by Jeff Abbott
He needed to know more. He had a sudden terror of making a wrong move, stepping out of one prison into a far worse one.
Quickly, he checked the rest of the house. A dining room and living room. A media room with a massive TV. A laundry area. Back upstairs were four more bedrooms, one occupied by another suitcase with a few clothes unpacked. No sign anyone other than Gabriel was here.
He went back downstairs. He found a garage that held a motorcycle, a gleaming Ducati. Next to it was an old Suburban. No sign of the stolen Malibu.
Evan found the keys for the Suburban, dangling from a key holder in the kitchen. He pocketed them.
On the kitchen table was his duffel bag he’d brought from Houston. He remembered Gabriel had taken it from his house after he ran. His gear was all there. His digital music player, his camcorder, his books and notes. His clothes, which looked as if they had been searched and refolded.
He zipped up the duffel bag, carried it as he ran back up the stairs.
Gabriel was awake, one eye swelling with a purple blossom of bruise, his jaw red and scraped.
‘Are you working alone?’ Evan said.
Gabriel let five seconds pass. ‘Yes. And I’m prepared to have an honest discussion with you now about our situation.’
‘You’re all for straight shooting when you’re the one chained up, you son of a bitch. You don’t have any credibility left.’ Evan waggled the ID in front of Gabriel. ‘You said you owned a security firm. This says you’re CIA. Which is it?’
‘You’re in a shitload of trouble.’
‘You have information on who killed my mother, Mr. Gabriel. I have a gun. Do you see how this equation works out?’
Gabriel shook his head.
Evan leveled the pistol at Gabriel’s stomach. ‘Answer my questions. First, where are we?’
‘You won’t kill me. I know it, you know it.’ He put his gaze to the wall, as though bored.
Evan fired.
10
Galadriel, Jargo’s computer goddess, spent the night trying to track Evan and his kidnapper. She broke into national databases. She wormed her way into the Austin Police Department’s computer system, searching for traces, for reports, for the barest sign of Evan Casher. She moved through a jungle of information as patiently and efficiently as a hunter bringing down prey.
She called at Saturday’s dawn with her first report.
Jargo woke Carrie on the couch and Dezz in the other bedroom. Jargo spoke at length with Galadriel, then put Carrie on the phone while he tended to private business on his phone in his bedroom.
‘Evan hasn’t used his credit cards or accessed his bank account. No one has. Do me a favor, hon. Look at the file I just sent you.’ Galadriel was a former librarian, a heavyset woman who spent her hours away from the computer refining gourmet recipes and watching 1950s movies, when she believed the world had been a kinder place. She had a warm, Southern accent and sounded as if she ought to be a friend’s sweet mother. ‘See if you see what I see.’
Carrie opened the e-mail attachment, and a list of messages appeared, lifted from the Cashers’ e-mail accounts: a private account for Donna, one for Mitchell Casher’s personal e-mails, and another for his work as a computer security consultant.
‘I just tiptoed into their ISP’s database and copied their messages. Since the boys didn’t have time at the Casher house to go through their e-mails,’ Galadriel said.
Carrie scanned through the messages on Mitchell Casher’s account. Mitchell had sent a few e-mails to his son; nothing of great interest. One update on how his golf game was progressing, a mention of a couple of vintage jazz recordings he liked and thought Evan would enjoy along with the songs in digital format, a request that Evan come home soon for a visit. A few Christmas photos done by his mother. No message appeared encoded or encrypted in any way. There were no suspicious attachments.
Donna Casher had a separate e-mail account through the same provider. More messages to and from Evan. The rest of her e-mails were mostly chatty exchanges with fellow freelance photographers. Except for Friday morning.
‘She sent him four digital songs, two photos,’ Galadriel said. ‘But note the size of the photos. They’re larger than they should be.’
‘They had the files hidden in them,’ Carrie said.
‘I suspect one photo contained a decryption program. The other photo contained the files. So when he downloads the photos, the decryption software launches secretly and decodes the files hidden in the second photo. Buries them in a new folder deep on his hard drive, where he wouldn’t look normally. And he never sees or knows that they’re present.’
‘Please tell that to Jargo. That she could have snuck the files to Evan without him seeing them.’
‘But he could have seen them, hon, if he knew they were coming,’ Galadriel said. ‘You know Jargo isn’t going to take the risk that he saw them.’
And you, Carrie thought, you act like you’re sweet as sugar but you won’t be stupid and help me when I really need it. She wasn’t fooled by Galadriel’s honeyed voice. A steel-spined woman was at the other end of the line. ‘Are there copies on the servers that delivered the mail?’
‘Cleaned off. I assume by Donna. Smart cookie,’ Galadriel said.
‘Was Donna your friend?’
‘I don’t have friends in the network, honey, even you. Attachments are dangerous.’
‘So we have nothing to go on.’
‘Actually, we do. Donna had been on e-mail discussion lists for opera and books. And a group on tracing genealogies in Texas.’
‘Genealogy,’ Carrie said.
‘Smart girl. Odd that Donna Casher would be interested in genealogy.’
‘Right. No point in tracing a family tree when you’re living under a false name.’ Carrie jumped to the genealogy group’s Web site and found a message index. The e-mails to the group were mostly requests from people looking for connections to particular surnames in particular counties in Texas. Every message went to every member through the genealogy list’s e-mail address, which meant that every message to that address reached all subscribers. It was not the forum for a private dialogue.
‘I just did a cross-check on who sent Donna e-mails within the subscriber list,’ Galadriel said. ‘Go to message number forty-one.’
Carrie did. An e-mail from a Paul Granger read: I’m very much interested in Samuel Otis Steiner family history you mentioned on genealogy forum. My grandmother was Ruth Margaret Steiner born in Dallas died Tulsa daughter of an immigrant family from Pennsylvania. I can supply records you requested for the Talbott family which originated in North Carolina, moved to TN, appeared again in Florida. Please indicate whether you have appropriate records or access to them. My daughter and I are visiting Galveston soon and are interested in tracing our history back to 1849. I can be reached at 972.555.3478. Regards, Paul Granger
Carrie jumped back to the genealogy discussion list. At the bottom of each e-mail was a link to the list’s online archive. She entered it and did a search on Samuel Otis Steiner.
She found a single posting about Steiner, from Donna Casher approximately two days ago. She did a search on Donna Casher’s name; that single posting was the only time Donna had ever contributed to the group discussion. She’d simply requested information on anyone with knowledge of the Samuel Otis Steiner family.
‘This isn’t about tracing roots, clearly,’ Galadriel said. ‘It’s a contact.’
‘An innocent-looking way to communicate without arousing suspicion.’ Carrie studied the awkwardly worded message. No obvious code, but the numbers might be a key. ‘That number, what is it?’
‘One sec.’ Galadriel put her on hold, jumped back on twenty seconds later. ‘Hon, it’s a Dallas, Texas, metro code. Got a voice-mail system. No identifier as to who it belongs to. I’ll have to see if I can find it in the phone company database.’
Carrie studied the e-mail again. ‘Eighteen forty-nine. Doesn’t an end date seem odd in this context?
You only want to go back so far and no further? Genealogists wouldn’t stop at a particular date.’
‘I’m playing with the numbers, sugar. I suspect it’s a code.’
‘One we’ve used?’
‘I can’t tell you that, honey, but I’ll check.’
Carrie clicked her tongue. ‘Eighteen forty-nine might be the key to the rest of the message. Taking the first letter, the eighth, the fourth, and the ninth, then repeat. Or the same pattern, with words.’
‘Too obvious an approach, dear,’ Galadriel said. ‘I’m looking at the server log for Donna Casher’s e-mail account. No messages again from Paul Granger or anyone else.’
‘So this voice-mail account in Dallas, it’s all we’ve got.’
‘Eighteen forty-nine,’ Galadriel said, ‘could be a code word itself. A warning, an instruction, and everything else in the message, other than the phone number, is camouflage. Like 1849 means run like hell or we’ve been caught or go to Plan B.’
‘Or call your son, get him home, then run like hell,’ Carrie said. ‘Does Granger’s name ring a bell?’
‘No. I’ve checked, he’s not in any of our databases. I’ll check national driver’s license records, but most likely it’s an alias. And I’ve checked the message logs; no messages from Granger to Evan or Mitchell Casher.’
Carrie said, ‘Please trace the e-mail.’
‘Already did. Sent from a public library in Dallas.’
‘So what next?’
‘We have a convergence of data in Dallas. I’ll see if we can connect any of our known enemies to the Dallas area.’ Galadriel paused. ‘You working this with Dezz?’
‘Yes.’
Galadriel made a noise in her throat. ‘Good luck on that, sugar.’
‘Thanks, Galadriel.’ Carrie hung up and knocked on Dezz’s door. He answered after a moment, clicking off a cell phone and slipping it into his pocket.
She told him about the leads. ‘What are we supposed to do if we find this Granger and find the whole U.S. government right behind him?’
‘Run,’ Dezz said. ‘Fast and far.’
‘They’ll kill Evan. He doesn’t deserve to die.’
‘What Evan Casher deserves could change from second to second. He goes public with what happened to him, he shoots us in the leg. We’re lame. We’d have to shut down, at least for a year, and we can’t afford that.’
‘It must be nice to have so little morality, you can just tuck it in your pocket.’
Dezz smiled. ‘This from the whore. Do you need me to loan you some conscience? I’ve got conscience to burn.’
‘Evan doesn’t have to die if he can help us. He’d listen to me. He doesn’t know anything, he’s not a threat.’
‘So you think.’
‘So I think.’
‘You think a lot,’ Dezz said. ‘Every brain cell firing all the time.’
‘News flash. Most people do.’
‘Most people don’t, including you. You messed up, not finding those files.’
She ignored him.
‘Tell me true, sunshine. Does he know about the Deeps?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, he doesn’t. I’m sure of it.’
She could see he didn’t believe her. She poured coffee. Jargo came out of his room, pale.
‘The bald man,’ Jargo said. ‘We got a positive ID from the elves, off the phone records for the voice mail and from the ID. His name is Joaquin Gabriel. He’s ex-CIA. The elves are tracking back every connection in Gabriel’s life to see where he might stash Evan Casher.’
‘Why would Gabriel want Evan? What did he do at CIA?’ Carrie asked. A slow curl of horror rose up her spine.
‘CIA. We are so fucked,’ Dezz said.
‘He got kicked out years ago,’ Jargo said.
‘Maybe he got kicked back in,’ Dezz said.
‘Gabriel cleaned up internal spills and messes,’ Jargo said. ‘He’s what folks call a traitor-baiter. Find the people on the inside who can bring the CIA down.’
‘Shit,’ Dezz said.
‘Mr. Gabriel’s got a score to settle with me.’ Jargo’s phone rang again. He listened, nodded, clicked off the phone. ‘Gabriel’s son-in-law has a weekend house near Austin. In a town called Bandera. Gabriel might run there. It’s just an hour or so away.’
‘Good,’ Dezz said. ‘I’m getting bored.’ And he made a gun out of his hands, fired it between Carrie’s eyes.
11
The bullet smacked into the wall six inches above the headboard. Gabriel jerked and flinched, his eyes widened.
‘My mother is dead. My dad is missing. No more chances,’ Evan said. ‘Where are we?’
‘Near Bandera.’
Evan knew it was a picturesque town in the Texas Hill Country.
‘It’s my son-in-law’s vacation house. My daughter married well.’ Gabriel watched the gun, not Evan.
‘Are you CIA or private security?’
‘Private,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I am ex-CIA, and your mother… knew of me and my work. That’s why she called me. I used to do internal security. Used to. The Agency ran me out because I was a pain in the ass.’
‘Go figure. Tell me how to reach my father.’
‘I don’t have a way.’
Gabriel was sticking relentlessly to that aspect of the story. Evan decided to turn the question the other way. ‘Does my dad know how to get in touch with you?’
‘No, he doesn’t. This was your mom’s arrangement. I had no contact with him.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not. Your mom didn’t think I needed to know.’ Gabriel gave Evan a crooked, slightly crazy grin. ‘Your mother stole Jargo’s files. Jargo has access to your dad because your dad works for Jargo, too. Your dad is missing. Do the math.’
Evan had not thought clearly, given the pell-mell rush and chaos of the past twenty-four hours. ‘Jargo has my dad.’
‘Quite likely. I suspect he was on an assignment for Jargo when your mom decided to run. Jargo found out, grabbed your dad to keep him under control. He probably gave them your mom’s computer password so Jargo could look for the files.’
‘I need those files. To ransom my dad from Jargo.’ But the files were gone, evaporated into nothing. His heart sank into his stomach. They’d gotten into his laptop fast. They knew his password. Probably from his dad, who handled the infrequent maintenance on Evan’s system.
‘All they’ll care about now is being sure you don’t know what was in the files, and that you have no copies of them.’ Gabriel gave Evan a sick smile. ‘I’m your only hope to hide from these people.’
‘How does Carrie fit in? She knew I was in danger, she tried to warn me.’
‘Who’s Carrie?’
‘Never mind,’ Evan said after a moment.
Gabriel closed his eyes. ‘Clearly I used the wrong approach in dealing with you, Evan. I should have trusted you.’
‘You think?’
‘Congratulations, you’ve proven yourself to me. But you don’t understand what’s at stake. These files your mother stole, they could take down Jargo, and he’s a very bad guy. I’ve got to have those files. They’re the evidence I need.’
‘Against Jargo.’
‘Yes. To prove I shouldn’t have lost my career, all those years ago. That Jargo has traitors inside the CIA working for him.’ Gabriel coughed. ‘The CIA, overall, is an organization with great, hardworking, honest people. But a few bad apples rot in every barrel, and Jargo knows the bad apples. Your mom came to me because she knew I wasn’t a bad apple, Evan. She was afraid to go straight to the Agency, because she didn’t want to give this information and warn Jargo. He’s got people in the Agency on his payroll, people in the FBI, too. They get wind of these files, or where you’re at, and they’ve got the same motive to get rid of you that Jargo does. They don’t want to be exposed.’ Gabriel licked his lips. ‘Evan. I bet files that valuable, your mom hid another copy. Where would that be? Think. If you have another c
opy, I can still help you.’
‘Or we can just call the CIA.’
‘Evan. Do you think the CIA wants this news going public, that a freelance spy ring operates under their nose, inside their own walls?’ Gabriel licked his lips again. ‘The CIA drove me out of work just for suggesting the merest possibility. Certain people in the CIA would rather kill you than let you harm the Agency’s credibility. You go public, you’re a dead man. They’re hunting you as much as Jargo is.’
The CIA. The thought made Evan’s skin prickle with cold. Jargo was a killer, but he was only one man. But if these files threatened the CIA, they could find him. He couldn’t hide from them forever.
‘Who do I call at the CIA to tell them to stop?’
Gabriel laughed, a cold, sick sound. ‘You don’t tell them shit, son. They don’t stop. They hunt you till they find you, they see what you know, and if you know too much, then they kill you. I wouldn’t run to the CIA if I were you.’
‘So they and Jargo both want the files. Are the files lists of traitors inside the CIA who help Jargo, or agents, or names, or operations that are under way?’
‘Names. See me trusting you now?’
‘Of agents?’
Gabriel hesitated for a moment. ‘I think so.’
‘It either is or isn’t names of agents.’
Gabriel shrugged.
‘What were you going to do when Mom gave you these names?’ Evan steadied the gun at him. ‘I don’t have a single reason to believe a word you’ve said. You could have been lying to me from minute one, and I don’t think you saved me out of any debt to my mom or out of the milk of human kindness. You want those files as bad as Jargo, you could lie about what’s in them and why you need them.’
Gabriel kept his mouth shut.
‘Fine. Play silent treatment. You can tell me about it on the way.’