by Cat Connor
Eyes watched me with amusement.
Sam spoke, “Modern West song?”
“‘Maria Nay,’” I replied.
Without batting an eyelid, Sam announced that Campbell was involved in the jeweler case.
I love my team’s faith.
I gave Kurt the file from O’Hare to read.
Meanwhile, I signed into Facebook and looked up Maria Doyle. I scrolled through her public profile and searched for photographs of her current boyfriend. None.
Who has no photographs of their boyfriend?
“Sam, I’m on Maria Doyle’s Facebook. Found some group shots of her and her friends, lots of pictures of her and her girlfriends, not one of her and her boyfriend, John Brown.”
“She posts a lot of pictures but none with him. Is he on her friends list?”
I searched. “Nope.”
“Sounds like he has some issues with having his picture taken.”
That’s what I thought.
Kurt looked up from his reading. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking Brown has something to hide.”
“I’d say that was a reasonable thought to have. I’m almost done with this.” He tapped the file and went back to his reading.
Just for fun I looked for photographs of Campbell on her Facebook page. None. There was one photo of her with what could’ve been an old boyfriend but not on her page; I found it on a friend’s page. It wasn’t a recent picture.
I wondered if she dated very shy men.
I let go my thoughts that centered on Brown and Campbell and considered where we could end up then checked the weather for the next few days.
I addressed Lee, “Check your go-bags. Make sure we all have survival gear, the weather forecast is for a cold snap and rain.” Then turned to Sam. “GPS us. Grab three satellite phones and send out a BOLO.”
Kurt slid the file onto my desk. “Something’s not right about this,” he muttered.
“Tell me about it,” I replied.
All the men disappeared. I picked up my phone and called Dad, who’d spent the night at my place. “Hey, it’s me. Got a case that might keep me out for a few days.” As I spoke I turned my hand over and looked at the little flash drive. I had to find out what was on it. Couldn’t quite believe I’d left it so long.
“I’ll take Shrek to Aidan’s and keep Carla with me at my place,” Dad said.
“Thanks, Dad. Can you make sure Carla does her history assignment? There was an emailed assignment from her teacher.” I paused. “Dad, can you try to enforce some Joey-free time?”
“Sure. A bit of time without Joey around might be good.”
“Thanks. I hate making you the bad guy but this Joey thing is bugging me.”
“I’m old enough and ugly enough to be the bad guy every now and then,” Dad said. “Anyway she’s a kid, she’ll get over it. Bet you get a few grumpy phone calls though.”
“Yeah, bet I do.” That reminded me we may end up without cell coverage. “We’ll have satellite phones and Caine will have direct contact in case you need me. I can leave anytime. O’Hare has already cleared me to go if necessary.”
“Ellie, relax. You survived your teenage years. Carla will find her way through hers.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, go work. We’ll be fine here.”
I hung up and then called Rowan.
“I’m going away for a few days with this case. It’s taking us out of town and cell coverage might be patchy.”
“All right, you go catch the bad guys.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, what’s up with Carla?”
So, I wasn’t alone. “I dunno. Everyone seems to think she and Joey are doing what teenagers do best, as in each other.”
Rowan spluttered, it sounded like he’d almost choked. Guess he was having a drink. Never wise to drink and talk to me. “Doing each other. She is too young!”
“Uh huh.” Yep, no argument from me. “Teenagers think they know everything.”
“Joey?”
“Yeah, Joey.”
“I’ll kill the little fucker!” Anger tore through his voice. “I’ll rip his fucking dick off and shove it in his ear!”
“What?” Laughter erupted from me and spiraled down the phone. “Babe, chill. He’s a kid too.”
“He best keep it in his goddamn pants!”
I was struggling, really struggling. Men! So amazing and yet predictable and ridiculous in their responses.
“Dad has Carla, while I’m away, he’s going to enforce some Joey-free time. You’re more than welcome to go hang out with them.” I was sending a raging bull into the arena – was I mad? “Do me a favor, chill. Be her friend but not too friendly – you’re still … an adult.” It was possible that Rowan could get through to her where I couldn’t. “Just listen to her, Rowan. And don’t threaten to kill or maim anyone.”
“I can’t make those kinds of promises.” He was furious. And I found it entertaining. He was behaving like a father. I’d never seen it before. But then, Carla never gave any of us cause to worry before.
I swallowed the laughter and let it play upon my lips. “We can get through this.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Thank you.” There was other stuff I wanted to say but not over the phone. He never mentioned the shooting incident on Friday so either didn’t know or thought it was more media lies and didn’t want to irritate me with it. I’d tell him when I got home, if Carla didn’t first. If she did, they’d both be mad at me. Wouldn’t be the first time. The messages on my machine from a private number and the tearful woman at the concert could be nothing worth worrying about but it niggled away in the background; that was something else I needed to talk to Rowan about in person.
Carla and the cat were taken care of. Focus. It was time to catch Campbell and not worry about how my beautiful daughter’s life hung in the balance.
That was a bit dramatic. I pulled it back a little: And not worry about my daughter making a life-altering and stupid decision. Yeah, that nailed it.
Distractions be gone. I tapped the flash drive on the desk while I thought.
All we knew was that Campbell might have abducted Maria Doyle and taken Key Bridge out of Washington. No further sightings reported. Not much to go on. I tapped on my laptop keyboard and checked Maria’s phone. It was either off or battery removed, there was no GPS signal for us to trace.
‘These Days’ started up in my head. So not helpful. What I needed was some miracle way of knowing where Campbell took her. I lifted my desk phone from the cradle and called comms.
“SSA Conway here, I have a query on three addresses.”
“Go ahead, Agent.”
I read the addresses from the file. Comms repeated them back to me. “Please send local police. Approach with caution. Notify me if either Iain Campbell or a Maria Doyle is present or have been seen at the addresses.”
“Understood.”
It still didn’t help me to know which direction we should go.
The song in my head changed to ‘6345789.’
Okay, now that was just silly. The song continued getting louder and louder. I knew what it was from. Hadn’t ‘These Days’ just played in my head? Wasn’t ‘6345789’ on the Japanese Tour limited edition bonus CD of that album? A rhetorical question; since dating Rowan I’d become a musical trivia queen. So what meant something? Was it Japanese, the phone number, or the album? I couldn’t think of a Japanese garden in Northern Virginia. I took my phone and dialed the number. The first area code I tried was DC, seemed sensible.
The phone rang. I reached an answer machine. At Maria Doyle’s place.
So was it also something to do with the album? Or just that it was Maria’s phone number? That was going to take some figuring.
Mac’s picture sat on my desk, smiling at me. I lay it down. Some days his smile just felt like a taunt.
I sighed, plugged the flash drive into my laptop and ran a virus check on t
he drive. What better way to infect the FBI system with a nasty virus than to send one to an agent? It came up clean. I opened the drive and found an MP3. Just the one.
I called Sandra to come to my office.
“What’s up?” she said as she strode through the door.
“Someone sent me a song.”
“A song?”
“Yeah, the same song I’ve been hearing in my head for days … and someone sent it to me on a flash drive.”
“Oh, that’s freaky.”
“Ya think?”
I double-clicked on the file and played the song. It sounded like the same as the version I had. “Why send me a song?” I was thinking out loud but not.
“Shift over,” Sandra said, dragging a chair around to my side of the desk and planting herself in front of my laptop. “I take it you have this song already?”
“Yes. It’s on one of my favorite albums.”
“Where are your music files?”
I pointed to the Windows “Start” button on the screen but she’d already opened it and found my music folder. “Name of the album the song is on?”
“Turn it On.”
She paused before she opened the album. “Kevin Costner can sing?”
“Yeah, he can,” I replied.
Sandra said, “I’ll take your word for it.” She looked through the album folder at the song files.
“That song is a cool nine point nine six megabytes but the one you were sent is just over ten point two megabytes.”
“You think there is something else in that file?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied and scoured the properties of the new file. “Something is in it and someone wants you to find it.” She pointed to the ‘properties’ window. Sandra checked the properties information on the original file, comparing all three screens of each file. “I think we have passwords.”
I leaned closer and pointed out what I thought were possible passwords. “KevinCostnerRocks, TurnItOnOrOff, and 2010OpenSesame.”
“I’d say so,” Sandra replied. “Those particular phrases only appear on the version you were sent.”
“OpenPuff?” I said.
“You have that on here?” she replied, already searching my programs. “Never mind. Got it.”
I watched as Sandra filled in the password boxes, following the order in the properties section of the song file, then loaded the song file and clicked the ‘unhide’ button.
I couldn’t help but hold my breath. A grey bar popped up on the screen. As I watched, a blue line skidded across the grey. Moments later a small window appeared with the report details in it.
“So there is a file,” I said. “And someone wanted me to find it. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been so easy.”
Sandra found the file and ran a virus check before opening it. It was a document containing the lyrics to ‘Maria Nay.’
Because I haven’t been taunted by song this for long enough?
“This mean anything to you?” Sandra asked.
I glanced at the lyrics then rocked back in my chair, a smile crept across my face.
“Yes, maybe, I think it’s a cipher. Look …” I pointed to the occasional letters that were italicized.
“Do you know what it says?”
I know my mind is a weird place but solving ciphers at first glance? Not my strong suit.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I recognize the pattern of the italic letters.”
“You know which cipher it is?”
“I think it is Francis Bacon’s cipher.”
Sandra found a website dedicated to ciphers and then one with the Francis Bacon cipher on it. “Then this should help.”
I picked up my pen. “Print the lyrics file Campbell sent me, please. It’s easier if I work on the page.”
Sandra printed the cipher too.
I settled down with a highlighter pen and pieces of paper. Sandra disappeared then returned with two cups of coffee.
Ten minutes after I started, I rocked back in my chair and sipped my still-warm coffee.
“Okay, it’s from Iain Campbell. He writes that Maria Doyle is caught in a bad situation and he will do what he can for her.” I left out the interesting bit. The bit that said I was on Jonathon Tierney’s safe list and he needed my help.
It was not the first time in recent history I’d heard I was on a safe list or that someone needed my help.
“How long have you had this?”
“A day”
“He knew what was going to happen to Maria Doyle?”
“Seems that way. He knew and tried to tell me but I was so caught up in the case I didn’t look at the flash drive.” I smacked the heel of my hand into my head. Dammit. She’s missing because I missed something. This is on me.
“He should’ve been more obvious, but at least now you know he may not be the bad guy we thought he was,” Sandra said, standing up and putting the chair back where it belonged.
“Maybe.” I appreciated her words but they didn’t make me feel a helluva lot better. “Thanks for your help Sandra.”
“No problem. I’m still reeling from the news that Kevin Costner sings.”
She waved and left the room.
Nineteen
Till The Next Goodbye
Pulling my go-bag out of the cupboard, I rifled through it. Spare warm clothes and toiletries. It’s as if I’ve done this before. From the hanger, I took an FBI jacket and pulled it on.
I sat at my desk for a minute and went over the file again. The boyfriend puzzled me. His name was John Brown. Sure it was. Guess if he’d called himself John Smith or John Doe it would’ve been too suspicious. I was over anyone calling themselves John anything. It just inferred subterfuge and made me in turn want to start slapping people. I put a call through to the cell phone number he’d given the police. It went to voice mail. I left a message asking him to call me.
Campbell went to the trouble to send a cipher to me. I wished he’d told me more, like what the situation was, and why Maria was in danger. Even sketchy details would’ve been helpful. He went to some effort to hide a cipher that said nothing of any value. More smoke and mirrors crap.
I tried the alternate number Brown gave police. No answer and no machine.
His address was listed. I called Sandra at her desk. “Hey, can you get a uniform to check out this address. We’re trying to locate John Brown.”
“Sure,” she said. “Standing by for the address.”
“400 Michigan Avenue, North East, Washington.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, it’s in the police report. Problem?”
I could hear her tapping on her computer keys. “I’m just checking, okay.” She hissed air through her teeth. “I thought I knew the address. That’s the National Shrine. I’ll call Monsignor Rossi. If Brown has anything to do with the shrine, he should know.”
“Keep me informed.”
He called himself John Brown and his address was the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. I had a feeling he was more lying scumbag than saint. Could he be the dangerous situation Campbell was trying to warn me about? This is one of those “the more information the better” circumstances. So far my information was piss-poor.
I made one more call.
It took a long time before I heard my favorite Russian’s voice over the phone. “Privet, Ellie!”
“Privet, Misha! Vy nashli propavshego syna?” Hello, Misha. Have you found the missing son?
“Vash Russkiye uluchshayetsya.” Your Russian is improving.
“I try. Have you found him?”
“I have. I am convincing him to accompany me to the US.”
My breath escaped in a rush and realized I’d been holding it. “Good. Thank you.”
“How is Carla?”
“You will see for yourself when you get in. She is growing up fast.” Too fast.
“We will be there by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you.”
I hung
up.
A male voice followed a knock on my door, “Hey, El, want a hand?”
Only one person ever called me El like that. And there he was leaning on my doorframe. NCIS Special Agent Noel Gerrard. He didn’t look as though he’d been up all night and I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.
“Noel, what brings you over here?”
“Maria Doyle,” he said.
My eyes flashed to his. “NCIS has a connection?”
“Our Directors have a connection, she’s known to them both.”
Interesting.
“Who the hell is she? Her name seems familiar.” I’ve come across a lot of people over the years, she could’ve been one of them. Her Facebook page didn’t mention family and none of her listed friends were familiar to me. She didn’t have much on the page at all, no mention of the mysterious boyfriend or Campbell. I could have Googled her or even run her through our system but hadn’t. O’Hare said friend. That should be good enough. Things change. It was, now it isn’t.
“A Doyle.”
“No fuc’n kidding.” A smart ass I did not need today.
The penny dropped with a clang. “I’ve met her, she looks different now.”
“I believe she had her hair straightened,” Noel replied.
“And darkened. She was a blonde,” I replied. “Your Director, Christopher Doyle, he’s her father or brother?”
“Brother.”
“God, the agencies are incestuous,” I muttered. Hence our case.
“I think it’s Washington in general. It’s not that big a place.”
“So, you and your team are in?”
“Just me, I’ve left the team dealing with two UAs and a drug bust.”
Then I noticed the bag hooked over his shoulder. My cell phone rang, sending Grange’s latest single ‘Agent of my Heart’ out into my office, filling every available space. I checked the display. Unknown caller.
Crazy. I had no idea it was my ringtone for unknown callers. A smile crossed my lips; Carla would have done it. She was forever playing with my phone and changing my ringtones. I answered the phone and listened as a police officer told me of a new crime scene. When I hung up I looked at Noel.
“We have an address.” I took a breath and gave him the address. It was not far from my new house. I hate it when shit is close to home.