“I called Doc Mira,” Jenn announced, still lining up new shots. “She’s on her way.”
“I know. She told me,” said Sam. “She also said you found something.”
Jenn straightened and let the camera hang from the neck strap. Walking over to her purse, she plucked out a plastic bag.
“Doc said I could bag and tag as long as I got good picture coverage first,” said Jenn. Her steps were stiff as she made her way over to Sam. Her voice stayed steady, but the rest of her exuded anger. “I wanted a look because I saw lettering on the back of the card during one of my first shots.”
Sam accepted the lottery ticket from his sister and flipped it over. Blood-red letters delivered the killer’s message in all capital letters.
HER LUCK RAN OUT.
DO YOU FEEL LUCKY, AGENT?
Yes, I feel lucky because you’re desperate.
“How does he know where you live?” Jenn demanded.
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “It’s not widely known, but he could have followed me home one day.” He shrugged. “I haven’t exactly been taking counter surveillance measures.”
“Well start,” Jess said. Her voice started out strong but hitched as she continued. “Don’t you dare make me explain to mom and dad how you got yourself killed.”
Sam thought about teasing her, but he could see she was shaken. Drawing her into a hug he rested his chin on her head. He didn’t speak until releasing her.
“Guys like that are all talk, Jenn. Don’t worry about it.”
The hard look returned to her. By this time, cops, curious neighbors, and paramedics crowded the scene. Jenn leaned close so she wouldn’t be overheard.
“This guy has been dropping bodies left and right for months,” she hissed. “Forgive me if I think he’s a little more than talk.”
“I’ll be careful,” Sam promised, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument.
Jenn spun away and returned to her work.
One of the local police officers came over to take Sam’s statement. Introductions took place, and Sam walked the officer through the brief story of discovering the body. When the official interview ended, Officer Curtis Gallagher closed his notebook and handed Sam a card.
“Call me if you remember anything else,” said the officer. “And watch your back. This perp seems to have it in for you.”
“He’s unravelling,” said Sam. “In a way, that’s good because it means he’s going to make a mistake sooner rather than later.”
“Guess so,” agreed Gallagher, as he shook Sam’s hand firmly. “I don’t envy you, sir, but keep up the good work.” The man’s eyes swept over the busy scene, pausing briefly on Jenn and Dr. Stratham. “I should go see if I can be of use.”
Sam figured he ought to do the same, so he stepped to the side and called his boss, Agent Okiro, and Agent Newhouse. They needed to identify the woman as soon as possible.
To his surprise, Jenn came through with a tentative identification before Sam finished with his first call.
“Her name is Stephanie Kramer,” Jenn reported. Her voice stayed low so they couldn’t be overheard. “She’s one of three women who went missing from New York City last week.”
Sam vaguely remembered seeing the headline in his browser’s newsfeed, but he’d had no reason to connect it to his case until now.
“How do you know that?” Sam wondered. He’d barely begun to grease the official wheels.
“Social media,” Jenn answered. She held up her phone as if to prove a point. “The face looked familiar so I searched for recent missing persons cases. The first article about these three women had links to their social media profiles.” Jenn looked upset. “Each one has dozens of pictures of the three of them together. They must have been close. It’s not official, but it’s definitely her.”
“Thanks,” said Sam, truly meaning it. “Send me the article link. I’ll look up their home town and get somebody on the official notification right away.” Noticing a far-off expression on her face, Sam touched Jenn’s arm. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Her concerned brown eyes met his.
“I can’t stop thinking about them,” Jenn said. “If Stephanie’s here, where are the other two?”
Oddly, the question gave Sam some hope. Not having their bodies meant the other two could still be alive.
Chapter 33:
Dark Web
FBI Field Office
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Finding a body outside his apartment put Sam in a working mood. He called Mel and begged off of their lunch date. She seemed to understand, but he still felt bad. There would always be more work to do, but somehow, it didn’t feel right to enjoy a leisurely Saturday afternoon with his girlfriend while a young woman’s family was getting notified of their daughter’s murder.
A round of calls confirmed Sam would be the only task force member pulling Saturday hours. Adana Okiro had a birthday party for her son to run, and T.J. Newhouse was visiting his daughter in New York City. Adana asked if he wanted her to check with the other three agents who had done some work with the task force over the last few months. Sam turned her down. The reminder that most people spent weekends with their families increased his guilt. Jenn would be thrilled to help him, but she too had a day out planned.
Finding the main office area strangely quiet, Sam decided to seek the company of the cyber agents. He couldn’t remember who had told him that cyber agents pulled the most weekend hours, but Sam believed it. Enough of his friends throughout high school and college kept weird hours in favor of participating in certain online games. He doubted the agents played games from their work computers here, but they might be pulling some flex hours so they could sleep in late on other days.
As expected, Sam found Jordan Berkowitz and several cyber agents in their crowded corner of the world. The enthusiastic welcome he received was not expected.
“Agent Kerman! You’re just the man we need to see,” called Jordan, waving Sam over.
“I am?” asked Sam, heading toward Jordan. “How exciting and nerve-wracking.”
“Agent Kerman, this is Rob Gillman,” Jordan said, pointing to a young man who looked about eighteen. “He’s one of our special contractors, and I think he found something you need to see.”
“Hi, I’m a hacker,” said the kid, barely taking his eyes off of the screen.
Jordan smacked the kid’s shoulder.
“What’d I say about the ‘h’ word?”
Gillman rolled his eyes.
“There are no cameras in here, and everybody else knows what I do.” Turning to Sam, he added, “Call me Gill.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gill,” said Sam. “You can call me Sam if you like. What’d you find?”
The young man’s first attempt at an explanation contained so much technical jargon that he lost Sam in about fifteen seconds.
Jordan sighed.
“Stop talking,” he said, tapping the kid on the shoulder. “Just show us, and I’ll translate.” Jordan sat in a rolling chair to Gill’s right and pointed to an identical chair near Sam. “Pull up a chair. The show’s about to begin.”
Following the instruction, Sam sat to Gill’s left and wheeled the chair over enough so he could see the young man’s screen. To Sam, it looked like a black screen with a bunch of random numbers and symbols rapidly appearing and disappearing in concert with Gill’s flying fingers.
“Nothing big’s going on this second,” said Jordan. “He’s just getting into the Dark Web.”
“Never heard of it,” Sam noted, earning strange looks from both Jordan and Gill.
“It’s an area of the internet where less-than-legal transactions can take place with a reasonable expectation of privacy,” Jordan explained.
“If it’s illegal, why doesn’t somebody shut it down?” Sam wondered.
“Can’t,” said Gill. “It would pop up somewhere else. The hubs already shift regularly to keep casuals to a minimum.”
Sam quirked an eyebrow at Jordan.
“You don’t get in the same way every time.”
“If you can get in at all, you should be able to take some action,” Sam insisted.
“Web jurisdiction’s a mess,” said Jordan. “It’s not illegal to talk about buying drugs, only to have money and product actually exchange hands. That’s harder when the money exchange is untraceable and the product is shipped from out of state or out of country.”
“What kinds of things can be bought and sold?” asked Sam.
“Anything,” said Gill, still typing.
“We track what we can to keep an eye on the really bad stuff, but it’s tricky because millions of otherwise upstanding people also use the place to blow off steam,” said Jordan.
“They lie to make themselves feel better about their boring lives,” Sam murmured, testing his own powers of decoding cyber-agent-speak.
“Exactly,” Jordan confirmed. “There’s freedom in being able to create a separate persona online.”
“I have a tough time keeping up with real-life, let alone maintain much of an online one.” Sam shook his head to emphasize his bewilderment.
“I’m in.” Gill tilted the screen toward Sam.
“What am I looking at?”
It appeared to be some sort of forum, but Sam figured it would be faster to ask for an explanation.
“This is a brag blog.” Gill’s explanation didn’t help much.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the lies from the truth in here,” said Jordan, “but basically, it’s a place for people to post about something they’ve done so others can comment on it.”
Why bother? Sam barely held the question in.
“In addition to his infiltration skills, Gill’s a decent programmer. He came up with a program that gives a statistical probability for whether a story’s true by comparing it to articles from major news networks.” Jordan paused for Sam to absorb the information. “This time, I had him go the other way.”
“I was with you to ‘networks’ before you lost me,” Sam admitted.
Jordan’s words flowed faster as his excitement grew.
“I had him scan the brag blogs for keywords from a bunch of articles written about these murders. He got a hit on this particular post.”
Leaning forward, Sam skimmed the post Gill had pulled up. It looked like an insane person’s idea of a fun mad lib puzzle.
“How can you get anything out of that?” he inquired.
“Put it through the filter,” Jordan suggested.
Gill tapped out a few commands, and the screen blacked out for a second. When it came back, the post was written in English but still had some words in odd places.
“Every name is replaced with a random animal,” said Jordan, reading the confusion on Sam’s face. “That’s why his program needed to isolate other keywords, not names.”
The post resembled a rambling diary, but it didn’t take Sam long to key in on the relevance. The entry started with a claim to having killed somebody for the first time.
Sam straightened.
“How many of these are there?” he demanded.
“Six, but only five are readable right now,” said Jordan. “The program caught another one this morning, but it’s taking longer to translate because it doesn’t seem to be linked to any news articles.”
“Why would that matter?” asked Sam.
“This guy’s good,” said Gill.
“He protects the entries with encryption programs to keep them private,” Jordan said, elaborating slightly. “I’m guessing he has a group of dedicated fans with the key to slip in any time. Everybody else has to physically break in every time.”
“What do you mean ‘every time’?” Sam was getting tired of asking questions, but it beat clinging to his confusion.
“If we closed out the browser, we’d have to start over,” Jordan explained patiently. “In other words, you’ve got to prove your worth before you can even read about his exploits, and they’re definitely the murders, at least the first two.”
“Can you print them?” Sam inquired.
“Not easily, but we’ll work around it and get you a copy ASAP,” Jordan promised. “You can go back to your office if you want. I’ll run them up when we’re finished.”
Sam thanked them for the information and took his leave. He wanted to wait until the fully translated versions became available. Squinting at the screen would only give him a headache.
Returning to his borrowed office, Sam started reading through the mountain of police reports related to this case. He’d been over them a dozen times, but there was always a small chance something new would jump out at him during a fresh read. Five files in, he took a break to fire up the coffee machine. Usually, Sam tried to only drink water when reading important files, but sometimes, he just needed the comfort of a hot mug in his hands as he read.
As he walked back with coffee in hand, Sam saw Jordan knocking frantically on the door.
“Miss me already?” he greeted.
Whirling, Jordan pierced Sam with a sharp look.
“I called twice,” he said, a note of disapproval clear.
“Just stepped out for coffee,” Sam said. “What’s up? You look agitated.”
Drawing near, Sam saw that Jordan’s T-shirt was almost soaked through with sweat. His face glowed with a nervous sheen.
“Grab your phone and call your team,” Jordan ordered. He brandished the papers clutched in his hands. “The sixth entry came through with a link to an ad. If we’re right about what it says, he’s made it open season for kidnapping the task force agents.”
Sam snatched the papers from Jordan and stumbled into the office to grab his phone. He wanted to call his people right away, but he needed to read the papers first to know what exactly he was warning them about.
Why would he want to kidnap my team?
Chapter 34:
Open Season
Agent Okiro’s Residence
Flourtown, Pennsylvania
The man watched as droves of small children and their parents milled about, wandering in and out of the Colonial house. The kids seemed to be playing an intense game of tag while the adults attempted crowd control or stood off to the sides, drinking punch from large cups. He only caught glimpses of his target, but he knew almost immediately that getting to her would be extremely difficult. Still, if he didn’t grab this agent, odds were good that somebody else would once the party died down. He couldn’t wait that long.
Since cars were coming and going regularly, he pulled out of the parking space and drove a few blocks to gain some thinking time. This target lived closest to the drop off location. If he left her and pursued another one, he could potentially lose the race even if somebody waited until late evening to take her. On the other hand, he needed to be doing something now, not waiting ten hours for a convenient time.
According to the online calendars he’d hacked, one of the male agents was in New York City and the other would be heading up to Hillsborough, New Jersey. The only other semi-convenient target was the lead agent’s sister. She had a lunch date with some friends in Philadelphia. After that, he had no way to predict her movements unless he could tail her directly. To be on the safe side, he needed to remove the female agent from the equation.
The game rules specifically said the victims couldn’t wind up dead, but it said nothing on the matter of wounding. The man had no wish to anger his new boss during this phase, but he had options. Sending the agent to the hospital would likely earn her a protective detail, taking her out of play. For a moment, he considered shooting one of the children. Since most of the other children were white, finding Agent Okiro’s son or daughter shouldn’t be too difficult. She would never leave their side in that case, but he wasn’t keen on testing his boss’s creativity threshold yet.
By the time he arrived back at the correct house, the best parking spots were taken. The man parked illegally near the fire hydrant and reached over for the larg
e gift bag he’d brought for the occasion. After a short debate, he decided to leave the engine running. Time would be of the essence once he made his move. He wore a tactical vest under a windbreaker just in case. The agent wouldn’t be carrying a weapon at her kid’s birthday party, but the bulky vest would change his looks. Wraparound sunglasses, a baseball cap, and faded jeans completed his outfit.
To any onlookers, he was simply another father here to drop off his kid at the party. Adrenaline soared through him, but he kept his gait unhurried. Although the bag held nothing but more bags, the man held it in such a way that it looked heavy.
“Need help with that?” asked a friendly stranger. He started to hand the woman next to him the drink in his hand.
“I got it,” grumbled the man. The response came out gruffer than he’d intended, but he couldn’t dwell on it. He needed to find the target now. “Where’s Mrs. Okiro?”
“I think she’s inside cutting the cake. You’re just in time,” said the friendly man. “Say, what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve met.”
Without responding, the man entered through the front door. The sunglasses made everything dark, but his eyes adjusted after a brief pause. The kitchen lay directly ahead. He couldn’t see most of it, but the part that mattered was framed by the doorway leading from the entry room to the kitchen.
Agent Okiro stood with a large cake-cutting knife in her hands. Two other women stood near her, handing her small paper plates as she carefully parsed out a massive sheet cake. Causing collateral damage could reflect poorly upon his performance, so he needed to be closer. If everybody stayed in position, this would work without a hitch, but the helpers were moving back and forth across his path.
Drawing even with one of the women helping, the man swept his left arm out, batting her aside.
She screamed, causing everybody in the room to freeze for a fraction of a second.
The agent turned toward him, still holding the massive cake knife.
Their eyes locked through his sunglasses.
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