by G. K. Parks
“When are Donovan and Hans arriving?” Mercer inquired.
“They’re waiting until we’re positive it’s an abduction before they cut their holiday short.”
“They’re not going to be happy.”
“You believe she was taken against her will?” Bastian asked.
“Frankly, it doesn’t matter. The bird’s gone. Either she faked the abduction or someone made her leave. Eventually, we’ll determine which is accurate.”
“So we’re staying?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Bastian raised a questioning eyebrow. “Then why are we sending for Hans and Donovan?”
“In the event we need the additional support, there needn’t be a delay. That office building is a cover. It won’t matter what we determine. Logan Porter isn’t prepared to just let us walk away.”
“Jules, you’re being paranoid.”
“That house has been scrubbed. Frankly, I’d be surprised if the Porters even live there. Everything is too pristine. It looks staged.”
“The driver said Logan is a neat freak.”
“How would the driver know about the inside of the house? He doesn’t even drive for them regularly, or so he said. Not to mention, he was conveniently away on holiday and out of rotation until after Sarina’s disappearance.”
“That’s called paranoia. Everyone’s not out to get you,” Bastian said, knowing that was precisely how Mercer felt most of the time due to his wife being murdered. “Did you find anything that might be useful?”
“They’re missing a kitchen knife.”
“Quick, someone phone the bobbies, we have a missing knife,” Bastian mocked. Then his face contorted into a smug grin. “I can’t be positive she was taken, but I’ll see your missing knife and raise you, mate.” Bastian powered on his laptop and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Hand me that bag of crisps and I’ll show you what I found.”
Mercer rummaged through his pocket, removing the USB and placing it on the table next to the bag of junk food. “Logan had that hidden in his drawer. It could be corporate secrets or something untoward.”
“Where shall we start? The USB or the security footage?”
“You decide.”
Bastian plugged in the USB and crunched away on a handful of chips.
Three
The USB drive Mercer discovered was encrypted, so while Bastian’s decryption protocols ran in the background, the two men reviewed the security footage from the Porters’ security system. The files Bastian copied covered the entire month of surveillance, including three and a half weeks of footage prior to Sarina’s disappearance. Having access to that information would help establish daily routines and build a list of possible suspects and witnesses. Most professional kidnappers had an inside man or some type of insider knowledge about the family and daily routine. If anyone had been stalking Sarina or casing the estate, it would be on the surveillance tapes.
The Porters followed a similar routine. The car service arrived between 7:15 and 7:23 every morning. Logan exited the house at 7:30 with his briefcase in hand and slid into the back seat of the car. At 8:20, the groundskeeper would hose off the walkways. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Sarina would leave the house at 8:15 with her gym bag and yoga mat. She’d return three hours later. Sometimes, she used the car service. Other times, she drove a silver luxury vehicle. Aside from her yoga class, Sarina didn’t stick with a strict schedule. A few times, she left around noon, and other times, it’d be three or four in the afternoon. Occasionally, she’d stay in the entire day.
“She’s a marketing consultant. Some of her work is done online. As far as I can tell, she has an office and assistant, but she picks and chooses her clients,” Bastian said. “It leaves her schedule fairly open.”
“We’ll need a dossier on her associates.”
“It’s in the works.”
The men fell silent as they recorded the details of the couple’s nightly routine. Most nights, Logan arrived home between six and seven. Occasionally, they’d go out, presumably to dinner or some type of event, but they were always home by midnight. The weekends were the only exception. There was no pattern to their travel or plans, either together or separate, but the frequency they went out together would indicate they enjoyed one another’s company. Perhaps she hadn’t fled from her pushy husband, after all.
“This is the day of the abduction,” Bastian declared, slowing the speed of the playback.
As usual, Logan left at his normal time, and Sarina departed for her Wednesday morning yoga class. She returned home before noon. The only person that appeared on the feed during her time away was the groundskeeper. From the footage taken at the guard post, the only vehicles that entered and exited were part of the car service and the Porters’ employees. The groundskeeper and the sentry stationed at the guard post were the only staff members present. The cleaning staff worked on Mondays and Fridays, and no one else had access to the house.
At approximately two p.m. the day of Sarina’s disappearance, the footage blinked out for a few seconds. Bastian rewound to two minutes prior to the glitch, slowed the speed to one fifth, and hit play. Nothing strange occurred on the monitor, but for three seconds, there was nothing but blackness. He switched to a different camera, but it blacked out at precisely the same time.
“What would account for that?” Mercer asked.
“A power surge, a computer glitch, the system resetting, or tampering.” Bastian took another chip out of the bag and crunched thoughtfully. “I’ll check the power grid to see if it was widespread, but that doesn’t seem likely.”
“Was the system bypassed remotely or placed on a loop?”
“I can’t be sure.”
“Well, figure it out,” Mercer snapped.
While Mercer watched the rest of the footage from the day in question, Bastian keyed in a few things on a secondary laptop. Ten minutes after the glitch, two masked men were caught on screen. They waited for Sarina to descend the staircase and grabbed her from behind. They carried her off to the side, out of view of the cameras. A minute later, one of the men returned, leaving a piece of paper on the kitchen table. He looked straight at the camera, a smug arrogance resonating from his posture before he disappeared.
No one entered or left the estate until Logan’s arrival at seven that evening. The next three days continued normally. Logan left on time. The car service arrived without hesitation. No additional security was hired or told to guard the premises. The cleaning lady came on Friday and scrubbed the house.
“We’ll need to speak to her too.”
“Yes, Jules, I’m well aware of how we work a kidnapping. We’ve been doing it for years.” Bastian glanced at the screen and returned to his current task.
“This is different. They haven’t issued a ransom demand yet. That’s the primary objective of a kidnapping. What the hell are they waiting for?”
“Maybe they want to make sure they’re in the clear before they risk compromising themselves again.”
“Bullshit. They knew how to maneuver around the cameras or bypass them completely.” Mercer pointed to a screen capture of the masked man. “He looks too damn smug to think he’s compromised. They must be familiar with the layout. Hell, it could even be the bloody security guards.”
“The city’s power grid didn’t experience any surges that day,” Bastian announced. “I’ll need to see the schematics for the house to determine the location of the power supply, if they have back-up generators or other surge protections in place, and when the system normally resets. But realistically, someone altered the footage. It could easily be a cut and paste job.”
“Bloody fantastic,” Mercer cursed, snapping his focus back to the screen when something beeped.
“The decryption software is finished.”
Bastian scanned the USB drive again, finding a single video file stored on the device. He opened it, unsure of what they were about to watch. The video was grainy and filmed in low resoluti
on, but it was clear that the woman on tape was Sarina Porter.
“Jules,” Bastian began cautiously, afraid of what the commander might do, “it needs to be authenticated. We don’t even know if Logan has seen this.”
“Bollocks.” Mercer stared at the screen. The USB contained a fifteen second video clip of Sarina bound and gagged. Mascara streaked her face, and her eyes conveyed panic and pain. “You honestly can’t believe that a man that meticulous wouldn’t notice a misplaced USB drive in his sock drawer.”
“It depends on how many pairs of socks he has.”
Mercer stalked the path next to the table like a caged lion. “Someone has her. They left that behind, or they had it delivered. It’s bloody likely they already issued a demand, and that arsehole didn’t tell us.” He lifted the untraceable phone, dialed a few digits, and hit end call, slamming it down hard enough that it was a miracle the screen didn’t crack. “When was it recorded?”
“I don’t know.”
“Figure it out.”
Mercer stormed out of the room. Hostage negotiations were meant to be impersonal, cold and calculating. An emotional response would lead to mistakes or a shoddy deal. It was imperative that the kidnappers believed they didn’t possess all the power, so Mercer took a moment to let the rage boil to the surface. He saw red, and his pulse pounded in his ears. Someone would pay. He’d make sure of it.
The question on his mind was how Logan Porter could fail to disclose such a vital piece of information. Was their client one of the kidnappers or working with them? Maybe it was an attempt to defraud the insurance, have a ransom payout issued, and then abscond with the practically untraceable cash. The thought was repulsive, and Mercer forced it away. They needed more information.
When his hands began to tremble, he opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths, counting to ten. The counting never helped. It was rubbish that some psychologist had given to him when he was forced to endure counseling on Her Majesty’s order. The counting was an irritant, like most things, but he did it anyway. It was a testament that he had himself back under control. On the rare occasions that the anger and rage were overpowering, the counting would send him over the edge, oftentimes resulting in something being broken. A time or two, it had been his knuckles, but mostly, the damage was doled out to the closest object.
As soon as his emotions were in check, he returned to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed Donovan Mays. He and Hans Bauer made up the two missing parts of the four man team. Despite the fact they were each a decade younger than Julian, they had left the Special Air Service as a show of their loyalty to their commander. They had no qualms working as kidnapping specialists, even if they were highly-trained for tactical resolutions. Quite often, negotiations devolved into armed combat, and it was a relief to have two of the best shooters on the planet working on the same side.
“It’s an abduction. Get here soon,” Mercer ordered, disconnecting without another word.
“I’ll have the technical aspects fleshed out by the morning. I’d advise you not to speak to Logan before then. We need to determine what side he’s on. And if he doesn’t know about the USB drive, he’ll want answers, and we don’t have them. The last thing we need is someone else blundering about.”
“You have twelve hours. In the meantime, I’ll perform some recon.” Mercer picked up the car keys and went to the door. “Ring me if you determine any additional points of interest.”
Four
Mercer found himself parked across the street from the Trila International office building. He scrubbed a hand down his face and studied the Lucite and steel construction. Despite the glass and airy feel, the building wouldn’t be easily penetrated. The executive parking structure was beneath the building in a subbasement. Two access points allowed entry on the northern and western sides. Each had a guard station, keycard access, and surveillance cameras. Not only was identification required for admission, but the cars were swept for explosives before being allowed entry. Anyone who believed this building only served as the corporate offices for a tech startup was an idiot.
Mercer had seen plenty of buildings like this, and more often than not, they held government secrets. Normal security guards didn’t carry automatic weapons nor were they prepared to deal with kidnappings. However, Logan Porter spoke to the company’s security personnel about Sarina’s abduction. It was Trila Interational’s insurance firm that contacted Bastian about performing a negotiation and retrieval. That wasn’t typical of corporations either.
Sure, Logan seemed distraught, but he also appeared to be hiding something. The USB drive in his sock drawer spoke volumes, and Mercer wondered the real reason Porter concealed the fact. Obviously, Sarina’s abduction happened for a reason. The kidnappers wanted something, and Mercer considered that it might have to do with whatever actually went on inside Trila International. An uneasy feeling grew in his gut, and Mercer shook it off as he watched a luxury sedan pull out from beneath the building.
“Bollocks,” he muttered, catching a glimpse of two security guards approaching from the rear of the vehicle. Turning the key in the ignition, he gunned the engine, pulling into traffic. A car horn blared, and Julian rolled his eyes.
At least he uncovered one thing on his outing – Trila’s security monitored the entire vicinity surrounding the building. If they kept such close tabs on the building, they probably kept eyes on their employees as well. Someone inside probably knew who had taken Sarina Porter.
He continued to drive, carefully monitoring the area for a tail. The best surveillance relied on multiple vehicles that would cut in and out of traffic, appearing behind and in front of the car, and trading off before the driver got suspicious. In the cover of night, Mercer couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t being followed, but it seemed unlikely. However, he circled through the city, finding a smaller residential area with a few stores, restaurants, and pubs. He parallel parked on a side street and waited inside the car for fifteen minutes, watching traffic patterns for any repeat offenders. Then he exited, walked to the nearest restaurant, requested a table near the window, and ordered dinner while he kept one eye focused on the exterior.
After eating, he returned to the car, examined it for signs of tampering, and headed to Logan Porter’s estate. Pulling up to the guard stand, Mercer rolled down the window, handing the guard his business card. Without a word, the guard called inside, listened for a few seconds, and then waved Mercer through. Apparently someone was home.
“Mr. Mercer,” Logan said, opening the front door before Julian could press the doorbell, “where’s your associate?” Logan stepped onto the porch, tilting to the side to look into the car for Bastian. “Didn’t you say that you’d provide your report in the morning? Has something changed? Have you already made progress discovering who took my Sarina? Do you know where she is?”
“Do you?” Mercer retorted.
“I don’t understand,” Logan said, shaking his head. He glanced back at the front door nervously.
Julian inhaled, composing himself into the unemotional, stoic negotiator. “After our preliminary examination, we have a few questions. Your answers will allow for a more complete report. Shall we?” Mercer gestured toward the door.
“Do you mind if we speak here? It’s a lovely night,” Logan said, starting to sweat.
“As you wish.” Mercer narrowed his eyes but shook off the question. “Why did you allow the house to be cleaned after Sarina was taken? Your cleaning lady likely destroyed evidence that would have led to identifying Sarina’s abductors.”
“There was nothing, except the note. I checked. The house was pristine as always. It wasn’t until I listened to the message from Sarina’s assistant that I realized anything was amiss. Then I found the note in the kitchen.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I’m afraid that I don’t. I gave it to Trila’s security staff to analyze.”
“Fine. What about the glitch on your security footage? Do you have an e
xcuse for that too?”
“What are you saying?” Logan asked. “Do you think I’m behind this? Why would I kidnap my own wife? That’s just stupid.”
Mercer studied the man, observing the nervous tics and habits. “Have they communicated with you? Proof of life is fundamental to ransom negotiations. Photos, videos, and telephone calls are common place. Has anything been delivered to your home or office? Perhaps someone you employ may have been contacted to hand deliver such evidence.” It was the perfect opportunity for Logan to come clean about the USB, but he remained tight-lipped. “Is there any particular reason you don’t want to let me inside? Is someone here?”
“A business associate.” Logan’s eyes communicated something that Mercer couldn’t quite discern. “If there’s nothing else, I should get back to him.”
“You failed to provide us with a list of people who have access to your home and Sarina’s office, aside from your staff. We will need that tonight.”
“Can I e-mail it to you?”
“Very well.” Bastian had created an online dropbox for this exact purpose, so Mercer took out another business card that contained nothing but the url and handed it to Logan. “Perhaps we should meet for breakfast tomorrow morning to discuss our findings. Kidnappings are personal, and meeting at your office is far from it.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. I’ll e-mail you.” Logan stepped backward, glaring briefly at the car on the path. “Don’t drive up here again. Oil stains are a pain in the ass to get out of the cobblestone.”
Mercer nodded, getting into the car and slamming the door. “Fucking obsessive compulsive wanker,” he mumbled. Once he was back on the main road, he found the perfect spot to stakeout the property. The supposed business associate sounded like a crock, and he suspected that whoever was inside had something to do with Sarina’s disappearance.