckraker:>YOU’RE IN ROMANIA?
Mystic:>NO. I’M NOT TELLING YOU WHERE I AM. BUT THE CUTOUT WAS IN AUSTRALIA.
Muckraker:>WHAT’S A CUTOUT?
Mystic:>A FALSE ADDRESS. I’VE GOT A FEW OF THEM. IN AUSTRALIA, THE CUTOUT WAS AN APARTMENT I KEEP RENTED WITH A COMPUTER SYSTEM THAT I CAN ACCESS FROM OTHER PLACES. PEOPLE TRACE BACK WHAT I’M DOING. IF THEY’RE GOOD ENOUGH, THEY GO TO AUSTRALIA. OR WHEREVER THE CUTOUT IS THAT I’M USING FOR THAT PARTICULAR JOB. BEFORE THEY CAN TRACK ME FROM THERE, I’M GONE AND THE HARD DRIVE IS CHURNING ITS WAY INTO OBLIVION. I FIGURED AUSTRALIA WAS FAR ENOUGH AWAY NO ONE COULD GET THERE. I MAKE IT A HABIT TO WORK AT LEAST A HEMISPHERE AWAY FROM THE TARGET SITE. I WAS WRONG.
Danielle considered that.
Mystic:>IF THEY HAVE PEOPLE STATIONED IN SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA, I HAVE TO START WONDERING WHERE THEY DON’T HAVE PEOPLE.
Danielle couldn’t believe the information. How big was Alexander Cody’s organization?
Muckraker:>GUY WHO BROKE INTO YOUR CUTOUT WAS CIA?
Mystic:>DON’T KNOW. HAVEN’T IDENTIFIED HIM YET. GOT A PICTURE, THOUGH.
Muckraker:>HOW’D YOU GET THE PIC?
Mystic:>GOT THE CUTOUT SET UP WITH A PC CAMERA. GUY BROKE IN AND I GOT HIM IN ACTION.
Muckraker:>NO ONE TRACKED YOU BACK FROM THAT COMPUTER?
Mystic:> NO. IF THEY HAD, I HONESTLY DON’T THINK I’D BE HERE NOW. THAT GUY IN SYDNEY CAME IN READY TO KILL SOMEBODY.
Muckraker:>ARE YOU GOING TO WORK ON IDEN
TIFYING THE GUY WHO BROKE INTO THE AUSTRALIA APARTMENT?
Mystic:> WE’LL SEE. LIKE I SAID, THESE GUYS ARE GOOD AND THEIR ORGANIZATION IS HUGE IF THEY’VE GOT PEOPLE ON THE PAYROLL IN AUSTRALIA. I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH OF THIS I WANT TO TAKE ON. WAIT. I TAKE THAT BACK. I ONLY WANT TO TAKE ON AS MUCH AS WHAT WON’T GET ME KILLED. I’M REALLY CURIOUS NOW. STILL GOTTA FIGURE OUT WHERE THE LINE IS ON THAT.
Muckraker:>WHO’S THE GUY IN THE PIC I SENT YOU?
Mystic:>HIS NAME IS ALEXANDER CODY. HE IS CIA. SECTION CHIEF. IN THAT CAPACITY HE HAS SOME FREEDOM TO MAKE CALLS OF HIS OWN AND NOBODY WATCHES TOO CLOSELY. THIS GUY IS SOME PIECE OF WORK, I HAVE TO TELL YOU. BAD, BAD MAN. YOU WANT TO STAY AWAY FROM HIM.
Danielle didn’t know if that was possible.
Mystic:>ALSO FOUND OUT CODY WORKS FOR YOUR EMPLOYER.
Muckraker:>???
Mystic:>FOUND PAYOFFS LISTED IN YOUR EMPLOYER’S FILES. THAT’S PROBABLY WHAT GOT YOUR FRIEND KILLED. SOMEONE IN YOUR EMPLOYER’S OFFICE WAS COVERING UP A TRAIL. GOT COPIES OF THE PAYOFFS, BUT EVEN AS I WAS DOWNLOADING THEM, SOMEONE WAS COMING RIGHT BEHIND ME TURNING THEM INTO WHIFFLE DUST.
Muckraker:>WHIFFLE DUST?
Mystic:>GEEK-SPEAK. WHIFFLE DUST = ELIMINATION. I’M SURE THE RECORDS DON’T EXIST ANYMORE. TWO OF THE BANKS USED TO HANDLE THE MONEY TRANSACTIONS ARE CONTROLLED BY YOUR EMPLOYER THROUGH INVESTMENTS AND SHARE HOLDINGS. RUSSIAN BANKS. LOTTA UNDER-THETABLE BUSINESS DEALINGS AND MONEY LAUNDERING FLOW THROUGH RUSSIAN BANKS BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SUBPOENA THE RECORDS FROM THE RUSSIANS. TURNED UP THE NAMES OF TWO MAJOR PLAYERS IN SHADY DEALINGS THAT ARE CONNECTED WITH YOUR EMPLOYER: JOSHUA TODD-COTHRAN AND JONATHAN STONAGAL.
Danielle knew both men from news stories. Todd-Cothran was a British financier. Stonagal was from old money America. Both Stonagal and Todd-Cothran had histories of questionable business practices that included allegations of strong-arm techniques and corporate spying.
Mystic:>THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE, BUT TODD-COTHRAN AND STONAGAL ARE THE BIG BOYS IN THE BUNCH.
Muckraker:>YOU HAVE COPIES OF THOSE REPORTS?
Mystic:>CAN’T PROVE THOSE REPORTS EVER EXISTED EVEN WITH WHAT I MIGHT HAVE HAD. THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH DOWNLOADED FILES: YOU CAN’T PROVE THAT YOU DIDN’T CREATE THEM YOURSELF. GOTTA CATCH THE FILES AT THE SITE OR ON A HARD DRIVE OR ON A REDUNDANCY SYSTEM SOMEWHERE. AND THE FILES I WAS LOOKING AT WERE COPIED ONTO THE HARD DRIVE IN SYDNEY. I DIDN’T GET THE CHANCE TO MOVE THEM TO MY SYSTEM HERE WHEN I NUKED THAT SYSTEM.